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He shouldn’t be like this.
It’s immature. Kageyama knows it’s immature, and unconstructive, and possessive, and a host of other adjectives that suggest he—an adult man, twenty-five years old, in a committed relationship with a partner who he trusts—really, genuinely trusts, like he’s never trusted anyone in his life—it is ridiculous for him to feel this way.
But it’s every ounce of self-control he can muster not to stand up, march across this noisy izakaya, and throw himself between Hinata and the guy currently chatting up his boyfriend of seven months.
He’s offended, probably, because Hinata had just been innocently returning from the bathroom only to have this—bearded, decidedly middle-aged asshole swoop out of nowhere and corner him with a smile. Hinata bears it well, he bears everything well, hands behind his back as he slowly edges himself away from the conversation. He smiles and nods enough to seem polite. Full beards… so ugly and dirty, Kageyama has always thought. Watching at a distance, swilling the remains of his second or maybe third beer, he wants to fold himself around Hinata protectively.
He can’t make out any of what they’re saying but he hears it when Hinata forces a laugh—he isn’t good at faking, but the way his shoulders shake must be fooling this guy—and then he says something that makes the stranger’s face go blank. The stranger mouths a word—a question, an uncertain echo. Kageyama can read his lips.
Boyfriend?
Finally Hinata returns in an orange blur, to their little table in the far corner, the one Kageyama claims for them every time they come here. Creature of habit. Hinata’s lip curls when he spots the look on Kageyama’s face, he follows his scowl to the source of aggravation—and he rolls his eyes, plopping down on the bench beside him.
“Don’t worry about that.”
“I’m not worried,” Kageyama grunts, leaning around Hinata to continue glaring at the Beard, who glances toward their table just long enough to catch Kageyama’s eye and pale before turning away. Hinata scratches at the sleeve of Kageyama’s shirt, pouting.
“Stop, you’re scaring him, he thinks you’re going to beat him up!”
The suggestion surprises Kageyama out of his scowl. He blinks down at Hinata. “I’m not…”
“You have nothing to worry about,” says Hinata warmly, tapping his nose. Kageyama is glaring again.
“I’m not worried, I’m—”
“Jealous.”
“Fucking annoyed!”
“Jealous,” Hinata translates with a sigh. Kageyama grunts. “One day you’re going to have to accept that I’m cute and you’re not the only person who thinks so.”
Still with a furrow in his brow, Kageyama lets his elbows slide across the tabletop, his nose sinking toward his beer. “I know I’m not.” This does happen… fairly often, and he can’t say it gets easier with time. Not yet, anyway.
“It’s not my fault—” Hinata begins, but Kageyama is already shaking his head. They don’t even need to have that conversation: he holds none of this against Hinata, couldn’t if he tried, even if it made sense for him to do so, which it doesn’t. It’s so funny, he used to think he didn’t like Hinata at all, and now he has trouble staying angry with him, justified or no. Hinata gives him a tiny smile and puts his cheek against his shoulder; their knees bump under the table and Kageyama scoots a little closer, pressing their thighs together. The proximity is warm and familiar and he starts to feel better. “Good. Okay. But don’t let it get to you.”
Kageyama is shaking his head again, for different reasons. “That’s…” Easier said than done?
“I don’t get mad when people do it to you!” Kageyama pulls away enough to squint at him. What is he... “Of course, that’s because you never notice it.” Talking to himself, Hinata taps his chin.
“People don’t hit on me.”
Hinata blinks at him, thoughtful look sliding off his face, and after a long blank pause he grins. “Oh, Bakageyama. You’re cute.”
“Cute,” he huffs, leaning away, but Hinata follows him with that—stupid, illuminated grin. Cute? Cute, when he’s scared children by looking at them. Love must truly be blind, he thinks, trying to nudge Hinata’s face away from his own and suppress the blush creeping up his neck.
“Hm, well, sometimes cute, sometimes handsome.” Hinata resists his efforts to move away, instead looping his arms around Kageyama’s neck from the side. Nothing if not persistent. “Your eyes are really blue, did you know? Hmmm…” His breath hits the skin right behind Kageyama’s ear, and it’s squirm-inducing but not unpleasant. Kageyama is definitely going red, and for the first time he notices the flush in Hinata’s cheeks, too.
“You’re drunk.”
