Chapter Text
Something about being surrounded on all fronts for months by an alien language makes the sound of Japanese drifting across the beach hit Shouyou like an electric shock.
Then he turns to see who it is and gets zapped all over again.
The last time he saw Oikawa Tooru was three years ago on the other side of the world. He couldn’t’ve spoken more than ten words to the guy, and they were all either timid, anxious stammering or short bursts of competitive trash talk. But the unbreakable bond of Miyagi prefecture high school volleyball rivalry—or maybe just the one-in-a-million coincidence of meeting in this country in this city on this beach—is enough to make Oikawa ditch his teammates for dinner with Shouyou.
(When Oikawa pauses before grabbing his fork and puts his hands together, Shouyou rushes to follow. Their quiet Thank you for the meal sends an ache through his chest, but he catches a flicker of emotion in Oikawa’s eyes and knows his fellow ex-pat understands, and that soothes the homesickness a little.)
Time has put them on equal footing, it seems, because Shouyou has no trouble making conversation with Oikawa over their meal. To his surprise, Oikawa is actually sorta, kinda, totally charming. According to all his secondhand knowledge (read: Kageyama) Oikawa’s supposed to be a giant asshole. Maybe it used to be true. But this Oikawa, with his shorter hair and broader shoulders, is mischievous, and funny, and really, really passionate about volleyball. His story about José Blanco takes Shouyou straight back to the Takinoue Electronics window, wide-eyed and gripping his bike handles, seeing the Little Giant fly.
So, it turns out they’re kindred spirits. Inviting Oikawa to play beach volleyball with him is a no-brainer.
Things just kind of spiral from there.
Night three with Oikawa finds them at a poorly-lit bar near Shouyou’s apartment. Grabbing drinks isn’t something Shouyou does very often—half the time, he honestly forgets that he’s legal—but he’s gone to this bar a handful of times after matches. It’s more crowded at night, though. Shouyou has to speak loudly to be heard over the noise.
“And then, he told me he had Portuguese-dubbed anime, but get this—he tells me this in perfect Japanese!”
Oikawa’s jaw drops, just as Shouyou had hoped it would. “No way. You’re fucking with me.”
“No, seriously! I swear to God.”
Oikawa laughs then, loud and genuine. “Holy shit. What an asshole.” He takes a drink of the caipirinha Shouyou had ordered for him.
“No, no,” Shouyou says absently, watching Oikawa’s throat as he swallows. Then he replays what he just said and starts guiltily. Pedro deserves a better defense than that! “He’s really nice! He’s just, you know. Shy.”
“If you say so.”
“I just can’t believe I could’ve been talking to him with no problems.” Shouyou grabs his own caipirinha off the table. “This whole time, I’ve been stumbling over Portuguese like an idiot!”
“Well, you’ve gotta stumble over it at first. Es como aprendés,” Oikawa says, the words rolling effortlessly off his tongue. He finishes with a wink, so ridiculously confident that Shouyou has a moment of empathy for the packs of girls that followed him around in high school.
He sighs. “Your accent’s so good. Mine’s terrible.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like hearing you speak Portuguese.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure,” Oikawa says, long eyelashes casting a shadow over half-lidded eyes. “It’s pretty hot.”
And maybe it’s because the humid air is making everything warm and cozy, or maybe it’s because Shouyou’s finally ready to admit that Oikawa’s been flirting with him for three days straight, or maybe it’s just the liquid courage in his bloodstream, but Shouyou looks Oikawa dead in the eyes as he counters in Portuguese, “You’re hot.”
Oikawa scrunches up his nose. “A cat? Did you just call me a cat?”
Shouyou wracks his brain for Portuguese vocab. Você é um gato does indeed translate literally to You are a cat, doesn’t it? “It’s an expression!” he says quickly. “You know, like, slang!” A flush crawls down his neck. “How’d you even know?”
Oikawa raises an amused eyebrow at him. “Gato means cat in Spanish, too.”
“Oh.” Shouyou takes a drink; the cachaça only burns half as much as his face.
Oikawa takes a sip of his own glass, lulling Shouyou into a false sense of security before he says slyly, “So what’s the slang mean?”
Shouyou chokes on his cocktail.
Oikawa smiles like he’s laughing at a private joke. “I mean, I have an idea, based on context.”
Oh, man. Shouyou’s sweating now. “Um.”
Oikawa sets his drink on the table, takes a step closer. “How about I guess, and you tell me if I’m right?”
Shouyou swallows. He sets his cocktail on the table, too, right as Oikawa steps into his space.
