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Despite what Yaku says, Kuroo is not a “crime lord’s plaything,” thank you very much.
“You basically are,” Yaku had said in their last text conversation. “You live in the Nohebi compound. In Daishou’s bedroom. You’re allowed everywhere he is. He doesn’t make you go on deliveries with the runners or do surveillance or any other useful job. And don’t tell me you’re not sleeping with him whenever he wants.”
But, Kuroo likes to think, his “useful job” is gathering valuable information to relay back to Nekoma. Information that Kuroo is going to use to burn Nohebi to the fucking ground once his job is done here. And he has no qualms whatsoever about betraying Daishou either, so there. Sleeping with the man is just a ploy, and if Kuroo enjoys it—well, that’s no one’s business but his own.
With visions of arson dancing in his head, Kuroo sinks lower in the giant bathtub, sighing as the jets massage that one spot just left of his spine that’s been killing him. He blames Daishou since he made them try that weird sex position the other night. That’s the last time he literally bends over backwards for a blowjob.
The bathroom is something else Kuroo counts as a perk of slipping into Nohebi’s ranks this way. Even though it’s covered in gleaming green marble tiles that were probably considered modern twenty-five years ago, it has a luxurious shower, the kind that shoots water out of the walls if Kuroo presses the right button. And of course, the very bathtub Kuroo is soaking in right now.
His phone chimes with a message, the alert tone echoing off the tiled walls. Is Daishou back?
INCOMING
<< He’s on his way home. Ready?
Kuroo grins and texts Mika back.
OUTGOING
>> i’m gonna knock his fucking socks off
INCOMING
<< Go get him! 😊
And that’s the end of luxuriating in the bath for tonight. Kuroo drains the tub and grabs a towel, drying himself quickly and wrapping it around his waist as he heads for the closet.
He had made sure to hide this shopping bag well, behind the laundry hamper, so Daishou wouldn’t stumble upon it accidentally and ruin the surprise. Kuroo dumps his treasures out on the bed, laying each piece out before starting to put them on. First, an emerald green silk thong, barely big enough to cover his cock. Black lace-top thigh highs. A pair of pumps Mika had so thoughtfully helped him hunt down, the kind with a knife-like heel that makes a satisfying click when he walks. And the finishing touch is a black leather collar with a green gem tag.
INCOMING
<< He just came in the door. T-minus 5!
Perfect. Kuroo rakes a hand through his hair until he’s pleased with this iteration of bedhead before positioning himself at the foot of the bed. He crosses his legs and tilts his chin up the slightest bit, and that’s when he hears footsteps.
The bedroom door opens and in strolls Daishou, in his usual suit and tie, the jacket slung over one arm and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Kuroo’s stomach flips in mixed nervousness and triumph as Daishou’s eyes widen at the sight of his outfit. “Welcome back.”
“What’s all this?” Daishou drops his jacket and lifts his hand, fingers tracing over the lines of the thong, down to the thigh-highs. “When did you—”
“Mika-chan helped pick them out. You’ve been working so hard, we thought you deserved something nice to come home to,” Kuroo says with a wink and a purposeful lick of his lips. He stands and slinks over, the leather of the collar lying cool and flat against his throat as his heels clack against the floor. “I’m your pretty whore, you know that, right?”
“Mm.” Daishou’s grip on his hips tightens, and he snaps the band of one stocking against Kuroo’s skin. “I appreciate it. And what do I get to do to my whore tonight?”
“Anything you want,” Kuroo shoots back, and he finds he means it. “But I’m not done surprising you yet.” He reaches over to the nightstand for the sound system remote and hits Play. Something sultry filters through the speakers in the ceiling, filling the room with heavy bass. He leans in close, lips brushing against Daishou’s ear. “Let me put on a show for you.”
“Fuck,” he hears Daishou whisper. Got ‘em. He steps back, pointing to the armchair in the corner of the room. Daishou sits down, eyes fixed on Kuroo.
Now, Kuroo is no dancer. But he knows his best assets, can find a beat, and he’s pretty damn good at getting Daishou to want him. So he tilts his head back, letting the music flood his senses, and raises his arms, trailing his hands down his chest as he moves with the beat.
“Shit,” Daishou mutters.
“Come on, I’ve barely even done anything.” Kuroo’s hips sway as he turns and pops his ass out,
“You’re going to kill me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” At least not yet. Kuroo turns back around and strides toward Daishou, straddling his waist and grinding his hips just inches above Daishou’s lap. “
Daishou’s gaze is dark and heavy as he looks up at Kuroo. “How much longer are you planning on torturing me?”