Hinata cackles right into his ear, making him start, and then sloppily kisses his cheek. “I wanna get a little drunker, too. Have fun with me?”
“Or I’ll drive you home,” Kageyama says, like it is actually the only option. Hinata’s mouth pops open in outrage; Kageyama leans forward to kiss his temple, a consolation prize. Hinata tries to shove him but ends up hiccupping.
“My mother will kill me if I—she shames me for having a beer at dinner sometimes, come on.” Now his thin fingers are winding into the fabric of Kageyama’s shirt, desperate. “Let me stay at yours.”
It’s probably the beers talking with how easily he mumbles, “Okay.” The accidental sleepovers have been cropping up over the past couple of months and have begun to feel not quite so accidental after all—not that he is opposed, only that he still stops and stares at the sight of the second toothbrush by the bathroom sink, his stomach doing something funny and confused. Just this morning, half-awake in the early darkness, he’d tried to pull on a shirt that barely fit over his chest, struggled out of it, then shoved his face in the fabric and sat there on the end of the bed smelling the traces of Hinata. Afterwards in a fit of embarrassment he’d stashed the shirt under his pillow—it’s probably still there, he realizes, absently pressing another kiss to Hinata’s temple. He’ll have to get rid of it before they go to bed. Maybe he can throw it in the dirty laundry when Hinata isn’t looking, or…
“Pay attention to me,” comes a whine in his ear, and Hinata is practically climbing into his lap, his pouting face filling Kageyama’s vision.
Hinata tries to get one of his knees down on the opposite side of Kageyama’s hips and Kageyama blocks it, tussling to keep his lap free from the mischief making Hinata’s eyes glint. “Public,” he hisses—he can’t see around Hinata to tell if anyone’s staring at them, but he guesses that the usual crowd in here is the type to stare. In reply Hinata hums and sticks his little grabby hands down between them, fingers just brushing the zipper of Kageyama’s jeans—Kageyama (ignoring the surge of heat to his groin) manages to grab Hinata’s wrists before he does something really truly naughty. “Public,” he hisses again, louder.
Hinata gives him a smirk-glare, defeated but indignant, then flops away from him down the bench, taking his grabby hands and eagerness with him. “Public,” he echoes, a scoff. Kageyama swallows, and then again, warm enough to squirm in his seat. Hinata waves down a waiter to order himself another drink or maybe two, but Kageyama’s throat is too tight to scold him. He blushes into his beer as Hinata waves harder, muttering under his breath like he can’t quite believe it, “Public, public!”
“No more public,” Hinata sings, bodily shoving him back into the kitchen counter.
They’ve barely gotten their shoes off before nimble hands are moving over his clothes, making up for precision lost to drunkenness with pure enthusiasm. He jerks Kageyama’s belt open with the entire strength of his arm.
Another couple beers had found their way into Kageyama’s hands after that awkward near-grope in the izakaya, probably because he wanted to be drunk enough when they got home that he’d have none of his usual embarrassment while fucking Hinata senseless. That urge came with the dare in Hinata’s grin as they got ready to leave the bar, the one that said, clear as day, you totally wanted me to touch you, didn’t you? or something like that, shaming him and egging him on in a single stroke. Sometimes Kageyama wishes Hinata had no idea the strength of his power over him, that his lean partner were still as clueless as he’d been at fifteen, but that thought often passes as soon as he’s had it, because Hinata’s smugness is, regrettably, very hot.
But his seduction game is short-lived—the minute he gets impatient he starts huffing and the aura dissolves—which is also hot, in a different way, it makes Kageyama want to meet every one of his needs and whims. So when Hinata sinks to his knees on the kitchen floor and his thin fingers struggle with the zipper of Kageyama’s jeans, and he starts to whine under his breath, Kageyama shoos his hands and quickly undoes the closure himself. He feels grateful to be getting hard; with how much he’s had to drink, there was a question in the back of his head.
“Does your mother know you do this, too?” Hinata tugs at the waistband of his underwear, tossing him a glare.
“Don’t talk about my mother when I’m about to blow you.”
He gives the ceiling a smile. “I was just wondering, because you said earlier she doesn’t know that you—ah.” That’s definitely a hand gripping the base of his shaft and, in the same second, tongue brushes the underside of his cock.
