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Kaoru caved and pulled the box out of the fridge after he’d circled back to the kitchen for the third time that morning just to look at it.
He’d already seen what was inside. Despite Kojiro asking him not to.
Kaoru took the cake out of the box and set it on the counter. He hauled one of the barstools around the island into the kitchen and sat in front of it.
When Kojiro brought the white box to Kaoru’s house yesterday after work and stuck it in the fridge with a declaration of don’t open this till I’m back, we’re going to share it, Kaoru had figured it was a cake from the touristy french bakery down the street from the restaurant.
After all, that’s where Kojiro’d gotten it last year. And the year before that. The same white cake with strawberries and buttercake that Kaoru had received for every one of his birthdays, like many people born and raised in Japan.
Looking back, the box should have tipped him off. The bakery down the street used pink boxes and ribbon and tape and glitter and far too much else. The box Kojiro brought, now sitting open and half-hazard in the sink, was white and bare.
Kaoru put his face in his hands so he wouldn’t have to look at the cake any more. He’d looked at enough.
It was two layers; yellow cake, chocolate frosting between and on top, because Kaoru liked frosting but not too much frosting. And Kojiro, apparently, knew that about him.
Kojiro, apparently, knew a lot about Kaoru.
Because the surprise cake sitting on the kitchen counter in front of Kaoru was not only clearly homemade—the slightly-uneven layers giving that away—it was also the exact birthday cake Kaoru had asked his mother for every year between the ages of five and ten. And never once received. Until now.
Kaoru was sitting in the kitchen at ten in the morning on his twenty-seventh birthday in yesterday’s stale yukata, reeking of a fitful night’s sleep on the couch, and staring daggers at the world’s most thoughtful birthday cake because his boyfriend of a six months, his closest friend since forever, was in Korea and not here.
When Kojiro got the call for the culinary show audition, Kaoru had been with him, because Kaoru was always with him. And when Kaoru insisted Kojiro go, even though the audition fell on Kaoru’s birthday, it had felt like the Good Boyfriend thing to do.
Except now, Kaoru wanted nothing quite as desperately as he wanted Kojiro.
Kojiro’s flight landed tomorrow around lunch. Kaoru had time to put the cake back in the box, shave his legs, wash his hair, and meticulously lay out everything needed to climb Kojiro like a tree the minute he walked through the door. He could open the box again with Kojiro and feign surprise.
Surely Kojiro didn’t think he could bake Kaoru the cake of his neglected childhood dreams and not expect Kaoru to fuck him about it.
Kaoru was still sitting on the bar stool, staring at the cake and thinking about the coarse hair on Kojiro’s thighs when the front door opened.
“Kaoru?” Kojiro called down the hall.
Kaoru was on his feet in an instant. He was fumbling with the box when Kojiro appeared in the doorway.
“Hey—aw, you opened it without me?” Kojiro asked, exasperated. He wore sweatpants and a Hawaiian shirt buttoned just to the middle. The outfit perfectly screamed airport and Kojiro.
Kaoru froze, wide-eyed, and Kojiro froze in response.
Kaoru dropped the box on the floor, dazed as he closed the distance and threw his arms around Kojiro’s neck.
He pulled Kojiro’s mouth down to his and Kojiro went easily, opening on impact.
When Kaoru pulled back for a second to fix the angle of their heads, Kojiro dropped his bag and broad hands circled Kaoru’s waist, pushing up his spine and pulling them together once more.
Kaoru sighed from the heat, cupping Kojiro’s jaw. He leaned his weight into Kojiro and grazed his lip with his teeth and Kojiro groaned and melded every inch of his front against Kaoru in response.
Kaoru was kiss-drunk and melting in seconds as he sipped Kojiro’s lips, opened his mouth for his tongue, and sunk his hands into the hair at his neck.
Kojiro detached their mouths with a wet sound and peppered kisses on the side of Kaoru’s mouth, up the edge of his jaw, clearly aiming for the spot below his ear.
Kaoru caught his breath. “You’re back early,” he muttered.
Kojiro bit and sucked the spot, drawing a keen from Kaoru, and pulled back to smile at him. “Pushed to go first and filmed my stuff at, like, four this morning. Happy birthday.”
The corners of Kojiro’s eyes crinkled. Kaoru’s dick throbbed in response, which was some bullshit.
He pulled Kojiro back into another kiss, mostly so he wouldn’t have to look at him.
