today's #bokuaka thread is boxer bokuto | doctor akaashi (cw:violence) (pt.1) (for @/tanniedottedbee's request of alt sport/love at first sight) --- Akaashi leans against the wall of a grungy, underground club, waiting for Kenma. He's tired, and already wants to leave.
He's been running on four hours of sleep a night since he started his surgery block, and he's more tense than usual--restless, irritated. Wishing he could feel any way but blankly numb. It doesn't help, being packed tightly amongst strangers, eyes watery with cigarette smoke.
The atmosphere is buzzing, hot and heavy with the promise of violence. Someone offers Akaashi a drink, and he turns it down with a sharp flick of his head. He can't remember the last time he took someone up on such an offer; he can't remember the last time he wanted to.
He pushes off from the wall, scanning the crowd for Kenma's bleached hair. Kenma, the closest thing he has to a best friend, and architect of all his worst decisions. The only person who could lure him to a place like this, baited with the promise of 'something interesting'.
He spots Kenma across the room, hunched low and peering up at some guy with messy black hair, all long limbs and feral smile. Kenma looks relaxed...interested. He walks over slowly, catching the end of their conversation as he navigates around a sweaty mass of bodies.
'Bo's ready for this,' the man is saying, his fingers resting just shy of Kenma's neck--a statement. Akaashi is sure Kenma's leaning into it, angling his body so that his skin just brushes the edge of those long fingers. 'Keiji.' Kenma's voice is quiet, assured. 'You're here.'
He waves a hand behind him as he turns away. 'Kuro was just leaving.' The man grins, but doesn't protest, melting into the crowd as Kenma leads Akaashi to a more secluded area above the ring. 'Don't,' Kenma warns as soon as Akaashi catches his eye. 'I don't want to hear it.'
They settle into their seats, finally separated from the throng. The air is still heavy, charged, but Akaashi feels like he can breathe a little easier. Kenma attracts many looks, but is given a wide berth. The music pulses and Akaashi watches Kenma signal for a drink.
As soon as a glass is placed in Kenma's hand, the music shifts to something faster, pounding and urgent. The crowd hushes, anticipation building as they scramble to find a place to settle. There's a ripple from across the room, and a door opens to a rush of frantic cheering.
The crowd folds inward in a chaotic tide, people desperate to try to catch a glimpse of the fighters. This is Akaashi's first time at the fights, but it's obvious that everyone's more worked up than usual. The room is frenzied; a sea of sweaty bodies, waves of hoarse screams.
Akaashi doesn't understand the appeal, not really. To him, every hit is nothing more than a possible injury, another problem that he doesn't have the desire to solve. He's been long inured to blood and bones, well attuned to the violent potential of the human body.
He'll stay long enough to placate Kenma, and that's it. -- The wild adulation rises to a fever-pitch as the fighters finally rush into the ring, and then falls to dead silence as they turn to face one another.
The tension is palpable, ripe with the sharp-edged potential of a raised knife, a brewing storm. Distracted by rapid shift, by the money that changes hands as more people take their seats, Akaashi doesn't look toward the ring until he hears the bellowing roar of an announcer.
At his shout of 'BOKUTO KOUTAROUUU!' the crowd fractures. It's a percussive impact, a thundering crash; the loudest they've been so far. Akaashi's eyes flicker toward the ring, spotting a broad expanse of tattooed skin as Bokuto Koutarou raises his arms to work the crowd.
The artwork is exquisite--an owl in flight, wings outstretched and talons poised for the kill--and covers the entire breadth of Bokuto's back. An unexpected jolt of heat hits Akaashi, spreading fast as he follows the curve from impossibly wide shoulders to perfect biceps.
Bokuto turns, a bright smile on his face as everyone cheers. His hands are wrapped in tape, but Akaashi's eyes are drawn to his knuckles, split open and bruised, a violent history written into skin. He has the absurd urge to press them to his mouth--to explore, to taste.
