Work Text:
“This should be sufficient.”
Wakatoshi is fiddling, careful fingers working and pushing buttons, turning things around, and fastening—all that Kiyoomi can see from where he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress while Wakatoshi has his back towards him.
The churning in his stomach hasn’t stopped, ongoing for maybe about two to three hours now. No. Days, actually, tucked somewhere right in between heightened nerves and thrill, both unrelenting and immovable.
His fingers dig into the sheets as Wakatoshi stands up, a hazy, addled mind paired with the speed fire and rapid beating of his heart. He thinks, okay, this is it.
“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi turns to face him. “We can reconsider if you’re having doubts.”
He knows his thoughts are captioned all over his face for Wakatoshi to see, approaching him with an extended hand for him to hold and squeeze as a means for comfort, reassurance. He grabs it and Wakatoshi begins to rub his thumb in circles into his skin—warm and slightly calloused.
“No,” he replies, exhaling, shaking his head. “I want to do this.”
Wakatoshi nods as a confirmation and silently takes a step back.
🎥
The catalyst for most bad ideas that exist in this world starts with alcohol.
And Miya Atsumu.
“Never have I ever—made a sex tape.”
Atsumu is, as always, provoking. In one breath he is both a walking public relations nightmare yet also fun and entertaining for party tricks just like this. Kiyoomi doesn’t necessarily agree with the latter half of the sentiment, but if there exists an opportunity for him to sit back and partake in silent judging, then he is only human. Nobody is perfect.
Over the years he’s learnt to not fight these end-of-season celebratory get-togethers. Even Wakatoshi, stripped from all responsibilities of captaincy, declares ‘I only wish for us to celebrate tonight. Nothing more. We’ve all worked hard and gave our best’ and accepts any drink turned his way.
“Oh c’mon now,” Atsumu says, looking around the room with a grin that Kiyoomi has only ever associated with trouble. “I know some of ya aren’t as innocent as ya look!”
Kiyoomi has learnt that that is, in fact, true. He’s learnt things tonight about his teammates that should not be reasonable knowledge for anyone outside of their own good conscience and a higher being to know.
He shouldn’t know that Hakuba Gao hooked up with a swimmer from the Australian team on the roof top garden of the Team Australia building. He also shouldn’t know that Kageyama has, quote unquote, flown all the way to Argentina just for a ‘booty call’. And even the most reserved of all, Kiryuu, wasn’t immune from being roped into admitting some form of scandalous escapade.
He can tell that the lack of verbal response is making Atsumu impatient, eyes busy scanning everyone one by one in hopes he’ll catch someone just timidly drinking to themselves. But instead of getting that quiet, shameful admittance, Atsumu gets—
“I’m surprised you’re not drinking yourself actually,” Yaku says. “Cause you seem like someone who would.”
This gets people talking.
“Now that you say that Yakkun,” Bokuto adds, both his eyes and hair perked up. “You’re right.”
Atsumu knits his brows together, an appalled expression forming on his face as he backpedals in consequence of a chain of motion for dogpiling ensuing.
There’s no use for escape anyway, Kiyoomi thinks. It’s inevitable.
“Wait. Hold on a sec—”
Suna scoffs. “With how many selfies you post in a week onto your Instagram account, I’m surprised too.”
“Atsumu-san,” Hinata hiccups. “You’d have sex in front of a mirror but not in front of a camera?” from the sheer crass alone, Kiyoomi can tell that it’s influenced by alcohol. And maybe personal experience, just a little.
He would also like to retract his earlier statement, because this is fun to watch.
“I never said that I wouldn’t—”
“Isn’t it practically the same thing though?” Hoshiumi this time. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”
“I never said that I wouldn’t!”
“How kinky,” Suna whistles. “Should I let Kita-san know?” and now dangles his phone in front of Atsumu’s face with the chat room to ‘Kita Shinsuke-san’ opened. Baiting, like a bone to a dog. A fish to a cat. “That you’d do it in front of a camera? I wonder what he’d say to that.”
“Fuck—I’ll kill you if you do that, Sunarin,” Atsumu grits his teeth, lurching forward to swat the device out of Suna’s hand.
Wakatoshi beside him is silent, not at all sensing the urgency in stopping Atsumu and Suna’s usual quarrel that’s unfolding in front of him. Even Ojiro has checked out in favour of just, not dealing with them, already reaping the consequences of the Miyas for two decades too long.
Amidst it all—back and forth cursing, not at all the tailored and carefully filtered like words used before the public eye—a mumbly and gravelly voice shines through like the parting of a wave.
“I have.”
“Who said that?” the arguing stops. Atsumu has Suna half pinned against the wall trying to reach for the phone hanged high above him. “Was it—”
“I’ve made one,” Kageyama repeats himself, knocking back the fresh shot glass full of tequila that’s been refilled since his earlier booty call confession.
Hinata, in all of his poorly contained bewilderment, stands up and nearly knocks over their entire table. “What. With who.”
It’s both inquisitory and a supposed insult wrapped in one. One that says ‘Kageyama, aren’t you like, the biggest fucking vanilla virgin on earth? What the fuck?’
Kageyama almost retches the taste of the hard liquor back with a croak. “With Oikawa-san.”
Kiyoomi feels his jaw go slightly slack as he watches the following reactions in order: Kageyama with his face flushed red, more from the alcohol that it is from embarrassment, Hinata letting out the most inhumane screech that Kiyoomi has ever heard, more so than when he found out Bokuto ate his last snack in the dorm fridge and woke up half the building in the process, Wakatoshi with his eyes slightly widened, the most reaction anyone has gotten out of him throughout the entire night despite scandalous confession after scandalous confession, and Hoshiumi, yelling ‘you sly dog you!’ while shoving a celebratory drink into Kageyama’s mouth because he has apparently and officially won never-have-I-ever.
🎥
There’s consequences to learning that in this world exists a video file out there, at an unknown location, on an unknown device, that consists of a sex tape of Kageyama Tobio and Oikawa Tooru.
Kiyoomi, an avid fan of the concept ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’, finds himself at an interesting crossroad as a result.