Blowjobs are Hinata’s weakness: he doesn’t have the necessary sense of torture, and whenever Kageyama tries to explain that he has to slow down in order to make a go of it, he gets upset and refuses the advice. As a result he tends to aggressively offer oral early in the night, get frustrated, and then quit in a huff when Kageyama doesn’t come in his mouth after two minutes of being furiously sucked on—Kageyama has gotten used to it, it’s a part of their routine that he accepts and enjoys. It’s not as if there isn’t an orgasm in his immediate future, only that it isn’t going to happen upfront.
After a minute of being lapped at and sucked on he’s good and hard, and miles away from coming. But it’s still sexy, and sweet—his energy and the way he alternates between watching what he’s doing through half-lidded eyes and glancing up to gauge Kageyama’s reactions, naively hopeful. Kageyama lets his head loll to the side and smiles down at him, which makes Hinata glare when he sees it—he abruptly releases him and sits back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
“It isn’t working!”
“Shouyou,” he mutters, reaching out to stroke Hinata’s hair, but Hinata jerks away and clambers to his feet.
“Don’t tell me I’m doing it wrong.” Kageyama winces, stiffly tucking himself away as Hinata stomps out of the kitchen with his shoulders at his ears. “You’re the one that’s doing it wrong!” Kageyama trails him into the living room, too hard to walk comfortably. Hinata is storming around aimlessly, looking under stacks of paper and books like he’s lost something. “You’re supposed to be a little jealous, you know. And you’re supposed to be unable to refuse when I offer to jerk you off under the table.” Trying not to smile, Kageyama pads up behind him, where he’s hunched over the desk, rifling through drawers. “You should be—coming in your pants every time I look at you, I don’t…” Wrapping himself over Hinata, he kisses the crook of his neck, and feeling him relax into the embrace (more out of instinct than anger forgotten, Kageyama suspects), he angles his crotch into Hinata’s ass, an easy way of saying see what you did and reminding him that the night is young. Hinata makes a little noise of indignation in reply, but doesn’t push him away.
“What are you looking for?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the shell of his ear. Hinata’s nose wrinkles.
“My glasses. I just remembered I left them here this weekend.” He tilts his head back so it thunks against Kageyama’s shoulder. “I’m drunk. Wow.” And it must be true: it only takes a cursory glance over the desk for Kageyama to locate the glasses in a nook and pluck them out. He hands them to Hinata, who maneuvers himself around so he can press his face into Kageyama’s chest and groan.
Kageyama sticks his nose into Hinata’s hair. “Sexy.” Hinata’s head pops up, scowling.
“All this could be solved if you’d just come in my mouth.”
“All this could be solved if you’d just listen when I tell you how to make me.”
Displeased with this reply, Hinata shoves him away, but there’s determination in his frown. “Go wait for me in the bedroom.”
Kageyama is drunk enough and hard enough to obey without much thought, hobbling off to his room and leaving Hinata to do whatever it is he has in mind, probably something inexplicable, he doesn’t really care. He flops back on his unmade bed without turning on the lights, lies there for a moment, and sits up just enough to pull his shirt over his head and throw it off to the side. It might even be a little warm in here, middle of July and all. They’re probably going to sweat a lot. That makes him smile. Sweaty is good. He takes a deep breath—it’s been nearly a minute, what the fuck is going on.
“Hinata!”
“I’m here.” His voice is in the doorway and Kageyama lifts his head from the bed to see Hinata, standing on the bedroom’s threshold, half-illuminated by the light from the hall, wearing… his glasses.
Admittedly, Kageyama’s stomach flips. They’ve been together long enough now, done this enough times, that his stomach doesn’t often flip anymore—but now, he feels the telltale whoosh of excitement and the quickening of his pulse.
“What are…”
Hinata slinks toward the end of the bed, and Kageyama sits up, suddenly aware that his partner is fully clothed, more clothed than he was minutes ago if you count the glasses, and he is half-naked. Hinata looks like he’s trying to keep from grinning. He fiddles with the glasses on the end of his nose. “Do you remember—”
“Of course I remember,” he says shortly, knowing that Hinata can hear the loss of cool in his voice. Like he’d ever forget a single detail of their first night together, like he could even if he wanted to. Months and years might pass, he and Hinata might go up in flames (but he hopes not, he can’t imagine he’ll ever be so lucky again in his life), and he’ll remember the eve of his twenty-fifth birthday with the permanence and transcendence of a tattoo. So it’s a stupid question, and he frowns and flushes as Hinata climbs into his lap with the trace of that grin still on his lips. He dips forward and Kageyama’s tongue leadens, useless, gaping.