Oikawa leans in close, very close, too close to be misconstrued. A soft exhale flutters across Shouyou’s lips as Oikawa pauses, giving him the chance to back up, to flinch away. All he does is hold his breath. Oikawa takes his stillness as the permission it is and, with a playful smile, presses his mouth to Shouyou’s.
The touch shocks him back to life and into action, cupping the back of Oikawa’s neck and pulling him into a deeper kiss. He tastes like hard liquor and sweet lime and fledgling adulthood. The Rio nightlife fades into a dull thrum around them. Oikawa’s hands are at his waist, broad and strong, and Shouyou wants those hands to touch him everywhere.
He pulls back, leaving Oikawa’s lips wet and curved into something pleased and a little devious. The noise around them snaps back to full volume, and Shouyou’s talking before his brain can catch up. “My roommate’s out for the night.”
“Is that so?” One of Oikawa’s fingers draws a wavy line down Shouyou’s chest. When he meets Shouyou's eyes again, his gaze is charged. “Wanna get out of here?”
They’re in Shouyou’s room, Oikawa’s tongue in his mouth, when it hits him that he has the Grand King in his apartment—in fucking Rio de Janeiro of all places—and that they’re almost definitely about to have sex. A jittery rush of nerves washes over him, and he hesitates without meaning to.
Oikawa misses nothing. He pulls away to ask against Shouyou’s lips, “You good?”
Shouyou takes a calming breath, centering himself in the present instead of the daunting near future. “Yeah.” He grins. “I’m great, Oikawa-san.”
Oikawa smiles back and kisses the corner of his mouth. His hands ruffle Shouyou’s curls. “I’ve always wanted to touch your hair.”
“Me, too!” Shouyou reaches up to play with a lock near Oikawa’s ear. “But I’m afraid to mess it up.”
“Oh, Chibi-chan,” Oikawa says, eyes gleaming with amusement, “I’m hoping you’ll do a lot worse than mess up my hair.”
Shouyou knows a challenge when he hears one. Nerves evaporating, he pushes Oikawa backwards until his legs hit the bed and he’s forced to sit down on the edge of it, climbs into his lap, grabs his face, and kisses him. Because he’s never once been able to resist proving himself, he drags his fingers roughly through Oikawa’s hair to tousle it. Oikawa groans deep in his throat before breaking off into a delighted laugh.
“Shit, you’re fun,” he says, as Shouyou kisses at his jaw. “This is going to be fun.”
When Oikawa grabs the hem of his tank top and yanks upwards, Shouyou lifts his arms and lets himself be stripped. The tank goes flying across the room. Oikawa’s eyes sweep over him in slow, obvious appreciation, and Shouyou can’t help the way his face heats up under the attention.
“Damn.” Oikawa slides his hands up Shouyou’s waist, thumbing at his abs, lighting up his skin with fizzling energy. “You look good, Chibi-chan.”
“Shouyou,” he blurts out, then winces. Too much, way too much.
But Oikawa only blinks up at him in surprise before flashing him a teasing grin. “Only if you call me Tooru.”
Shouyou’s face burns. “Take off your shirt, too,” he hesitates, swallowing, “Tooru.”
“Okay, Shouyou,” he says sweetly, and off comes his shirt.
“Wow.” Oikawa—no, Tooru—is stupid ripped. The years he’s spent as a professional athlete have apparently carved his torso into something resembling a Greek sculpture. Shouyou runs a hand down the hard plane of his stomach, pressing into the muscles just to feel them tense under his touch.
Whatever face he’s making has Tooru looking awfully pleased with himself. “Like what you see?”
“Yeah,” Shouyou admits, honest.
Tooru’s smug expression softens at the edges, and he cups the back of Shouyou’s head to draw him into a light, affectionate kiss. Shouyou curves into him eagerly, pressing his tongue against Tooru’s lips until he opens up and they can make out again.
As they kiss, Tooru’s hands wander. He runs them down Shouyou’s chest, up his back, along his waist, calluses dragging just roughly enough to send a shiver through him. It’s all so distracting; Shouyou’s kissing gets sloppier by the minute. When Tooru grabs his ass in a sudden, firm grip, Shouyou has to break away to gasp.
“You know, this,” he squeezes, “is a distraction on the court. It’s why my first serve was so bad.”
Shouyou breathes out a laugh. “Thought it was ’cause you couldn’t jump.”
“Rude.” Tooru gives his ass a playful smack. “No volleyball talk in bed, Shouyou.”
“You’re the one who—!”
Shouyou’s complaint is cut off with a yelp as Tooru stands up, taking Shouyou with him like his nearly 70 kilograms is nothing. Shouyou barely gets a chance to run an appreciative hand up Tooru’s flexing biceps before he’s being deposited into the middle of his bed and Tooru’s covering him with the long, lean lines of his body, licking back into his mouth.
