“Kuroo, your face is all stubbly. Didn’t you shave this morning?” Bokuto reaches out and rubs a finger along Kuroo’s jaw, nudging his cheek until Kuroo grunts. “Did you forget? You’re usually perfectly shaven.”
“I know. It’s just – “ How is he going to explain? “Kenma’s on a field trip for his biochemistry class, and – “
– his mornings are lonely now, but soon Kenma will return and wake him with warm, soft kisses again, a whisper against Kuroo’s throat, the tiniest lick against his mouth. “Wake up, Tetsu,” his kitten will mumble, and crawl out of the bed to make breakfast. They will eat in bed, because Kenma is a saint and Kuroo’s last unregretted sin, and he will feed his lover fruit and kiss coffee with cream and too much sugar from his sinful mouth.
And then Kuroo will undress and sit before the mirror on his desk, and Kenma gets the black leather case. The razor inside is silver, polished and sharpened to silent perfection. Kuroo leans his head back against Kenma, his hair touching his lover’s stomach, and Kenma stands still as he applies the white shaving foam to Kuroo’s jaw, neck, the calm line of his throat.
His eyes are closed when Kenma pulls the blade over his skin. It feels like nothing, barely a touch. Kuroo’s universe narrows down to the symphony of metal kissing his bare skin, and Kenma’s free hand tilts his head and turns his jaw, morphing Kuroo into the position he wants him in.
When the razor’s song of silence is over, Kenma will set it down and carefully take the balm to soothe Kuroo’s face with. His fingers dance, a choreography Kuroo will never get tired of feeling deep down to his bones as Kenma kisses his forehead and rubs the cooling balm over Kuroo’s soft neck. “All done,” Kenma would whisper then, and Kuroo would stand only then to turn and catch his mouth, to murmur “kitten” into his lips and –
“Kuroo?” Bokuto shakes his shoulder. “You alright there? We gotta go.”
“Yeah,” Kuroo says and touches his jaw. It’s three days until Kenma returns. “Let’s go.”
Moami 