The glasses are good.
Hot. They’re hot. Hinata is really…
He leans forward, stuffing his face full of warm fabric and shoulder, and when Hinata laughs he feels it against his nose. “Kageyama,” comes a playful hum in his ear, the hot sticky breath tickling him; there’s two fingers trailing down his chest. “Tobio.” He groans; Hinata stoops to kiss him, Kageyama exhales into it, eyes just open enough to watch his breath fog Hinata’s lenses. Glasses—he thought he had his shit together, thought he wouldn’t lose his head to Hinata for once, but now he has fifty-two kilograms of pure sex appeal sliding off his lap and on to the the ground in front of him. “Can I try again?” Hinata asks, coy, leaning toward his crotch, fingers in the elastic of his boxers. Mouth open, bottom lip slicked with saliva from their kiss. Fuck.
He can’t make a sound that wouldn’t be entirely degrading so he nods instead, and Hinata smiles, and pulls down his jeans and underwear enough to free his cock. The glint in his eyes, the glasses, he is fucking up to something, but Kageyama is too overwhelmed by the desire to get Hinata’s mouth around his dick immediately to diagnose the plot. So he’s going to lose himself again tonight, like he does every time they’re together; he should just accept that Hinata drives him crazy and he doesn’t mind. If he did, he wouldn’t be back here over and over, he wouldn’t let this happen. He’s never been weak or a pushover for things he doesn’t want.
It is amazing the difference a pair of glasses can make.
In some corner of his brain where rationality still exists, he knows precisely what’s happening: Hinata, who refuses to admit he has any sexual shortcomings whatsoever, had been insulted enough by the suggestion that Kageyama could have anything at all to teach him, that when he finally decided to take the advice, he’d needed to disguise his admission of wrongness with his fucking… sexual trump card. Glasses. What a little shit.
But when Hinata licks a wide, slow stripe up his cock, he is happy to be losing. He looks down, at the furrow of concentration in Hinata’s brow, at wet lips wrapping around the head of his cock, and realizes that it’s going to happen—he’s going to come. He can sense the shift in the way Hinata moves, savoring and careful, and then there are the glasses which make Kageyama feel so bizarrely aroused with affection, this little thing that Hinata has done for him, because he knew he’d like it. Kageyama chest aches and he has to let his head fall back, to stop watching. Hinata takes in more, the sucking heat enveloping him—he can’t know how to deepthroat, but shit, maybe if he’s willing to slow down now he’d learn and—and Hinata’s teeth just touch the skin of his cock, making him sit forward with a gasp, winding his fingers into soft red hair. That’s… Kageyama’s move, fucking copycat. He can see Hinata smiling into his eyes.
Now that they’re there, he can’t seem to detach his fingers from Hinata’s hair. And it gets harder and harder (shit) to keep himself from bucking up into Hinata’s mouth at the most effective strokes of his tongue—when he slides down and circles the tip, when he swipes over the slit. Somewhere along the way the pace quickens, Hinata’s usually demanding speed becomes not just welcome but necessary. Kageyama doesn’t know what sounds he is making precisely, perhaps pants punctuated by moans, he can feel their vibrations in his chest, but the blood pounding in his ears drowns out even his own sounds. Rather than resisting Kageyama’s fingers in his hair he seems to welcome the urgency, and his hands snake around to grip Kageyama from behind, dragging them together as he takes in as much as he can without choking; it’s the twinge of nails biting into his ass that finally kicks Kageyama over the edge, he crumples forward with a shout, reaching for Hinata’s shoulders. The air leaves his lungs. There are spots in his vision. He might be dead. Odds are 50/50, alive or dead.
When Hinata pushes him off and sits back, his little round face burns red, grinning, cum bubbling over his lips and down his chin. He puts his arms in the air and says, around a mouthful, “I did it!” In just the same way he used to celebrate a good receive, except now he’s drooling cum down his face. He must’ve tried to pull away in the middle of it, because there are drops on his cheeks and on one of his lenses, too.