Tooru’s bare skin is hot against Shouyou’s and it makes him hot, too, hot all over, a pressing need prickling down his spine and up his thighs. Shouyou grinds up into Tooru’s hip to alleviate it, his groan muffled by kissing. Tooru gets a hand between them and palms Shouyou’s cock through his shorts. The sudden, direct pleasure has Shouyou biting down hard on Tooru’s lower lip as he lets out another, longer groan.
Tooru kisses his neck for a bit, then leisurely drifts to his collarbone before continuing down, hand still massaging Shouyou’s now-very-hard cock. He lingers at Shouyou’s nipples, licking and sucking, and Shouyou fights it and fights it until finally, a tiny whimper slips out of him. Tooru smiles and then gets on with it, licking a long line straight down Shouyou’s abs.
When Tooru reaches the top of his shorts, he tugs at the waistband with his teeth, letting it snap against Shouyou’s skin. “May I?” he asks, dipping his fingers just inside the elastic, his intent achingly clear.
Shouyou nods rapidly. Tooru’s grin turns mischievous. He shimmies Shouyou’s pants and underwear down in one go, but then he falters, grin fading.
Those earlier nerves spring back full force as Tooru grips the base of him, too lightly to give him any actual relief, and gives his cock a critical once-over. Shouyou squirms, cheeks flaring up in embarrassment, but when Tooru looks up at him, it’s with awe in his eyes. “Shouyou. Your dick is huge.”
His face goes even hotter, and he nudges Tooru’s ribs with his foot. “Shut up.”
“I’m being serious.” Tooru pumps him once, twice. Shouyou gasps, cock thickening further under the attention. “This isn’t fair. Do you know how much I wanted to top you?” Tooru mouths his way up Shouyou’s cock, letting his lips drag along the skin, his mouth wetting it just enough to make Shouyou shiver. “I’m too much of a switch for this,” he complains.
Tooru licks the pre-cum off the tip, then draws Shouyou into his mouth. The slide is agonizingly slow, and Shouyou throws his head back and lets out a tortured moan. When he bumps the back of Tooru’s throat, Tooru moans in answer, then sucks all the way back off his cock with a pop.
“Fuck,” Tooru says, expression ten times more feral than it was before. “I want this inside me.”
Shouyou blinks, trying to keep up, still a little lightheaded from the two seconds of glorious blowjob he just received. “Right—right now?”
That familiar teasing glint returns to Tooru’s eyes. “If you can handle it, of course.”
Shouyou gives his best challenging glare. “I can handle it.” He tries to sit up, but Tooru stops him with a broad hand on his chest.
Looking up into his dark grin, Shouyou’s reminded that he’s not the only hyper-competitive person in the room. “Oh, it’s on.” Tooru shoves him flat against the bed and straddles him, clothed cock pressing enticingly against Shouyou’s exposed one. “You’re gonna eat those words.”
He bends down and Shouyou surges up to meet him in a fiery kiss. Occupied by Tooru’s talented tongue, Shouyou’s thoroughly unprepared for when he starts grinding.
At the first slow, hot drag of their cocks against each other, Shouyou breaks out of the kiss to gasp, and Tooru breathes a laugh before recapturing Shouyou’s mouth and doing it again. Shouyou groans against his lips.
Tooru rocks back and forth, their bodies sliding together, heat building between them. The pressure grows and intensifies as they grind harder, until Shouyou’s arousal reaches a threshold and it’s not enough, turning from relief into a tease. Shouyou grips Tooru’s hips and pulls down to get more friction, but as soon as he does, Tooru stops moving. Shouyou whines, frustrated, but Tooru shushes him. “Let’s do something better, yeah?”
Shouyou tries to catch his breath. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Like,” Tooru smiles playfully against his lips, “tell me where your lube is.”
“Oh. Yes. Please. Here, let me…” Shouyou pushes at Tooru’s shoulder until he lets him up. He gets off the bed and hurries to dig through his dresser for his lube, hidden under his socks: a habit from high school he hasn’t yet broken. Tooru snatches up the bottle as soon as Shouyou tosses it on the bed, uncapping it with a click.
“Wait! I can do that!” Shouyou says, reaching out as he climbs back onto the mattress.
Tooru, who had gotten naked in the seconds Shouyou’s back was turned, ignores him, drizzling lube onto his fingers. “You’re sweet, Shouyou, but…” He settles back on the pillows and hikes one of his long legs up by the back of the knee. Shy is obviously not a word in Tooru’s vocabulary; Shouyou’s breath catches at the sight of him spread out and exposed, wet fingers tracing his hole. “I want you to watch.”
