Kyoutani/Yahaba, Dogboy
Yahaba cannot believe this situation. It’s completely stupid. Completely, totally dumb. He can’t believe that his life has led to this point, standing naked in an alleyway at shitfuck o’clock in the middle of the week with some kid alternately staring at the ground, his face, and his junk, asking him, of all fucking things, what breed of dog he is.
This is utterly ridiculous.
Yahaba throws one hand in the air, cups the other protectively around his dick, and for some reason, probably because he’s tired and on edge and still really, really naked, he answers the question. “If you must know, I’m an Afghan Hound.”
You know. Mostly. There’s something else in there too, probably, or at least that’s what they’d decided that one time Oikawa had convinced Yahaba to shift forms and thereafter spent about two hours consulting the internet about dog breeds before giving up and calling Iwaizumi, who, surprisingly enough, knows all about this stuff because apparently his aunt judges dog shows.
But like hell is Yahaba going to admit that he’s a mutt to some stranger.
Kyoutani purses his lips and furrows his eyebrows, and he’s either thinking about that or trying to hold in a fart. Yahaba honestly doesn’t care which, but he does really wish that he’d move out of the way, already, because Yahaba sort of wants to go home now, thank you. He needs a shower and a nap and something to eat that isn’t the pizza crust his dog form fished out of a garbage bin behind the Domino’s a few blocks away.
Finally, Kyoutani speaks. “I didn’t think you looked like an Afghan Hound,” he says with a very serious tone and very little tact. Yahaba flushes high on his cheeks and grinds his teeth together. “Would you show me again?”
“No,” Yahaba blurts reflexively, and Kyoutani’s face falls a little. And then he gets that thinking-fart look again.
“Is it like… are you a werewolf? You can’t control it?”
Of all the insulting -- Yahaba growls under his breath (a human growl, thank you very much) and says, “Do I look like a ravenous beast to you?” before he promptly shifts back into his dog form. He puffs his chest out and sets his ears back and resents the fact that he has to tilt his head to one side in order to look up at Kyoutani.
“No,” Kyoutani murmurs, and he reaches down to rub Yahaba’s ears.
And -- oh. That feels good. That feels really good. Yahaba’s tail starts wagging before he can think to stop it, and it completely ruins the effect of the warning huff he gives to tell Kyoutani to back off.
“Cute,” Kyoutani says to himself. If Yahaba had been human, he would never have heard it, but his dog ears are excellent at hearing things people don’t mean them to. His traitorous tail wags even faster at the compliment. Kyoutani continues kneading at his ears with one hand, but the other one scruffs down his back, with scratching fingernails, and Yahaba practically drools, it feels so good.
“Do you want to come home with me?” Kyoutani asks.
Several things run through Yahaba’s mind at that. The first is, fuck off, no he doesn’t, he has his own home, he’s not some stray. The second is that this boy probably is stupid, actually, after all, if he’s just inviting some random dogboy home with him.
Unfortunately for Yahaba’s human sensibilities, the dog is predominant in the front of his mind right now, and the dog really really likes ear rubs and back scratches and especially the scent of bacon emanating from a grocery bag in Kyoutani’s backpack, and so despite Yahaba’s better judgement, he barks assent and follows Kyoutani out of the alleyway.
He can always go home later.