Kuroo smirks and drags one fingertip up Daishou’s jaw. “How long do you think you can last?”
“How many more dance moves do you have?”
“Who said all I was gonna do was dance?” Kuroo slips off the chair to his hands and knees between Daishou’s legs, making sure Daishou is watching before he arches his back to show off his ass. “You know what other weapons I have in my arsenal.”
“I thought you said I could do anything I want to you.”
“Then what’s stopping you?” Kuroo puts on the most angelic expression he can as he rests his cheek on Daishou’s knee. “What’s stopping you from getting your cock out and shoving it right down my throat? What’s stopping you from getting behind me and moving the thong aside and fucking me just the way I know you like? What’s stopping you from making me ride you until I fucking cry—”
Daishou leans forward, gripping Kuroo’s chin tightly and looking him right in the eye. “You keep that up and I’ll just have to do them all to you.”
Kuroo gasps, feeling his heart jackrabbit in his chest. “What’s. Stopping. You.”
The next thing Kuroo knows, he’s flat on his back on the floor, wrists pinned next to his head and Daishou looming over him. He blinks, breathless and hard in his tiny panties, as Daishou leans in, almost close enough to kiss.
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.”
“Then I’ll have to remind you where your place is, whore.” Daishou shifts his position to let one hand press at Kuroo’s throat, just under the collar.
Kuroo swallows, feeling his Adam’s apple bob beneath Daishou’s palm. “You can try.”
“You make me work so damn hard.”
“You’d be bored if I didn’t.”
Daishou’s eyes narrow and his fingers press down just enough. “Anything I want, you said?”
Kuroo exhales slowly and nods. “Anything.”
“Then be a good whore and suck my dick.” Daishou squeezes Kuroo’s throat just once before he lets go and sits up on the edge of the bed. Kuroo just watches for a moment, waiting until Daishou is settled before rolling over and crawling to him, hips swaying purposely as he slinks over. Kuroo sits back on his knees and reaches up to undo Daishou’s slacks, only to find Daishou’s already done it.
“Impatient?”
“You’re talking too much. Whores don’t talk back.” Daishou grips himself in one hand. “Stick out your tongue.”
Kuroo obliges, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth. Daishou taps the head of his dick on Kuroo’s outstretched tongue once, twice before letting it just rest there. Kuroo furrows his brow and shuffles forward to take Daishou into his mouth, only to be stopped by a firm hand in his hair.
“Uh-uh. You go where I want you. I want you right here.”
So there is where Kuroo stays, on his knees with a cock resting on his tongue and fingers tangled in his hair, keeping him from teasing or sinking down any further. He tries to swallow without moving his tongue; saliva drips in thin threads from his lower lip, probably dripping to the spotless floor. Daishou hums at him. “You look good down there, whore. Doing what you’re made to do. But you’re my whore now, yeah.”
It’s a statement, not a question. And somehow, despite the fact that this whole thing is a sham designed to exploit Daishou for information, the crude words set something alight in Kuroo, something hot that curls in his stomach and sears under his ribs. He blinks slowly and takes a shuddering breath through his open mouth.
“You like that. You like it when I call you my whore,” Daishou says to him, letting go of Kuroo’s hair. “You’ve been a good slut. You can suck me. Don’t use your hands.”
Fucking finally. Kuroo obeys, clasping his hands behind his back and eagerly sealing his mouth around the tip of Daishou’s dick.
“Eager little whore,” Daishou snorts. “I bet you were thinking about this all day. Thinking about letting me use you, huh?”
So what if he did? That’s none of Daishou’s damn business. Kuroo answers by shoving himself down all the way, gagging slightly as Daishou’s cock fills his throat. He’s been blowing Daishou on a near-daily basis for the last four months; giving him pleasure is almost automatic at this point. Still, Kuroo can’t deny there’s some desire of his own, driving the enthusiastic motion of his head as he bobs on Daishou’s length, feeling it throbbing and heavy and hot on his tongue.
“Good whore, that’s it,” Daishou tells him, grabbing Kuroo by the hair again and tugging him off; Kuroo yelps in pain and surprise. “I’m not ready to come yet. Not done with you. Stand up and take my clothes off.”
