A/N: i have been a very bad egg to write this stuff. bless me with holy water bc i have gone to the land that i cannot return. this chapter contains crossdressing, masturbation, and mirror sex. hit back if it isn't your sort of thing. :D hope it's enjoyable, as always, thank you everyone for your reviews!

Contrary to popular belief, Kuroko hasn't lost his virginity yet.

Their filthy liaison ended with a burning smell from the kitchen and Akashi barely evades making a personal call to Kagami for expert fire extinguishing. Instead of spending time getting on his hands and knees and getting rug burns, Kuroko gets on his hands and knees to scrub the kitchen cabinets as Akashi chucks his frying pan and melted utensils into the garbage chute. It isn't quite the first romance that Kuroko expected from years of reading novels and watching Momoi's movies, of candlelight dinners and silk bedsheets, but at the end of the night when Akashi thanks him for his service and pecks him on the corner of his lips, Kuroko thinks it's worth it.

But they're still not a mutually exclusive couple.

Realistically speaking, there's no way they'd be together after meeting each other less than five times and spending even lesser hours together. Does Akashi even like him in that way? He doesn't know. But somehow, Kuroko's strangely comforted by the thought that he's fine with having kissed another man like his life depended on sucking the oxygen out of him, like Akashi's the coconut log in the ocean that he has to cling on in order to survive. Is this what love is supposed to feel like? Definitely not the conventional sort, if anything.

Is it a modern sort of fling then?

Kuroko makes a face at that and nearly misses marking a huge X over a question as he sits in the vacant staff room, grading 4B's surprise test.

Calling it a fling is cheap, makes him seem whorish, and Kise would cry buckets of tears at the thought of 'his' innocent Kuroko turning into a succubus. It is, very certainly, an experiment on Kuroko's newfound sexuality, and Kuroko's more than comfortable to say that he doesn't mind doing it again with Akashi sometime later in the future. Maybe that night flicked some switch in him, lets him shed the skin of a puerile virgin and metamorphose into a midnight porn star.

At noon, when Kuroko pulls the sun-dried pastel-coloured comforters as part of their schedule to maintain the kindergarten's weekly hygiene on the children's belongings, his apron vibrates with a single beep. He withdraws his phone under the hanging lines and could proudly say that this time, he is no longer shaken by the fact that Akashi's texting him again.

(actually, he quite likes the notion of Akashi taking short breaks squeezed between needlepoint deadlines just to talk with him, even if it's just about the suit)

Date: 10/7/2014
Time: 12:44 p.m.
Sender: 0118481414
Subject: Dinner
Message:
Good afternoon, Kuroko.
Seeing that yesterday was a disaster, will you join me in restarting our dinner plans tonight?
I will pick you up at 7:30.

It takes him significantly less time to punch in good evening, akashi-san, dinner sounds good, i'll look forward to it than he remembers the aftermath of him texting the redhead a week ago. He can only hope he doesn't sound too eager when he sends the reply, and closes the messaging application.

Like a cliched novel, as the pigeons coo and the trees rustle with the afternoon breeze, Kuroko finally allows himself to smile when he saves 0118481414 under Akashi Seijuro and keeps his phone once more.

"Have you considered wearing a dress before?"

There should be a rule against Akashi when it comes to talking about work at dinner.

"No?"

By all means, the brief ghost of disappointment crossing his crimson eyes shouldn't look like the mysterious Flying Dutchman unfurling from the mist. "I see. With your size, I don't see why you should restrict yourself from wearing them."

Kuroko tries again, raising his brows. "That's Kise-kun's job as a model." The stringed orchestra music softly thrumming in the background mocks him with a crescendo, like it's an irony of sorts from a cinematic movie in late fifties. "I'm not a female."

"Neither am I, but you held no reservations in kissing me yesterday." Akashi shrugs, proving a point Kuroko sorely agrees with. His nimble hands make quick work of the sautéed salmon oozing butter sauce with sharpened silver cutleries, popping a piece into his mouth to chew and swallow. "The labels they put on clothes don't mean anything to me. As someone involved in the world of fashion, I believe that if it looks good on you, then it is meant to be on you." Conspiratorially, he looks at Kuroko from underneath shaggy bangs. "You'll look good in one."

