Chapter Text
Tokyo Training Camp Weekend
Taketora places his hand on his hip, cocking it out as he drinks a long pull from his water bottle. His leg flexes with the movement, thigh filling out his shorts, the hard muscle accentuating the curve of his ass. He looks good (he knows it) and wonders if the Karasuno managers are watching. They’re huddled over a clipboard on the other side of the net, Kiyoko pointing something out to the new one, hand delicately moving with her explanation.
“You look like an idiot,” Kenma says from his seat on the bench.
Taketora lets out a tsk in response.
He takes another drink, draining the last of his water, and then moves to sit beside Kenma, keeping one eye on the warmup drills Karasuno is running, the other on Kiyoko’s lips as she speaks.
“Cut me some slack,” he says as he slouches over, setting his bottle on the ground. “We won’t see Karasuno again until nationals and she might not be managing the team by then. This is my chance.”
“We’ll see them in another week for the actual training camp.”
Kenma sounds like he’s explaining something to a five year old, but Taketora’s used to his condescending tone.
“You don’t have a chance regardless,” Kenma adds without prompting.
Taketora can feel the familiar flare of annoyance that Kenma is so easily able to light. It flickers, but he ignores it. Kenma isn’t exactly wrong: Kiyoko never gives anyone the time of day, and Taketora thinks that Tanaka might actually try to kill him if he somehow manages to try and make a move. Not that it would stop him if she ever showed interest, but…
But she never does. Probably never will.
And the new one, the new manager- she’s cute, but ultimately not his type. Too skittish. He needs someone firm to deal with his overzealous personality, not someone who would just cower away. That’s why Kiyoko is perfect. She could just ignore him and he could just carry on being himself.
He lets out a sigh and slumps further over himself. “Kenma,” he whines, extending the length of the name and tilting his head as if to lean it against Kenma’s shoulder, but Kenma shifts away. “It’s not fair that the gods would put such a pure person in front of me on this earth and not let me have them.”
“Get over yourself Tora.”
Taketora whines again at his friend’s lack of sympathy.
“Oi,” Kuroo shouts from the end of the bench. “Circle up! Karasuno’s almost finished.”
Taketora sighs and stands, rotating his shoulder as he strides over to their huddle, Kuroo already beginning the familiar pre-game speech their entire team is forced to listen to before every. single. game.
Normally it gets Taketora fired up, but during training camps, when they play match after match after match, it makes him want to stuff a towel in their captain’s mouth. Luckily, Taketora’s body has memorized the exact amount of time he has to space out before chiming in with the group cheer at the end, flexing as they break apart and take their positions on court.
Excitement thrums through him. It’s the first time they’re facing Karasuno this weekend, and he can feel his face stretching into a wild grin, eyes skittering from player to player decked out in chartreusey-yellow practice jerseys. When his gaze lands on Tanaka, he’s met with a wild smirk that rivals his own.
“You’re going down, city boi,” Takana yells as loudly as he dares under their captain’s watchful eye.
Taketora laughs and tilts his head a fraction. “In your dreams!” he shouts back.
Yaku rolls his eyes from the sidelines. “Tora, stop beefing with the crows and serve, idiot.”
Taketora’s head turns, and he stretches his arm out for the ball Yaku is holding in his hand, grateful when it’s passed to him politely instead of being chucked at his head.
“Thanks,” he says as he walks back and begins to set up for his serve.
He rolls his head, clicks his tongue and spins the ball, then relaxes his body into position several steps back from the stark white court-line inlayed into the gym floor. He’s been working on his jump serve, working on transforming the powerful swing of his spikes into another offensive tool. He’s pretty sure Karasuno’s captain and libero would be the only ones able to dig it, and Noya wasn’t on the court yet, so all Taketora had to do was aim for the opposite corner, between Tanaka and… and someone.
Taketora squints, trying to identify the middle blocker in the back row. He has dark hair and dark eyes and a sturdy build, relaxed into an easy stance to receive, with a look of concentration on his face that Taketora is looking forward to wiping off. In a snapshot of a moment, Taketora decides to change the trajectory of his serve. Instead of aiming for the awkward space between two players, whoever the newcomer is, is his new target.
The shrill sound of the whistle blows and Taketora exhales, tossing the ball up and taking four steps before leaping into the air and swinging his arm at the ball with as much force as he can muster. The reverberating slap of contact sends tingles through his palm. He aims to the right of the guy, enough to hopefully throw him off balance, but far enough away from Tanaka to dissuade him from going for it and grins as the trajectory of the ball sails exactly as he intended.
