Archive of Our Own

Kohaku waves to the staff as he makes his way out of HiMERU’s apartment, hoping he looks grateful instead of frustrated. His boredom isn’t their fault; they’re just doing their jobs- like he’s supposed to do without whining and complaining. And it ain’t right to screw it up for such a small company.

But that doesn’t change how dull it is. It takes up nearly the whole day, leaving him with barely enough time to do any productive work. At least “[MaM]’s Chronicle of Parenting Struggles” didn’t overwhelm his entire schedule, even on filming days.

Even with watching J, he still had time to…

It’s weird to think it’s only been a couple months since then. Up until this week, Kohaku’s been so busy that time has been flying, slipping through his grasp without giving him a chance to reflect on the terrible snarl of emotions it put him through. It feels like their last performance was only yesterday and like it was a lifetime ago; he’s not sure if he’ll ever be the same person after…

He hopes J is happy, wherever he is.

Kohaku shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the dread that threatens to pull him down, down, down into a negative spiral that he should know better than to get lost in. As long as J is safe, that should be good enough.

Even with longer days as summer approaches, the sky is painted with the rich reds and purples of sunset already. He’s past the hospital by now, his feet having carried him back towards the dorms automatically, and he’s left wondering what to do with the last bit of the day. He could probably fit in a bit of studying before he has to go to sleep so he can wake up and do this all over again tomorrow.

There’s something niggling at the back of his mind, a not quite formed thought that causes Kohaku’s brows to knit together as he tries to put it into words. If only he could just…

He shakes his head again, as if it’ll clear his thoughts this time. This whole show is turning his brain to mush from disuse. Is it too much to ask for some excitement?

His phone vibrates in his pocket and, with hope for something, anything, novel and exciting, Kohaku checks it immediately. It’s only an email about tomorrow’s schedule, reminding him what time to show up. It’s the same time it’s been all week, and he’s been prompt every day; he doesn’t need them to hold his hand for something so simple.

He considers shoving his phone back in his pocket, but the Hold-hands icon catches his eye. When’s the last time he and Madara did anything outside of running into each other around ES or the dorms? It ain’t like disbanding means they can’t hang out, and Madara at least knows how to have a good time when he’s not being a stubborn ass.

The last lights of day are slipping beneath the horizon as Kohaku approaches the door to Madara’s apartment, bathing the street in the cool lowlight of dusk. He raises his hand to the nondescript door and taps out their secret knock. After a beat, Madara follows up with the response, and Kohaku finishes it.

The door opens to Madara’s grinning face, and any doubts in Kohaku’s mind about this evening’s diversion dries up. He’s wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with a cowboy hat and a stupid English meme, and somehow he pulls it off.

What a dick.

“Kohaku-saaaaaaan—”

He shoves his way past Madara and into the apartment. “Do ya know how to be quiet? You’re gonna attract the whole damn street.”

Madara’s laughter rings in his ears, and it’s the kind of genuine laughter that Kohaku rarely hears from him. It’s familiar, like a warm drink on a cold day, and right now, he appreciates it even more than usual.

“Sooooooo, what do I owe the honor of your visit? I heard you were staying pretttttttty busy!”

The walls of the apartment are decorated with souvenirs from his many trips abroad, and even if it can be kind of performative, it’s a refreshing change to be somewhere that looks and feels lived in. There’s a few more than the last time he was over, so Madara’s been putting some sort of effort into keeping up his living space.

“I mean, I’m workin’, but most of my time’s bein’ taken up by the damn webshow with HiMERU-han. Filmin’ takes most of the day,” he explains, sighing. “It’s hard to schedule other jobs around it, but I’m tryin’.”

“Always working hard! Here, let Mama make you some tea to help you unwind.”

“Only if you don’t expect me to call you that,” he shoots back, flopping onto Madara’s incredibly comfortable couch. It’s really not much bigger than HiMERU’s apartment, but it’s cozy instead of oppressively small. Even though he knows Madara doesn’t live here full time, it still feels like him.

Kohaku groans, leaning back and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He’s here to get his mind off filming, not dwell on it.

“A hot drink for a hot guest,” Madara says, a cheesy line that doesn’t match the delicate scent of the tea wafting out and into his nose.

Kohaku looks up at Madara holding a teacup, and he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. “Thanks, Madara-han.”

“It’s nice and sweet, just like you— ouch!” Madara pulls back, getting his shins out of Kohaku’s kicking range. “Hey now.”