This makes Kuroko pause in his journey to sample poached chicken artistically arranged in a flat plate as he stares at his dinner date, mate—whatever Akashi is. The daub of red sitting across the table eyes him levelly in return.

"Akashi-san seems to have some interest in making me wear female clothing," Kuroko comments apathetically, or as apathetically as he could. The thought should be distressing because a) coming to terms with his sexuality wasn't an easy feat to be done in a few days, and b) now his potential love interest wants to treat him like a dress-up doll after all that trouble? "Has it been your motive all along?"

"I spent three years and a half looking at your pictures from Kise's phone, it's bound to give me some inspirations for some of my designs." Akashi smiles, a bit too broad for Kuroko's liking. "I won't deny I do want to put you in some of the dresses and accessories I've made. Calling it a motive is a bit cruel; I'd prefer to call you my muse instead."

Charming. Flattery at its finest. But if Akashi thinks that'll woo him over, he's definitely wrong.

Only milkshake does that.

"A dress isn't practical for my work," Kuroko says abjectly, slicing through his chicken and imagining it's Akashi's dream dress instead. "Besides, I grew up relatively normal, Akashi-san. I don't dream of wearing dresses at all."

Unsurprisingly, Akashi isn't fazed with his declaration. He's dropped his cutleries in favour of cradling his cheek, perceptive eyes just picking apart Kuroko's stand like a stray thread. "Yes, I'm aware of that. You're a normal man leading a normal life. That is, until I came along." He tips his head, mercurial, the movement almost like a drunken sag if not for the fact they're not having any alcoholic drinks. "I must've caused some problem in your life."

The musical number playing in the background switches tracks to something a bit more upbeat, like a swing jazz originating from the gypsy caravans. Kuroko bleakly wonders if his life is turning more comedic than he think it is.

"Akashi-san is giving too much credit to himself." He's cut his chicken a bit too deeply now until the irritating grate of steel against porcelain tears through the room's classical atmosphere, which only serves to make Akashi chuckle as he resumes eating. "But yes, you're right," Kuroko agrees with a sigh, knowing that Akashi's obviously taking in everything he's doing now as a sign of blatant denial. "Kise-kun must've told you that."

"Kise's unsuccessful attempts in wooing you told me plenty, even if he hadn't said a word," he agrees, the corner of his lips quirking in amusement. Akashi's almost done wiping his plate clean from food with swift precision like dinner isn't meant to be enjoyed. That or he's used to dining fast so that he'll save more time to be spent on his work instead. Knowing Akashi, it's probably the latter. "I have to admit, meeting you in person has been an interesting experience. Something like a picture finally given a spirit and a voice."

Kuroko's in the middle of chewing his chicken, savouring the tart snap in his mouth from the lemon rinds, when he abruptly swallows. At the very least, he didn't choke. Washing his throat with the cold juice Akashi provided, Kuroko fixes a solemn stare at the man. "I'm not sure what you're trying to imply, Akashi-san." And no, he isn't faking it. "You're being vague."

"Would you prefer if I come clean then?"

No, but— "Yes," comes from his lips, which Akashi regards with a slight smile.

"As I said, I'm interested to have you wear some of my collections," he says, upfront. Akashi's absently rolling a cherry tomato on his plate with his fork, but his rapt attention is solely devoted on how fascinating Kuroko's expressions rapidly changes like a TV channel. "During those few years, I've been experimenting with different creations to vary my designs. When Kise introduced you, I realise you fit the change I'm about to create. In fact, my recent collection on spring managed to surprise the critiques."

Spring has got him thinking of flowers peering from earth's crust and weeds striking a revolution in gardens worldwide. A sudden flashback of Kuroko's stalking on the internet led him to Vogue's slew of praises and he stares at Akashi blankly. He shouldn't be asking, really, but he's betrayed by his own curiosity.

"Why?"

"Other designer lines such as Dolce & Gabbana and Zuhair Murad focused on more earthy colours, browns and blacks this year," Akashi explains, a long finger tracing out the letters in the air languidly. "But I chose not to look at the earth for inspiration. I looked towards the sky."

"The sky?" Kuroko echoes, eyebrows raised. Sky isn't the generic sort of thing he expected. "Why?"

Akashi laughs, low, looking at him in disbelief. He stops rolling the cherry tomato and it lies, squished and full of holes. "I looked towards you, Kuroko."