One. Hoshiumi is of the opinion that having sex in front of a camera is no different than having sex in front of a mirror. It is essentially, in a way, an act of both exhibitionism and voyeurism combined into one: a pleasure in both viewing and being viewed.
Kiyoomi is no prude. He’s had sex in front of a mirror before. Multiple times even. All of it at the mercy of Wakatoshi—whether intentionally or not. He’s been bent over their bathroom sink or pressed against the floor-to-ceiling mirror of a fancy hotel room far too many times to even begin having an issue with watching.
Why would he? Not when it feels too good, watching his face twisted in pleasure, brows scrunched and cheeks dusted with pink as Wakatoshi fucks into him, cock bulging his stomach and their eyes locking through the mirror with a vivid desperation in his and a glint of sadism in Wakatoshi’s—everything that tips him over the edge to finally come undone against the reflective surface with a cry.
It's practically ingrained in him. The touch, the look, the carnality. And he’d be lying if he says the image doesn’t vividly pop in his mind from time to time.
Which brings Kiyoomi to point number two: the ability to re-watch, re-examine and re-live that entails with the formation of a sex tape.
Because as far as Kiyoomi is concerned, sex with Wakatoshi has always been a thing in the moment and he doesn’t know how he feels having such a thing at his disposal.
Long distancing, for one. The factual truth is that Wakatoshi spends roughly seven months out of the year in an entirely different continent than him and he yearns and aches in all of his justification as someone with the acute knowledge of how the outlines of Wakatoshi’s cock feels inside of him.
It’s bearable, his logic tells him. Especially when he’s too busy and physically drained to even think.
But when pent up nights come to his side and Kiyoomi begins wishing that Wakatoshi was laid bare, sweaty skin against sweaty skin, there beside him in the darkness of his dorm bedroom and barely fitting bed, he sees it, that it may not actually be the worst thing in the world to have.
It’s for viewing pleasure after all.
“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi’s voice is coming from their bedroom, bringing him back into the realm where he’s sitting on the couch and spacing out at the wall in front of him. “We have to leave soon. Are you dressed?”
He replies. “Yes, I’m ready to go.”
🎥
Kiyoomi thinks he might be being punished in this really weird and fucked up way that he can’t quite place a finger on.
Wakatoshi is having dinner with Hoshiumi and Kageyama. It’s a tradition of theirs whenever the three are gathered in Tokyo like this. Over the years Kiyoomi became part of these dinners by causality of his romantic relationship with Wakatoshi. Hirugami Sachirou, Hoshiumi’s boyfriend, would also be there from time to time if he made the visit from Nagano. And then Oikawa Tooru, well, Kageyama once said that he would rather, quote unquote, die than have dinner with Wakatoshi, which Kiyoomi knows is a lie since Oikawa Tooru said the exact same thing to their athletic trainer before joining their team dinner after the Olympics.
Though Oikawa Tooru’s lack of presence in this restaurant in Minato might be the only forgiving thing out of the entire night. Because right now, Kiyoomi's punishment is Hoshiumi who decides that the grade A5 wagyu beef steak in front of him is far less interesting than asking:
“Dude, so like, what you said the other day. Do you actually have one? Or did you just say that to get Miya to move on with it?"
In an attempt of saving Kageyama’s grace, Hoshiumi at least has the decency to whisper.
And Kageyama, of course, is taken aback by the question and would’ve choked on a piece of meat if not for Wakatoshi patting his back and moving over the glass of water for Kageyama to immediately drink.
“Hoshiumi-san,” Kageyama says, voice ragged while still clearing his throat. “I don’t think we should be talking about that here.”
It bodes well for Kiyoomi to know that Kageyama at least still has a good head on his shoulders.
Hoshiumi is however, unphased. “Okay, I’ll use code then in case someone overhears us. So you and Oikawa. You have a—” Kiyoomi watches the strenuous effort in Hoshiumi’s eyes as he mulls over on how exactly he’ll tame the words ‘sex tape’ into something appropriate for a dinner table conversation. “Special video. Whose idea was it?”
“Good job on the code word,” he says, sarcastically.
“Oh shut up Sakusa,” Hoshiumi clicks his tongue. “Was it yours?”
A good person would’ve interrupted and told Kageyama that he doesn’t have to entertain this question that Hoshiumi is somehow turning into everyone’s problem and is actively ruining their night. Even if his prying is, by Kiyoomi’s standards, tamer than some people that he’s unfortunately come to know.
But alas. There is unfortunately no good person currently sitting at this table and Kageyama is considering an answer. A serious one by the looks of it. Hoshiumi couldn't pay any amount of money in the world to get this kind of information out of him if he wanted to.
“It was,” recalling, selecting his words, looking off into the distant before coming back to them with a resolved firmness. “Mutual.”
Well, explicit consent and a mutual understanding would be needed for something like this.
“Was it weird?” Follow up question. Still by Hoshiumi.
Kageyama repeats his answering process, carefully arranging his words like a nicely presented bouquet of flowers. “It was at first but afterwards it didn’t really bother me. I don’t know about Oikawa-san though because he’s always seemed fine with it.”
So there’s multiple.
“You’re crazy dude,” Hoshiumi now says. “Aren’t you scared it’ll get leaked or something?”
A good point which Kiyoomi agrees on, now looking to Kageyama as they begin to ping-pong on the existence of the Oikawa – Kageyama sex tape topic. No one wants to accidentally become a porn star overnight via an amateur erotic home movie going viral.
“I don’t see how anyone would ever get a hand on it,” Kageyama replies. “Only me and Oikawa-san know where it is.”
“You’re able to password protect a lot of things nowadays,” Wakatoshi chimes in. “I’m certain you and Oikawa are taking the correct measures to remain secure.”
Wakatoshi’s input surprised Kiyoomi, mainly because since the night of the sex tape revelation until the dinner currently occurring in front of them, he’s shown nothing more than the widened eyes and this one, security-concerned remark.
