Chapter Text
Tomorrow, Tobio had said, as if he had a plan. He’d meant it, too. In that moment, with Hinata staring at him with his face flushed and his hand still ghosting over the skin of Tobio’s hip, some dumb-as-bricks part of Tobio had thought it might be possible to get Hinata alone so long as both of them were willing.
Fate wasn’t on their side, though.
“You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” his mother asked, smiling at Hinata fondly. She was his biggest fan, besides Tobio; whenever he was over her eyes brightened measurably.
That was good, Tobio supposed—but it meant she did things like offer to let them use the living room, when all Tobio wanted was an excuse to hole up in his bedroom with Hinata. He wished his father was home; he always hogged the TV when he was there, and his exhausted grunting would be bad company.
His mother would let them out of her sight, then.
“I—” Hinata said, glancing at Tobio, then back. “Is that okay?”
“Oh, always! You’re always welcome here.”
Tobio flushed. She didn’t have to sound quite that sincere—but then, he didn’t disagree with the sentiment. Hinata grinned. “I’d love to, then.”
Tobio’s mother beamed, and Tobio drew Hinata back over to the couch.
“How are you so grumpy when your mother’s so nice?” Hinata asked, not quite quietly enough, and Tobio heard his mother stifling laughter.
“Shut up!”
“See, your mother wouldn’t tell me to shut up—”
There was outright laughter from where his mother sat at the kitchen table, and Tobio’s hand was already gripping Hinata’s hair. He glared, but his death glare didn’t quite seem to be working as it usually did; Hinata was looking up at him shyly.
Tobio drew his hand back as if he’d been burned. There was a sudden shift in his body, from taut resentment to breathless expectation. He’d sort of forgotten he wasn’t the only one frustrated to death at their inability to get time alone.
“I’ll win this time,” he mumbled, picking up his controller. They were playing Smash again, free for all this time, using randomly-assigned characters. They started a new game, and the button-mashing allowed him to get out some of his annoyance, even if it didn’t distract him from Hinata next to him. They’d both showered after practice—Hinata had gone home and then cycled back here—and Tobio could smell his shampoo even from this distance. It only served to remind him of how soft Hinata’s hair looked, how much he wanted to touch it.
“Hey,” Hinata said. “Do you think we’ll ever go to the Olympics? Both of us?”
“Where did that come from?” Tobio asked. On-screen, his character hit one of the NPCs with a frying pan.
“You asked if I’d compete with you on a world level. Is that what you meant?”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Tobio said. “If you were going to beat me there, you’d have to play for another country, so that doesn’t work at all.”
Donkey Kong-Hinata stepped on a mine, flying across the screen. “Forget what I said about beating you. Is that where you want to go?”
“…I guess so.”
“Do you think I’d make it, too?”
“I hope so.”
“Aw,” his mother said, from somewhere behind them. “My baby, already planning for world domination in volleyball. You’d make it, Hinata-kun. Aren’t you the only one who can hit his tosses?”
Hinata brightened beside him. “The really fast ones, yeah.”
“See? Okay, now. I need to go head out and get some food for dinner, since we have a guest. Any requests?”
“Pork curry,” Tobio said, as Hinata shouted, “Not pork curry!”
“What?” Tobio asked, betrayal in his voice.
Hinata laughed. “Kidding.”
When Tobio glanced away from the screen, he saw that dewy, fond look on his mother’s face again. She leaned forward to kiss him on the top of his head, and—after a second of hesitation—did the same thing to Hinata.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said, as if that was a good thing. “Be good, okay?”
They nodded as a unit and watched her open the front door—then watched her close it behind her. Five seconds passed—ten—and it seemed safe. Tobio pressed pause in the same second that Hinata tossed his controller onto the coffee table, turning to him. He had a second to lay his controller down before Hinata grabbed him and pulled him up from the couch, heading for his bedroom. Tobio’s heart was racing already, and he thought he might have a heart attack when he felt the door to his bedroom close behind him.