Oh.

Oh. "… me?" Don't get him wrong, the notion that Akashi's using him to draw inspirations is a big honour, especially when the collection received a big hit, but. "May I ask why, Akashi-san?"

"Of course, I'm glad you asked. Spring isn't only focused on earth and what it brings," says Akashi quietly, resting his chin on elegantly folded fingers. "People often forget the sky it brings along with the season and how it compliments the earth as a background, no matter what colour the flowers are. You are a man, slightly masculine, but at the same time, you are a contradiction; delicate because of your stature and colour. Bold with baby blue, if I might say."

Kuroko can't quite say he's surprised at Akashi's added reaffirmation, but the imaginary chunk lodged in his throat says otherwise. Inside Akashi's mind might as well be a beautiful disaster of colours trying to orchestrate harmony with one another, fogged up by scraggly lines of his unfinished sketches lying around. He wonders how many designs were thrown off in Akashi's process of trying to capture his shadowy essence, countless of nights spent looking at colour boards full with blue, blue, and only blue.

Gradually losing interest in his dinner, Kuroko takes his drink instead. In between sips, he casts small glances to Akashi and says, "I hope you don't have my pictures inside your phone." Another sip. "Or… your tablet."

"Well, I do need to have my muse with me all the time, don't you think?" he comments nonchalantly, smiling tight-lipped. Kuroko only chokes on his drink at that. "Now hurry up, finish your dinner. We still have a fitting session to finish, Kuroko."

It's a jarring experience to think that someone else knows him from more than three years back, someone's been using him for inspiration, someone's been mapping knots of his muscles—someone's cutting him out from a tracing paper to paste on a pattern. Akashi pretends, or maybe not, that he's perfectly at ease with exploiting Kuroko for his work all through those years. Okay, maybe not exploiting, but Kuroko can't seem to conjure another word out of thin air—not when Akashi's casually divesting him of his shirt, making quick work of his buttons.

"Um."

Sex is the last thing on Kuroko's mind, but it's the first on Kuroko's tongue. This isn't quite the start of their 'relationship' that Kuroko's readying himself for, is it?

But Akashi's in a world of his own, shucking the cotton shirt from Kuroko's body, throwing it on one of the many chairs littered inside his work room and stepping back with a quiet smile on his face. His fingers dust off imaginary freckles over the shoulders, a warm flare that goes straight to Kuroko's tummy, and continues its frisk downwards. He stops for a moment, momentary haze of ideas maybe parading in his head, and quite suddenly grabs both sides of Kuroko's body to graze his thumbs against the bony arc of his ribcage.

"You have such pale skin, Kuroko," Akashi says. Is that a trace of approval in his voice? "You'll look good in all colours… Will you wear something red next time?"

"Red like you?" asks Kuroko.

A laugh. Akashi's only answer is letting his thumbs slide lower to hook into Kuroko's belt loops, pulling them both closer. He peers downwards, almost smug for someone who's only a few centimetres taller than Kuroko, and boldly reaches back to slide his bare palm against the bony ridges of Kuroko's protruding spine. Akashi starts from the neck, thumb and forefinger pressing into his nape, casually dragging downwards to learn Kuroko's body, blunt fingernails lightly scratching his skin. He firmly settles on the small of Kuroko's back.

Akashi obviously doesn't miss how Kuroko openly shivers under his invading touch. Maybe it's his intention from the start.

"Any red, trust me," Akashi finally says, fingertips testing the boundaries hiding underneath Kuroko's waistband. They dip, curious, and then teasingly pull away when Kuroko rests his forehead against Akashi's shoulder. Repeat and rinse, with each time his fingers venturing a little bit further than before. "Champaign red, maroon red, rose red, scarlet." He leans downward, lips hovering closely, breath warm. "Everything, Kuroko."

Modern seduction is a very dangerous thing, Kuroko realizes, as he reaches up to wrap his arms over Akashi's shoulder, pulling him down. Their lips barely touch. It's a game to see who will fall to temptation first, and from the looks of it, Akashi is convinced he will emerge triumphant.

And Kuroko is determined to wipe that devilish smile away from his face.

"But I don't make it a habit to wear red," he whispers against Akashi's lips, ignoring how the other man has started toying with Kuroko's back, pinching, kneading, scratching. "And you can't convince me, Akashi-san."