It’s a mindful reaction though, one that he thinks Hoshiumi should probably take example of. If Wakatoshi is good at something—which is most things in this world—minding his own business is amongst one of them.
Kiyoomi scans his boyfriend’s face, handsome underneath the warm lighting and the restaurant’s classic and elegant interior. It’s severely unphased, not at all is there a slight hint that he’s even remotely intrigued at the idea of a sex tape.
Maybe Kiyoomi should ask himself why he’s curious of what Wakatoshi thinks.
Honesty always came easy between them, and Kiyoomi, blunt by nature, usually inquires Wakatoshi’s opinion on many things with no hesitation and fear of judgement. He’s a trustworthy voice of reason. And there’s always been a reverence and admiration in the starry-eyed way Kiyoomi looked at Wakatoshi.
How did you get so good at volleyball?
Which club do you think I should sign with after I graduate college?
Would your mother prefer hojicha or genmaicha when I visit her next week?
Do you like these new compressions on me?
The last one though, Kiyoomi admits, came with a very particular and interesting set of consequences.
“I don’t think I could ever do it,” Hoshiumi declares, stern and concise like it still baffles Kiyoomi that something like this even deserves a conclusionary remark. “If Sachirou asked, I would say no. Nor would I ever ask him to either.”
“I see,” Kageyama replies, looking away. “Good to know.”
“What about you, Wakatoshi? Would you do it?”
A held in breath by Kiyoomi meets eyes that look up from the perfectly ratioed cut of beef, arugula and scalloped potatoes on his fork by Wakatoshi. He gives everyone around the table a glance each, maybe a little longer on him, and then hums.
“It’s an interesting concept.”
Vague.
“I see its benefits for couples who are long distancing.”
Understanding.
Alright.
“Great,” Hoshiumi says. “Sakusa, just to wrap this whole thing up once and for all. Yes or no?”
No one said he needed to be truthful.
At least not to Hoshiumi and Kageyama.
“I don’t care for it,” he replies. “Doesn’t concern me.”
“I’m getting dessert,” Kageyama announces, sick of being the momentary star of the show. “If anyone wants to join me.”
“Not tiramisu please,” Hoshiumi groans, reaching over for the menu by his side of the table to hand over to Kageyama. “I can’t deal with hearing you say this one isn’t as good as the trattoria near your apartment since it uses custard instead of mascarpone.”
🎥
There are questions that Kiyoomi may or may not want the answers to. And he’s certain there’s no social etiquette on asking someone on the technicalities of a sex tape.
How did it happen?
Who did what?
How did you decide that you both wanted it?
How has it benefitted your relationship since then?
Kiyoomi is not close enough with Kageyama to just strike up questions of that nature to him. He’s not Hoshiumi, shameless and loud. Sure, years ago he had the audacity to ambush Kageyama while he was just trying to eat dinner. But that was about Wakatoshi. Like, how dare Kageyama, unknowing and completely innocent, disrupt the sporadic amount of times in the year he gets to see the older—too blinded by a teenage crush masked under the guise of rivalry.
But, if he really thinks about it, this too concerns Wakatoshi in a way.
Kageyama said that he and Oikawa Tooru were on the same page on this entire ordeal.
Wakatoshi also said that he understands the benefits that it has for a long distancing couple.
It’s simple logic, really. When Kiyoomi combines factor A, factor B, and factor C all into one he gets: Kiyoomi and Wakatoshi are a long distancing couple, therefore a sex tape that has mutually been agreed upon would surely benefit them.
In what way? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that Wakatoshi currently has his hand out, the tip of his middle finger meeting his thumb forming a circular, just a mere milliseconds away from his nail plate coming into contact with the centre of Kiyoomi’s forehead.
“You’re lost in thought,” Wakatoshi says, striking hand now rubbing over where he just flicked him. Kiyoomi once protested that Wakatoshi’s physical strength should not be squandered for something so juvenile. But it boded well when Kiyoomi got to see Miya on his knees after disastrously losing a drinking game against Yaku, begging for Wakatoshi’s mercy as he prepares for the impending doom of a forehead flick from the Japan’s Cannon.
He grumbles, though without the actual intent. “That was unnecessary. I could’ve gotten a dent.”
Wakatoshi chuckles, propping himself up on his side to now properly face Kiyoomi. He’s shirtless and Kiyoomi stares maybe just a little bit even if he’s had years to get use to this view. “It was hardly even a tenth of my strength. It wouldn’t have caused anything.”
“Cocky now are you?” he hums.
“Not cocky,” Wakatoshi replies. “Just factual truth.”
The honesty, well, makes him laugh. “I guess.”
“Shall I prove it to you?” Wakatoshi asks, a slight tinge of smugness following the tail-end of his proposition. “You don’t seem convinced.”
Kiyoomi squints his eyes. “And how will you prove it to me?”
He knows he’s crossed off sleeping early in his mental list when Wakatoshi, still so absurd in this quest to show off his very well-documented proof of strength, grabs him by the arms and rolls him over.
“You know this doesn’t prove anything,” he says, looking up at Wakatoshi who hovers above him, strong arms caging the sides of his head and entire body weight trapping him against the mattress. He can smell the bare hint of citrus soap from Wakatoshi’s skin mixed with his natural musk. It’s lovely, it’s familiar, it’s him.
“I’m aware,” Wakatoshi replies.
“You have ulterior motives.”
A small smile soon follows. “Would you be opposed if I do?”
He may need to consider adding a sore back onto his list.
Kiyoomi never minded ulterior motives when it came from Wakatoshi—in all of his volition letting their lips meet, peeling clothes off one by one until it pooled onto a pile on the floor and leads to bare skin against bare skin.
“You seem impatient in getting me naked tonight,” Kiyoomi says breathlessly, legs spread to fit a kneeling Wakatoshi in between.
“I always do,” Wakatoshi replies. “Not just tonight.”
