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They’re lying on Tobio’s bed making the most of the cool breeze from the window. It’s been hot lately, but today there’s wind—a storm coming, maybe. It makes Tobio’s skin feel itchy and electric, anticipatory. For the moment, though, there are crickets crying outside, and Shouyou is trying to wrest his DS from his hands.
“You cheated! I didn’t know there was a shortcut!”
“You can’t cheat in this game, dumbass! You’re just bad at it.”
He rolls away from Shouyou, his breathing just a little fast. His body has been weird today, more like when they first started dating. It happens sometimes—mostly when they’ve been on the court together, or they haven’t had time alone—but it feels just a bit different than usual. Shouyou trying to clamber over him—chest to his back, crotch grinding into his hip—makes him close his eyes, his face feeling warm.
Shouyou stops moving suddenly. “What?” he asks, with unnerving instinct. He always seems to know.
Tobio mashes his face into the pillow. His parents are gone, visiting his uncle and his family, and he could say what he’s feeling—but he’s not totally sure of his body today, confused by the lingering heat and the itch across his skin. Shouyou doesn’t let up; he crawls on top of Tobio more firmly, bouncing a little.
“To-bi-o. Ka-ge-ya-ma. Tell me!”
Shouyou’s face is just above his shoulders, warm breath gusting his neck, and he’s heavier than he looks—a solid weight on top of him, with grabby hands. Tobio finds himself noticing how good it feels to have Shouyou’s crotch rubbing against his butt, as if he wants—
Oh god. That is what he wants, isn’t it?
“It’s nothing,” he says, but when Shouyou bounces again Tobio feels himself pressing back into him, and Shouyou’s sudden stillness says he noticed.
“Tobio?”
He turns his head. “What?”
He hopes his single visible eye is glaring ferociously enough to withhold any teasing—but Shouyou doesn’t look like he wants to tease; he has that blank look on his face, the one he gets when he’s on the verge of a realization. Tobio’s about to say something, but then Shouyou ducks down below his range of vision, and he feels hands rucking his shirt up, then lips pressing kisses along his spine.
He holds his breath, hands fisting in the sheets. This is what he’s been itching for, it feels like—every nerve in his body hums under Shouyou’s ministrations, all his attention pulled to the places where Shouyou’s hands are moving along his sides, caressing his flushed skin, the soft warmth of his mouth.
He feels himself hardening—but more than that he feels an ache inside of him. They’ve tried this before. He’s tried it by himself—but his embarrassment always gets the better of him, and Shouyou—uncharacteristically—seems to accept it. He knows what it feels like to have fingers inside of him, but so far it’s only felt kind of strange; it hasn’t been something he craves.
That seems to be changing.
With his shirt bunched up under his armpits he feels Shouyou moving down further; his hands squeezing his ass, his lips pressing kisses along the lower section of his spine. Tobio lets out a gusting breath, trying not to let his usual nervousness settle inside of him. He thinks of that ache, feels Shouyou’s hands—feels Shouyou’s hands tugging down his shorts, leaving his underwear in place, then his mouth on the backs of his thighs, almost ticklish. He buries his face in the pillow.
“D’you want to do this?” Shouyou asks, coming back up.
Tobio nods into the pillow, his arms up around his head. It’s embarrassing, but he wants to.
“You know I do this all the time, right?” Shouyou asks, and there’s a touch of exasperation in his voice as he sits back. Of course Tobio knows that; they do it together. “Do you think it’s embarrassing when I do it?”
Tobio sits up, facing Shouyou at long last. He feels very naked even though he’s still wearing his boxers—maybe because Shouyou is still fully dressed in his T-shirt and shorts. It makes Tobio feel a bit better that those shorts are tented just like his underwear is.
“Of course I don’t,” he says, glaring. “But that’s you.”