There’s something that, after all this time, feels eerily intimate about removing Daishou’s clothes. It’s something Kuroo doesn’t like to think about when he’s got Daishou’s shirt buttons between his fingers, coming undone one by one, so Kuroo can push the shirt from his shoulder. And definitely something he doesn’t want to dwell on when he sinks to his knees and pulls Daishou’s dress pants with him.
“Good,” Daishou repeats to him in a whisper, kicking his clothes aside and sitting on the bed, against the headboard. “Get on all fours on my lap. Face the door.”
Kuroo can’t help the whimper that escapes him. He crawls up, knees straddling Daishou’s lap and planting his hands in the sheets. In this position, he’s completely exposed, on offer for whatever Daishou wants to do with him. And he realizes, arms quivering as he holds himself in position, he likes it.
A finger slips under the thin strip of fabric between his ass cheeks and moves it aside. The drawer opens and closes, and then Kuroo hears the familiar click of the lube bottle. He shivers again and bite back a whimper he hopes Daishou doesn’t hear.
“Whining for me already?” Daishou heard. “Don’t worry, slut, you’ll get something in your ass soon.”
“Will I, now?”
“I don’t know. Do you deserve it?” Daishou ponders around, even as he traces a lubed-up finger around Kuroo’s rim. “You were being a bratty whore earlier.”
“Did you forget I got all dressed up for you?” Kuroo retorts. “I’d say that was pretty deserving behavior.”
“You’re still being a brat,” Daishou admonishes him with a spank. Kuroo’s yelp turns to a moan as the sting fades into something more pleasurable.
“A deserving brat,” Kuroo corrects him.
“It’s like you don’t want to get fucked.”
“It’s like you want to get off with your hand tonight.”
Daishou doesn’t reply with a comeback, and for a second Kuroo is convinced that that was it; he bratted too much and now he’s ruined the whole mood. He swallows thickly as he waits for Daishou to decide what to do with him.
Then: “You’re lucky you’re so hot,” Daishou grumbles, pushing a finger into Kuroo’s entrance and making hin gasp with the sudden intrusion. “You’re lucky I like a brat.”
“You like a challenge,” Kuroo replies as he rocks back onto Daishou’s fingers.
Daishou adds a second, the glide easy with the lube and how often he’s been fucking Kuroo lately. “I like a challenge I know I can conquer.”
“Calling me easy? That’s not very nice,” Kuroo teases him.
“You are, though. You’re an easy little slut who was all too happy to offer sex in exchange for protection,” Daishou reminds him as he curls his fingers to target Kuroo’s prostate. “Remember that? I told you you could be a runner instead, but you chose this.”
“Trying to—ah!—trying to get me to regret it?” The bite is slipping out of his comebacks, Kuroo knows. Daishou knows his body all too well now, knows just how deep to fuck his fingers in and which angle to hit. He curls his fingers again, fingertips rubbing over that one spot, and Kuroo whimpers again. “Oh gods, right there.”
“Ready for me? Your easy little hole sure is,” Daishou taunts him. “Look, you’re already taking three of my fingers. You want my cock?”
Kuroo can feel his cock straining against the tiny triangle of the front of the thong; he’s never been more ready to get fucked in his life. “I’m ready, I’m ready, fuck me!”
Daishou just hums and grabs Kuroo by the waist, pulling him down to sit in his lap. “Then fuck yourself. You said you wanted me to make you ride me until you cry, so get to it.”
That alone makes Kuroo’s dick twitch. He steadies himself on his knees, reaching behind him to guide Daishou’s cock to his entrance. “Sure you can handle me?” he shoots back, though he knows his voice is too breathy with need to have the punch he’d like.
“I should be asking you that question.” Daishou’s grip on his hips tightens. “Come on, whore, I don’t have all night.”
Kuroo bites his lip and, with Daishou’s help, sinks down on his cock with a deep gasp. Some part of him deep in his core hums happily at the fullness, the part of him that craves having something in him when Daishou’s out conducting business during the day.
“You like that, slut? Like it best when you get a cock to fill you up?” Daishou spanks Kuroo’s ass again. “Like it so much you shut up for once.”
“You wish,” Kuroo shoots back, voice cracking on the last word.
“Less talking, more riding. Let me see you move your hips all nice for me just like before, yeah?”
Kuroo hisses out a curse, but leans forward to brace himself and starts bouncing on Daishou’s cock.