Because a determined Wakatoshi is both relentless and greedy. Greedy in taking Kiyoomi apart step by step, bit by bit. It’s methodical almost, a kiss on the inside of his thigh, two lubed fingers that work him open just enough that Wakatoshi can push in to the hilt and bottom out, groaning at how tight Kiyoomi is around his cock. His pace is built fast enough to draw out little, wanton moans from Kiyoomi but slow enough that he’ll also beg and cry for more. It’s evil of him, deliberate and diabolical to a fault, enjoying the sight of Kiyoomi going mindless underneath him one sharp thrust at a time.
Though it wasn’t as if Kiyoomi himself has never been greedy about Wakatoshi. It’s evident by his nails that claw into the planes of Wakatoshi’s broad back, leavings lines of possessive red. By his legs that lock around Wakatoshi’s waist, holding him in closer and tighter. And maybe greed is part of his underlying reasoning for turning his head to the side and finding his eyes meeting his own through the reflective surface of their floor-to-ceiling window that he just now realizes he forgot to draw the curtain close, bent in half, watching Wakatoshi drive into him deep and rough and he's flushed and so fucked out.
It makes him go—
“Wakatoshi.”
Clenching around Wakatoshi tighter, hearing the low grunt escaping the older’s lips as a result.
Wakatoshi’s hands grips his hips, slamming him down onto his cock mercilessly and repeatedly grazing against his sweet spot that makes his head spin.
“How do you feel about taking a video of me like this?”
Kiyoomi realizes that he may not exactly be in the right mind to say such a thing.
But Wakatoshi is no better with the way his hips jerk and come to a still.
🎥
In Kiyoomi’s defense, he should not be held accountable for the things that he says while Wakatoshi’s cock is inside of him.
🎥
Somewhere between deciding whether he feels like he’s walking on eggshells or walking on thin ice, Kiyoomi decides that it’s neither.
Fact one. Kiyoomi dropped a bomb in the middle of sex last night. As one usually does when they’re in such a sexually compromisingly position (see: legs-spread-so-damn-wide while being on the receiving end of their boyfriend’s near brutal thrust).
Fact two. Said bomb, well, ‘bomb’ hypothetical, has effectively put Wakatoshi into this unprecedented silence that Kiyoomi can’t really figure out. Was he opposing? Was he agreeing? Why is he saying nothing while roaming around their kitchen and making them breakfast as per usual. Even after he abruptly came inside of Kiyoomi and pulled out to wash up, he went to bed shrouded in inexplicability.
Over the years Kiyoomi has learnt how to identify Wakatoshi and the multitudes of his silences—anger, miffed, solemn, intrigue, joy, peacefulness—all of it. It’s miniscule differences, changes in body language, a huff that’s maybe slightly too long, certain arrangement of words that he normally wouldn’t say that’s noticeable by his trained eye. It’s rare for Wakatoshi to not address things with him directly. And factually, perhaps a pretty unknown flaw of his, is that Wakatoshi is a pretty terrible liar. Honesty to a fault has always been his strong point.
“Are you busy today?” he starts off slow, small baby steps, trying to pry Wakatoshi open.
“I should be having lunch with Semi,” Wakatoshi replies though slightly delayed as he’s in the middle of making an omelette. “He’s in Tokyo for a business trip and asked if we could meet.”
Semi. Right. Wakatoshi’s friend from Shiratorizawa who’s a civil servant by day, guitarist and vocalist of an underground rock band by night.
“Just the two of you?” he continues. “It’s been a while since you last met your high school friends.”
“That’s correct,” Wakatoshi replies again, now plating the omelette and turning to place it in front of Kiyoomi who’s perched by the kitchen island. “And yes, it will be just the two of us. Unless you want to join as well.”
“No, I’m good,” he replies. “I want to stay in today and do nothing. Make more use of this apartment before I have to go back to Osaka.”
Wakatoshi hums. “I see. That is a good idea.”
See, Kiyoomi thinks. Wakatoshi is clearly trying to brush it off like nothing happened. And this is coming from the guy who texted him that their local supermarket recently renovated their building and the new store layout was inefficient for grocery shoppers. If something as miniscule as that deserved a commentary, then this, something that he thinks can be pretty detrimental to their relationship, should be held in the same regard.
Maybe he should be the one to bring it up again. He did the first time. Honesty was supposed to be easy between them and they’ve had their fair share of experimenting—both fun and weird. What should he say? Sorry, Wakatoshi, your cock just makes me so honest with my feelings and I really think we should try filming ourselves fucking for the sake of improving our relationship.
Is it smart? No. Does he feel idiotic? Yes.
“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi calls for him.
When he looks up, there’s an expression on Wakatoshi’s face that Kiyoomi can sort of make out.
If he were to properly equate it, he’d say that Wakatoshi is somewhere in between an intersection of apologetic, intrigued yet at the same time horrified.
“What is it?”
“I think I may have reacted quite poorly to your feelings last night,” Wakatoshi says. “And I,” looking away momentarily before bringing his eyes back onto Kiyoomi. “Wasn’t sure how I should’ve either.”
“You could disregard it,” he replies. “If it’s not something that you want, that is. It doesn’t bother me.”
Maybe there is a slight lie to the tail-end of his reply just now—remembering exactly just how worked up he’s been over it for days to the point he silently entertained Hoshiumi ruining their dinner by asking the cause and effect of forming a sex tape directly to Kageyama.
Wakatoshi this time draws another look onto his face. It’s contemplative, at least.
“I’m not opposed to it entirely,” Wakatoshi replies, a slight shakiness to match his conditional stance. “Though I do have concerns.”
Kiyoomi tilts his head. “Such as?”
“Safety, mainly,” Wakatoshi details. “And of course, logistics. How and what do we need.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think we can research for a sex tape how-to checklist online like we did with spanking,” Kiyoomi replies. “Also, don’t ask Kageyama no matter how close you two are. Please. I’ve heard enough of it already.”
Wakatoshi scoffs. “I wasn’t considering. It’s our private matter.”
“Good,” he sighs. “That’s—okay. Good. So can I assume we’re on the same page?”
Wakatoshi nods.
“Do you want to schedule when or should I—”
“Let me wrap my head around it first. Then we can talk about it more.”
“Great,” he replies. “Alright. Just send me the calendar invite when you do.”