“Come on,” Kaoru whispered against Kojiro’s lips a minute or two later. He pushed Kojiro with both hands in the direction of the bedroom.
Kojiro pinned him sporadically along the way, against the wall, then the back of the door, then another wall, where a mirror rattled precariously.
Kaoru opened his eyes and found they were in the bedroom. He nudged Kojiro out of his way and trailed off towards the bathroom.
Kojiro huffed.
Instinct took over and Kaoru swung around to face him. “What, ape?”
Kojiro rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. He licked his kiss-swollen lips before speaking and Kaoru’s throat constricted at the sight. “Come on, princess. Get on the bed.”
It was Kaoru’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m going to shower before I let you fuck me. Because it’s my birthday and I want to.”
Kojiro’s hands went up in surrender and Kaoru left him for the bathroom.
Under the warm stream, Kojiro’s stubble, or rather the impact of Kojiro’s stubble on Kaoru’s face became glaringly apparent. Kaoru wiped at the sting around his mouth and jaw and looked over at Kojiro, still in his clothes and leaning against the vanity. “Shave,” he commanded.
Kojiro grumbled but turned around and switched on the sink anyway.
Once the shower was off and the bulb put away, Kaoru grabbed his hair towel and blow dryer and frowned at freshly-shaved Kojiro till he scooted out of the way of the mirror.
Kaoru eyed Kojiro in the reflection. “Wash off the plane smell,” he said.
Kojiro seemed to interpret that as an invitation to invade Kaoru’s space instead. He grinned at Kaoru in the mirror, chin resting on Kaoru’s bare shoulder.
“I don’t know, Kaoru,” he said, voice low and teasing. “I thought you liked my smell.”
Kaoru switched the blow dryer on and to the highest setting, aiming right at Kojiro’s face and making him splutter.
“Shower,” he insisted.
Kojiro turned away, stripping off his shirt, but the damage had already been done. Kaoru was blushing. He should have never told Kojiro how much he enjoyed the smell of his sweat.
He switched to blow drying and watched Kojiro out of the corner of his eye. Water sleuthed down Kojiro’s face and dripped off his chin as he rinsed out his hair. Kaoru, meanwhile, had dried the same strip of his hair into oblivion.
He focused on the task at hand and eventually heard the water shut back off.
When he looked up again, hair soft and straight, Kojiro was staring at him. Kaoru could see Kojiro’s arm moving back and forth near his abdomen, but the dividing wall of the shower obscured everything below.
Kaoru’s tongue felt heavy. He couldn’t stop staring at Kojiro’s slow, lewd pull. Kaoru felt himself stiffen when Kojiro’s mouth parted with a pant, his eyes still locked with Kaoru’s.
Kojiro moved, stepping out of the shower and revealing the hand he had curled around himself, and Kaoru almost dropped the blow dryer he was, for whatever reason, still holding.
He set it down. Unplugged it. Looked up and Kojiro was right in front of him. Hand and arm still moving back and forth, pace leisurely. Kaoru could feel the heat of his panting breaths across the bridge of his nose.
Kojiro dragged his eyes down and pointed at something. Kaoru realized it was his hair towel. With clumsy hands, Kaoru picked up the towel as Kojiro shuffled forward and leaned his forehead on Kaoru’s shoulder.
Kaoru dragged the soft cloth over Kojiro’s green curls and the satisfaction of Kojiro’s responding shutter had him whining, high-pitched and undignified. He couldn’t find the will to care. There was something about the closeness, the skin-to-skin, the silent request that Kaoru take care of him, that felt just as good as any blow job Kojiro had ever given him.
And the quiet domination of Kojiro taking his own pleasure while Kaoru watched and felt and heard made Kaoru dizzy, mind light and airy. Kojiro pressed his cheek against Kaoru’s and Kaoru whined again. Kojiro pressed his lips against Kaoru’s neck and Kaoru had to set the towel down and grip the edge of the vanity.
Blindly, Kaoru reached a hand down between them and Kojiro clicked his tongue.
“On the bed,” Kojiro said, and Kaoru went.
As Kaoru laid down gently on top of the comforter and felt the bed dip as Kojiro crawled over him to dig through the night stand, he suddenly remembered his plan to thank Kojiro.
He set his fingertips lightly on Kojiro’s cock, curling his hand loosely and looking up at Kojiro in question.
Kojiro, shifting back so his face hovered above Kaoru’s, cocked an eyebrow.