Shouyou still looks exasperated, and maybe he has reason to. It’s just that it looks right when it’s Shouyou receiving; it’s sexy. Shouyou’s body is—
Tobio gives his head a mental shake, trying to clear it of the dirty thoughts his memories produce. He’s getting off track; he can feel that ache inside of him still, and he lets out a breath through his nose. “Do you want to?” he asks.
“You know I do,” Shouyou mumbles. “I’m a guy too, you know.”
“I know that!” Tobio never forgets Shouyou is a guy—he likes that he’s a guy.
He expects Shouyou to berate him more, but instead he finds himself knocked onto his back, his head landing softly on the pillow, Shouyou pressing down on his shoulders. He’s looking down at him with an unreadable expression.
“Okay,” he says.
Tobio looks away. “Okay what, dumbass?”
Shouyou doesn’t answer; he’s too busy moving down Tobio’s body, pressing kisses to his neck. Their erections press together briefly, but then it’s Shouyou’s stomach against him through his boxers, and then Shouyou is mouthing at him clumsily through cotton, wetting it around him. Tobio’s leg twitches up, narrowly missing kneeing him.
Shouyou pats the offending thigh almost condescendingly; Tobio would glare, but he’s caught up in the damp warmth of Shouyou’s mouth and Shouyou’s hand curling just under the curve of his ass. He raises his hips tentatively and the hand sneaks further, grabbing more than caressing now.
That’s fine. That’s what Tobio’s body seems to want, even if it embarrasses him.
He finds himself shifting, trying to get closer to Shouyou—he wants something to hold onto as the sensation of Shouyou’s mouth on him starts to be too much even through fabric.
His body is weird today. Hypersensitive.
When Shouyou looks up his cheeks are flushed, and Tobio looks away quickly, throwing an arm over his face for good measure. He’s not expecting Shouyou to crawl up his body and move it by force, but that’s exactly what happens.
“I’m gonna want to see your face, stupid!” Shouyou says. “You think I haven’t imagined this?”
Tobio looks away, wishing he was still able to shield his expression. It’s not cute for him to writhe under Shouyou, the way it is when Shouyou writhes under him. He’s not sure why Shouyou would want to see it.
“Kageyama!”
Tobio looks up, surprised to hear his last name like that. Somehow, Shouyou still looks flushed and excited, eyes bright—but there’s a frown creeping in too.
“Do you want to do this?” he asks again.
“Of course I do,” Tobio says.
“Are you embarrassed because it’s me?”
What on earth is he talking about? Does he think there’s anyone else he’d be doing this with?
“Because I’m smaller than you?” Shouyou asks, looking away, and Tobio sits up, aware of his damp boxers and his aching body and the fact that he wants to be touched so badly—but only by the idiot boy in front of him. He clamps his hands on either side of Shouyou’s face.
“Dumbass!” he says. “I want this because it’s you! Everything you do is—” sexy “—g-good and I don’t look like you do when I’m…”
He can’t say it. He lets his hands drop.
“You think you don’t look good?” Shouyou asks in a new tone.
“You always say my expressions are scary and in films the taller one always—”
Shouyou puts a hand over his mouth. “I think about doing this all the time and I want to and I think you look amazing.”
Tobio glares.
“If you could see yourself you’d understand,” Shouyou says, casting a glance over his mostly-naked body. “Bakageyama.”
There’s no force behind the insult, and it’s followed by Shouyou leaning in to press soft kisses to the side of his mouth, almost tentative despite his earlier daring. Tobio catches his mouth in a longer kiss, savoring the taste of him—still tinged with melon flavor from the popsicle they shared earlier. Shivers run down his spine.
“Don’t get too excited,” he says when they draw back, and Shouyou scowls in response. One time, when they tried this before, Shouyou came in his underwear while trying to prepare Tobio, and Tobio had been quietly relieved.
He doesn’t want that to happen this time.
Shouyou’s hands are hot as they push him back down before trailing to the waistband of his boxers. He pulls them off without ceremony, his movements sure—probably trying to get Tobio back for his comment.