Wakatoshi laughs. “Kiyoomi, I am not going to send you a calendar invite for a sex tape discussion.”
🎥
Kiyoomi decides that if he were to hypothetically consult with someone, it would have to be someone so unbelievably inconspicuous and so far removed from any of his immediate friendship circles that it won’t bite him in the ass later on.
Which is why he currently has the contact info for Hoshiumi Kourai opened on his phone. A guy who is the anti-thesis of the word inconspicuous.
But Kiyoomi argues this consideration on the basis of the three following reasons:
- Hoshiumi possesses a good head on his shoulders. Meaning that logic and rational thought is not a foreign concept to him and he actually prefers it most of the time instead of spewing wax poetic nonsense.
- Contrary to popular belief and despite the incident from a few nights ago, Hoshiumi actually can mind his own business when asked to. Minimal gossip and prying. Likely doesn’t actually really care about what Kiyoomi and Wakatoshi does behind closed doors and not enough that he’d spread it around to anyone. Also, Kiyoomi wouldn’t have to see Hoshiumi every day until next year’s national team season which would be better than if he went to someone like Miya or Bokuto who he’d have to live with and deal with every day during the league season.
- And lastly, which is the most important reason, is because Hoshiumi knows context. And frankly removing the need to explain said context to catch someone up on a certain inappropriate situation was the biggest winning point that outweighed his need for someone inconspicuous and far removed. Wakatoshi is the person of interest and Kageyama is the cause and effect.
So all in accordance to that, he sends the damning text.
14:06 PM You
Are you busy.
And now waits. Because Hoshiumi, unlike some people, doesn't have his phone welded into his hands.
14:15 PM Hoshiumi Kourai
Hey
What do you want
Blunt. But Kiyoomi has known Hoshiumi for ten years too long now to start being offended with the way he speaks to him. It wasn't like he's any better anyway.
14:16 PM You
I need to talk to you.
14:17 PM Hoshiumi Kourai
Are you kidnapped or something?
You don’t usually message me
See. Ten years too long.
14:18 PM You
It’s urgent.
14:18 PM Hoshiumi Kourai
Fine. But if you’re calling for money, I don’t have any
Incoming call from Hoshiumi Kourai
“I do not require money,” he says while rolling his eyes as the call connects.
“You never know,” Hoshiumi replies, unamused. “What is it? What’s so urgent that you need to talk to me of all people?”
“Are you by yourself?”
A momentary pause. “You know you’re being really weird right now right? Like, even more than usual? Are you sure you’re not in danger or something?”
He sighs. “Just answer my question.”
“I’m alone, I’m—yeah—” Hoshiumi mutters. “Sachirou is at work. Why?”
Kiyoomi hangs his head low, bracing himself to say this damning thing out loud to Hoshiumi Kourai over the phone. “I might have said something to Wakatoshi—”
“What, did you two get into a fight or something?”
“—in the middle of sex.”
“Oh,” Hoshiumi says before then going. “Was it something bad? Or? I don’t know how I can be of help to this—”
“It was because of you.”
A loud bang comes from the other end, indicating that Hoshiumi must’ve dropped his phone onto the floor and rushed to pick it up and bring it back to his ear.
“What the fuck. Sakusa, I’m flattered but I’m in a committed relationship and if you’re asking me to join a threesome with you and Wakatoshi then I’ll have to turn down. I’m sorry. You’re both very attractive and I’m sure you’ll find someone else who’s willing to—”
“What.”
“—join you in the bedroom—what do you mean ‘what’?”
Kiyoomi knits his brows. “Why do you think I’m inviting you for a threesome?”
“Because you said you—what?”
“Hoshiumi,” he mutters underneath his breath. “You were there on both nights when Kageyama’s sex tape with Oikawa Tooru was a topic.”
“Okay,” Hoshiumi replies. “You should’ve started off with that but okay. Sure. Continue.”
“What I said to Wakatoshi was something that I should’ve thought about properly beforehand.”
“And you’re calling me because you’re regretting saying it?” Hoshiumi asks. “Or is there something else?”
He sighs. “That night, you said that you were against it.”
“No, I don’t think that’s what I said,” Hoshiumi replies. “I said that I could never do it, not that I’m against the concept of it.”
“Why not?”
“Sakusa, as much as I’m enjoying this newfound closeness of ours,” Hoshiumi says, glaringly obvious with his sarcasm. “I’m not going to tell you why I don’t want to make a sex tape with my boyfriend.”
“Fine.”
“Is this something that you said to him about that?”
He nods even though he knows Hoshiumi can’t see.
“And how did he react?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Well, it is a big deal. To uh—film yourselves. I think I would’ve been taken aback if Sachirou asked me to, even if my answer is no.”
“Great. That's good to know.”
“Did you get the insight that you were looking for?”
“No,” he replies. “Not at all.”
“You’re welcome,” Hoshiumi scoffs. “Is this a performance issue? Like, don’t think about it too much. If Tobio can do it, why can’t you and Wakatoshi?”
“That is a very weird way to encourage someone,” he grumbles.
“This is a very fucking weird conversation in general, Sakusa,” Hoshiumi grumbles in return. “Just, I don't know. We’re on camera all the time when we play, do photoshoots and interviews so maybe just be natural and pretend it’s not there. Take it slow. Start off small.”
“Okay,” he replies. “Thank you, I suppose. I won’t take up your time any longer.”
“You’re welcome and If you don’t mind, I’m going to pretend that we never had this conversation,” Hoshiumi says. “For my sake.”
The call ends and Kiyoomi feels enlightened, perceived and judged all at the same time.
🎥
Kiyoomi is seconds away from mumbling ‘you fucking idiot’ under his breath at the TV when he hears the front door unlock, open, and then shut close. He’s been waiting for Wakatoshi to come back home since he was picking up dinner and Kiyoomi thinks he’ll seriously lose it if he has to endure one more episode of this drama on an empty stomach.
