#kuroo-kat

# for a random text

[To:Bedhead cat at 15:16pm][oikawa changed the names in my phone again so i want to confirm youre kuroo-san]

○ favorite food/eating habits

[x] 12. Keep a secret

Iwaizumi knew from the moment he stepped into crowded room he should never have let Oikawa drag him to this party. The reason being that his so called ‘best friend’ ditched him at the very start shouting a “Go socialize Iwa-chan!” over his shoulder as he disappeared into the mass of people.

So right now Iwaizumi was alone, surrounded by people he only vaguely knew from other volleyball clubs and thoroughly pissed off at everyone and everything.From his viewpoint, pressed against the wall somewhere at the very back of god knew whose house, he spotted the table that held all of the booze. To heck with it, let Oikawa deal with this at the end. Iwaizumi wasn’t a heavy drinker and he mostly just got through evening like this on cola or water or whatever, but in that instant he made the decision to just get totally shitfaced at this party.

A while, he didn’t recall quite how long and how many drinks, later he was sat on one of the couches in the room next to a guy with messy black hair sticking up in gravity-defying ways. He knew he was a member of Nekoma and that Oikawa sometimes talked about him.That being about all he could remember about him, but as far as Iwaizumi was concerned this guy was his new best friend.

"And then  this guy, fucking. Tooru. You know him right? Right, right. He just. He’s so annoying y’know, I want to fucking strangle him most of the time, I don’t know why I even talk to him?? Actually no, no no, you know what? I do know, shit. I know. You gotta promise though, don’t tell. Don’t tell anyone I swear to god I’ll punch you so hard you don’t. Want to know. It’s a secret, this thing. This thing I’m gonna tell you. So don’t tell. But. I just really love him okay? Mister trash lord Oikawa Tooru. I. Love this asshole."

"Bokuto? Mm, that's a new one." Oikawa slides the strawberry popsie out of his mouth so slowly it should be a sin, pausing to swipe his tongue over his cherry-red lips. A neat, well-manicured eyebrow is raised in curiosity, and he sucks the tip of the popsie back into his mouth for another languid lick before resuming the conversation. Ah, popsicles. So many great memories are associated with these icy phallic symbols -- like the summer of his freshman year, for example. He'd spent it sucking on them to practice the very important art of a good blowjob until he'd finally broken his gag reflex. Good times, good times. Popsies will be greatly missed in the approaching winter season. "He's...alright. Not my type, but hey! Still nice for...you know, other people who aren't me."

Tooru leans into Kuroo's side, letting his head fall upon the other captain's shoulder. They're in the final stretch now -- the dying dog days of summer. Nature seems to be celebrating its fading season by having it go out with one raucous bang, the afternoon just hot and sticky enough to be uncomfortable without something nice and frigid to cool them down. There's a lot on Oikawa's mind. Mainly things about the future. University or volleyball or...or maybe something else entirely? A job, perhaps? And then there's the other stuff weighing heavily upon his shoulders. Stuff like...love and all that painful shit.

It’s been a week since Lev has spoken to anyone. Basketball practice let out ten minutes ago. He’s sitting on the front steps outside their school, sucking on a blue raspberry popcicle and wondering when it’ll start tasting sweet.

The ugly, brutish remnants of their fight form a tapestry of misery and anguish across his skin, a silent story written upon his body in the form of finger shaped bruises and a split lip only just beginning to scab. Although the swelling in his cheekbone has receded and half of his face no longer looks like a yellow-purple grapefruit, the contusion blooming beneath his right eye remains as violet as a ripened plum. Escaping these physical reminders is an impossible task. Even with his sleeves rolled down and his hair combed low over his eyes-…

…He can still feel them ache. His lip, cracked and caked with congealed blood, is another story entirely; it cannot be hidden, and every single time he catches sight of the reflection of that unknown, hollow-faced boy he doesn’t want to know blinking back at him in the mirror with that fat, bloodied lip, it sends bamboo shoot slivers of pain stinging through his chest.

Lev gives the popsicle another half-hearted lick. He hates basketball.

He hates hiding from everyone, too. He hates shoving his cell phone beneath his pillow in a desperate attempt to forget about the litany of messages that keep pouring in, the alert tone becoming progressively more frantic to his ears with each noisy chirp. There’s at least 400 unchecked missed calls and untead texts stockpiled on his phone — a great deal of them from Yachi, who seems to be growing a little more panicked about Lev’s sudden radio silence with each passing hour. He doesn’t dare look and see if anyone else has tried to contact him, though.

Lev catches the sound of approaching footsteps. If he’d known who was coming, he’d have fled down those steps in the blink of an eye. The condition of his heart is no more improved than what it had been a week ago, still just a pile of raw hamburger meat smushed roughly back together into a mishapen facsimile of what it should be. He’s not even remotely ready to look this particular man in the eyes again…but he doesn’t glance back over his shoulder until it’s too late, having mistakenly reasoned it was probably someone from the basketball team.

Oh, how he was wrong.

Lev’s fight or flight instincts go whirling into action. He’s dangling precariously in the no man’s land between ‘run for the hills’ and ‘show your teeth and snarl”…but stronger than both anger and fear is fatigue — that tiny, weary sliver of oblivion growing even more powerful in the marrow of his bones, taking commamd of his body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Lev is tired. Too tired…too hurt….

So he does the only thing he can do.

Lev gently breaks the popsicle into two. He holds up one of the identical ice pops in an unspoken offering, eyes remaining firmly fixated upon some unseen phenomena occuring far off in the distance.

1: When did you lose your virginity?

“My last year of junior high.” He grins bitterly. “That was also when I had the epiphany that I’m only into boys. Yup. It was that awful. Those huge tits in my face, jiggling everywhere….” Shudders.

5: Favourite sex position?


"Although missionary is my absolute favorite, I have answered this question before…so I’ll say my second favorite! Doggy style. Bent over a table. Rough.”

10: Have you ever been caught masturbating?


He makes a peace sign, beaming. “Nooo-ooo-ope! I’m sneaky~!”

14: Do you prefer giving or receiving oral sex?


"Receiving. But I suppose that’s the dick answer, huh?" He snickers. “Ha, ‘dick answer’…but in all seriousness, I can really suck some cock, too — or so I’ve been told.”

22: Do you/would you use sex toys?


Makes a incomprehensible whining sound and waves his arms a bit, cheeks turning pink. Looks away, biting his lip.

24: Would you ever have sex with your best friend?