Chapter Text
every story, new or ancient,
bagatelle or work of art,
all are tales of human failing;
all are tales of love at heart.
-- elton john, aida, "every story is a love story"
It’s almost ridiculous how different Kuroo feels when he wakes up on the day of his second wedding. Instead of dread hovering over him like a dark cloud, he feels buoyant, almost like he can fly. He can’t stop grinning, as he gets dressed, and Alisa does his hair. He keeps envisioning Kenma, dressed similarly to him, standing beside him in front of the priest at the temple. Will he speak too softly to hear when it comes time for the vows? Or will he display one of those rare moments of complete confidence, voice clear and strong? Either way, Kuroo’s looking forward to it.
“You look like you’re about to vibrate straight out of your kimono, Kuroo-sama,” Alisa says with a knowing grin.
Kuroo returns the grin sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”
“I think it’s sweet.” Alisa reaches up to gently brush a strand of hair out of his eyes, where it’s escaped whatever product she put in it. “It’s good to see you smiling so freely, heika.”
This surprises Kuroo; he didn’t realize how much his moods must have affected his staff, but now that he thinks about it, it should’ve been obvious. They have to deal with him every day, after all. He bows to Alisa, startling her.
“Eh? What’s this for?” she asks with a nervous laugh.
“Thank you for dealing with my poor mood this past year and a half. I’m sorry if I was a burden.”
Alisa’s expression softens. She places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We all mourned the loss of your father, but you had the hardest time of it. You had to step immediately into his shoes without taking the proper time to grieve. You’ve had a lot on your plate, heika. We all are simply glad to be of good service to you; help lighten your load however we can.” She grins, placing her finger against her cheek. “It’s as you said, yes? We are all the blood of one body, working together.”
Kuroo feels his face grow red at the reminder of his speech the last day of the festival. The entire time he’d been speaking off the top of his head, and Alisa’s not the first one to tease him about his “blood of the body” analogy.
“I appreciate it. I appreciate all of you,” Kuroo says with a nod. He takes her hands then, looking at her earnestly. “I want to invite you all to the reception. Take the night off and join us in our celebration. Please let the others know!”
Alisa grins. “Of course! Thank you, heika!”
One hour later finds him back at the temple at the base of the mountain. The actual wedding procession is much smaller than his first. Kenma only has his parents with him, and Morisuke and Nobuyuki stand beside Kuroo. Hanako’s openly weeping, but Kuroo isn’t sure if her emotions are stemming from her son getting married or the fact that she and her husband are now royalty by proxy and get to move into the palace after the wedding. Apparently, she fainted when she heard the news.
Genki stands beside his wife, holding her hand and watching the ceremony with a stoic expression. He doesn’t entirely approve of the marriage. He still thinks Kuroo will hurt Kenma in some way, like he did before. Kuroo knows that he can’t change the man’s mind with simple words; he needs to show him that he will do his best to love and cherish Kenma the way he deserves. Still, it makes him uneasy, when he glances over and sees Genki staring at him.
Kenma’s hand nudges his, drawing his attention back to the priest. Kuroo exhales slowly, clearing the voices of doubt in his mind. He curls his fingers around Kenma’s, smiling as they squeeze back firmly.
The priest doesn’t bat an eye as he finishes the ceremony, apparently not at all bothered by the new law. There’s been some pushback from the people, less than what Kuroo expected, but nobody has lodged any formal complaint or declared him unfit to rule because of it. Kuroo realizes he actually has been unfaithful. He didn’t have enough faith in his people, in their loyalty, in their admiration of him. He didn’t stop to consider that maybe the citizens of Nekoma respect him enough to wish him happiness, and don’t begrudge him taking a husband as well as a wife, and a peasant at that.
Morisuke tells him there are even songs written about the tale already. Love songs, about a king who falls in love with a servant and goes so far as to change years of tradition, just so they can be together.
He really has the best people of any country.