“Let me suck you,” Kaoru asked, voice thready.
Kojiro scanned his face, damp curls falling around his ears and forehead.
After a moment, Kojiro shook his head. “No,” he said, simply. “I think I’d like to take you apart with my tongue. For your birthday.”
Any other thought of a sexual ‘thank you' fled Kaoru’s mind.
Kojiro wasted no time, leaning back on his heels and lifting Kaoru’s legs. He pressed Kaoru’s knees to his chest and Kaoru was exposed.
Kojiro started at his chest, mouthing and biting at his collarbones, his sternum. Kaoru cried out when Kojiro scraped one nipple with his teeth, then the other, and back again.
Kojiro’s mouth moved down Kaoru’s stomach and Kaoru could feel the bed dip once more as he shimmied down to lie on his stomach.
A string of syllables, Kojiro’s name and open vowels and expletives, fell out of Kaoru’s mouth as Kojiro took the tip of him lightly between his lips. Kaoru’s hips writhed, stuttering as Kojiro traced his shaft. Each touch was light, a ghost of sensation that made Kaoru want to die a little.
Kaoru’s abs tensed painfully when Kojiro traced down his balls. He let out a sob, a pathetic, hiccuping noise, when Kojiro finally reached his hole and traced it lightly with his tongue.
“Please,” Kaoru said, mindless.
No sooner than the word left his mouth, Kojiro pushed, splitting Kaoru open on his tongue.
Kaoru fisted his fingers in the comforter to keep himself on the bed as Kojiro singlemindedly went about pulling him apart.
The sounds Kaoru was making felt almost inhuman, just like they did every time Kojiro had him like this. And, like every other time, Kojiro found Kaoru’s hand without looking or losing his rhythm and pulled it to replace Kojiro’s own in holding up Kaoru’s knee. Kaoru’s other hand mirrored the action on the other knee and Kojiro hummed his approval.
Kaoru held himself open, feeling tears gather in the corners of his eyes while Kojiro, hands freed, used one to pop the lube bottle open, pour, and sink his thumb into Kaoru in one swift movement.
His hips jerked, and Kojiro leaned back as he replaced tongue with thumb. Fingers followed with more lube, and the tears did finally escape Kaoru’s lashes at the fullness of the stretch.
Kojiro, steadily pumping his fingers, latches his mouth to the skin where Kaoru’s thigh meets his groin. He bit his way across the delicate flesh and added another finger and Kaoru was panting.
“Please,” he begged once more. “Please, please, please, please—”
Kojiro pulled his fingers out, got his knees under himself, and spit on Kaoru’s fluttering hole.
Kaoru could have come from that sight, that feeling, alone, but then Kojiro was leaning up his body and Kaoru sunk his fingernails into the underside of his knees to hold on till they got to the next part, till Kojiro slicked himself up roughly and sunk in all the way with one push.
Kaoru tensed, noises turning hoarse, eyes shooting up as Kojiro loomed over him.
Kojiro's eyes roamed Kaoru’s face and god, Kaoru must look a mess. Kojiro stuck a hand behind Kaoru’s head, carding his fingers through his hair and fisting at the nape, pulling his head at a sharp angle as he thrust.
The sensations were everywhere. Overwhelming. Kaoru was sobbing again. His eyes slipped shut.
“I know,” Kojiro muttered somewhere near Kaoru’s cheek. “I know, baby.” His pace was brutal, the noises wet and brilliant.
Kaoru felt his toes curling. Pleasure, a wave so strong he knew it would send him sprawling, choking, pulled closer and closer towards the base of his gut.
“Close,” he whispered.
Warm, wet lips pressed against the delicate skin beneath his eye, lapping up the tears there.
“Come on,” Kojiro whispered in return. “For me.”
Who was Kaoru to deny him?
The orgasm hit him and his mind desperately grasped at the feeling of it, begging to remember everything. His whole body tensed, seemed to sob along with him, and hot spurts of release hit far up his chest. He couldn’t suck in air with the way every muscle clenched. His scream was silent and dizzying.
And Kojiro was there through all of it, picking up the pace and pushing Kaoru past the breaking point, kissing at his face and neck till he, himself locked up and came with a grunt.
Kaoru sucked in a rattling breath.
Kojiro fell to one side of him, reaching over to pry Kaoru’s hands away from his thighs, gently guiding his legs back down. He lay beside him, rubbing a thumb against Kaoru’s shoulder until Kaoru’s breathing slowed.