For all the posturing and snarking and straight-up lying, there’s something terrifyingly honest about when they finally get down to sex. Kuroo knows he shouldn’t be letting his guard down like this and letting himself think of Daishou as anything but a crime lord he needs to sabotage and eliminate, but when it’s just like this, the two of them in bed together like a one night stand or a pair of lovers, that’s easy to forget. With all that stripped away, he can pretend they’re fucking on their own terms, free of lies and subterfuge. And he can let himself love the satisfaction he gets in fucking himself on Daishou’s cock.
A hard spank on the ass brings him back to the present; he moans, bouncing faster.
“I asked you a question, whore,” Daishou says. “I asked you who you belong to.”
“You! I’m yours, I’m your pretty whore,” Kuroo pants out.
“That’s right, you’re my pretty whore. No one else’s.” Daishou yanks at Kuroo’s hair again. “Keep going, I didn’t tell you to stop.”
Kuroo picks up the pace, realizing he’s faltered as he was speaking. “Fuck, I’m close, I’m—”
“No.” Daishou denies him with a single word. “And if you do, I’ll just keep going. We’re done when I come.”
Whining aloud, Kuroo doesn’t stop, even though his thighs are starting to ache and his arms are shaking from holding him up. “Please!”
Daishou huffs. “Getting tired, slut?” Kuroo just hums in response. “Fine, have it your way. On your knees, chest to the bed.”
Kuroo complies almost immediately, crawling forward so he can arrange himself in the position and offer his ass to Daishou. This, he knows, is one of Daishou’s favorite positions, and it’s his own favorite as well. Like this, he doesn’t have to watch Daishou; doesn’t have to show his own face as he whimpers and cries and moans, and can even pretend it’s someone else. He folds his arms above his head, bunching the sheets in his fists as Daishou kneels up behinds him and lines up again. “Please,” he whispers again, mostly to himself.
If he weren’t already on his chest, the force Daishou fucks into him would surely have knocked him flat to the mattress. He screams into his arms, thighs tensing as he strains to stay in position. “Fuck!”
“That’s it, slut, let everyone know who you belong to,” Daishou grunts, giving a mean grind of his hips. “Fuck, you feel so good. Nice and tight for me even though you open up so easily for me.”
Kuroo moans out his name, hips rocking back minutely, only to get another spank on his reddening ass. “Gods, Daishou,” he sighs.
“What do you want, whore?”
“Fuck me, come on.” It would be more of a demand if it didn’t come out like the needy whine that it is.
“Ask nicer and maybe you’ll get it.” Daishou pull out almost all the way, until just the tip of his cock is still inside. Teasing him. Taunting him.
Kuroo keens and gives in. “Please fuck me. Please fuck your pretty whore.”
“Now how hard was that? Being nice gets you what you want,” Daishou says, one hand pressing heavy against the small of Kuroo’s back. Almost like an anchor, something to steady them both. And then he slams back in, knocking the air from Kuroo’s lungs in a gasp.
Daishou, Kuroo has learned, has two modes during sex. One is taunting and likes to make Kuroo work for a fucking himself. The other is pure dominance and no filter. It’s something primal, thrilling, that makes Kuroo’s ration brain shut right off and his focus narrow down to nothing but the pleasure Daishou is giving him. His jaw drops and he groans weakly into the sheets. Daishou doesn’t let up, fucking into him hard and bottoming out every time, deliberate and insistent in the way he pounds into Kuroo at the exact angle that makes him see sparks behind his eyelids.
Kuroo can hear himself, can tell from the way he turns his face into the mattress that he’s moaning up a damn storm, but he can’t help it. It’s so good he’s fucking dizzy with it; he’s lost in the noise of Daishou groaning and the filthy sound of skin slapping skin, and the silky touch of the panties constraining his leaking, neglected dick, and the heat and drag of Daishou’s cock against his insides.
He doesn’t realize he’s been saying something until Daishou prompts him.
“What’s that, whore? Want me to touch you?” Daishou reaches around to ghost his fingers over the silk of the thong. “Is my little whore’s dick lonely?”
Kuroo nods as best as he can. “Touch me, please,” he croaks out.
Daishou hums like he’s thinking about it, then takes his hand away. Kuroo’s too far gone to be embarrassed about the annoyed whine that leaves him. “I don’t think I will.”
“Daishou,” Kuroo hisses.
“You don’t give the orders around here,” Daishou hisses right back. “How many times do I have to say that, hmm?” And with that, he grips Kuroo’s hips even harder—there’ll be little finger-shaped bruises littering his skin in the morning—and fucks him faster. Gods, how much stamina does he have? “I’m close, slut.”