But the Karasuno newcomer slides to the side, torso behind the point of impact, forearms flat and sturdy. He receives the serve steady and sends the ball, seemingly effortlessly, to their setter.
Taketora doesn’t have time to admire the technique or revel in his surprise. He’s forced to adjust and prepare for the next volley. Receive, set, spike. The ball doesn’t come to him, but it makes its back over the net regardless and into Nekoma’s reliable pattern. The volleyball ends up hitting Karasuno’s side of the court with a resounding thud. Despite Karasuno’s ability to dig his inaugural serve, the first point goes to Nekoma, courtesy of Lev. Taketora shouts with glee, regardless, and the ball is passed over to Nekoma’s side once more so that he can serve again.
He rolls his head, clicks his tongue, spins the ball and looks at the newcomer who is now staring resolutely back at him. Taketora doesn’t really think that the receive was a fluke, but it could be, and he’s determined to test the guy’s reaction, curious to see if he can serve the ball with enough force to throw the guy off. Taketora decides to not make any adjustments to his aim, and when the whistle blows he sends his serve sailing to the same spot as before, eyes zeroed in to the shuffle of strong calves and the flex of an extended forearm as the ball is received beautifully again.
He can vaguely hear someone from Karasuno shout, “nice receive,” as the ball arcs perfectly towards their setter. Damn.
“Idiot,” Fukunaga mutters to him as he watches the set and adjusts for a receive.
“Shut u-” Taketora begins to reply, but is cut off as a nasty spike shoots his way.
He just barely manages to keep it up (the arm on Karasuno’s ace is no joke) and shouts a garbled apology to Kenma who has to adjust left in order to set it, this time to Kai who is able to put away another point for Nekoma.
“Oy, Tora! Try not giving them a free ball next time,” Kai shouts with a grin.
Taketora moves to flip him off, but falters under the volunteer referee’s gaze, settling on rolling his eyes and preparing for his next serve instead.
Head roll. Tongue click. Ball Spin. Relaxed posture and a fiery gaze towards their center-back. Taketora tries to make every move identical to his serve before, even lets his eyes laser focus onto the same area he had aimed for previously, but when he hits, he strikes for the other side of the newbie, still far enough away from Daichi that he knows their captain wouldn’t pick it up.
Karasuno’s new guy barely even hesitates, side stepping and receiving the serve like it’s easy.
“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath and purposely ignores Fukanaga’s laughter.
Receive, set, spike. Receive, set, spike. The game goes on.
“I thought you’ve been working on your serve-” the last part of Fukanaga’s sentence is strained as he receives the ball, bumping it to Kenma with more grace than Taketora could have managed.
Kenma sets to Kai, and Kai hits it over, but it’s picked up by their captain.
Taketora shakes his head and focuses, watching Karasuno set up another hit that gets shut down by Lev’s looming figure. Another point for Nekoma.
“You can’t make fun of me when we’re scoring every time,” he argues, picking their mid-set conversation up as the ball is passed toward him.
“No thanks to your serve,” Kenma says, not even focusing on him, eyes on nobody but Karasuno’s ten.
Fukunaga laughs and slaps Taketora’s shoulder, propelling him toward the back line to serve for a fourth time.
Fuck this, he thinks, bypassing his ritual to run straight into his serve as the whistle blows.
The hit he delivers has more power than the previous two, possibly more power than any serve he’s given before, but it goes sailing high. The Karasuno newcomer simply steps to the side and lets it smack hard onto the floor out of bounds.
Fukunaga laughs even harder, muffling Taketora’s yell of frustration as Kai offers a pathetic, “don’t mind,” between his own snickers.
Fuck, Taketora thinks to himself as they rotate again. It’s on.
*****
Karasuno puts up as good of a fight as they can without the two star members of their offense. They certainly don’t score as much, but their defense is solid and they’re able to sustain long rallies. Once it comes to it, Nekoma’s win still feels satisfying, and the players have worked up a sweat by the end of the game.
“Good game, bro,” Taketora says while clasping Tanaka’s hand and pulling him into a brief hug with a hard slap on the back. “Too bad about your first-years.”
Tanaka just grins. “They’ll be here soon. Knowing their ride, it’ll be a couple hours. Tops.”