Kaoru groaned, stretching out the tightness.
Kojiro propped himself up on one arm and looked down at him. “Happy Birthday,” he said, smiling like a dork.
“Dork,” Kaoru muttered, pressing a hand flat against Kojiro’s face.
Kojiro licked it and Kaoru yanked the hand away.
Still smiling, Kojiro laid his head on Kaoru’s chest. “Why’d you open my surprise?” He asked, yawning.
“Bored and curious,” Kaoru said aloud. Missed you terribly, he said in his head.
“Did you like it? I made it myself.”
Kaoru pressed his chin into his chest to look down at Kojiro, incredulous. Kojiro looked up in return, batting his eyelashes.
Kaoru’s cheeks heated. “Why did you decide to make it this year?”
Was it because they had finally crossed the bridge in their relationship? If Kojiro’d remembered Kaoru’s dream cake for twenty two some-odd years, there had to be a reason he was letting Kaoru know now.
But then, Kojiro shrugged and said, “Saw the recipe in an email last month. Made me think of you.”
Well, yes, but also no. Something about the shrug set off alarm bells. What did he mean?
“Why did it make you think of me?” Kaoru pressed.
Kojiro pursed his lips. He leaned up enough to look at Kaoru fully, his eyes searching the air like he was looking for something to say. “I don’t know…just seemed like something you’d like.”
Ah. Kaoru’s gut twisted. Kojiro didn’t remember. Kojiro didn’t intend it. Kaoru had crafted a romantic story in his head about the love of his life remembering a sore spot from his childhood, and of course it wasn’t true.
Kojiro was sitting up now, frowning at him in his worried way. Kaoru noticed how tense he’d become. He pushed a breath out of his nose.
“You okay?” Kojiro asked, and it was the wrong thing to ask.
Kaoru’s eyes stung. Damn it. He blinked several times, sucking the breath he’d just let out right back in.
Kojiro grabbed his hand and Kaoru knew he was being stupid. Fuck.
“The cake,” Kaoru said, words choppy and distant. “It’s the kind I would ask my mother to make.”
Kojiro’s frown deepened for a minute, then he just looked sad. “And she never did,” he guessed correctly.
Kaoru averted his gaze, looking down at where their hands joined. “Someone was always sent to buy one of the strawberry ones.”
Kojiro’s grip tightened. Kaoru felt like a fool. He looked up at him, pushing the sting away.
“Other people had it worse,” he muttered, resolute.
Kojiro huffed like he was angry. “No, Kaoru.”
And Kaoru was crying. Not the fun, sexy kind, but big, fat, ugly tears that made him screw up his nose and choke on his breath.
Kojiro hauled him up and into his chest. He gripped Kaoru by the shoulders and whispered into his hair. “You deserved better.”
Kaoru was inconsolable for a while after that because the truth was, he had. He had deserved better than parents who left for weeks at a time, who had their employees buy him cake when someone reminded them it was his birthday, who hadn’t spoken to Kaoru since he was sixteen.
Kojiro was tracing patterns against his back when Kaoru resurfaced. After a moment, Kaoru wiped his nose on Kojiro’s chest because Kojiro didn’t care, and exhaled.
“That was a lucky guess,” he said into Kojiro’s skin.
Kojiro pulled Kaoru’s face away with both hands and held him up. “What was?” he asked.
“The cake, Kojiro,” Kaoru said, but it came out funny with Kojiro pressing his cheeks. The eye roll that followed was weak.
Kojiro pressed his lips against Kaoru’s before pulling back once more. “What is it about that cake that made you want it?” he gently asked.
Kaoru had to think for a second. “It was in a book, I think. Something American. The kid made yellow cake and chocolate frosting with his parents for his birthday party. It sounded…unimaginable.”
Kojiro’s smile was small and soft, still too sad for Kaoru’s comfort.
Kaoru leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him.
Kojiro sighed into his hair. “I hope you know you’re getting that cake every year from now on. And next year, you’re helping me make it. I’m a busy man.”
Kaoru smiled into Kojiro’s neck. “Busy gorilla,” he corrected.
Kojiro grunted.
“Thank you,” Kaoru said after a moment. “I love you,” he added, and it wasn’t nearly as scary as he thought it would be.
Especially when Kojiro tightened his hold and muttered, “I love you, too.”
(Kaoru made him take another shower before they ate the cake.)