The sense that Hinata needs to be fucked right away overwhelms Kageyama, but the orgasm hit him hard enough he can’t quite move, so he just sits there and gapes as Hinata… starts spitting cum out on to the floor.
“My fucking carpet, Shouyou,” he grumbles, and Hinata just laughs—the noise makes Kageyama want to reach for him, so he does, and Hinata climbs up on to the bed. “Get your clothes off.” To emphasize he starts tugging at Hinata’s shirt. It takes the two of them together to get it off, since Hinata is definitely still tipsy and doing more harm than help (he likes the way it flusters Kageyama, he always has), and then his jeans and underwear, revealing a neglected erection. Kageyama struggles out of his pants for good, and with the two of them naked together at last he climbs over Hinata, kissing him deeply, not really caring where that mouth has been.
They scramble to recover lube from the end table so he can slide a hand between them and slickly pump Hinata, and then he starts to move down—he lays his lips against Hinata’s neck, and against his collarbone, and presses kisses down his chest. Hinata laughs and the rattle of his ribcage nudges Kageyama’s nose. Hunched between Hinata’s knees, he dribbles more lube on his fingers, licks at Hinata’s cock, eliciting a shiver. He glances up the length of his partner’s small body: the streetlight has snuck through the blinds of the window over the bed, and illuminated strips over his skin, sweat glinting blue.
Hinata, he thinks, is sexy in a way that seems to defy the parameters of sexiness. Even in the blur of darkness, dissolved into a series of barely recognizable shapes, he is sexy. Kageyama kisses the inside of his hipbone; he doesn’t know what to do with this realization except give him everything, which feels like what he’s been doing all along. He bends down, letting his knees slide to the floor, pulling Hinata’s legs onto his shoulders. Hinata sighs happily, nudges his glasses up his nose. He is probably still too drunk to think about what’s happening. A heel nudges the back of Kageyama’s head, playful. “You really want me to keep wearing these? My glasses?”
Kageyama doesn’t answer. Instead, pulling Hinata’s hips even closer, he leans in, and tests his tongue against Hinata’s entrance. The body around him jerks and he presses into his grip on Hinata’s hips, holding him steady. “Tobi—” But at the second swipe, the final syllable of Kageyama’s name melts into, “Oh.” Kageyama feels himself smiling as he slips his tongue inside—Hinata is panting, writhing under the grasp on his hips. When he speaks he’s just clinging to coherence. “You’re drunk too. I didn’t—” Kageyama does his best to curl his tongue, and Hinata convulses with a yelp. “Know!” He probably looks incredible right now, lying there gasping, eyes watering, his glasses coming askew when he throws his head back into the sheets. If only they’d thought to film Hinata’s expressions while Kageyama eats him out, or something, so he can go back and enjoy them later, and feel really satisfied with what he did.
Kageyama draws his tongue out, carefully, making Hinata shudder. “Maybe.” He gives the entrance another lick, circling the rim, earning an even deeper shudder from the body wrapped around his head.
“You only do this when you’re really drunk,” Hinata murmurs, a breathless laugh in his voice. Kageyama glares and leans back a little, peeking up at him. “You’re so—”
“Don’t call me vulgar.”
“But—objectively,” he giggles. He has his head back and his eyes closed and his glasses are askew, just like Kageyama had imagined.
“You want me to stop?”
Hinata’s legs wrap tighter around his neck and shoulders, tugging him back in. “No.” That sounds about right. Kageyama grunts and ducks his head again.
This time, he puts his entire mouth over Hinata’s entrance, and pushes his tongue in as deep as it’ll go; Hinata cries out, arching off the bed, and Kageyama’s cock twitches, getting hard again—and just in time, too, he can’t wait to have Hinata hot and tight around him. Sucking in air through his nose, he licks into Hinata over and over, not sure if he’s hitting the spot but knowing, from his partner’s hysterical whimpers and moans, that it’s enough anyway. With the hand that’s not steadying Hinata’s hips, he reaches up to stroke his cock. He could probably get him to come like this, but after a moment he feels Hinata’s hands shoving him—he doesn’t want to come yet.
So Kageyama substitutes his tongue for his fingers, which means he can sit up and watch Hinata’s face—in response to being stared at Hinata hides behind his arm, probably embarrassed or something, but he must not understand what he looks like right now: glistening with sweat, eyes unfocused, mewling so consistently that he never seems to close his mouth. The drying remnants of cum on his chin and cheeks. Kageyama adds a third finger, stretching him, and pushes away Hinata’s arm as he bends down.