Tobio’s back arches when Shouyou’s tongue meets bare skin. There’s no lead-up, and it stings almost, the sudden sensation against the shaft of his erection—but he muffles his gasp and searches for more friction, more heat.
Shouyou’s hand begins to accompany his mouth. Tobio squeezes his eyes shut.
“Lube please,” Shouyou says after a minute of white behind Tobio’s eyelids. Tobio grabs it and throws it, impatient—and he glares when Shouyou says, “You don’t have to go to the toilet, right?”
“If I had to, would we be doing this?”
Further scolding dries up in his throat when he feels a cold, slicked-up finger against him, and every muscle in his body seems to clench up. Shouyou places a kiss against the head of his erection—he lets out a breath he didn’t mean to hold—and the finger moves inward, just slightly.
Tension runs through his body—but it’s the right kind, this time. He feels that ache again, warm and ready.
Shouyou presses kisses as he begins to move the finger inside of him, and the feeling of his finger isn’t nearly as awkward as it was the time before, or as intrusive. Tobio’s body wanting it makes it feel easy, and soon he’s shifting to encourage Shouyou to keep going, aware of the softer feeling of Shouyou’s mouth on him. A second finger makes him feel tight, full.
Not unpleasantly so.
“That’s all you can do?” he goads, because he’s starting to feel brave and he’s not used to Shouyou shutting up for this long. Shouyou’s never made anything easy for him, either; he’s earned the right.
“I’m holding back because you’re so inexperienced with this, Kageyama-kun—”
Tobio can’t quite keep a straight face at Shouyou’s lilting voice, and Shouyou sits up a little to grin down at him. He places a sloppy kiss on Tobio’s lips, legs on either side of Tobio’s thigh, fingers still moving; Tobio can feel his erection pressing into his hip. There’s something extra bright about Shouyou in this light, filtered through the half-closed curtains, and maybe this is something that isn’t really that embarrassing, if it makes Shouyou look like that.
And then the realization of what they’re doing crashes over him again and it’s all he can do not to cover his face and hide in the pillow. Shouyou seems to sense the turn in his mood, because he leans in for a kiss, forceful this time; Tobio clings to the sensation to the exclusion of all others. He keeps reminding himself that this is the guy who puked on Tanaka on the way to a practice match, who used to get tangled in nets and knock other people over on the court. Theoretically there should be no way to be ashamed in front of him.
He clenches his teeth around a gasp when the fingers inside of him really begin to push and stretch, and then Shouyou’s moving down his body again, placing bruising kisses on his clavicles, teeth grazing his nipples, mouth trailing kisses from solar plexus to navel, making Tobio’s breath come short. He just about comes when Shouyou licks the head of his erection, but he clenches his body against it, denies himself the release. He feels overwhelmed, like his whole body is a few degrees hotter than usual—like his skin is burning.
When did Shouyou get so good at this?
And then—how often has Shouyou imagined this?
The thought doesn’t cool him down any, and he twitches with want. “Shouyou—” He reaches for a condom, throws one of the foil packets in Shouyou’s direction. He’s not sure if it hits because his vision doesn’t seem to be working right, and when he thinks for a moment longer he realizes his eyes are mostly closed.
“Tobio!” Shouyou says, and it brings him back to his senses just enough to look at Shouyou, kneeling between his legs with a determined look in his eyes. He’s drawn his hands back from him. “Are you sure you want this?”
Some deep dark part of him—one he’ll never give voice to—wants to whine with impatience because the question isn’t do you want this; it’s how much do you want this and at the moment the answer to that question is more than anything. He doesn’t say so, though, even if his body feels like it’s on fire. “Of course,” he manages, then: “Dumbass.”
A flush appears across Shouyou’s cheeks, and Tobio presses his lips together to keep from saying something stupid like you’re pretty or I love you which are both true sentiments but not ones he wants to utter right now; he’s too embarrassed, and Shouyou probably won’t like being told he’s pretty rather than handsome.
