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The rush of blood in Oikawa’s ears drowned out the crowd as he reached out across the net. Victory thrummed in his veins, as heady and addictive as ever, but he wasn’t satisfied. He’d never be, not really; but there was something more immediate that wanted, something that lay just out of his grasp--all of a few feet away.
Kageyama Tobio stood before him, red jersey sweat through and plastered to his broad, muscular chest, and his usual smirk came edged with frustration, disappointment and anger bleeding through his pinched brow. His blue eyes were fierce, fixing boldly on his--he was always a bold kouhai, though not like this--and Oikawa felt a shiver claw its way up his spine. He smiled for the cameras and took Kageyama’s proferred hand.
It took only a couple seconds, but Oikawa didn’t miss the slide of Kageyama’s long fingers up his wrist, brushing over his pulse.
“Well played,” Oikawa said. They withdrew their hands, and the cacophony of the crowds and the announcer and the music blaring overhead rushed back in. But by the arch of Kageyama’s brow, Oikawa knew he’d been heard.
“I’ll see you,” Kageyama said gruffly. Oikawa’s smile widened, a more private, sincere expression creeping onto his face, and the heat simmering beneath his skin flared with excitement. He couldn’t know exactly what Kageyama meant--whether he’d see Oikawa the next time they played a match or happened to meet each other in town, or soon--but he hoped. It’d been a year and a half. God, he hoped.
Oikawa showered, put on his tightest pair of jeans and three spritzes of perfume, and demanded over the phone that Iwaizumi tell him where the Japanese players were staying, and whether or not and where they were going out tonight, and if a certain pretty setter wasn’t going along with them--or Oikawa would leak the most embarrassing childhood photos of the two he could find onto his Instagram, which was, if he didn’t say so himself, pretty damn popular. Pretty please?
“Pretty sure Miya’s straight,” Iwaizumi said.
“Not him, god, are you stupid?”
Iwaizumi choked. That, for some reason, he hadn’t been expecting.
Oikawa had half a dozen lines in mind as he walked in--something about Oh, fancy seeing you here, or maybe a throwback to the first time they’d done this, when he’d been too embarrassed to approach Kageyama as himself: Hello, handsome stranger, do you like volleyball? He hummed and continued to entertain himself with these fantasies for all of the five seconds it took him to spot the knot of Japanese players, all noisily gathered around a table in the corner of the bar.
It was a nice bar, sleek and modern, with a well-dressed clientele. Despite their devastatingly close first-round loss earlier that day, the Japanese were the loudest group in the place. Kageyama, though, was still. He sat on the end of the bench, bulk folded uncomfortably beneath the table and arms crossed in front of his drink, which looked more like water than something alcoholic. His face was stony and drawn, and his navy blue top was unbuttoned over a low-cut undershirt that showed off his smooth chest, the sleeves rolled up over thick, corded forearms. Oikawa froze. It struck him that he’d never seen Kageyama like this, cleaned-up and casual--not even in pictures, as he was only photographed in uniform or formal press conference dress that didn’t suit him. He was unfairly, heart-stoppingly gorgeous.
As if he sensed his senpai’s presence, Kageyama’s eyes flicked up and instantly met his own before Oikawa could move another muscle. So much for making a smooth entrance. In the end, it didn’t matter. Kageyama’s expression shifted, thawed, and he stood without so much as glancing back at his teammates. Oikawa sensed the other players twisting around to stare, confused, as Kageyama crossed the crowded bar, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from that heated gaze long enough to check.
Then Kageyama was upon him. Not allowing Oikawa time to react, Kageyama wordlessly pulled him into a bruising hug. Oikawa made a soft noise of surprise as Kageyama dipped his head, burying his nose into Oikawa’s shoulder and breathing in, slow and deep in a way that almost struck Oikawa as relieved.
After a few seconds, Oikawa began to wriggle. His arms were trapped at his sides. “People are staring.”
Kageyama growled low in his throat, and it caught Oikawa so off guard that he giggled, hoping the way his cheeks flared red wasn’t obvious in the bar’s fashionably low lighting. Kageyama withdrew, the tips of his fingers burning through layers of clothing as they brushed over Oikawa’s sides. “You smell…”
“Good?” Oikawa suggested.