Akaashi can feel Kenma's eyes on him, and is determined to give nothing away. He crosses his legs, propping up an elbow so that he can rest his chin in his hand. 'Don't they wear gloves?' 'Not here.' Some approaches and whispers in Kenma's ear before scurrying away.
Akaashi watches Bokuto's body move under the lights--the leonine grace, the obvious power--and tries not to shiver. He tips his head toward the ring. 'I suppose that's your Kuro's 'Bo'?' Kenma bristles--or as close as he ever comes to bristling--and cuts his eyes at Akaashi.
'He's not my Kuro.' He pauses, nodding slowly as Bokuto's eyes catch him in the crowd. 'But yes, that's him.' Bokuto approaches his opponent. The man is big, but unremarkable. He doesn't have Bokuto's definition, his sheer presence. Akaashi almost feels sorry for him.
'Will he win?' Akaashi aims for casual, but the edge of Kenma's lips turn up with the question. 'I told you,' he says. 'Interesting.' He waits just long enough for Akaashi to feel a pulse of annoyance, then nods. 'He'll win.' Before Akaashi can reply, the bell sounds. --
Bokuto springs into action and Akaashi's entire focus shifts. All thoughts of Kenma's knowing gaze, of the oppressive weight of all these bodies, of his numb fatigue are wiped clear. The entire room brightens, his senses sharpen. Everything fades away, leaving only Bokuto.
And Bokuto is breathtaking. He's too good for this place, that much is instantly clear. He moves with careful precision, a beautiful dance that leaves his opponent frustrated and floundering. His hits are clean, bright snaps that Akaashi is barely able to follow.
There's the thud of rapid hits, crimson arcs of blood, but Akaashi doesn't blink, can't look away from Bokuto's wild grin. He's a shining star in the darkness of this pit; too bright by half and utterly alive. Akaashi wonders what desperate choices must have brought him here.
Bokuto's opponent makes a final lunge--a foolish gambit that has Akaashi's heart racing, his stomach churning as he grips his chair. Bokuto evades it easily, harnessing the momentum and ending the match with a single punch. His opponent drops and the room explodes with sound.
Akaashi's entire body lights up, a tide of emotion sweeping through him, and then he's out of his seat, screaming wildly along with everyone else. Kenma's small grin spreads into a knowing smirk and he places a hand on Akaashi's shoulder, drags him back down to his seat.
'Should I text Kuro?' His eyebrow raises and Akaashi knows it's useless to feign ignorance. 'Bokuto loves meeting his fans.' Part of Akaashi--the spiteful, stubborn part--wants to turn Kenma down. To walk away with his pride intact.
Instead, his gaze is pulled toward the ring. Bokuto's arms are still raised, his body glistening with sweat. 'Yeah,' he says, voice cracking against the dry expanse of his throat. 'Yeah, that would be fine.' --- tbc! this may end up kind of long (sorry), so i hope you enjoy! 💕
Kuroo, like most people, materializes out of nowhere the moment Kenma texts. 'Keiji, Kuroo Tetsurou; Kuroo, Akaashi Keiji.' 'Keiji-kun.' Kuroo's face is bright, teasing, all sharp angles and leering eyes, but his body is tuned only to Kenma. 'Who did you bring for me, Kitten?'
'Someone smart enough to know how to kill you and get away with it.' Kenma doesn't even look at Kuroo as he speaks, which only seems to spur him on. 'Oya?' Kuroo looks Akaashi with renewed interest, his smile stretching impossibly wide.
'I'm a medical resident,' Akaashi clarifies, unwilling to be a participant in this odd, convoluted foreplay. 'Well, Sensei--' Kuroo gives an exaggerated bow, his eyes surreptitiously scanning the emptying building as he moves. 'I guess I'll have to be on my best behaviour.'
A slow trickle of people come and go while they wait; Kuroo hovers near Kenma, his body tensing whenever anyone gets too close. With the adrenaline from the fight mostly worn away, Akaashi is left cold and washed out, twitchy and irritable. 'I think I should go.'