The reception takes place in the servants’ courtyard, the one Kuroo and Kenma cultivated (with Taketora and Lev’s help). The flowers aren’t yet in bloom (it’ll take at least a year for that), but the shrubs sit at the perimeter of the courtyard and on either side of the stone pathway like tiny sentinels, and the grass has grown to a lush, robust height. The tree’s branches are full and healthy, covered now in hanging lanterns of white and red. It looks like a completely different space than the sad, dirt covered plot of land it was before.
The courtyard isn’t large enough for all of the palace staff, and they spill out into the corridors, some servants even opening the doors to their rooms to provide more space. There is music and laughter and food, the atmosphere warm and inviting. Kenma’s parents are the only outsiders, but the others welcome though as though they’re a part of the family (and Kuroo supposes they are).
Kuroo’s so wrapped up in the well-wishes and stories and general comradery that he doesn’t notice Kenma’s missing until he reaches for his husband and finds he’s disappeared. Excusing himself from the group, Kuroo wanders through the courtyard, half-drunk already, calling for him.
“Kenma? Kenma!”
He peers into Kenma’s room and finds it still empty. He walks across the palace to the official garden, but nobody’s there. He checks the kitchen and the throne room, the bathrooms and the toilets, until he comes to his own room, the door open just a crack. He’s sure he closed it before leaving for the ceremony.
“Kenma?” he calls, as he slides the door further to step into the room.
Kenma looks up from where he’s seated at the foot of the bed on the floor, his back against it, a candle lit beside him as he holds a book in his lap. He’s still wearing his wedding kimono, but his feet are bare. His toes wiggle absently, as he turns his gaze back to the book.
“You’re missing the party,” Kuroo says, shutting the door behind him before going to sit beside Kenma, stretching his legs out in front of him. He knocks his zōri together a couple times before kicking them off.
“Too loud,” Kenma mutters, before wrinkling his nose. “And Lev kept trying to pick me up.”
Kuroo laughs, unable to help it at that mental picture. “He gets pretty excitable. Tora too, for that matter.”
Kenma hums noncommittally. Kuroo nudges his shoulder gently.
“So . . . you just want to spend our wedding night reading on the floor of my room?” He pauses, tilting his head. “Or, I guess it’s our room now, huh?” He grins at that. “Our room. You’re my husband, so it’s our room.”
Kenma hunches down against the bed, lifting the book to hide his face in it. “You can go back to the party if you’re going to be embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing? There’s no one here but us!” Kuroo laughs.
He turns to take the book from Kenma, making sure a bookmark is in place before setting it aside. Kenma frowns at him, but Kuroo can see a blush on his cheeks. Grinning, Kuroo brushes his thumb against his cheekbone, pushing his hair back behind one ear. Kenma lets him, blinking up at him with wide golden eyes that seem to catch fire in the orange glow of the candlelight.
“You’re my husband,” Kuroo repeats softly, pretty sure he won’t get tired of saying that.
“Don’t make such a big deal about it,” Kenma complains, hiding his face behind his hands.
Kuroo just grins, leaning forward to kiss those hands gently, one after the other. “You realize it is a big deal, though, right? I never thought . . . Ever since I was sixteen, and I realized I liked men, I didn’t think this could be an option for me. I thought I’d be stuck marrying a woman to continue the royal bloodline, able to love her eventually but never be in love. That was a path I’d never be able to take. I’d accepted it, but it haunted me. It left an ache in my chest.” He holds his hand over his heart. “One that only seemed to grow larger over time.”
Kenma lowers his hands, peering over his fingertips at Kuroo. He gives Kenma a faint half-smile. “So, you see, this is a really big deal for me. Getting to love you, getting to marry you . . . it’s something I’ve wanted since I was a kid.” He takes Kenma’s hand, kissing his fingers lightly, and then his ring finger, where his signet ring with the royal crest sits. “So, let me be embarrassing. You’ve basically just made my most precious dream come true.”
Kenma looks at him, studying him with an intensity Kuroo can’t quite read. It’s not negative, though, simply contemplative. Then, he reaches up with his free hand, wrapping his hand around the back of Kuroo’s neck and drawing him in to kiss him firmly. Kuroo melts into it immediately, lacing his fingers through Kenma’s, as his other hand braces against the floor. Kenma’s lips move against his with deliberate precision, like he’s trying to make a statement with them.