“I was gonna say strange,” Kageyama said. His rose-pink lips curved, and Oikawa wanted nothing more than to kiss them, right there, Kageyama’s teammates and the whole world be damned.
“Don’t go negging me just because you’ve lost,” Oikawa teased. He poked a finger in the center of Kageyama’s firm chest. “Go tell your team we’re grabbing coffee. I don’t want them getting any strange ideas.”
“Any right ones, you mean?” Kageyama’s eyes flashed with humor. Oikawa’s tongue felt thick. Fucking hell, he wanted this. Kageyama with him, at ease, pliant and affectionate. Every day of the year. He’d win ten world championships if it meant he could have it. The knowledge scared him a little, but it was a nice kind of scared.
He watched Kageyama walk away, eyes lingering on the way his pants stretched over his ass. Kageyama wouldn’t wear a fit that tight intentionally, would he? Kageyama bent over the table as he spoke with one of the older guys; and when he stole a glance at him over Kageyama’s shoulder, Oikawa looked away, casually admiring the extensive drink display behind the bar and tapping his foot.
Oikawa’s posture was relaxed, expression careful and blank, but his ears were probably siren-red. They got like that when he was excited--especially when he was turned on. The memory of their first time together felt as crystal clear as if it’d happened yesterday, and he’d been swimming in it all evening. All fucking week. Since that night, Oikawa swore he hadn’t let a single day pass without thinking about it at least once, even if only in passing. He had other hookups, sure, but he came to prefer fucking himself on his fingers and screaming Kageyama’s name, fisting his cock to the image of Kageyama sucking him on his knees, or bent over, face flushed and gasping and ass painted with Oikawa’s cum. He imagined lying in bed and kissing him until the morning light, too, when he was lonely and weak and missed Japan the most. That Kageyama had ruined him was almost too humiliating to contemplate. It was only fair that he’d ruin Kageyama in return.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
Oikawa’s head whipped around to stare at Kageyama as they walked, so close their knuckles occasionally brushed. The sidewalk was still busy even after ten, and people stared as they passed, the two of them heads taller than your average Chinese local or tourist. They weren’t bad-looking, either. “Of course I was,” he breathed. “Took a while for me to get away.”
“Thanks.” Oikawa felt a hand find his and squeeze once, briefly, and his heart leapt into his throat.
“Ah, Tobio!” he said, voice going higher. “Be careful!”
“What?” Kageyama glanced sidelong at him. He looked smug. Any affection he held for his kouhai notwithstanding, Oikawa wanted to knock all the smugness out of him. You lost today, asshole. “No one’s looking. You’re not that famous, senpai.”
Not that, Oikawa thought bitterly; be careful with my heart.
This time, Oikawa had made sure to drop enough hints that his roommate--may the gods bless his soul--agreed to make himself scarce for a night. The next round of the Volleyball Nations’ League wasn’t until next weekend, so Oikawa could get away with fooling around the night after a match, if he wanted. He wouldn’t go out clubbing until three in the morning, as he sometimes did, but he could have this.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Oikawa looped his arms around Kageyama’s neck and dragged him into a firm kiss. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he parted and gasped and kissed him again, licking into Kageyama’s open mouth, and tasted his clean breath. So he hadn’t been drinking, after all. So much the better. He wanted Kageyama sober.
“I won today,” Oikawa breathed into Kageyama’s neck, “so you’ll be my prize tonight, yeah?”
Kageyama shivered. He nodded once, stiffly.
“Good boy.”
This elicited a throaty noise, half-moan, half-complaint, and Kageyama kissed him into the wall until Oikawa’s head thudded against it. Oikawa felt delirious with desire, suffocated by it. Like last time, when he’d fucked Oikawa open on his lap, Kageyama struck him as the kind of man to take what he wanted; Oikawa could already feel his will bending.
Kageyama’s bulge nudged into Oikawa’s hip, half-hard and growing. He loved that. He loved that he got Kageyama going so fast.
“Been thinking about this, haven’t you?” Oikawa craned his neck out of reach, letting Kageyama’s lips trail along his jaw while he kneaded Kageyama’s ass through his pants. Kageyama grunted, nipping below Oikawa’s ear. “Words, Tobio. I don’t speak caveman.”