Another high keen slips out, and Kuroo does his best to meet Daishou’s thrusts, but the iron grip on his hips doesn’t let him fuck back as much as he wants to. “C’mon, come—”
Daishou pulls out suddenly, and Kuroo can hear him jerking himself off. Oh, gods, he’s—
“Fuck, look how good you look,” Daishou groans as Kuroo feels cum land on his ass cheeks.
”You—“ Kuroo tries to twist around to peer at the mess Daishou left on him. “You came on my ass?”
“My whore looks so pretty with cum all over his ass,” Daishou practically coos, reaching around to tug the panties down and let Kuroo’s cock finally breathe. “Good whore, making me come. You get a reward for that.”
“Please, please, wanna come,” Kuroo babbles, gasping sharply as Daishou wraps a hand around his dick. “Fuck!”
Daishou doesn’t waste any time, stroking him off with skilled, precise flicks of his hand, driving him toward orgasm in near record time. “Come on, slut, let me see you come.”
Kuroo hurtles over the edge of pleasure with a choked-off gasp, spilling over Daishou’s hand and the sheets. He sucks in a breath and realizes he’s trembling, sweat cooling on his back.
“Good whore.” Daishou’s voice softens, and he pets his clean hand through Kuroo’s hair. “You were really good for me.” Kuroo just hums and flops to the side, aware enough to avoid the cum-stained spots on the sheets but too tired to do much else. “Want a shower?”
Kuroo shakes his head as a yawn creeps up on him. “Sleep.”
“Well, okay. First, we should clean up.”
Kuroo can feel Daishou shift around on the mattress, and makes no move to even see what he’s doing. He feels good—not quite hazy like he can get when he’s truly under, but his veins are singing pleasantly and he’s exhausted in the best way. The next thing he feels is Daishou wiping up the cum drying on his ass with a soft towel, and he finds an iota of strength to pop his ass up to make it easier. Never let it be said Kuroo was never helpful.
“Come on, let’s put you against the headboard. We’ll just take this sheet off, it’s a mess. Someone’ll clean it tomorrow.”
Huh. Kuroo never thought about the poor soul who had to do Daishou’s laundry. He sends a silent apology to whoever it is for making their job worse. With Daishou’s help, he wriggles around to the head of the bed, lying against the pillows so Daishou can yank the sheet out from under him and toss it in a corner with the rest of their discarded clothes. Then: “Fuck it, we’re taking a bath.”
Kuroo lies there, limp as Daishou peels his thong and thigh-highs off. “Are you going to make me carry you to the damn bath, too?” Daishou huffs.
“So sweet,” Kuroo fake-coos as he removes the collar and wobbles to his feet. “I’ll get there.”
One of the other favorite things about this big-ass master bathroom is that it takes no time at all for the tub to fill, the water steaming hot and inviting. Kuroo sinks in happily, humming with content. Daishou climbs in after him, and they soak in silence. If Kuroo had a touch more energy, he might try to initiate round two, but it’s a testament to how worn out he is that the thought doesn’t even cross his mind. He dips his head back to wet his hair, and when he comes back up, he catches Daishou staring at him with a weird expression. “What?”
“Nothing.” Daishou clears his throat and reaches for the bottles lined up neatly on the edge of the tub. “Need the shampoo?”
“Sure.” It’s not nothing, but Kuroo isn’t about to push. Not now, anyway. He washes his hair with another couple of yawns, almost swallowing a mouthful of green apple shampoo in the process.
Daishou chuckles. “I did that much of a number on you tonight?”
“Don’t take all the credit. It’s been a long day,” Kuroo mutters, stifling yet another yawn. “I went shopping with Mika-chan.”
“Ah. A long day indeed.”
Once they’re sufficiently cleaned up, Kuroo grabs two towels from the rack for them to dry themselves off. He wraps the soft towel around himself, enveloping himself in the warmth, and pretends he hasn’t noticed Daishou looking at him again with that same expression as he had in the tub. Huh.
He leaves the bathroom first, toweling off his hair and sitting up on the bed to wait for Daishou. Chilly without the usual sheet on top, he grabs a blanket from the bedside table and spreads it out. Daishou comes out soon after, smelling like his evening cologne, and sits up next to Kuroo, who hesitates before scooting closer. Close enough to slot in next to each other like puzzle pieces, but not enough to be considered cuddling.