Kuroo understands. He tilts his head, giving him a better angle to deepen the kiss, slotting his lips between Kenma’s to suck gently on his lower lip. Kenma responds by biting down on his upper one, nudging his mouth open to slip his tongue inside. Kuroo moans at the feel of it, warm, wet, and soft against his, so incredibly soft.
He pushes closer against Kenma, and they wind up entirely on the floor, Kenma’s back against the wood, as Kuroo rests carefully on top of him. Kenma’s fingers tug at his hair, as his other hand moves to the back of Kuroo’s wedding kimono, tugging insistently. Kuroo can’t help but smile, realizing what Kenma wants.
Pulling back, he gives Kenma’s nose a tiny kiss. “The bed will be more comfortable,” he says, wrapping his arm around Kenma’s waist and hoisting him up onto his feet.
Kenma frowns, pouting, but he moves toward the bed, already stripping off the layers of his kimono. Kuroo catches himself staring for a moment before realizing he’s missing a crucial ingredient for this night to go the way he plans. Grimacing, he steps toward the door.
“I, uh, have to go grab something really quick. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
Kenma shoots him an exasperated glare, but Kuroo slips outside before he can suffer any true wrath from him. He turns to find Morisuke directly behind him.
“Ack! Mori! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
Morisuke rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t. I figured you snuck away from your own reception to consummate the marriage, so . . . I brought you this.” He reaches into the sleeve of his yukata, pulling out a small jar.
Kuroo takes it curiously. “What is it?”
Morisuke’s face grows red. “It’s oil. For . . . the consummation.”
Kuroo’s face follows suit, as realization dawns on him. “Oh.” He tucks it away in his sleeve. “Er, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t.” Morisuke shakes his head quickly and turns away.
“Wait,” Kuroo says, smirking slowly as a thought comes to him. “How did you already have this?”
Morisuke’s cheeks could rival a tomato. “Don’t be ignorant! Not everyone in the palace is as inexperienced as you!”
Kuroo laughs. “Wait, so you’re saying you’re fucking someone?! Who?!”
“That’s none of your business.” Morisuke looks murderous, but with his cheeks so flushed it negates the effect somewhat.
“Don’t tell me it’s Lev!” Kuroo’s half-joking, but when Morisuke’s eyes widen he cackles. “Holy shit, it is, isn’t it? You’re fucking Lev!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Morisuke hisses, jumping to try and cover Kuroo’s mouth.
He’s so short, though, Kuroo easily evades him. “Holy shit. That kid must be over the moon. How in the world is he not telling everyone?!”
Morisuke grumbles under his breath. “I told him we’d stop if he told anyone,” he admits, crossing his arms over his chest.
Kuroo shakes his head, wiping tears from his eyes. “Damn, I knew he was head over heels for you, but I had no idea you actually liked him back. How long has this even been happening?” he asks, wondering how he could’ve missed it.
“It’s only been a few months,” Morisuke says, looking pained. “He’s not a bad kid! He’s just . . . enthusiastic.”
“Yeah, I bet he is,” Kuroo grins.
Morisuke scowls. “If you don’t shut up about it, I’m taking the oil back,” he threatens, taking a menacing step forward.
Even with the height difference, Kuroo doesn’t doubt Morisuke’s ability to kick his ass, so he lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m done, I’m done. Promise.”
Morisuke nods. “Good,” he says stiffly, turning to leave.
“But, hey, Mori,” Kuroo calls after him before he can go far.
Morisuke sighs but turns back around. “What?”
“Be gentle with him. If you’re serious about Lev, I’m happy for you. But he’s been in love with you for a really long time, and I’d hate to see one of my favorite guards get his heart broken by my best friend.”
Morisuke frowns at the ground. “It’s not like I’m heartless or something.” He rubs the back of his neck. “My feelings are . . . complicated. But I don’t intend to hurt him.”