The hands on his back abruptly cupped his ass at the answer and Kuroko jolts from the tight grip, fumbling for purchase. It's within Akashi's calculation: he'd issue a dare just to rile Kuroko up the wall, and now Kuroko's the one wrapping his legs around Akashi's waist as he clings onto the man carrying him across the room.

"It's a challenge I'm willing to accept, Kuroko."

—this not the challenge Kuroko's willing to see Akashi execute.

"I need to tighten this corset. Hold your breath."

Not at all.

"That hurts a little, Akashi-san. Please do it gently."

"Ah, my bad. Sorry, Kuroko." A brief kiss on his nape to placate the snug tension squeezed around his waist like a manmade anaconda. "It's almost done, just hold on."

By right, Kuroko should be questioning why he allowed himself to be lured into empty promises of a fitting session with Akashi. Standing in front of a wall-mounted full length mirror, he sees Akashi working fastidiously behind him, lacing the satin ribbons of the corset Kuroko wears. He's bare underneath it all, not even the modesty of his boxers given to him.

If Kise sees this, it'll be the end of him, Kuroko thinks.

"You're sweating," Akashi comments conversationally, but his hands don't let up from his job. "Do you want me to lower the temperature?"

The tight corset grazes against his nipples uncomfortably. Kuroko squirms. He braces his arms on both sides of the mirror and shakes his head, not trusting his voice. Flashbacks of their first meeting blearily pass through his mind, of wandering tapes and hushed voices. Akashi's done a good job in persuading him to try this on instead of his suit.

"Just a bit more, Kuroko," Akashi says again. "Just a bit more, hold on."

Eagerness carefully tailored out of his voice, he sounds relatively normal, but it shows.

It shows with his roving hands—he's trying to lace Kuroko up, but he doesn't resist openly fondling the accentuated swell of Kuroko's ass peeking underneath the corset. Kuroko would've slapped his hands away for groping too much, not when he's supposed to be working, but at the moment, Kuroko would say he's a bit too preoccupied with the sudden asphyxiation seizing him. He shuts his eyes to bury the pain.

"Akashi-san, too tight—"

Another kiss to silence him, this time centred on his spine. "You can."

Breath coming out in short pants, the world bursts into a psychedelic labyrinth of faded lightbulbs and reddened sparks fizzing behind his eyelids. Like he's playing basketball in high school, facing off against Touou and Aomine, it robs him of his breath, but they're two different situations. Comparing basketball to playing dress up, really, what is he thinking?

"Almost done, Kuroko," Akashi whispers, encouraging his efforts. "Then you'll see what you've become."

Or maybe Kuroko's not thinking straight. His mental faculties ceased function and renders him a mannequin—Akashi's mannequin. Only Akashi has the pleasure of stabbing pins into his flesh, moulding his arms and legs to fashion him into a pose, parading clothes designed because of him, forhim. Never a kindergarten teacher, only a catwalk-worthy supermodel.

At this, Kuroko bites back a laugh. He's clearly not even thinking anymore.

A warm gust of air whips against his ear and Kuroko cringes at the foreign contact. Akashi's voice comes again, softer, smoother. Seducing. "Good work. I'm going to need you to part your legs a bit wider for this one."

Reluctantly, Kuroko shifts his feet, exposing him more. What does that make of him, a cheap harlot? "Is this enough?"

"Thank you, Kuroko."

Of course not. Standing in Akashi's dressing room removes all sense of inhibition. He erases all sketchy lines of Kuroko's shame and regret, and redraws them in the process. Nobody gets a say in it. Akashi's already stripped him from his clothes and now he's trying to sew together two separate continents of Kuroko's mind: joining the feminine in his features, and the masculinity of his body.

Nothing is ever gendered to him.

"Raise your right foot, then your left foot, please."

Kuroko obliges, hanging his head, eyes still closed. Something slips past his ankles and skids up his calves, stretching over his thighs, and thensomething cool clings to his crotch and ass. Elastics snap into place over his hipbones and stays there, a permanent intruder. He doesn't need to see to know what it is. Kuroko's cheeks burn with shame.

"Akashi-san, this better not be what I think it is."

"Too late. Will you raise your foot again? Right, this time."