“So. Want to talk about what happened tonight?” Daishou says suddenly.
Kuroo looks over, certain yet uncaring that confusion is written all over his face. “What do we have to talk about?”
“That, to start. You’ve never worn lingerie in bed before,” Daishou says, waving a hand over the pile of Kuroo’s lingerie on the floor, though his tone is more curious than blunt.
“Like I said, Mika-chan helped pick them out. That’s where we went shopping today,” Kuroo tells him.
Daishou chuckles. “Oh, so you weren’t shopping for her today?”
“Well, she bought some things for herself, too. But she had the idea to find that stuff for me. She said she knew what you liked.” Kuroo runs a hand through his still-damp hair. “Did you like it?”
“Oh. Yeah, I did. It was fucking hot. Was the dance and the music her idea too?”
Speaking of the music, Kuroo finally notices it’s still playing, on a loop from when he first hit Play. He reaches for the remote, swatting at it until it finally shuts the speakers off.
“Why?” Daishou asks once the music stops.
“You have been going to meeting after meeting lately. We thought it would be a nice surprise. Why, did you not like something about it?” Kuroo sits up with him, casually throwing one of his legs over Daishou’s.
Daishou grins—actually grins. “Well, I’m just saying if you ever do that again, you could go all in. You know. Garter belt, bra, a little lipstick, all of that.”
“Might as well put on a skirt if I do that,” Kuroo points out. “Wait, you’d like that, wouldn’t you!”
“Mika-chan probably has some she doesn’t want.”
“Mika-chan’s skirts are not going to fit me! They’ll be way too small!”
Daishou snorts. “Isn’t small the idea?”
“You’re the worst.” Kuroo grins at him. “Fine, next time.”
“You don’t have to. It was just, walking in and see you all dressed up…” Daishou nods. “I could come back to that every night. But tonight especially. I needed that.”
“Stressful day?” Kuroo asks, fingertips stroking up Daishou’s forearm.
Daishou barks out a humorless laugh. “You could say. After months of dinner meetings and all that shit, Tendou Satori from Shiratorizawa finally told us they’d rather ally with fucking Nekoma than us.”
“What? That’s…” Kuroo can only shake his head in feigned disgust.
“It’s such a damn slap in the face after all we did for them. Oh, well. We can get revenge by going after Nekoma’s ties with Inarizaki. See how clever and strong they are without those foxes. I forgot to drain the tub. I’ll be right back,” Daishou says as though he hasn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb of a fact. Kuroo fakes an airy laugh and sticks his tongue out as he watches Daishou go. The moment the bathroom door slides shut, Kuroo grabs his phone and fires off a message to Yaku.
OUTGOING
>> you won’t fucking believe what i just found out. shiratorizawa is going to ally with us but daishou’s planning going after our relationship with the foxes as revenge
INCOMING
<< you’re kidding me. you have to be fucking kidding.
OUTGOING
>> i wish. good news about shiratorizawa though
INCOMING
<< shit, it’s way worse than we thought. it’s good you found this out now, though.
INCOMING
<< does suguru have any meetings tomorrow?
OUTGOING
>> lunch with that guy from tsubakihara. why?
The next text takes a few minutes to arrive. When it does, Kuroo feels his heart drop to his stomach.
INCOMING
<< then be ready for the fake kidnapping operation at noon tomorrow. we need you back.
~
The next morning, Kuroo lies in bed, still wearing the thigh-highs from the night before, and watches as Daishou gets dressed for his lunch meeting. “Headed out soon?” Kuroo asks, trying to casually check the time on his phone.
“Yeah. Mika-chan and Kuguri are waiting for me downstairs. I could have been on time if someone hadn’t insisted on morning sex,” Daishou says with a pointed look in Kuroo’s direction as he ties his tie.
Kuroo just grins impishly. “You thought I could let you go without one quick round?” he teases. One more round, on his own terms, before he left.
Now donning his jacket, Daishou grabs his briefcase, then pauses and looks back at Kuroo. “Gonna surprise me when I come back this time?”
Oh, is he ever. But not the way Daishou thinks. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” he replies instead. “Good luck with your meeting.”
“Thanks.” Daishou hovers by the door for a moment more, then leaves, letting it slam behind him.
Kuroo waits a few minutes to make sure Daishou doesn’t come back for something he forgot, then gets up and starts rifling through his drawer of regular clothes. Realism be damned, he is not getting fake kidnapped in this state and letting Yaku see him in nothing but thigh-highs.