Kuroo nods, relieved. “You’re a good guy, Mori. If this is what you want, I’ll support you.”
Morisuke bites his lip and looks like he’s about to get teary, so Kuroo waves him off to spare him the audience. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for the oil.”
Morisuke bows and leaves hurriedly. Kuroo watches him go, genuinely wishing the best for him and Lev. Still, it’s kind of hilarious, and he chuckles to himself as he steps back inside his room.
All thoughts of those two leave him, however, as he spots Kenma on his bed, once more reading his book, only this time completely nude.
“Uh.”
Kenma glances up at him, blinking. “Ah. So, you didn’t get lost.”
Kuroo flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, no, I just . . . ran into Morisuke. He gave me what we needed.” He pulls the jar from his sleeve, stepping over to set it on the bedside table. He realizes his fingers are trembling, as he starts to tug on his obi, attempting to get it off. “Shit, sorry. I just . . . I haven’t done this in a really, really long time.”
Kenma closes his book, setting it aside. “I’ve never done it.”
Kuroo freezes, his eyes widening. “Oh. Really? Shit. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that of course, I-I just . . .” He can feel his heart racing, threatening to burst from his chest. His experience consists of a single fumbled, angry encounter with Daishou when he was seventeen, after Daishou’s teasing became too much to bear during one festival. Kuroo immediately regretted it and hasn’t been with anyone since. To think he’s going to be Kenma’s very first, with his limited knowledge and insecurities on top of it . . . what if it’s terrible? What if he hurts Kenma somehow? What if they’re not sexually compatible at all? What if Kuroo loses it too soon? What if he can’t make Kenma climax at all?
His chest tightens, squeezing all the air out of his lungs. He can’t breathe. He clutches at the front of his kimono, trying to remember how. Warm hands cradle his face, lifting his head to meet Kenma’s gaze. He’s standing on the bed, taller than Kuroo now, and he brushes his thumbs across Kuroo’s cheekbones.
“Count of five,” he instructs softly.
Kuroo nods as best he can, inhaling and holding the breath for five counts before slowly exhaling.
“Again,” Kenma says, face pinched with concern, but touch gentle, as he moves one hand to brush his fingers through Kuroo’s hair.
Kuroo repeats the technique, slowly beginning to feel his racing heart calm, his chest loosen. He blinks, shame and guilt filling him. This isn’t how he envisioned his wedding night with Kenma to go. He’s already ruined it.
Kenma shakes his head. “You haven’t ruined anything,” he tells him, like he read his mind. He presses a light kiss against Kuroo’s forehead, before kissing the tip of his nose and then his mouth. “We’ll take it slow.”
Kuroo nods, relief chasing away the other thoughts. He lifts his arms, wrapping them around Kenma’s waist, burying his face in his warm chest. He chuckles half-heartedly, realizing Kenma’s completely naked with him fully dressed, reminiscent of that night before his first wedding.
“I still can’t believe you actually stripped for me, that night,” he admits, nuzzling his face against the skin of Kenma’s chest. “I was drunk out of my mind. You didn’t have to listen to me.”
“I wanted to,” Kenma admits quietly after a moment. “You were so sad . . . I wanted to help, however I could.”
“It was selfish of me to ask. I’m sorry,” Kuroo murmurs.
Kenma pushes him back enough to look down at him, shaking his head. “What did I say? You can be selfish with me.” He strokes his fingertips down the side of Kuroo’s face. “I want you to be.”
Kuroo smiles. “I love you.”
Turning his head, he kisses the inside of Kenma’s wrist before pulling away. Taking Kenma’s waist in his hands, he guides him back down onto the bed, before taking a step back and pulling off his kimono. This time, his hands move steadily, as they untie his obi and peel back the multiple layers. Kenma picks up his book to set it aside on the bedside table, before he reclines against the pillows, watching unabashedly, as Kuroo removes his clothing. He tries not to be embarrassed by the scrutiny, knowing he probably deserves it, considering.