Kohaku raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip. It is sweet, perfectly so with a hint of something floral underneath the initial flavor. It’s the exact sort of thing he loves. Of course Madara remembers.

Soothed, Kohaku gives him a pointed look. “You should learn to keep your obnoxious opinions to yourself.” He sinks further into the couch with his tea. The weather has been mild lately, but the warm drink chases away the last bit of chill that the evenings have held onto.

Madara joins him, cozying up like no one ever taught him about personal space- which is probably true. “First you invite yourself over, then you kick me—”

“—for bein’ rude—”

“—but you obviously want to see me. So, what’s going on? Something wrong?” Madara’s face is more business than his light tone and teasing would suggest.

“Always sharper than you like to act,” Kohaku relents, and Madara’s serious look drops, replaced by a pleased grin. “I want to spend time with someone who ain’t quite so sanitized, okay? I gotta do somethin’ beyond playin’ house in the most boring way possible.”

“Here I thought you’d be prepared for a webshow by now.”

He groans again. “At least the other ones I’ve been on had somethin’ goin’ on! Tomorrow, we’re goin’ furniture shoppin’, and the big conflict is gonna be a staged argument about what size fridge to get.”

Madara chuckles. “Welllllll, that’s reality TV. But not the sort of program you’re usually on.”

“No.” His frown deepens as he stares into the last of his tea. “It’s like some sorta farce- it’s not like any actual effort I made led to this. Rinne-han said it’s like winnin’ an unsatisfyin’ lottery, and he ain’t wrong.”

He feels the couch shift as Madara, somehow, moves closer, propping his chin on Kohaku’s shoulder. “Ah, so you’d rather be rewarded for your hard work, instead of having it handed to you like some sort of fairy tale dream come true.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Kohaku snorts, elbowing Madara lightly. “And it’s not a fairy tale- unless you’re talkin’ about a fairy’s blessing that feels more like a curse.”

“You know, probably better than most, that there are plenty of people out there who just want the easy way out.” The specter of GFK and a hoard of opportunistic kid influencers loom in Madara’s tone. “Even ones who’ll take advantage of others’ hard work before doing anything of real value themselves.”

If Kohaku could, he’d sink even further into the couch. It’s easy to think of fans as a mostly innocent group, but liking something or someone doesn’t give you a free pass to demand whatever you want of them. “Yeah, I know. I was just hopin’ it wouldn’t be like this, I guess.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ll only be doing PBB work for the rest of your career.”

“Sure feels like it.”

Madara ruffles his hair and Kohaku nobly resists the urge to break his wrist.

“Stop treatin’ me like a kid,” he snaps, and in a surprising twist, Madara listens. He pulls back, even moving some to sit on the other side of the couch- which isn’t what Kohaku wanted, either, but he can see where Madara’s coming from. Right now, however, Kohaku needs someone who treats him like an equal and like he’s competent enough to do more than play pretend at being bland and domestic.

Well. No point in being coy about it, then, since Madara clearly didn’t get the hint in the first place. “Are you always this dense? I wanted to see you because I thought I could trust you not to treat me like I was made of glass, maybe have a little fun. I’ll just— I dunno. Go home, I guess.” Kohaku trails off, frustrated at himself. Maybe this was a stupid idea.

Madara, however, finally gets the picture. “Wellllll, why didn’t you say so?”

“Cuz I forgot how stupid you are.”

Madara laughs. “Kohaku-san is as cold as always! You’re a reallllll heart-breaker.”

Kohaku rolls his eyes. “If you wanna help, you can take this.” He passes Madara his empty tea cup, being sure to make eye contact as he’s getting up to return it to that kitchen. “And you can lose the shirt before you come back.”

Watching Madara stumble is a delightful reward. He recovers quickly, chuckling to cover his slip up, but Kohaku saw it. It leaves a mix of nervousness and unsureness on Madara’s face, a rare combination for someone who loves wearing masks all the time. “I can’t say you’re not direct, Kohaku-san.” He disappears briefly into the kitchen to set down the teacup.

“What’s the point in wastin’ time bein’ vague?”

He laughs again as he returns, more naturally this time. “Fair enough! Well then, don’t let me deny you.” Madara makes a show of pulling his shirt off, teasing it up over his abs before tearing it the rest of the way off and finishing the whole gesture off with a stretch to show off his unfairly nice arms. Madara loves showing off whenever given the chance, so of course he’s ready and willing now that he knows what he’s supposed to be doing.