And then he presses two fingers inside.
If Shouyou wasn’t already hard, his dick would’ve immediately snapped to attention. Tooru isn’t gentle, twisting his wrist as he fucks himself open, slipping in a third finger way quicker than Shouyou would’ve. He pants, mouth open, and watches Shouyou watch him. Shouyou’s cock aches desperately throughout the show, and he finally caves and grasps himself, shuddering with relief as he strokes slowly. Tooru groans at the sight.
He lets go of his leg to grab the lube and toss it at Shouyou. “C’mon,” he says, voice urgent, eyes a little wild.
Shouyou scrambles back to his dresser to grab a condom, enduring Tooru’s whining all the while (“Ugh, seriously? Why didn’t you grab one earlier?”), his face burning as he rolls it on and follows up with lube. As soon as he’s crawled over Tooru, he’s yanked into a fierce kiss. He leans into it, lifting a hand to cradle Tooru’s jaw, but as soon as he does, Tooru gets his legs around Shouyou’s ankles in a way that steals all his leverage and flips them over.
He straddles him again, this time taking Shouyou’s cock in his hand to line it up behind him. “Ready?”
He’s gorgeous, so tall above Shouyou, muscular torso on display, bangs a little sweaty and hanging in his face, his mouth kiss-red and wet. Shouyou nods weakly.
Tooru smirks—reading his mind, Shouyou’s sure of it—and then starts to lower himself onto Shouyou’s cock.
The first push in has Shouyou letting out a noise that should probably be embarrassing, but he can’t think straight over the feeling of Tooru’s insides sucking him in and squeezing him tight. Besides, Tooru’s moaning, too, uninhibited; thank God Pedro’s not home.
Tooru makes it about halfway down before suddenly pausing, panting. Shouyou frowns, stroking Tooru’s thighs. “Are you okay?”
“I told you your dick was huge.” When Tooru looks at him, his brown eyes have gone glassy and dark. “I haven’t bottomed in a while. Just give me a sec…” And with that, he starts rocking back and forth, easing his way down a centimeter at a time. It’s all hot, hot pressure, and Shouyou has to clench every muscle he has to stop himself from instinctively jerking his hips up in search of more.
When Tooru finally sits all the way down, flush with Shouyou’s pelvis, he lets out a long, satisfied sigh. “So good,” he says, taking his own cock in his hand and giving it a few loose pumps. “I knew it would be.”
“You, too,” Shouyou grits out, holding carefully still. “Fuck, Tooru.”
“You don’t have to be so tense,” Tooru says, pulling up off his cock just a little before sitting back down so sweetly that Shouyou can’t help but finally thrust up, too. “That’s it! Just like that.”
He starts up a rhythm, then, moving with purpose. There’s the soft slap of skin at first, growing louder and louder as Tooru starts fucking himself harder and harder. Shouyou grips Tooru’s hips and tries to match his pace, but the wet drag of Tooru’s guts on his cock is so good that it’s all he can do to not just melt into goo on the mattress.
Tooru bends down as if to kiss him, but instead he murmurs against Shouyou’s lips, “Slap my ass.”
“God,” Shouyou whines, turned on and doubly embarrassed, for himself and on Tooru’s behalf, too, since he’s completely unbothered. But Shouyou refuses to be a coward in light of such a direct request. He gropes Tooru’s ass first, fingers digging into his skin, before smacking it with one hand.
Tooru moans in obvious appreciation, but that doesn’t stop him from laughing breathlessly and teasing, “Thought you were a spiker, Shouyou.”
Shouyou fights through his blush and slaps him harder, the smack resounding through the room. Tooru cries out and picks up the pace, riding Shouyou harder, jerking his own cock faster. Shouyou delivers another couple smacks to his ass and Tooru responds so loudly and clenches down on him so tightly that it sends Shouyou teetering close to the edge.
Really, really close, actually. “I’m gonna come.”
“Me, too.” Tooru stills his hips, soothing a hand down Shouyou’s chest. “You can hang on a little longer, right? For me?”
Shouyou’s body is a live wire. He’s painfully hard inside Tooru, each little shift torturous. But the way Tooru’s looking at him—expectant, without a trace of doubt—makes Shouyou want to give him exactly what he’s asking for. “Just—” He takes a shaky breath. “Just give me a second.”
Tooru stays still, his hand petting Shouyou’s chest the only exception. Shouyou manages to breathe and relax, winding down from his almost-peak.
“Okay. You can move again.”