He climbs up onto the bed once he’s naked, leaning over Kenma to kiss him, slow and deep. Kenma responds in kind, wrapping one arm around him to press his fingers into his back, as his other hand moves through Kuroo’s hair. Kuroo sets his hand against Kenma’s waist, slipping it around to the small of his back in order to pull him closer, shivering at the feel of their bare skin meeting. Kenma nibbles on his lower lip, and Kuroo, now knowing the signal, parts for his tongue, greeting it with his own. He moans softly, sliding his hand down to grasp Kenma’s ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Kenma makes a small noise in response, his fingers tightening in his hair.
Banishing all thoughts aside, Kuroo focuses on his senses. The smooth, warm feel of Kenma’s skin under his hand, the sound of his breaths, panting quietly against his mouth, the taste of his tongue, the smell of his hair. He allows himself to be distracted by them, surrounded by them. He’s in this moment with Kenma, and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.
He shifts to the side just slightly, in order to reach between them and grasp Kenma’s half-hard length in his hand. Kenma shudders beneath him, as he begins to pull and stroke slowly. His own body responds to Kenma’s soft gasps of pleasure, the thickening warmth of him in his palm, the slickness that follows once Kenma begins to drip pre-cum onto his hand. Kuroo can’t help but rut slightly against Kenma’s hip, dragging his own erection across his skin, leaving trails of his own liquid against him.
Kenma mewls quietly, squirming. His mouth and teeth begin to bite and suck at Kuroo’s jaw, ear, and neck, his tongue following. Kuroo shivers at the feel of it, moaning against Kenma’s ear, as he presses his own kisses and bites against it and the side of his neck.
“Kuro,” Kenma moans, and the nickname causes Kuroo to grin.
Pulling back, he reaches for the jar on the table beside them. It’s awkward to get it open with one hand, so Kenma helps him, unstopping it and pouring the oil over his fingers. Some drips onto his stomach, and Kuroo’s cock twitches as he watches goosebumps appear along Kenma’s skin. Kenma’s stomach quivers, as the oil slides toward his navel. Against his better judgement, Kuroo bends his head to chase the oil with his tongue, licking up the spill. It doesn’t taste great, but the gasp it elicits from Kenma makes it worth it.
“I love you,” Kuroo murmurs, kissing his stomach, then his chest, until he reaches his mouth.
As he kisses him, Kuroo nudges Kenma’s thighs apart, reaching down between them to search for his entrance with his slicked-up fingers. Once he finds it, he gently massages the hole, causing Kenma to tremble again. Very carefully, he sinks his finger in, just up to the first knuckle. Kenma clenches around the intrusion, but Kuroo presses kiss after kiss against his mouth and jaw and neck until he begins to relax.
Kuroo takes his time working his fingers into Kenma. He starts with one, thrusting gently, moving it about until Kenma gets used to it, before inserting a second. Kenma hisses softly, arching his hips, as his fingers dig into Kuroo’s back. Kuroo takes the opportunity to roll his tongue over one of Kenma’s nipples, kissing it and sucking on it, until Kenma’s mewling again in pleasure. Then he starts to thrust and scissor his fingers. Kenma shudders but takes them in better than the first, and by the time Kuroo works a third finger into him, he’s squirming, panting, grimacing.
“Fuck,” Kuroo breathes, as he watches Kenma react to his fingers thrusting, slow and steady, in and out of him. He’s careful not to push too deeply, not wanting him to lose it too soon. Even so, Kenma trembles, more pre-cum smearing across his stomach, as it leaks from his tip.
“Kuro,” Kenma breathes, opening his eyes. They’re glassy with need, and Kuroo can’t help but smile at his flushed cheeks, the way his hair sticks to them with sweat.
“Yes, my love?” he replies cheekily.
Kenma glares at him.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Kuroo laughs, kissing the tip of his nose before pulling his fingers out. His own body aches from the lack of contact, the flush from watching Kenma having spread from his head down to his toes. He’s fully erect and throbbing, and when he sits up to spread oil over his cock, he shudders at the intense pleasure that spikes through his thighs, causing them to quiver.