But instead of the dinner that he had actively envisioned in his head, he is met with Wakatoshi with his patented Serious Guy face on and Kiyoomi puts on hold any profanity he’s about to throw at the actor currently destroying his love life on screen.
“Everything alright?” he asks, sitting upright and scans Wakatoshi from head to toe.
There’s a brown paper bag in Wakatoshi’s hand, far too big to be their dinner unless Wakatoshi has brought it upon himself to put the yakiniku restaurant they frequent down the street temporarily out of business.
“I did some thinking,” Wakatoshi replies.
The brown paper bag is now placed onto the coffee table and Kiyoomi watches Wakatoshi rummage through its contents and begins pulling it out one by one. By the looks of it, the bag only has two items and aren’t miniscule in size. Could it be a gift? For him? But then Kiyoomi also wonders what he did to even warrant such a thing, remembering that both their birthdays and their anniversary have already passed and any household appliances would have been seriously and thoroughly discussed and agreed upon before buying.
So if Kiyoomi wasn’t confused before, he definitely is now.
“Wakatoshi,” he says. “I think you did more than just thinking.”
“I’m aware that I did,” Wakatoshi replies.
Kiyoomi eyes the two boxes—one containing a camera and the other a tripod. He’s honestly at loss for words.
“I think most people would just use their phone,” he says. “Something that’s less professional than this.”
There’s a churn in his stomach when he reads the words ‘High Definition’ and ‘8K Resolution’ printed in bold letters on the side of the box. Kiyoomi always knew that Wakatoshi was determined and ambitious, but never would he have ever expected this. It’s weird. He feels an unknown tug somewhere in the pit of his stomach.
“Is it too much?” Wakatoshi asks him this time. “It’s returnable within 24 hours. I kept the receipt.”
Of course you did. Kiyoomi shakes his head because he’s the one who wanted it. And Wakatoshi is, as always, delivering to all of his whims. Shit.
“What made you made up your mind?” he picks up the box to undo the taped edges.
Wakatoshi hums. “Several things.”
Kiyoomi tilts his head. “Such as?”
“The fact that you asked me. I’m sure you’ve considered something thoroughly before you bring it up to me.”
Sure alright. He can accept that.
“I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing either for us to—venture into new things either. I heard it’s important for couples to keep the spark alive for longevity.”
Reasonable.
“And also, I guess when I’m all alone in Warsaw—to watch myself fuck you on camera. To watch you, enjoy me and not just from my memory.”
Fuck. And there it is.
“There may be a little bit of vanity there in your last reason, Wakatoshi,” he teases. But nonetheless he goes along with it. As if he isn’t the same either.
“But I think we should outline the ground rules first,” Wakatoshi teases back. “Just for safety.”
🎥
On any regular day, Kiyoomi is highly appreciative of Wakatoshi’s meticulous, attention to detail and methodical whimsy. But one must argue as well what exactly constitutes as ‘a regular day’ because Kiyoomi once, high in the throes of romance, confessed that every day he spends with Wakatoshi is an extraordinary day. Therefore logic would defy that he could actually have a regular day with Wakatoshi.
Do their regular days consist of Wakatoshi turning the TV on for the morning news at exactly 06:50 AM and commenting on the chances of rain for the day? Yes.
Do their regular days consist of Kiyoomi sitting on the edge of the mattress in their guest bedroom, watching Wakatoshi set up a tripod and a camera that’s been conveniently placed for the best, most effective angle by the bed? No.
But it definitely does mean something for him to be here, dressed in a bathrobe with nothing underneath. Wakatoshi is the same, but maybe without this unshakeable feeling that’s been sitting rock-heavy in the pit of his stomach.
“We can reconsider if you’re having doubts,” Wakatoshi reassures when he successfully gets the camera to turn on, the flickering red slightly blurred behind his boyfriend’s frame that approaches him out of concern.
Kiyoomi shakes his head because he’s made up his mind. He’s the one who wanted to do this. And they’ve gone over this, over and over and over, with the same tenacity as their annual year-end financial review. Kiyoomi can say no at any time. Wakatoshi can also say no at any time. He considers this as thoroughly discussed and agreed up as a contract.
“I’ll undress first,” Wakatoshi says, in line with his hand that reaches to undo the ties of his dark blue robe without even hearing Kiyoomi’s response—letting it fall open to expose the hard lines of his defined abs and a cock that stretches the front of his boxer briefs.
It hits Kiyoomi then and there that it’s truly starting, raking it all in like he’s been depraved for so long, hooking a finger into the waistband to pull and let snap against Wakatoshi’s skin. It’s a silent return message that says I want all of it off, and Wakatoshi is only ever so obedient to him and for him, sliding the piece of clothing down his legs and the robe pools onto the floor, standing entirely bare in front of him.
Wakatoshi is gentle when he cups Kiyoomi’s face, the same thumb that caressed reassuringly on the back of his hand now against his cheek, tilting his face upwards so Wakatoshi can get a good look at him.
“How should I start?” Wakatoshi asks, thumb inching closer and closer to Kiyoomi’s bottom lip until he feels it toying against the plush red and deviously parts it slightly.
There’s two desires that grow inside of him. One that is unwilling to back down and another that decides to welcome the prying thumb in earnest with retaliation—sticking his tongue out to swirl against the digit and he begins to suckle, as a way to confirm the mutuality, resulting in a slight hitch that’s caught at the top of Wakatoshi’s throat.
“You’re teasing me,” Wakatoshi says, pushing his thumb further into Kiyoomi’s mouth. And Kiyoomi accepts it, laving at it with each purposeful drag like he does when he’s on his knees sucking Wakatoshi’s cock. “You enjoy doing this to me, don’t you?”
Mouth full of thumb, Kiyoomi can only nod and bats his eyes upwards, taking note of Wakatoshi’s own that’s now a mix of smug and genuine arousal.
Kiyoomi doesn’t quite understand, but there’s an understanding between them when Wakatoshi reaches back to unlatch the rolling camera from the tripod at the same time Kiyoomi’s hand reaches for the base of Wakatoshi’s cock.