The objection swallowed down his throat, Kuroko's slick forehead collides against cool glass. He relents.

"Thank you, Kuroko. You're doing a great job holding yourself together," Akashi says again, and this time, he mouths a kiss on Kuroko's inner thigh. "A bit more, then I'm done."

Urgency rises in sharp peaks at Akashi's promise of completion, but what about the outcome? Kuroko doesn't want to look to know this is a bad idea—had been a bad idea from the start itself. He's a teacher, a model to the kids. What if they know about this? What if it leaks out? Will he lose his reputability?

"Put your neck out a bit—yes, like that, good."

"I feel like a chicken on a chopping board," says Kuroko dryly.

Akashi replies with a breathy laugh. "Then be honoured I'm skinning you alive."

Kuroko's head twists to fit the strange tension introduced around his neck, circling him like a noose. Fabric, rigid boning, scratchy lace, a conflict of sensations invade him from all directions. He must've been shaking because Akashi's whispering something to him, but the only thing Kuroko grasps is: "Look at yourself."

He slowly opens his eyes at the command.

Propped up against Akashi's chest, a man stands weakly.

Kuroko thinks the sticklike insect in the glass would've fallen over if the redhead behind him hasn't been supporting the weight. In an ensemble of girlish wardrobe, he's feverishly pale. Only the sickest pink warms his cheeks. There's no mistaking the flat plane of chest deceptively covered by the corset to disguise the lack of plump breasts, nor the matching panties stretched over the disgusting bulge of a penis. No excuses justified the single garter clenching his thigh with waves of flaked gold leaves crowning a garnet gem, or even the neck corset cradling his head like a blue cornflower growing in the heart of red frills.

"See how they fit you perfectly," Akashi says. There are fingers digging into the man's hips, but why is Kuroko the one experiencing the bruising pain? "You look good like this, Kuroko."

There it is again, what he said to Kuroko yesterday, reintroduced today.

Everything comes together at once like a lens whipping into focus so sharp, it hurts his eyes. In the reflection of juxtaposed red on blue, Kuroko sees the untranslatable beauty he's become.

He doesn't dare to touch the mirror in fear of breaking the man within.

"I made this with you in mind," Akashi says again, like he doesn't notice how Kuroko's coming undone in his arms. His hands on Kuroko's hips squeezed experimentally as if asking for permission, but anyone who knows Akashi knows he doesn't ask, he takes. "In the pictures Kise gave me, you always wore blue, brown, black, white or grey. I wanted to see you in red."

Choked, either by the neck corset or by words, Kuroko struggles to answer. "And now I am."

The other man laughs at his wit, shaking his head warily. "If you have that much of energy, then you're fine. I thought you were slightly shaken by how it turned out."

"I—"am in a corset and panties and a garter and a neck corset, and I'm not sure how to react, is what he wants to say, but the garble of words only translated into a meagre, "I think your design looks nice, Akashi-san."

Nice? Who is he kidding?

Full-blown baroque, over the top appliqués stitched into the corset would've looked gaudy and downright atrocious if it were anyone else attempting it. But the bias falls not Akashi's unconventional design. He shreds all traditionalism with his scissors and threads in hundreds of black pearls over the swirls gathered on the corset, then slays the fragility it represents with silver studs. The fight between opulence and decadence Kuroko exudes with just a corset alone is frightening.

Akashi, on the other hand, seemingly enjoys the trance Kuroko's in. Spellbound, captivated, whipped to become his private fashion monster.

He snakes an arm over Kuroko's chest and splays his fingers over the bottom of Kuroko's jaw, the obsessive entity possessing him. "I'm pleased you think so. I took great consideration to see what fits you, since this is an experimental piece."

Kuroko drops his arms after bracing himself against the wall for a while and tips his head backwards, hitting Akashi's shoulder. His words come out as a puff. "It doesn't look experimental, Akashi-san. You know what you're doing very well."

"Coming from a teacher, I'm honoured to be praised as such." Akashi chuckles, feasibly amused. His other set of fingers play with the skin over Kuroko's hipbones, occasionally hooking a finger under the strap of the matching underwear, only to snap it back in place. The sharp melody played on Kuroko's flesh stirs a strange frenzy. "Though, you're right. It is experimental in practice, but purely professional in theory. I've known you for three and a half years after all."