Kenma pants heavily beside him before turning over onto his stomach. Kuroo’s surprised, until he sees the way Kenma’s gripping the pillow, his teeth digging into it. He grins, wondering if Kenma’s bracing himself for the pain or the pleasure.
“I’ll go slow, don’t worry,” he tells him, moving up onto his knees behind him. He grasps Kenma’s hips, lifting them off the bed, nudging his legs apart so he can kneel between them.
“Fuck that,” Kenma mutters, barely audible.
Kuroo raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Didn’t you say we would go slow?”
Kenma shoots him another frown over his shoulder. Kuroo smirks, massaging the ass in his hands slowly. “Mmm, I guess we don’t have to go too slow,” he allows, as he lines himself up.
Kenma’s entire body stiffens, as he carefully pushes his tip into him. Kuroo has to pause himself, gasping at the incredible pressure he feels, clenching around him.
“Shit,” he mutters, gripping Kenma’s hips tightly, as it takes everything in him not to shove the rest of the way in. Instead, he waits for Kenma’s body to relax some, before he gently works his way inside. It’s agonizing. The pleasure shoots through him, tingling throughout his entire body, and he cries out softly, as he pushes past Kenma’s tense walls to settle into him completely.
Kenma pants heavily into the pillow, burying his face deeper into it, as he groans. His body trembles, and Kuroo takes a moment to run his hands up and down his sides and hips, trying to catch his own breath.
“Fuck, Kenma,” he gasps. “You’re so fucking tight. Fuck.”
Kenma’s knuckles have turned white, so Kuroo does his best to remain still, rubbing Kenma’s sides and hips and thighs, massaging them gently, until he feels Kenma begin to relax once more.
“I’m going to start moving,” he warns him, just in case.
“Fucking . . . do it already,” is his response.
Kuroo laughs breathlessly, before he makes shallow thrusts, pulling halfway out before sinking back into Kenma’s wonderfully tight ass. It’s amazing. He can feel Kenma squeeze around him, hot and firm; he can feel the pounding beat of his heart, or maybe it’s his own. He can’t tell. In that moment, they’re completely connected, it seems.
“Fuck, Kenma.” Kuroo bends over him, bracing one hand on the bed, the other grasping Kenma’s hip, as his thrusts quicken, his hips stuttering into a faster rhythm.
Kenma groans into the pillow, and when Kuroo reaches around curiously, he finds his cock dripping rapidly onto the sheets of the bed. Kenma’s entire body trembles at his touch, and he clenches around Kuroo once more, causing Kuroo to curse again. The heat is intense. It curls through him, the pleasure growing brighter and hotter the more he moves inside of Kenma.
“Nng, Kuro, more,” Kenma moans.
Kuroo doesn’t hesitate to oblige. He’s aching for it himself. Pulling back to get better leverage, he grips Kenma’s hips in both hands, shoving into him harder and faster. The friction increases, sending waves of pleasure crashing through him, growing brighter and hotter with each movement. His hips slap against Kenma’s, and he can hear Kenma’s soft cries beneath him, nearly drown out by his own heavy pants and moans.
He feels so good. It feels so good. Kuroo’s pretty sure his heart is about to burst from his chest, if the heat doesn’t get to him first.
“Kuro, Kuro.” Kenma curls into himself, his body shaking once more.
Kuroo reaches around again, grasping Kenma’s leaking cock and giving it a few quick tugs. Kenma cries out sharply, his head lifting from the pillow, as his back arches. He stiffens, spilling out over Kuroo’s hand, as he continues to stroke and pull on him. Kuroo grins, relieved to feel it, to hear Kenma’s heavy pants, as he groans.
He presses his face back into the pillow, and Kuroo’s attention returns to his own search for climax. He grimaces, grasping Kenma’s hip again in his wet hand, his other gripping so tightly there may be a bruise later. He slams into Kenma again and again, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. Kenma whimpers, fingers digging into the pillow.
“Kuro,” he says, his voice breaking.