Madara saunters over to the couch, leaning down slightly to loom over Kohaku. “Is thissssssss better, Kohaku-san?”

Kohaku gives him a slow, appraising look. “Hmm. It’s a good start,” he says, hooking a finger in one of Madara’s belt loops to tug him closer.

“Oh, just a start?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Madara-han.” Kohaku leans up, meeting his gaze with a challenge in his eyes. “You’re always throwin’ your size around, but I think you’d look better down there.”

Kohaku points, and Madara follows his gesture downwards. “My, my, so demanding~”

“Well?” Kohaku cocks his head to the side and makes a brief little get on with it gesture.

He chuckles but doesn’t argue, sinking to his knees like a well-trained pet. Kohaku could get used to this- this comfortable familiarity without the edges being filed down to placate a faceless hoard of fans. The cocky way Madara meets his eyes while reaching to tug at the button of his pants is a tease of what’s to come. This is the kind of evening he wants to have.

Madara and his frustratingly deft hands have his pants undone smoothly, and he palms Kohaku’s cock through his boxers. “Don’t tell me sweet, innocent Kohaku-san came to see me for a booty call~”

Kohaku kicks him in the side. “If you call me that again, I’ll jizz in your eye,” he growls.

“Promise?”

“You—” With an unfortunately practiced effort, Kohaku cuts himself off. He should know by now how much Madara loves to rile him up. If he lets Madara get under his skin, then it’s just going to be a night of giving him what he wants without making him work for it.

Fuck that.

“I’m not lettin’ you get yer way by actin’ like you don’t know how to behave yourself. So, do as your told, and I’ll consider bein’ generous.”

His words make Madara pause- just for a second, but it’s enough that Kohaku notices. Two can play at this game; he knows what gets him going and he can use that to his advantage.

“Cheeky,” Madara purrs, as though he’s regained his cool that quickly. But he does as he’s supposed to, shifting from teasing him through his boxers to slipping a hand in them to grasp his shaft. As much as Madara can be difficult, he knows what he’s doing, and frustratingly, it always feels worth it. He strokes Kohaku, a slow and measured rhythm, working him over until he’s hard and once again fighting the urge to complain. Kohaku knows just how good his mouth feels and his patience has been tested enough lately to want more, at his pace- but he also knows that whining about it is pretty much the same as admitting defeat.

It’s better to arch into Madara’s touch, reward him with appreciative noises, and lead him in other ways.

Kohaku looks down at Madara through lidded eyes, deciding on the best way to get him to do what he wants. It’s easy enough to reach down and run his fingers through his hair, guiding him under the guise of a simple affectionate touch. Madara may think he knows what’s best, but Kohaku’s gonna make sure he’s the one pulling the strings and setting the pace.

It’s a nice view from his comfortable seat on the couch, watching Madara’s lips leave kisses down the shaft of his cock, before the hand Kohaku has threaded in Madara’s hair guides him. ‘Stop bein’ such a tease and take it, Madara-han,’ runs through his mind, and the satisfaction of Madara following that silent order is delightful. He’s so good at what he does, obediently letting Kohaku fuck his face while thinking he’s the one in charge.

Madara’s mouth is warm and slick around his cock, moving along to Kohaku’s preferred beat. It’s so easy to lose himself in this, to fall into all the same habits and vices- and it’s hard to remember why that’s such a bad thing. Why let anything stop them from spending time together? Beyond their schedules, there’s nothing to keep them apart now, and the stress relief is something Kohaku has sorely been missing.

It almost makes the past week tolerable.

Kohaku bucks his hips, fingers twisting tighter in Madara’s hair. He’s here to forget all of that; everything work related isn’t nearly as important as the soft sound Madara makes when he gags on his cock.

“You can take it,” he murmurs, half encouraging and half mocking Madara’s efforts.

Madara slows to a tease before pulling off, and from his adorable smirk, Kohaku knows he’s going to be difficult. “You’re so demaaaaaanding!”

Kohaku tries yanking him closer to no avail, and he hates how he catches himself pouting before he can stop it. “You just like to do things your way for too damn long.”

He laughs and Kohaku tugs on his hair as hard as he can. “Ooohhhhhhh, are you gonna pull my hair? That’s cute!!”

“This is why I wanted you sucking my dick,” he grumbles. “It’s the only way to get you to shut up.”