Their dangerous game is back in action, though this time, Kuroko isn't sure he'll emerge triumphant.

"You're cheating, Akashi-san," Kuroko breathes out, evenly solidifying his defence against the terrible tease. "I've only known you for a few weeks—you're not playing very fair."

"Is that so?" Akashi laughs under his breath. He smiles a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, a smile so provocative in nature, yet innocently resting his cheek against Kuroko's hair. "You have my apologies then for cheating. I wasn't aware I'm currently being evaluated for a test. Will you fail me, Kuroko?"

The jerk. Kuroko slowly clenches his fists and fights to stand his ground. "It depends."

"On?" Akashi presses on, hands now dropping to rub down Kuroko's underwear-clad ass like he's savouring cool silk against rapidly warming skin. "You have my word that I'll play fairly this round." It's an oath that breaks in clean halves when Akashi reaches to the front to cup his groin, tearing a groan from Kuroko. "Promise."

In the mirror, they're filthy contrasts—straight out of a pornographic video of a cross-dressing man and a rich stranger. They're playing the roles of glamorous lifestyles from two separate worlds. Everyone watching knows the script; they'll fuck in front of the mirror under full-blown lights with cum streaking over his corset, and a single leg up. The crotch of the panty is tucked aside to make way for the rich stranger's cock right up his ass, and the corset-clad man makes lewd moans that'll echo all around the dressing room.

"You look really good in this," Akashi says, again with the smile that suggests things beyond their control. "It's a shame they're all coming off."

In reality, it's not far off from porn anyway.

Point A to Point B of sex fizzles out of order when Akashi latches his teeth onto the rim of his ear and alternates between soft nibbles and bites. Nobody's ever told Kuroko his ears are an erogenous zone—and no thanks to Akashi, he's been rudely enlightened. The wet suctions heighten the growing clenches in his belly, and something jolts to life under Akashi's caring ministrations of repeated groping.

His legs almost give in and he falls back to bracing his arms on the wall again, knees shaking, thighs trembling, just shivering at how hard Akashi squeezes him through the silk. Kinky fucking isn't Kuroko's thing, that's probably Kise's side, but protests die as soon as Akashi promptly withdraws his hand and leaves him cold all over.

"Come on, Kuroko, it's a waste if you don't look at yourself."

Akashi goads him, oh he goads him so. Kuroko doesn't realise he's hanging his head again when Akashi's fingers push his chin up, and he finds himself face-to-face with a panting whore staring back at him. Blown blue pupils, parted pink lips, red cheeks, red red red all over just how Akashi wants him.

Behind him, Akashi drapes himself over Kuroko's hunched back and nuzzles his neck. Hot, moist breath warms his ear. "You look good in red, Kuroko. Do you believe me now?"

It isn't a question, not when Akashi doesn't grace him with enough seconds to answer. The hand drops and dips under the panties, grabs a fistful of aching cock, and Kuroko's soft gasp answers everything.

Friday.

As much as he tried to get into the swing of things, the ghost of Akashi's hand fisting him lingers. Drowsy beyond belief, Kuroko barely recalls getting out of bed and performing his routine actions to get to work. The stuffy train, the cold walk, the dark kindergarten, just everything floats through his head in a lazy stream. At 9:29, Kagami drags him into the staff room with an exasperated grunt.

"They're little monsters, I swear to God—" Kagami grits out, scrunching his nose. Almost consciously, he brings up his quivering hands and sniffs at them, paranoid. "Ugh, the stench—how do kids pee that much!? It's like Sawahara didn't pee for ten years and stocked up in his bladder to unleash that on the futon—"

Kuroko stares out of the window. His mouth moves but his eyes don't. "He's only six, Kagami-kun. Ten years isn't possible."

"—years, to see you like this," Akashi murmurs against his cheek, sucking on the rosy flesh, so wetly, so violently. His wrist flicks up and down, up and down, up and down his moist cock, fingers thumbing the precum dripping from his slit. "You wear them better than my models do."

"Even Kohina-san wanted to suspend Sawahara, but who'd ever suspend a kid for peeing anyway?" Kagami prattles on. "His classmates were laughing at him for wetting the bed and I just can't get angry at him, Kuroko, you get me? How can I get angry at a kid who's being laughed by his friends?"