“I’m close, I’m close,” Kuroo assures him breathlessly. He can feel the pleasure rising, racing toward the peak. Kenma’s ass is red, plump and firm. He gives it a squeeze, as Kenma squirms beneath him. Kuroo closes his eyes, focusing only on the pleasure, on the heat twisting tighter and tighter within him, until it bursts, exploding into a million stars behind his eyes.
He cries out sharply at the intensity of the sensation, spilling into Kenma with a low groan, as his entire body shakes. When he slides out of him, he opens his eyes, staring blankly at the white substance dripping out of Kenma, before Kenma shudders and collapses onto the bed, panting heavily.
Kuroo moves to lay down beside him, reaching over with his clean hand to brush sweaty strands of hair away from his face.
“S-sorry,” he gasps quietly. “Was that too much?”
Kenma shakes his head, eyes still closed. Slowly his fingers relax from their death-grip on the pillow, and his eyes flutter open. He gives Kuroo the tiniest smile, but it’s full of satisfaction. Kuroo sighs in relief, shifting closer in order to kiss his shoulder lightly.
“I love you,” he says again, feeling like the luckiest man in the world just then.
Kenma lifts his head, leaning over to kiss Kuroo’s lips gently, a small peck. “I love you too,” he replies, barely above a whisper.
Kuroo grins, turning to wrap his arm around Kenma, but Kenma shrugs him off with a wrinkle of his nose. “Too hot,” he complains.
Kuroo laughs. “Okay, okay. I’ll wait to cuddle until after we’ve cooled down a bit,” he holds up his hand, turning onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, hands folded on his stomach.
They’re both a mess and should probably take a bath, but he’s in no rush, and Kenma doesn’t seem to be either.
“I should probably give Daishou that trade route after all,” he realizes after a moment.
“Why?” Kenma grunts softly.
Kuroo smirks ruefully. “Well, without him this wouldn’t have happened, ironically enough.” He turns his head to look at Kenma. “Plus, I’d love to see the look on his face when I tell him that I’m giving him the trade route because his law allowed me to marry the man of my dreams.”
“Will that bother him?”
“Oh yeah, it’ll bother the shit out of him.”
Kenma smirks, eyes still closed. “Do it, then.”
Kuroo chuckles. “I will.”
He can see Kenma starting to shiver, so he sits up. “Bath time?” he asks.
Kenma nods. Kuroo stands, moving around the bed to pick Kenma up in his arms. Kenma doesn’t protest, but wraps his arms around Kuroo’s neck, resting his head against his shoulder with a soft sigh. Kuroo carries him over to the adjoining bathroom, setting him in the tub before wrapping a towel around his waist and poking his head out of the door to call for some hot water.
It takes less than ten minutes for a couple servants to arrive, and they pour the hot water into the tub where Kenma sits. He shivers some, and Kuroo thanks the servants, who leave quickly after bowing, no doubt eager to return to the party. He can still hear the faint sounds of music even on this side of the palace.
As he sinks into the hot water with a deep sigh, Kenma immediately adjusts to sit between his legs, leaning back against his chest. Kuroo grins, wrapping his arm around him and kissing the top of his head.
“Thank you.”
“Mm?”
“For being rude to me when I ran into you that day we met. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I had to meet this small servant who dared to be rude to the king.” Kuroo grins, stroking his thumb against Kenma’s arm lightly.
“You did run into me.”
Kuroo laughs. “That I did. I’m glad I did, too.”
“Mm.” Kenma sinks deeper into the water, pulling Kuroo’s arm up higher on his chest, holding it with both hands. “I’m glad you did too,” he murmurs.
Kuroo wraps his other arm around him, kissing the top of his head again, before resting his chin against it and staring off past the open window to the twinkling stars of the night sky.
For the first time in a long time, he feels no anxiety curling through his stomach. There’s no unease or discontent, no heavy weight draped over his shoulders. Instead, a sense of calm settles over him, foreign yet not altogether unfamiliar.
Peace. That’s the word.
Finally, he’s at peace.