“Yeah,” Kageyama admitted. Oikawa yanked Kageyama’s shirts free of his belt and smoothed his hands up Kageyama’s back, marvelling at his kouhai’s slim waist, the firm, rippling muscles beneath his warm skin. He wanted to kiss and bite every inch. “You?”
“I have,” Oikawa admitted, a playful lilt to it. He smirked, and tilted up Kageyama’s chin to kiss him again. “Been dreaming about getting you around my cock.” Kageyama stilled.
“How long?”
That wasn't the response Oikawa had been expecting. His adrenaline high had him on the verge of answering honesty, but he bit the reply back with a forced chuckle. “All week,” he murmured. He began unbuttoning Kageyama’s shirt, pausing to press his fingers into Kageyama’s pecs. “Since I heard I’d be running into you again.”
“Just since then?”
Oikawa’s eyes flicked up to meet that blue gaze, an almost painful sincerity in it. For all his bluster, Kageyama could be nothing but. Oikawa’s lips pulled up at the corner. “Oh, but you don’t really want to know that.”
“I do, though,” Kageyama said lowly. His hands closed around Oikawa’s, which had suddenly grown clumsy, fumbling around the last few buttons; and he pressed closer, knocking their foreheads together. Kageyama’s breath was hot on his face. “I like you, Oikawa-san. I want you so bad.”
Oikawa’s breath stuck in his throat, though only for a moment. “Tooru,” he managed, forcing the syllables out; then again, softer: “Tooru.”
“Tooru.”
It thrilled Oikawa more than he cared to admit, hearing his name in that voice. “I don’t remember when I realized I liked men,” he said softly; “but when I liked you?” He laughed a little. “God, it’s awful.”
“Tell me.”
“High school, maybe?” The confession took him outside himself, as if he were watching a character on a screen act out his darkest, most humiliating fantasy. Kageyama’s low hum of approval dragged him back, grounded him in place. Oikawa felt light-headed, downright dizzy. “What about you? Was I your teenage dream?”
Kageyama hummed his assent again; and this time, Oikawa couldn’t bring himself to ask for more. He’d been called attractive, pretty, beautiful, hot more times than he could count, ever since he was young; now, as an international volleyball star, he was desired, adored, even fought over by thousands, maybe more. But knowing Kageyama wanted him--had wanted him--made his mind unravel. His cock thumped against the confines of his jeans. His filed-down fingernails bit into the skin of Kageyama’s neck as he brought him into another forceful kiss, angry at the power Kageyama had over him, luxuriating in how beautifully Kageyama wielded it.
There were too many layers between them. Oikawa began tugging at Kageyama’s sleeves, roughly working off his shirt and gliding his palms up those gorgeous arms once they were free. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” Oikawa hissed, raking his eyes up Kageyama’s body, then drinking in the look on his face: a little star-struck, like it still stunned him to hear it, but not bowled over. There was no way Kageyama didn’t know, not at twenty-two. He wasn’t a Ken doll like Oikawa, and his brooding, serious air could intimidate those who didn’t know any better, but Oikawa liked that. He liked his men--well, he didn’t know. Like Kageyama.
Then Kageyama pushed him back with a hand to Oikawa’s chest. He twisted, pulled off his undershirt in a way that made his abs flex into statuesque relief, and nodded at Oikawa. You, too.
Oikawa couldn’t take it. He lurched forward and kissed Kageyama, palms pressing into the curve of each lovely cheekbone, and began walking him backwards towards the nearest bed. Fortunately, this bed was Oikawa’s. Kageyama huffed into the kiss, like he was amused, and Oikawa only kissed him more fiercely, biting lips and forcing Kageyama’s jaw open like he wanted to eat him alive.
The backs of his knees hitting the mattress, Kageyama plunked down on the bed and began to scrambled backwards without missing a beat, eyes widening at the way Oikawa stalked after him, crawling on hands and knees until he was seated proudly atop Kageyama’s thighs. Oikawa began to pluck open the buttons on his own shirt, and he smirked as Kageyama’s eyes fell to his progress, tracking each new square inch of skin that was revealed.