Tooru does, working his hips and thighs, and it’s instantly amazing again. Shouyou only avoids shooting straight back to risky territory by sheer force of will. He rocks his own hips to help Tooru along, smothering his own feelings of pleasure as best he can. When Tooru’s movements stutter unevenly and the hand on his cock starts pumping wildly, Shouyou takes over the work, fucking up into him. When Tooru finally comes, it’s coupled with a raw groan and a tight squeeze around Shouyou’s dick that nearly pushes him over, too. Cum splatters over Tooru’s fist, dripping onto Shouyou’s stomach.
Tooru slumps over him, demanding kisses that Shouyou’s happy to give. He reaches over to the bedside table for a tissue and cleans them up a bit, then pats Shouyou on the arm. “Switch with me, switch with me.”
They roll over into missionary position, Shouyou’s poor, aching cock getting dislodged in the process. Tooru stretches out over the mattress, naked and beautiful, eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. He reclines, watching Shouyou get settled between his legs in lazy amusement, looking every bit like the king Shouyou’s nickname declares him to be.
At the first gentle thrust of his very hard cock back into Tooru’s welcoming body, Shouyou gasps in relief and Tooru sighs contentedly. He keeps his rhythm slow and careful, trying to be considerate and not get rough in the chase toward his own orgasm.
“Shouyou,” Tooru says, and, oh no, he’s got that teasing glint in his eye again. “I wouldn’t have asked to bottom if I didn’t want you to fuck me.”
“I am,” Shouyou rocks forward to make his point, “fucking you.”
“You’re poking me,” Tooru says, a little breathless despite his complaining. “It’s a waste of that impressive dick.”
Shouyou grits his teeth. Distantly, he knows Tooru is trying to rile him up, but it’s working, dammit, and he wants to rise to the challenge. He wants to impress Tooru. He wants to give in to the pleasure his body is literally aching for.
He pushes back on his arms and starts to roll his hips, setting a quick, staccato pace. Tooru maintains his smug composure for a good while, petting Shouyou’s chest, goading him into fucking him harder, faster, but then Shouyou manages to hit his prostate. Tooru digs his nails into Shouyou’s shoulders and shouts, clenching tight enough on Shouyou’s cock to knock the wind out of him.
When Tooru eases up enough, Shouyou gives a hesitant, experimental thrust, aiming for a repeat performance. It takes a couple tries, but the result is worth it: Tooru gasps and throws his head back, hair wild against the pillows. The transformation is immediate. Tooru becomes incapable of making any noise except bitten-off whines and Shouyous and he practically sobs on a particularly deep thrust and, with a shot through his whole body, Shouyou spills over, dropping his head onto Tooru’s sweaty chest as his hips jerk through his orgasm.
“Do you want to come again?” he pants into Tooru’s pecs.
Tooru sounds thoroughly amused. “Sure, if you’re offering.”
Shouyou grabs the lube and sits up, pouring too much onto his hand. Tooru’s expression melts as Shouyou grasps his cock and starts pumping it in a dripping wet handjob. It’s quick and unskilled, Shouyou’s brain too scrambled from coming to have any finesse, but he rocks his flagging-but-still-sort-of-hard cock into Tooru as he does it, and Tooru must’ve been on the edge again anyway, because it does the trick and he comes again, eyes fluttering shut, cum and lube mixing to form an impressive wet mess.
“Gross,” he mumbles, looking at his crotch with distant disdain.
“Sorry,” Shouyou says with a wince, pulling out and standing up to take care of the condom. “We should shower.”
“Yes, please.”
One sleepy joint shower later, Shouyou hesitates before climbing into the freshly-changed covers on his bed. The afterglow always makes him touchy, but he doesn’t want to freak Tooru out by acting too needy.
Once again, Tooru misses nothing. “What is it, Shouyou?”
There’s something intimate about his continued use of that name, something that gives Shouyou the courage to ask, “Are you into cuddling?”
Tooru spreads his arms in response, and Shouyou’s uncertainty bleeds out of him in an instant. He crawls across the bed into Tooru’s waiting embrace, throwing a leg over him and snuggling into his side.
“You’re the dream hookup,” Shouyou whispers in amazement.
Tooru eats it up, a pleased flush on his cheeks. “I try, I try.”
He noses at Shouyou for kisses, and it finally clicks for Shouyou that Tooru must really like kissing, because he’s initiated it a billion times tonight. They make out lazily until Tooru starts to wane.
“I’m little spoon,” he mumbles to Shouyou, before rolling over and promptly passing out.
Shouyou bites his lip to stop from laughing. The Grand King, fucked out and exhausted in his bed, demanding to be spooned. If only his first-year-self could see this, he thinks as he snuggles up against Tooru’s back and closes his eyes.