Taketora mops his brow with the towel slung around his neck. “Who’s the new middle blocker you were playing with- ow!” he exclaims as Tanaka smacks the back of his head.
“He’s not new, asshole. He’s just not a starter. He was on the team when we had our last practice match.”
“Dude…” Taketora mutters, rubbing his skull. Tanaka hadn’t held back. “Whatever. Who is he? His receive is almost as good as your captain’s.”
“Ennoshita,” Tanaka supplies with a nod towards the guy off to the side of the court chatting with two other Karasuno members Taketora doesn’t recognize. “And he’s not a middle blocker, usually. We’re just rotating people in for Hinata. Ennoshita’s a wing spiker, usually opposite although,” Tanaka shrugs, “I guess not usually anything.”
Taketora peers at the guy- Ennoshita, watches him take a drink from his water bottle, watches the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
“He’s not bad,” Taketora says, eyes not straying from his examination. “Like I said, solid receive.”
Tanaka scoffs. “Of course he’s not bad. Ennoshita’s awesome.”
Taketora rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Karasuno, let’s go! Ubugawa’s ready!”
Tanaka claps Taketora on the back (harder than necessary, in Taketora’s opinion). “That’s my cue! Later, bro.”
Taketora nods as he leaves, once more wiping at his face before jogging over to the rest of his team.
“Kuroo just told us that we have at least fifteen minutes until our next match,” Fukunaga informs him as he approaches.
Since Karasuno joined their camp, the odd number of teams meant there would always be one team not playing. Nekoma is up next, but they need to wait until Fukurodani is finished with their current game. Taketora would normally whine about it, but instead he perks up because now he can watch Karasuno from the sidelines, for at least a little, and see how they continue to play without their regulars. Maybe even see some more of Ennoshita’s receives.
But as Taketora approaches their game, he’s disappointed to find Ennoshita once more on the sidelines as a member with spiked, ash hair occupies the middle blocker space on the court.
Well, if he can’t watch him, might as well join him.
Taketora slides up to Ennoshita’s side, a grin already plastered on his face.
“Ennoshita,” he says with a swinging cadence in his tone.
Ennoshita doesn’t startle, which is what Taketora would never admit to hoping for, but instead simply turns to face him, face decorated with surprise.
“Yamamoto,” he responds with a nod. “Good game,” he congratulates.
“Thanks. You have a good arm.”
“You have a good serve.”
Taketora leans back and eyes him. “You’ve got a better receive.”
Ennoshita snorts and turns his attention back to Karasuno's game. “Only because you were aiming right at me half the time.”
“Ah, so you noticed.”
Ennoshita holds out his forearms, still red from the impact of multiple, high-velocity volleyballs. “I noticed.”
This time, Taketora leans towards him, crowding Ennoshita slightly. “Yeah, well. I thought I would be able to score some easy points off you, but that didn’t happen, so then it became a challenge.”
Ennoshita hums. “I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment.”
Taketora laughs again and Ennoshita is surprised to find himself smiling at the sound.
“Definitely a compliment. Although I probably should have known you would be tougher by your stance.”
“My stance?”
“You know,” Taketora waves his hand, “your posture and everything. Your form,” he looks Ennoshita up and down and then gives him a smirk. “You looked practiced and professional on the court. Experienced.”
“Sure,” Ennoshita replies in disbelief, uncertain how exactly to respond. This is the first time he has even ever spoken to Taketora, but the Nekoma player is talking with the familiarity of already established casual acquaintances.
A brief silence lapses around them, leaving the loud commotion of hits and shouts from the surrounding games to permeate. Taketora’s attention seemingly gets stolen completely by the Karasuno match until he says, “This set would be going better if you were playing.”
Ennoshita snorts. “You don’t have to flatter me.”
Taketora glances over at him, perplexed. “I’m not,” he states. The end lilts up like a question and he continues, “Ubugawa’s specialty is their serves and you’re the best receiver on your team besides your captain and Noya. ‘Course, in order for you to make the best defense, you shouldn’t be a middle.”
“I’m not.”
Taketora grins at him. “I know,” he replies, smug.
The booming vibration of Kuroo’s shout sounds out over the gym. “Tora! Get your ass over here: we’re starting in five!”
Taketora waggles his eyebrows at Ennoshita, an infectious grin spreading over his face. “I guess I’ll see you around.” He points as he starts to jog away. “And I will get my serve past you!”