Kageyama was ripped like the jeans teenage Oikawa used to wear, because he liked showing off his long, pretty legs; and Kageyama’s pecs, rising and falling with each rapid intake of breath, were something else. His bulge pressed against Oikawa’s, big and startlingly hard. Impatient, Kageyama thumbed free the button to his own pants, zippering open the crotch with a sigh of relief. Oikawa threw his shirt aside and bent over him, cupping the back of Kageyama’s neck and rocking their hips together as they kissed. Brow creasing at the sensation, Kageyama moaned around Oikawa’s tongue. Oikawa wanted to hear it again and again.
He groped Kageyama’s pecs as he drew away, swirling a thumb over each nipple, and Kageyama’s hand shot out, grabbing Oikawa by the elbow. “What’s that?” He dug his fingers into the meat of them, and arched over Kageyama to say, almost too honestly, “I love you like this.”
“How?”
“Under me.” He bit his lower lip as he smirked, savoring Kageyama’s glare.
They peeled off their pants a little less glamorously, rocking the bed with their movements, until they sat in their underwear; Kageyama’s was tight and navy-blue. Oikawa patted Kageyama’s hip, winked at him as he said, “Turn over, Tobio.”
Kageyama replied with a rueful smirk of his own and did so, resting on his elbows so his back arched up a little, ass held in the air without an ounce of shame--not that Oikawa could see. After the time he’d spent in Italy, Kageyama was too tan to show a blush. Oikawa settled behind him and bent over him, letting his clothed erection slot between Kageyama’s cheeks, lowering his lips to one ear.
“Want me to fuck you like this?” he asked. “On your knees?” Kageyama gave two rapid-fire nods, and Oikawa thrilled. He was so good, so assertive yet so eager to please. “Do you like it like that?”
“Whatever’s fine,” Kageyama bit out.
“Just want my cock in you, huh?” Kageyama huffed, but Oikawa didn’t chastise him. He drew away, pleased, and momentarily left the bed to fetch the lube and condom he’d forgotten in his suitcase. “That’s fine. I feel the same.” He pulled down Kageyama’s briefs, revealing the full curve of his ass and letting his hard, thick cock bob free. Oikawa ached to feel it in him, but that would have to wait. Another round, maybe. Kageyama’s ass was beautiful, a sculpted work of art, and just as enticing.
Wetting his fingers with lube, Oikawa spread Kageyama’s ass and pressed two digits to his hole. It twitched beneath his fingers, and Kageyama cringed, nervously anticipating it. “Mmm, pretty.” He slipped his middle finger inside; past that tight ring of muscle, Kageyama was blisteringly hot. “You feel so good already,” he crooned, listening in rapture to the little gasps that punched out of Kageyama as he thrust the finger in and out, experimentally petting his insides, then added another. “Think you’ll feel good around senpai’s cock?”
“Really?” Kageyama managed in a flat voice, and Oikawa chuckled. He couldn’t help it. “You want me to call you that?”
“Yeah, maybe,” he half-joked. It was a brilliant idea. “Because you’re so cute like this. Down here. You should see, the way your pink little hole clutches around my fingers, sucking me in--I love it. I’m so hard for you, wanna fill you up with my cum--is that something you’d want?”
“Yeah,” Kageyama quickly agreed, shocking Oikawa with the fervor in his voice.
“Sometime, then. I’m gonna use a condom.” Kageyama groaned into his fists, and Oikawa laughed again. His heart felt like it might beat out of his chest. “Why are you so sexy, hmm, Tobio? You don’t even seem like you’re trying, and you just--”
“I just what?” Kageyama twisted to peer back at Oikawa when he didn’t finish. Oikawa paused. He withdrew his fingers--three, by now--and Kageyama whined a little at the sudden emptiness. Oikawa knew the feeling. He wiped his fingers on the bedsheets and snatched up the condom, tearing it open and rolling it over his neglected cock with a low moan. He let his eyes roam over Kageyama’s body, all that raw power bent over and brought to heel, trembling in wait for him, only him. Kageyama’s cock curved swollen and flushed between his legs, dripping precum onto the bed.
“Just--” Lubing himself up, he dragged his cock down Kageyama’s ass, drinking in every shiver, until he nudged at the underside of Kageyama’s sensitive balls. He massaged the tip over Kageyama’s perineum, thrilled at the way Kageyama moaned. Kageyama’s knees slipped apart, as if encouraging him, egging him on. Just fuck me, already.