Still, he looks like he might be at a loss, just a little, and Tobio sits up and grabs the foil packet from him, tears it along one side with practiced fingers—even though they usually fight to be the one to put it on. Shouyou’s hands look like they might be shaking, which reassures Tobio just a bit.
“Take off your shirt,” he says, and Shouyou does as he’s told while Tobio fumbles with the button of his shorts before pulling them down alongside underwear, over his hips and past his erection, careful not to jam him in any way. When the shorts sit uselessly around Shouyou’s thighs Tobio touches his bared erection, noticing the little shiver that goes through Shouyou. Shouyou still doesn’t try to take the condom from him, even then, which must mean he wants Tobio to put it on.
Tobio doesn’t mind. He likes handling Shouyou—seeing and feeling all the little shivers that go through him, all the sounds he makes. He puts the condom at Shouyou’s tip and rolls it down easily.
“It feels funny,” Shouyou says, looking down. Tobio looks up.
“Uh, yeah.”
Shouyou leans down jerkily, bumps his forehead against Tobio’s. “I’m really gonna do it,” he says, like it’s a threat.
“Good,” Tobio says. He wants that ache to release, wants to do this, wants Shouyou to do it with him. His breath stutters when Shouyou moves down to align himself, and he lays back to give him space, his cheeks flaming. There’s the squirt of the lube bottle, then cold, then pressure.
He keeps a hand over his face, wanting but mortified. Shouyou palms his erection, causing a wave of heat—he relaxes—and Shouyou inches in.
It’s very different from fingers.
He glances down just enough to see Shouyou’s half-closed eyes, his lip trapped between teeth. Shouyou moves back a bit and then further in, and Tobio bites into the palm he has over his mouth, not sure if it’s awkward or pleasurable. He wants it, though, and rocks his hips. Shouyou shudders, and thrusts forward, and Tobio feels him right up against him.
The silence that follows scares him; he wonders if maybe his insides are wrong, if he doesn’t feel as good to Shouyou as Shouyou feels to him—but no. That expression spells pleasure, not crushing disappointment.
Shouyou leans down, pants. “This is—” He looks up and must notice the fact that Tobio’s hiding the bottom half of his face. “What did I say before, stupid?”
“It’s embarrassing!”
Shouyou wrestles his arm away, then the other, his hips jerking in the process—that’s the only reason he gets Tobio’s arms pinned down, or so Tobio tells himself. Every movement of Shouyou’s hips brings a new rush of sensation and Tobio is having trouble breathing. He looks up at Shouyou, feeling totally helpless.
The blush that rises on Shouyou’s face is gratifying; Tobio can see it travel down his neck, even, to his chest.
“See?” Tobio says breathlessly. “Embarrassing.”
Shouyou leans in to kiss him—or tries to. He makes a piteous whining noise, and Tobio rises up on his elbows to close the distance between them. The kiss is clumsy—his lip gets caught between their teeth, and he tastes blood—but the way Shouyou’s leaning puts his straining erection in contact with Shouyou’s abdomen and he finds himself moving, trying to get more pressure.
He knows how to get the pressure he craves.
“I’m going to turn over,” he says, and Shouyou draws back.
“Uh?”
He moves his leg, and Shouyou gets his meaning, moving out of the way without pulling out. Tobio lets the bunched sheets gather beneath him, lying on his stomach. Shouyou is warm behind him, and the sensation of fullness hasn’t abated though the angle is different. Shouyou kisses along his spine, moving his hips just a little, and Tobio bites his lips against the sounds he feels crowding his throat. He ruts forward into the bunched-up sheets just a little and shudders at the added sensation.