He gives one kiss to the head, darkened and pretty with just a bead of pre-cum that Kiyoomi tastes on his lips before enveloping it whole. He tries to ignore that he choked slightly from the rush, coaxing himself in his head to move on with it, suck like you always do, and Wakatoshi is aiming that camera right at your face with his cock sitting heavy in your mouth.
Wakatoshi takes on the role of directing him, free hand pushing the loose strands of Kiyoomi's hair out of his face, and his own hips moving in small, shallow thrusts as Kiyoomi begins bobbing his head.
“If only you could see yourself right now, Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi rasps low, both in awe and lost in the feeling of the wet heat of Kiyoomi's mouth around him. He's one cheesy line away from turning this into a full blown porno, Kiyoomi thinks. But he’s forgiving, because there’s no room for judgement when you’re on film giving your boyfriend the sloppiest blowjob known to mankind.
He can feel droplets of spit beginning to run down the side of his chin with each drag he gives, alternating between hard sucks and feather light teasing against the protruding veins. He licks the underside of Wakatoshi’s shaft with the flat of his tongue, slow and careful as his eyes locks dead onto the centre of the lens. And in return, he watches Wakatoshi practice resilience in order to hold the device steady in favour of fucking his throat raw.
“That’s enough,” Wakatoshi says, lightly tapping Kiyoomi’s cheek to make him come to a still.
“Were you close?” he asks when he pulls off of Wakatoshi’s cock, smacking his now-plump lips together.
“It would be a shame if that were the case,” Wakatoshi replies with half a smirk. “But we could save it for another time, maybe.”
Kiyoomi now stands and meets Wakatoshi at eye level, still in the bathrobe that’s tightly tied around his waist with the weight of words ‘another time’ that’s reserved in the context of a sex tape in between them. It’s new. And it turns Kiyoomi on infinitely knowing that Wakatoshi also wants it.
“How do you want me next?” he asks again.
“On the bed,” Wakatoshi replies. “With this, off.”
Kiyoomi can already imagine the outcome of these particular set of frames by Wakatoshi: the undoing of the bathrobe ties, the pooling of dark grey onto their carpeted floor as it slips down and off of Kiyoomi’s shoulders, the slow panning of Kiyoomi’s legs, all the way up to his thighs and then bare torso, showing his own cock that’s hard and heavy and curved against his chiselled stomach and the flush of pink that accompanies all over. It’s the very essence of the main star of an amateur erotic home movie.
There’s a contrary to just how delicately he teeters in showing skin in front of a camera, wrapped in jerseys, compressions, jackets that barely give a sliver of dotted ivory. But here in his and Wakatoshi’s perfectly lit bedroom, sitting against the headboard of their king sized bed naked with his legs spread wide, he truly feels exposed. Bare. Just for Wakatoshi and all of the future Wakatoshis who’ll come across this clip again on lonely nights and fists his cock to the naked Kiyoomi in front of him.
Wakatoshi reclasps and readjusts the camera onto the tripod by their bed once more, and this time flips the small screen around to preview the perfectly placed angle.
“This way you can also see yourself,” Wakatoshi says as he joins Kiyoomi on the bed, kneeling in between his spread legs. “Just like you wanted.”
“You’re insane,” he hisses, but the thrill doesn’t at all tamper even as Wakatoshi kisses him and pulls him down until he’s laid flat onto his back.
“I don’t disagree,” Wakatoshi responds, a low grumble as he mouths into the side of his neck. “Only for you would I ever even agree to do such a thing.”
“How kind of you to always give into my whims,” he replies. “And to think that you were nervous.”
“I was unsure,” Wakatoshi hums. “But after seeing you, your face, the way your eyes looked up at me, then into the camera while my cock was in your mouth—I already knew I was playing a losing game.”
Kiyoomi took precautionary measures while he was in the shower earlier, cleaning and opening himself up thoroughly for efficiency sake—even if he knows the feeling of Wakatoshi’s fingers pushing and prodding inside of him is immeasurable. The one digit that Wakatoshi slides inside of him right now is purely for show, purely to feel the slight jolt of his legs when he feels cold lube poured onto his rim and the tip of Wakatoshi’s finger just barely pressing against the bundle of nerves that never fails to result in a small, pouty whine.
He could whack Wakatoshi’s side with his leg right now, if not for the view of the older pouring lube onto the palm of his hand to lather his cock. It’s already driving him mindless just seeing it there between strong, muscled and tanned thighs and ready to fuck him. He can’t help but hold his breath in as well as Wakatoshi now aligns himself with his entrance.
“Fuck,” he curses out, unknowing that his knuckles are turning white from gripping the bed sheets as Wakatoshi begins to push into him.
“So tight around me,” Wakatoshi says, ragged and proud as he grips onto Kiyoomi’s hip once he’s fully sheathed and proceeds to slam into him hard. The ferocity makes Kiyoomi’s back arch, a wanton moan escaping his lips with the immediate blush that grows on his face as he realizes just how pornographic of a sound he just made.
It definitely eggs Wakatoshi on, repeating the same action over and over again, breaking all of Kiyoomi’s resolve to stifle back any further sound.
“Don’t hold back, Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi reprimands him, bucking his hip harsher to draw out another moan from him.
All of this is on camera, caught on that rolling tape that Kiyoomi can get a playback of this exact moment any time that he wishes. He can see it already when his head lulls to the side, catching a glimpse of the small screen and seeing the way his legs are spread with Wakatoshi in between them, Wakatoshi’s cock that’s pushing in and out of him, deep and fast.
“You’re beautiful, Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi remarks. “That’s how you look when you take my cock.”
Shit. “Don’t—ah fuck—don’t talk, please,” he replies, now averting his eyes away from the screen and looks at Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi and his stupid, handsome, perfect face that Kiyoomi can’t believe has the audacity to even look so smug right now at such a request.
“Why not?” Wakatoshi asks back and Kiyoomi can pinpoint the hint of sadism that’s slowly making its way to the surface.
It’s menacing to have Wakatoshi this way.