Oikawa grinned. He withdrew, leaving Kageyama cold, and wound up for a firm, but playful smack to Kageyama’s right cheek. It bounced, and Oikawa laughed, delighted. Kageyama’s surprised grunt delighted him even more.
“Hah?”
“That,” Oikawa announced, “was for that fucking setter dump in the second set.”
“Hah?”
Oikawa spanked him again, harder. Kageyama groaned. “And that was for, well. Me. Because I felt like it.”
“Ugh,” Kageyama said, head drooping.
“You like it?” Oikawa gave him one more, and rubbed his palm over the spot after, bending to kiss the base of his spine. Nipped at the fleshy part of his ass as he drew away. Later, when he didn’t feel like his dick was about to fall off, he’d spend some time down here, worshipping Kageyama with his lips and tongue, giving his kouhai the marks that he deserved.
“I--I dunno.” That wasn’t a no. “It’s weird.”
He tried the other cheek. Kageyama pressed his forehead to his clasped hands. “Call me senpai. Call me senpai and I’ll stop.”
“Senpai,” came Kageyama’s dutiful reply, his tone flat and forced. “Please, stop tapping my ass and fuck me.” It was ridiculously hot.
“Roger that,” Oikawa choked out. He spread Kageyama’s cheeks and pressed the fat head of his dick to Kageyama’s hole. This was his favorite part, almost--the anticipation, the incredulity at the sheer size difference: could it fit? People really did this? Oikawa pressed in, and Kageyama’s body took him in beautifully, clamping around him like a vise, searing his cock as it entered. Oikawa gasped, folding over Kageyama’s stiff spine, peaked nipples and chest molding against Kageyama’s sweat-tacky skin. Every inch of Oikawa’s body felt stuffed and oversensitive, like fruit swollen past ripe. He folded an arm around Kageyama’s torso as he slowly fucked inside, drawing their bodies closer, closer, like they could become one, if only he tried hard enough. “Tobio,” he whispered. Kageyama was shaking. “Are you good?”
“I’m good,” Kageyama breathed. It was a good kind of shaking, then. “Don’t touch me or I’ll cum.”
“Oh,” Oikawa said. He bottomed out, balls pulling snug against Kageyama’s ass. Kageyama fell perfectly still. This is heaven, he thought. He pulled out, just about halfway, and snapped his hips. Kageyama moaned. “That’s it,” Oikawa encouraged him. “Be noisy for me, Tobio.”
He peeled himself off of Kageyama’s back and pressed himself upright, giving his hips more space to pull out; only then, lurching beneath him, did Kageyama grab for one of his hands. Oikawa threated his fingers in Kageyama’s as a silent understanding passed between them. Oh my god. Kageyama likes hand-holding.
Oikawa kissed Kageyama’s shoulder, pulling out until only the tip remained inside, and thrust back inside, balls-deep in one smooth stroke. “Hah!” Kageyama gasped for it in a raw, desperate way he hadn’t when he was on top; Oikawa memorized every sound, feeling that this was truly living. When his kouhai thoughtlessly spoke his name, Oikawa felt that he might die. “Oikawa-san!”
“Mmm, call me Tooru, remember?” Oikawa teased breathlessly. Kageyama’s asshole was close to squeezing the last remaining rational thought from his brain. “You’re so tight, my fucking god. Feel so good.”
“Tooru,” Kageyama ground out. “I--”
“Anything,” Oikawa said. Confessed. Pleaded. Begged.
“Harder,” Kageyama demanded, and Oikawa growled. He fucked into him with all the strength he was willing to use, and then some, hoping he’d bruise up Kageyama’s insides for the next year and a half the way Kageyama bruised his heart. How he’d lived without this, he didn’t know. Oikawa was a monk. The most virtuous abstinent who’d ever lived. “Fuck me, please, don’t stop, fuck me--” Kageyama pleaded like the words were drool, spilling helplessly from his lips. Oikawa was shocked. He was obsessed.
Oikawa grimaced and sat upright, abandoning Kageyama’s hand--the whine of disappointment was unmistakable and crushing--but like this, he pounded into him easily, playing him like a violin until the noises Kageyama made reached a broken fever pitch. Kageyama’s body shook. The bed shook. The only sounds were the creak of it and their ragged breathing and the wet, repetitive slap of Oikawa’s hips against Kageyama’s ass. Even so, Oikawa was overwhelmed.