“Are you okay?” Shouyou asks, a whisper near the back of his neck, and Tobio nods into the pillow a few times fast, hands clenching. Better than okay, especially once Shouyou starts to move faster, the new angle sending shivers through Tobio, his body tingling hot with need. The only way to ground himself is to cant his own hips into the sheets, let the sensations overcome him together, Shouyou and the sheets under him. Belatedly he realizes he’s moaning—something he doesn’t do. He tries to muffle his involuntary sounds in the pillow, but when Shouyou bites the skin over his shoulder blade his response is too loud to muffle.
Shouyou’s hand is hot against his chest, his face against his back as he moves. Tobio can’t hold anything in; he lets go, and slowly Shouyou’s unusual quiet dissolves into the gasping, needy sounds Tobio is used to. Shouyou fills him, over and over, and Tobio bends into the bed with sobbing breaths, feeling Shouyou hit the ache right where he needs it. The world melts to sensation—in his straining erection, inside of him, Shouyou’s breath on his back, his noises—and he feels his body tip past the edge, all the tingling aches releasing, the tightness in his body letting go and letting go and letting go until it feels like there can’t possibly be any of him left.
Shouyou strains inside of him—his hand clenches—and Tobio can hear the sound of his orgasm, too, and he’s glad because he doesn’t think he could carry on doing anything more once his hips stop moving with aftershock. Shouyou lets his head drop against Tobio’s back.
“You could have warned me,” Shouyou says resentfully. He sounds worn-out.
“About what?”
Tobio doesn’t sound any better; his voice sounds like it’s lived in a cave for a year and grown a beard.
“Your noises.”
He feels his face heat up. He hadn’t known, either—he’s never made noises like that before, or had that much trouble keeping them in. It’s a whole new thing—a thing he doesn’t know how to feel about. “Shut up.”
“Never,” Shouyou says. “We can do that again, right? Sometime?”
Tobio doesn’t think he’d survive not doing it again, now that he knows what it’s like—but Shouyou can be too pushy if he smells a victory. “Sometime,” he says cautiously.
“Okay.” He hears the smile in Shouyou’s voice just before Shouyou pulls out. “Uh—”
“Give it here,” Tobio says. He sits up tiredly—his body feels weird, now, but differently weird—and pulls at the condom, careful to keep the mess in. It seems a little silly given the fact that his own crotch is smeared with cum, as is his bed, but the clean-up is force of habit. He ties a knot in the condom and puts it in a tissue, then in an empty energy bar wrapper for good measure. It thunks against the side of the trashcan satisfyingly. When he looks back at Shouyou Shouyou is staring at him.
“What?” he asks.
Shouyou colors. “Nothing.”
He convinces Tobio to lie back on the bed, after that, wet sheets kicked aside—still leaving a wet spot Tobio grimaces at—and for some reason Shouyou has more trouble keeping his hands to himself than normal. He keeps moving in to press kisses, trail fingers, and Tobio lies on the edge of sleep enjoying the touches. Outside the sky has gone grey and thick with clouds.
“Tobio?”
“Mm?”
“I love you.”
Warmth blossoms in Tobio’s chest, sleepy as he is. “Me too. You.” Even saying that much is a chore.
“And you’re… really good looking. All of you.”
Tobio glances down. Shouyou doesn’t often compliment him, probably because of their rivalry. It’s embarrassing when he does—but nice, too, especially given the way he has to force it out.
“You’re pretty,” he says, too sleepy to filter the thought out. Shouyou flicks him, but he looks pleased anyway.
Outside there’s a rumble—the storm beginning to break.
“We’ll do it again, okay?” Shouyou says. “Soon.”
“Soon,” Tobio echoes drowsily—and then Shouyou laughs, and the downpour starts outside. Cool air gusts in from the open window, and Shouyou’s arm snakes across his bare chest.
“Good,” Shouyou says, and lays his head against Tobio’s shoulder. Tobio closes his eyes, listening to the rain outside, feeling the thick warmth of his body and the pressure of Shouyou against him—and then nothing at all.