“Because—ah—it’s embarrassing,” he rasps, still on the receiving end of Wakatoshi’s brutal thrust. He could swear that Wakatoshi is going harder each time too, the unforgiving piston of his hip driving Kiyoomi near-crazy.
“Embarrassing?”
Kiyoomi has categorized the times where it’s appropriate to admire and be in awe of Wakatoshi’s strength. In the middle of a match is one. At the gym is another. Watching Wakatoshi load and unload boxes full of stuff and furniture is also acceptable. And while in the middle of sex usually falls into the category of appropriate—recalling memories of being lifted onto counter tops or pressed against walls effortlessly—right now as an uncharacteristic silence falls over Wakatoshi and he suddenly pulls out to manhandle Kiyoomi onto his hands and knees, does not.
“What are you doing—”
There’s a hand on his jaw, and it’s manoeuvring him to look straight on ahead.
Right at where the camera is placed.
“Look at how you look,” Wakatoshi says low and deep. Kiyoomi can feel his cockhead nudging right against his rim and he has half a mind to push back and grind. “How could you say it’s embarrassing when you look like that?”
This position lets him see himself on the small screen of the camcorder clearly. It’s obscene, his flushed face twisted in pleasure is lewd as Wakatoshi pushes inside of him once again and begins to fuck into him rough and fast.
“This isn’t for anyone else to see, Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi says as he mounts him. “This is only for me. For us.”
For them. Kiyoomi repeats it over and over in his head. This isn’t for anyone else but for them. For those lonely nights when they’re oceans away from each other, nights for where Kiyoomi is so pent up and craving for Wakatoshi there in his bed beside him. Kiyoomi can only imagine Wakatoshi all alone in his apartment in Warsaw, in his bed pumping his cock as he watches Kiyoomi whimpering and crying on his screen.
“Wakatoshi—so, fucking big and deep—” he moans out, falling onto his elbows with his cheek nearly aligned with the bed. He can see his own cock, hard and neglected, the leaking tip sensitive and sends a shiver down his spine each time it grazes against the mattress. “So fucking good.”
He knows he’s reached a point where he’s become a blubbering mess, crying out with each drag of Wakatoshi’s cock inside of him that hits against his prostate repeatedly. He can feel his orgasm slowly building up, a tight heat pooling at the pit of his stomach with each merciless thrust.
Wakatoshi’s hand threads into the curls of Kiyoomi’s hair, tugging to lift his face off the mattress and back up.
“Look at me.”
The command, Kiyoomi knows, didn’t at all mean for him to turn around to face Wakatoshi directly.
It meant for Kiyoomi to look straight ahead once again, eyes locking into the camera lens that’s capturing every detailed movement of his body. To look at Wakatoshi who’ll be watching this in the future, whenever and wherever.
“I’m so close,” he gasps out, overwhelmed with the angle that allows Wakatoshi to hit deeper and harder. “Wakatoshi, please.”
With one thrust, Kiyoomi comes with a sob, spurting ropes of white onto the sheets and feels his entire body shudder before falling completely onto the mattress. Wakatoshi doesn’t take long after him, how tightly Kiyoomi had been clenching around him spurring him to the edge of his own orgasm, coming to a still with a vice grip on Kiyoomi’s hip and finishing deep inside of him.
Within a minute, the room that had been filled with sounds of moaning, grunting and harsh slapping of skin against skin has been replaced with silence and heavy breathing as they both come down from their high. Between them, it’s Wakatoshi who steps off the bed first—reaching for the towel that’s already prepared on the bedside table for the both of them to clean up.
“Wakatoshi,” he mutters, pushing himself up to sit upright now on the bed. “The camera is still recording.”
Thirty seven minutes, Kiyoomi spots the ongoing timer on the small screen. Not bad for a first time homemade sex tape.
Wakatoshi hurriedly puts on his discarded blue robe back on and rushes over towards the camera, stopping the recording altogether. Kiyoomi watches Wakatoshi fiddle with the device again, now detaching it from the tripod to go through the memory file just to make sure that it was properly recorded.
“I must say,” Kiyoomi begins, watching the serious expression on Wakatoshi’s face as he plays and pauses the clip repeatedly in his quality assurance procedure. “That was something. To do it in front of a camera, I mean.”
“It certainly was,” Wakatoshi replies.
“Maybe we should consider doing this professionally,” he scoffs. “If our professional athlete careers ever goes down the drain.”
Wakatoshi scoffs in return. “I would like to contest that notion.”
“Why so?” he asks, lifting a brow. “You seemed pretty into it.”
“Because you like this, is only for me to see, Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi replies. “Nobody else.”
Kiyoomi smiles. “How cheesy.”
🎥
Kiyoomi wouldn’t necessarily call himself a morning person, but there’s a limit on how much tolerance he can exude after being woken up ungraciously at 7 AM on a Sunday after a gruelling match the day before. Bokuto should know this better than anyone else by now, but still, it doesn’t hinder him from dropping a set of stainless steel pans onto the kitchen floor because he was trying to find the ‘good frying pan’ to make his daily, nutritionist-mandated breakfast.
At least Kiyoomi can give credit where it’s due since Bokuto is, admittedly, very diligent and thorough with his maintenance. Which is why he begrudgingly points over to where the ‘good frying pan’ is on the drying rack by the sink before slamming his bedroom door back shut again and diving underneath his blankets.
He grabs his phone off the nightstand just to see how many more hours he can sleep in before he has to leave to go work out, or to see if Motoya has gotten back to him on that apartment listing in a new district in Hamamatsu that he wanted Kiyoomi to look over to see if it was, quote unquote, worth it or not.
As it turns out, Motoya has taken it upon himself to actually send Kiyoomi five listings, all of which Kiyoomi thinks will require to be looked over properly on a laptop and a dedicated afternoon of nitpicking via Zoom. There’s also other links, which Kiyoomi can already tell is something inane like an internet meme or celebrity gossip—two things that he doesn’t particularly have any interest in.
And then after ten or so other notifications, Kiyoomi sees the one from Wakatoshi.
I would not be opposed if we were to make another one.
He factors in both the timestamp and the time difference. And texts back.
Sure.