“We’ll see,” Ennoshita responds with a matching smile.
*****
Taketora splays out next to Kenma that evening, their futons pushed as close together as Kenma would allow, not caring that Kenma is half absorbed in the handheld game he brought.
“Kenma, I’m in love.”
Kenma makes a noise of acknowledgement, but doesn’t press further. Unfettered, Taketora continues, rolling onto his stomach and propping his chin on his stacked fists.
“No, seriously Kenma! He’s so cute. And actually funny, and has thighs. Thighs I want to take a bite of.”
“He?” Kenma asks, gaze still cast downward at his screen. “What happened to Shimizu-san? You were just in love with her this morning.”
Taketora blinks as if caught off-guard. “I don’t know,” he responds. “I haven’t really thought of her all day.”
Kenma rolls his eyes. “You’re hopeless. You’re not in love, you’re infatuated.”
Taketora makes an indignant noise before shouting, “hey Kuroo!” to capture the attention of their captain halfway across the room. “What does infatuated mean?”
Fukunaga cackles at the question, nearly dropping his phone on his face in the process. Taketora kicks at him, but he’s sadly out of reach.
“Would you shut up?” Taketora grumbles. “I’m just trying to get smarter,” he says, knowing that Kenma wouldn’t have deigned to answer him if he had asked.
That was apparently the wrong thing to say because Fukunaka only laughs harder, somehow choking a spluttery, “good luck with that,” between breaths.
“It’s like to be obsessed, but like, in love obsessed,” Kuroo responds.
Yaku looks over as well. “Like to be enamored, but more horny,” he supplies.
Taketora leans to the side on his arm, encroaching dangerously into Kenma’s personal space. “I think you’re right. I’m in horny love.”
“Tora,” Kenma says, putting his game down for the first time that night and staring directly into his eyes, “never say that again.”
*****
The tables they have set up for breakfast are long, with fold-out benches that the athletes crowd on to. The food is self-serve, with everyone grabbing a tray of food before finding their seat. There’s some mingling between schools, but for the most part people stick to their teams, so Ennoshita is caught off guard when Taketora muscles his way beside him, squishing in next to Narita on the other side.
“Dude,” Tanaka chastises through a laugh.
“Why are you awake this early?” Noya asks, knowing Taketora’s tendency for sleeping in until the last minute.
Taketora’s smile is nearly feral as he leans forward on his elbow. “Had to get a good breakfast in before kicking your asses today.”
Tanaka crosses his arms. “Like hell,” he boasts.
Taketora pulls his arm back, elbowing Ennoshita in the process of picking up his chopsticks.
He doesn’t apologize, and instead asks, “you gonna be out on the court today?” through a mouthful of rice he stuffs in his face.
“Probably not. Coach says he’ll swap us in more during the week-long camp, but right now he wants to focus on the regular starting six since we have limited time.”
Taketora makes a noise of discontent. “Man,” he complains, stretching the word out in a whine, “I wanted to serve you again. Yesterday was just a warm up.”
“So you’ve said,” Ennoshita deadpans.
“Hey, hey,” Noya interjects, jabbing his chopsticks in Ennoshita’s direction. “Shouldn’t you be concerned about getting them past me?”
Taketora glances his way, meeting Noya’s fiery glare. “I prefer a challenge,” he says with a smirk.
The statement is complete bullshit, said more to rile up Noya than anything else, but it does the trick, the short libero scoffing in indignation and Tanaka resolutely coming to his best friend's defense. Taketora’s gaze slides to Ennoshita in time to see his eyes roll, but also in time to see a brief glimpse of a smile flit over his lips.
Taketora knows that Ennoshita’s receiving abilities are only part of the reason he so desperately wants to face him on the court again. The other part is a mix of the bold smirk Ennoshita had after successfully passing, his confident demeanor while talking with Tora, and of course, the gorgeous flex of his arms and legs. Taketora has always been one to fall fast, but this is the first time he’s managed to string a sentence together in the vicinity of someone he’s found so alluring, and he’s quickly becoming addicted to the ghosts of responses that his comments cause.
Taketora ignores the insults thrown his way by Tanaka and once more turns his full attention towards Ennoshita. “Well, I guess if I don’t face you today, it just gives me more time to prepare for next time.”
Ennoshita shrugs and takes a bite of his food, carefully chewing and swallowing before responding, “it gives me just as much time as well.”