“Let me kiss you.”
“No,” Hinata gasps, shoving his head away. Kageyama scissors his fingers and feels Hinata’s nails biting into his bicep.
“Please. I have to kiss you while we’re—”
“So go wash your mouth out!” It’s amazing how fierce he manages to be, even in the midst of being aggressively fingered. His eyes have watered with the sensory overload, leaving lines down his cheeks.
“You have semen all over your face—”
“That’s different.”
“Are you at least ready?” Kageyama curls his fingers, to clarify what he means. Hinata throws both arms over his face now, and nods. It pushes his glasses all the way up on to his forehead. Adorable, thinks Kageyama indignantly. He slides his fingers free, Hinata melting into the sheets as he shakes out his wrist. “But you want me to go and… wash out my mouth.” Hinata nods again.
“You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute,” Kageyama announces, climbing off the bed. He hears Hinata giggle shyly as he trudges, butt naked, out of the bedroom and into the bath. At least he knows he’s good and hard again, because walking is weird.
While he’s swishing mouthwash in his cheeks (humiliating), he wets a washcloth and wrings it out, and once he’s spit he takes it back to the bedroom with him. He pauses in the door, throat tightening at the sight of Hinata lying across the bed on his stomach, fishing through the bedside drawer; it’s quite the view of his ass like that, making Kageyama feel lightheaded, or maybe that’s all the blood rushing to his groin.
He launches himself onto Hinata’s back in two strides, making him squeal in surprise, and pulling on his shoulder so he turns enough that Kageyama can take the washcloth and gently wipe the leftover cum from his face. Hinata’s face wrinkles like a little kid who’s made a mess of his popsicle and resents being cleaned up, which is gross in this context but also endearing, because almost everything about Hinata endears him nowadays. He tosses the cloth away—it’ll come in handy when they’re done, most likely—and they kiss, his nose bumping Hinata’s glasses with the awkward angle. “You’re minty,” Hinata murmurs against his mouth, sounding pleased, and in answer Kageyama drags Hinata’s bottom lip through his teeth, winning a moan from his partner. The warm, angular plane of Hinata’s body feels good under him, just right, so right that he can’t help grinding his erection into the curve of Hinata’s ass as he kisses the back of his neck—not that Hinata seems to mind, with the way his breathing has gone shallow, and his eyes have screwed shut at the feeling of Kageyama, very much there, wanting him.
Something presses into his hand: Hinata, handing him a condom. He sits back to open it and roll it on, then lies forward again, preparing to line himself up; he leans into Hinata’s ear. “You want to be on your stomach?” Hinata nods, bucking his hips into the sheets under him. The friction must be good. Kageyama kisses his temple, like he had in the izakaya earlier that night. “Thank you for bottoming.”
Hinata laughs and drags a pillow toward himself—to moan into, probably. “And what else?” Kageyama frowns at the back of his head. “What else do you thank me for?” Hinata adds, as though he’d heard Kageyama’s confusion.
“For…”
“Think, Bakageyama.” He feels himself scowl, but he’s wracking his brain, even with his thoughts blurred by arousal. This is a weird time to be getting a lesson in manners.
“Blowing me.”
Hinata nods, hair tickling Kageyama’s cheek. “And?”
“And.” Kageyama’s eyes flick down over the body under him, his heart racing, his cock aching. He is miserable, being teased like this, but the kind of sweet misery that just makes him want to be deeper inside Hinata, to win him over irrevocably. His gaze comes to rest on the sliver of Hinata’s face that peeks over his shoulder, waiting, smiling. “For wearing your glasses,” he breathes. Hinata’s smile breaks into a full grin.
“You’re welcome,” he hums, and he lifts his ass and shoves it back into Kageyama’s groin—there’s a brief moment where he fears that he’s about to come from that alone, but he reins it in and grabs at Hinata’s hips, lining up and thrusting into him what might be a little too rough, and too fast, and too deep—almost up to the hilt in one firm stroke. But he’s impatient and he moans at the squeeze around his cock, the noise bursting from the pit of his stomach, low and shuddering.