Dispossessed, Kuroko only nods. "Maybe we should call his parents and talk to him about this. We can find the solution from there if we get their cooperation." The languid sag of his head goes unnoticed by Kagami.

Pressed so unbearably closed to Akashi, back to chest, face to mirror, Kuroko pants audibly. He's a wrecked mess in red, one leg up hoisted by Akashi's arm, the crotch of his panties tuck to one side. He doesn't remember how he got to this point where Akashi's pulled his hard cock out of his slacks, a slick hot slide over Kuroko's thigh. "Look, Kuroko, you're making that face—"

Kagami rakes a hand through his hair and blows a huge breath out of his mouth. "That's the last time I want to handle the class, you take over the next round, right, Kuroko?"

"—right, Kuroko?" Akashi says, licking a stripe up his nape. With the neck corset already loosened and tossed to the side, as promised, he bites down on the pale column of Kuroko's neck—hard, like he's trying to tame an animal. Kuroko keens high in his throat, oh he sounds like those AV actresses Aomine likes to watch, the ones with the bouncing boobs, but Akashi responds with a low groan of his own and pulls Kuroko down onto the carpet.

Just thinking about it reminds Kuroko of the teeth imprint to his right.

It doesn't sting as much as it did last night when Akashi soothes him with warm laps of his tongue, and the peppered kisses over the marks makes it better almost right away. But… covering it up was a hassle. Akashi doesn't even bother with an apology; rather, he eyes it with an almost too smug smile and shushes Kuroko with a kiss. The only thing Kuroko does to steer the questions of 'getting laid' and 'with who' away is to slap a Salonpas heating pad over it and pass it off as some twisted joint pain.

(that and enduring Kagami's snorting laughter, calling him an old man)

"Anyway, I'm gonna go see if Kumiko-san needs any help in the kitchen. I don't wanna see a remake of Hell's Kitchen in reality. Cover me while I'm gone."

With that, Kagami rolls the chair off, tucks it back under the table, and yawns as he exits the staff room.

Despite being good friends with Kagami, the relief shows on Kuroko's face as he watches the man's retreating back. After what transpired last night, he doesn't think he's able to look at Kagami in the eyes and expect him to believe nothing happened. Going through high school days and work together has made Kagami into Kuroko's second mother, and if there's anyone who'd know if Kuroko had it up his ass last night, it's none other than Kagami.

—well, Akashi didn't exactly fuck him senseless on the ground afterwards, but Kuroko comes close to asking Akashi to put him out of his misery, only to meet with appalling disappointment afterwards. Not to say Akashi hadn't blown him out of his mind with a fantastic hand job and some, well, biting that Kuroko adamantly refuses to admit he's got a thing for.

Cradling his head in his hands, Kuroko deafens himself from the noisy children coming down the hallway and inhales.

He thought he had everything in control. Accepting his newfound sexuality hadn't been an easy feat like buying a new book and digesting it in his brain; it meant smashing his traditional beliefs of settling down with a proper girl and producing grandchildren for his parents. Achieving all that in less than two weeks, really, someone should be applauding him for his stellar achievement. Yet Akashi continues casually reminding him that he's nobody in the ride: Akashi's steering the wheel, it's Akashi's car, so it's his rules.

No one told Kuroko he'd be signing up for some modern soap opera if it meant getting involved with Akashi. Romantic sunset dates and gorgeous flower bouquets are the least of his concerns right now, not when they skipped all steps of courting and went fucking instead. It shouldn't have mattered how good Akashi's cock felt between his thighs last night, how he rubbed against Kuroko's puckered entrance, slick and wet, and the press of his fingers trying to introduce new heights of pleasure to his body.

And Kuroko shouldn't feel his body heating up like this in the staff room, really. His body remembers Akashi, even without his presence.

If Aomine were here, he would've consoled by saying, "Cheer up Tetsu, at least it was a great fuck, right?"

Wrong. Akashi invades his life and violates him in the worst possible ways, harrowing his lifestyle and chucking everything he knows right into the bin—

The beep of Kuroko's cellphone vibrates on the desk.

Date: 11/7/2014
Time: 11:40 a.m.
Sender: Akashi Seijuro
Subject: Lunch
Message:
I'll pick you up at one.

Kuroko stares at the screen, blank.