He closed his eyes and reached around Kageyama’s body, wrapping his hand around the base of his wet cock, stroking up, thumbing around the tip, all in time with the rhythmic plunge of his cock, in and out. Kageyama stuttered out a curse, a whole string of them.
“So fucking loud, Tobio-chan, I love y--” Oikawa bit his tongue. It hurt. “I fucking love that.” He worked Kageyama’s cock mercilessly, sensing that his own release was close. “Cum on my cock, okay?” he pleaded, voice unsteady. “Do it for me, okay, baby?”
Kageyama spilled over Oikawa’s fingers with a tense cry, forehead glued to his arm--and at that moment, Oikawa was struck by a sudden, crushing regret that he hadn’t been able to see his face. The shock in his eyes, the gorgeous part of his lips. Kageyama clenched tight around him as he orgasmed, cumming more as Oikawa fucked it out of him.
Kageyama made throaty whines of protest as pleasure faded into oversensitivity. Oikawa, ever-polite, pulled out and ripped off the condom, jerking himself off with eyes fixed on the sweaty curve of Kageyama’s back, the stupid part of his sweaty, ink-dark hair around his nape. Then Kageyama slumped, rolling onto his side and pulling one knee up so that he was splayed open, his ass pink and wet. His chest heaved as he looked up at Oikawa, eyes glittering, lips still parted. He reached for the fist Oikawa had pressed into the sheets, curling his fingers around the wrist with a too-tender look. Oikawa swore and came all over Kageyama’s tits.
Oikawa cleaned the mess on Kageyama’s chest with the tissues the hotel room provided, then kissed him slow and deep, pressing Kageyama into the pillows. Into the wet spot under his ass, too, but Kageyama didn’t complain. He exhaled shakily against Kageyama’s lips, and it turned into a breathless laugh, bordering on giddy. By the curve of his lips against Oikawa’s own, Oikawa could tell Kageyama was smiling, too.
“Don’t leave,” he whispered, before he could swallow the impulse. The Japanese players would be leaving early tomorrow, and their hotel was across town, but.
“I won’t,” Kageyama murmured in that low, effortlessly sexy gravel growl, and like this, Oikawa could feel the way it vibrated in Kageyama’s chest. Half-lying on him, Oikawa stroked his hand down Kageyama’s side and kissed him again, parting a moment later for breath. “Wanna suck you off in the shower.”
Oikawa blinked. Then he snorted, brain resuming functioning enough to consider it rationally. “Think there’s enough room in there for the two of us?”
“If I’m on my knees, maybe.”
Oikawa huffed. “Tobio.”
“Hm?”
“Nothing. Just felt like saying your name.”
Oikawa held his chin in his hands as he watched a flustered look flit over his face--there for a moment, then gone. “Tooru.”
“I wanna see you again. Sooner.” Oikawa began tracing circles in Kageyama’s side, trailing his index finger lightly enough to tickle. “Not in a year and a half.”
Kageyama’s throat bobbed on a swallow. “I don’t--my schedule, it’s--”
“Or I’ll call you,” Oikawa said. He hoped his voice didn’t come across as tight and desperate as it did in his head.
“Okay,” Kageyama murmured. “You have my number. Haven’t changed it.”
“We’ll facetime. You do with Shouyou-kun, right?”
Kageyama wrinkled his nose. “Not lately. He’s about to make his National Team debut, so we’re seeing each other more. Training for the Olympics.”
“Oh.” Another laugh bubbled out of him as the image struck him: him and Karasuno’s freak duo, facing off once again--this time on the world stage. At the top. “Wow. Time flies.”
“He’s good, now,” Kageyama said, “so it’ll be interesting.”
“Yeah. Interesting.” Oikawa paused and slid up his hand to cup the back of Kageyama’s neck, tilted him so that they faced each other head-on. His voice dropped beneath a whisper. “That’s one word for it.”
Blue eyes roamed his face, searching him, scouring his soul. “Oikaw--Tooru, do you--”
Kageyama paused, humming like there was something stuck in his throat. Oikawa took pity on him. “I’ll see you next month, at the finals,” he said, to fill the space. “Promise.”