Hinata stuffs his face into the pillow, the sound he makes much higher, and he leans down to speak into Hinata’s ear again—it hurt, maybe, he worries. “Are you okay? It was a little…”
When Hinata speaks he lifts his head from the pillow and struggles to get the syllables out, the fullness winding him. “I’m not fragile.” He sucks in a breath and lifts himself off the mattress, pushing back onto Kageyama, who moans. “Do it hard.”
Harder. Kageyama’s jaw tightens and he kisses Hinata’s neck again—Hinata turns and shoves their mouths together, barely precise enough to be called a kiss, their teeth clacking. Kageyama drags them down the mattress enough that he can fuck Hinata over the side of the low bed, pulling out enough to slide back in at a taunting pace, and making sure that with each of his motions Hinata’s cock rubs into the sheets—Kageyama always comes first, he fucking hates that, but not tonight. He can tell Hinata is ready for it—he clings to the linens and pants and moans into the pillow. He’s dripping sweat too, they both are, and smirking at his own vulgarity Kageyama leans down and licks the longest stripe he can manage up Hinata’s back; the salt is good on his tongue; Hinata gasps in a combination of offense and surprised pleasure, the gesture sending a shiver down his spine that Kageyama seems to feel from inside him, another squeeze to his cock. His next thrust abandons taunting Hinata: it’s a straight shot, hard, slamming into him. In the midst of scrambling to keep his grip on the sheets, Hinata is nodding, he likes that, so Kageyama does it again.
That’s where his rhythm starts, really, and he keeps it as rough as he can without losing the pace—he grabs Hinata’s hips and drags them to his own with each thrust, so not an inch of either of them is wasted. Hinata spends the first while trying to drown his sounds in that stupid fucking pillow and, out of frustration, Kageyama goes harder, wanting him to lose himself so fully that he can’t even think to be embarrassed about how noisy he is. Eventually Kageyama wins that little battle, and Hinata abandons the pillow, now on his knees and elbows, moaning into the darkness of the bedroom with no muffler or filter, just the sounds he can’t help making. Loud in life, loud in sex, that’s Hinata Shouyou—Kageyama has never minded the noise as much as he used to claim.
Because he wants to help but all of his energy is in his hips, he’s glad to see Hinata start touching himself when he’s getting close, pumping in time with Kageyama’s movements. His eyes stay closed and his mouth hangs open and the glasses slide so far down his nose they seem in danger of falling off, so Kageyama uses a particularly deep thrust to pull himself over Hinata—Hinata cries out, high and clear, a really excellent sound—and push the glasses back on, then he sucks on Hinata’s neck, hard, getting more than just a gasp, getting him to say in a tiny whimper, the most precious thing, “Tobio.” He can feel the tremor that wracks Hinata when he comes, throwing his head back into Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama wraps an arm around his torso just to keep him steady as he spills half into his hand and half on to the sheets under them, reaching back to grab Kageyama wherever his fingers find skin. Tomorrow he’ll discover scratches on his neck and waist, trophies to remind him of a good night. Practically wheezing, Hinata relaxes against Kageyama’s hold on his chest, and Kageyama lets him fall forward while catching his breath. His abdomen aches horribly, he’s not far himself, but he doesn’t want to move while Hinata is recovering. Then he feels a smack—Hinata has reached back to slap his ass. “Finish, stupid!” He swallows, and obediently nudges into Hinata. But his rhythm is gone.
He must hesitate long enough that the problem is obvious, and before he can come up with a solution of his own he is being held in place while Hinata—rather awkwardly but with his characteristic determination—flips himself on to his back (Kageyama has to duck to avoid being kneed in the face), pushes away the soiled sheets, and pulls Kageyama back on top of him. “Finish,” he insists again, but his voice softens now, and there is a lovely redness in his cheeks that Kageyama hadn’t been able to see before, and there are his glasses. Kageyama feels the same welling of affection from earlier, and when he starts to move again he kisses Hinata’s forehead, and his cheeks and finally their lips meet and he comes—not forcefully but with the hormones flooding him, making his eyes swim with tears. He gasps into Hinata’s mouth, presses into his pelvis as the heat of climax courses through him; there are thin arms wrapping around him, pulling them together while Hinata kisses him, lightly and all over, a little loving flurry.
His weight goes dead when it’s over, and he lies on top of Hinata for a solid minute, letting his brain and his body catch up with reality. His face is definitely wet. Then he hears a small voice, choked, “You’re too heavy.”