“Cold!”

“You know I’m right.”

“Still!”

Kohaku glares down at him. “Are you gonna finish the job, or should I jerk off on your face?”

That gets quite the reaction from him. Madara sucks in a breath and pauses briefly before making an exaggerated show of considering Kohaku’s request. “Welllllll, if those are the only two options, I don’t want to leave you hanging.”

His grip on Madara’s hair loosens so he can ruffle it affectionately. “Good boy.”

He’s sure Madara dropped his gaze so he could focus on his important task, and not at all because he didn’t want Kohaku to see what the simple phrase does to him. Which is ridiculous- Kohaku knows exactly how to rile him up and turn him on, so of course he’ll use it to his advantage. And clearly, it worked. Madara lets him set the pace without complaint, that unfairly nice mouth of his working him over with confidence. It’s a two way street; Madara knows exactly what he likes, too.

Kohaku keeps one hand tangled in Madara’s hair while using the other to brace himself on the couch. He’s not going to collapse, despite how damn good it feels. It’d be so easy to- to fall back and let Madara take over for the last bit, but he’s not ready to cede victory quite yet. He wants to see Madara’s face when he swallows, and he won’t be able to relish in it if its out of sight.

Every little bit of movement is too much and not enough, not quite enough to push him over the edge and enough to make him want it, desperately, as though his entire existence could be crystallized into this moment, this decadent bit of pleasure, and Kohaku can’t look away. The wickedly delectable feeling of Madara’s mouth is electrifying in a way he can’t put into words and the view is even better, somehow. In and out and up and down and he doesn’t have to tell Madara what to do, because he already knows the perfect speed to drive him mad.

Kohaku jerks against him, trying to get that last bit deeper, and whatever sinful thing Madara does with his tongue in reply is finally enough to take him over the edge. He spills in his mouth and Madara sucks it down greedily, as though he needs more or he’ll die, probably.

What a showoff.

Without even speaking them aloud, there’s a fondness behind the thought, and Kohaku can tell that Madara feels it and understands him. There’s nothing but the here and now, the two of them suspended in the warmth of Madara’s apartment and the warmth they share, and it’s a rare moment of feeling unquestioningly safe with another person. Now he can let go and let himself melt into the couch cushions.

Madara pulls off his cock far more gracefully than anyone should be able to. Kohaku can just barely see him lick his lips, knowing just how hot he looks, and Kohaku makes a lazy attempt at rolling his eyes.

“Mmm, you’re almost sweet enough to be dessert,” Madara flirts, joining him on the couch.

He groans. “I could still kick ya again if I have to.”

Madara lets out an astonishingly fake gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “And after I was such a generous host! You should learn some manners, Kohaku-san.”

“You’re one to talk.”

He ruffles Kohaku’s hair and his expression is so intensely tender, it’s almost painful. When did this happen? How did Madara come into his life in such an obnoxious way and somehow become so important that his heart aches to think of a life where he’s not around? This is too much for what was supposed to be a low stakes way to unwind.

“You couch is too damn comfy,” Kohaku settles on, before he can spend any more time musing on their relationship.

“If you like it that much, you should get a feel for the bed,” he says, jerking his head towards the bedroom.

“Well ain’t you forward.”

Madara looks positively aghast. “You told me to strip!”

“And?”

“And? Oh, Kohaku-san, I should throw you over my shoulder before you get any ideas about leaving, because I think youuuuu need a lesson in turnabout being fair play.”

Oh, no he doesn’t. “I swear, if you start carryin’ me around like that, you’ll never walk straight again!”

Kohaku sees the glint of determination in Madara’s eyes and scrambles to get a grip on something, anything he can reach, as long as he can hold onto it tightly and cling to the couch. But, as fucking always, Madara has an advantage over him in both size and strength. Despite his efforts, Madara lifts him up effortlessly, and the couch cushion he comes away with does little to save him.

“I hope you plan on making good on that promise,” Madara laughs jovially.

He pounds on Madara’s back, even though he knows it’s fruitless, because it at least makes him feel somewhat in control. “You’re such a brat.”

“I guess that makes two of us,” he shoots back merrily.

The trip to the bedroom is short, and Madara deposits him on the bed before turning to rummage around in his bedside table. “Your ass is never gonna be the same, Madara-han.”

He closes the drawer and tosses a bottle of lube to Kohaku with a wink. “Looking forward to it!”