“Shit.” He heaves himself up, and carefully pulls out—Hinata groans in relief, rolling away while Kageyama slides off and ties the condom. He crawls over to deposit it in the wastebasket; when he returns to the bed, Hinata has partly covered himself with a sheet and sits up, watching him curiously. “What?” he grunts, settling in to lie beside Hinata. He hasn’t recovered enough yet for sitting up.
“Are you crying?”
In an instant his face is burning, and he immediately starts wiping his eyes, which are wet, and his cheeks are wet too, but he still says, “Of course not.”
“You are,” says Hinata, with a grin. He nudges toward him and sticks his fingers into Kageyama’s hair, which is annoying but doesn’t feel bad, so he lets it continue. “Kageyama Tobio cries during sex. I’m going to tell everyone.”
“Shut up, I’ve had two orgasms, it’s a lot of…” But Hinata just chuckles, it’s not worth arguing over, so he just closes his eyes and enjoys Hinata toying with his hair. So he’d cried—it’s not so fucking abnormal. Lying here in the humid darkness with Hinata he thinks he could cry some more, though he hopes he doesn’t. Only, it’s overwhelming to think that a moment could exist where you wouldn’t want to change a single thing. Not that it’s perfect or anything, only that all the imperfections (they stink like they’ve just finished five sets) are good, too. In a weird way. But being in love is weird, he supposes.
He opens his eyes.
Hinata has started to hum to himself. He does that, sometimes pop songs, sometimes little tunes where he makes up the lyrics as he goes. Whatever he’s singing now, Kageyama doesn’t recognize. “I’m sorry about the carpet. But it adds character.” He looks up and Hinata is smiling at him sleepily.
“I think you should move in here.”
The smile slides off Hinata’s face—not in a bad way, just astonished. Maybe now is not the time for a conversation like that, when they’re both exhausted and rapidly sobering up. “Um,” says Hinata, squinting.
But he can’t bring himself to drop it. “You said you wanted to move out of your mother’s after Natsu went to school.” Hinata’s sister had left for university in Tokyo in March. By all counts, he was behind schedule.
“Moving in with you isn’t the same as moving out,” Hinata observes. Kageyama panics a little at not being able to read Hinata’s tone, so he sits up, shaking the fingers from his hair.
“That’s true, but—”
“Moving in with someone is like, you’re going to—buy plates together.”
“I want to buy plates with you.”
Eyes narrowed, Hinata demands, “Why!” Like he didn’t trust this confession.
“Because I love you, dumbass!”
Hinata’s suspicion melts into surprise, and he blushes deeply, seeming to shrink with genuine embarrassment. It makes Kageyama wonder if he really hadn’t known, or if he’s just shocked to hear it said out loud, so plainly. They’ve never traded in wordy explanations of their feelings—even on that night back in December, they had barely talked about it. So he is shocked when Hinata blinks at his lap and murmurs, “I didn’t know that.”
“I thought it was obvious.”
“Nothing is ever obvious to me,” Hinata wails, suddenly waving his arms. “We’ve been over this! You have to say things with your mouth, Kageyama.” Shushing, Kageyama wraps himself around Hinata, trying to stop his partner’s hysterics. “Not your eyes or—or your dick, you just—” Kageyama kisses him and Hinata makes an angry little noise against him, then kisses him back. When he pulls away he grabs Kageyama’s face with his eager hands. “So now—”
“Please move in with me, I love you.”
Hinata nods, exhales, and looks him square in the eye. “I love you too.”
Kageyama starts to lie back again, dragging Hinata with him, intending to use him as a human pillow. “Nice communicating,” he grunts.
“You too. Good follow-through.”
He starts laughing at that, laughing into Hinata’s chest, and Hinata starts laughing too. Eventually when that dies away they lie there in pleasant quiet, Kageyama reaching up to slide the glasses off the end of Hinata’s nose and then retire them to the nightstand. Hinata’s nose wrinkles, and Kageyama shoves his face into Hinata’s neck, enjoying the warmth of Hinata’s skin against his cheek and ear. He could doze off like this even—it’s late, after all, and now he’s worked out twice in one day. As he shuts his eyes, a small, thoughtful voice fills the silence, its warmth soaking him through.
“Don’t you think we’re going to need a bigger place?”