Hinata whirled on him, hands grabbing at the front of Tobio’s T-shirt to steady himself as he rose onto his tip toes, only managing to reach Tobio’s neck—that didn’t stop him from planting kisses there, though. Goosebumps rose up all over Tobio’s body, and he stiffened when he felt Hinata suck at a patch of skin.
“Wh-what are you doing?!”
“I can’t reach your mouth—”
“If you give me marks, she’ll see! Idiot!”
“So bend down a bit!”
“You’re pinning me—”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mister Genius Setter. I didn’t realize I was strong enough to pin you—”
Tobio growled, and with the force of his frustration he managed to get his limbs to work again, grabbing Hinata under his armpits and throwing him in the direction of the bed. Hinata bounced twice, looking slightly stunned and—red.
He looked really embarrassed.
“What are you blushing about?” Tobio asked, raising a hand to cover his own blush. Idiot! Why did Hinata have to look up at him like that? He looked like—
Like what? Like he expected Tobio to rip off that shirt with the ridiculous bear logo and run his hands over the skin beneath it? Or was Tobio projecting his own desires?
“Come here,” Hinata said, still looking flushed. Tobio did as he was asked, kneeling down opposite Hinata gingerly, caught between pouncing and hiding his face. His breath was coming short.
Hinata shuffled forward, rising up so their faces were level. His breath was coming fast, too, and his pupils were blown wide. Tobio wasn’t sure who moved first, but they met in the middle, and he felt the softness of Hinata’s mouth against his a moment later. His hands came up to cup Hinata’s face, keeping him from moving away—not that Hinata was trying. Hinata’s mouth was forceful, more enthusiastic than skillful, but it was the perfect kiss where Tobio was concerned: breathless, not stopping.
The not stopping was key.
He pressed back, chasing the flick of Hinata’s tongue, the soft scrape of his teeth. His hand slid to the back of Hinata’s neck unconsciously, deepening the kiss. There was a sound—a moan—in response, and Tobio felt the muscles of his lower abdomen tighten. He wanted to pull Hinata forward onto his lap and thrust up against him, but even if he could get past his embarrassment he wasn’t sure he had the power in his arms to do so. His whole body felt shaky.
He gasped against Hinata’s mouth when he felt fingers twitching at the hem of his T-shirt. Hinata pulled back a bit. “Can I?” he breathed.
Tobio didn’t know. Could he? Could he raise his arms? He tried, and found it was possible. Hinata pushed the shirt up and over Tobio’s head, letting it fall against the bed once it was free. The way Hinata stared would have been flattering if it wasn’t so embarrassing.
“What?” Tobio said, looking away. “You’ve seen me naked before.”
“That’s different,” Hinata said. His voice was breathy. “I didn’t know I liked you then.”
“You didn’t like me then. Idiot.” And Tobio had been blissfully unaware of his own feelings, much of the time, even if something about Hinata had always made him uncomfortable.
“Hm. Maybe.”
Hinata leaned forward to kiss him, and this time it was Tobio twitching at the hem of Hinata’s T-shirt and Hinata raising his arms. Once the shirt was off and light, flushed skin was exposed Tobio fought the urge to run his hands down Hinata’s sides—to spread out his fingers and see how far he could span his hands around Hinata’s waist.
“You can touch me, y’know.”
Tobio looked up, heart pounding. Hinata was blushing, but there was a challenge in his eyes. He’d risen up higher on his knees, so that he was taller than Tobio, and Tobio’s fingers twitched at the sight of all that skin, aching to do as Hinata said.
Tobio swallowed, steeling himself.
He reached forward after a long, breathless moment, letting his hands slide along Hinata’s hips, over skin and beltloops, gliding up along his back to the bumps of his spine. Hinata let out shuddering breath, and Tobio leaned forward, trailing his mouth over the smooth skin of Hinata’s abdomen. He inhaled deeply, forgetting to be embarrassed in the total bliss of Hinata’s scent, Hinata’s skin.
Hands clenched in Tobio’s hair, tight, and the hips Tobio was embracing thrust forward, desperately.
“S-sorry,” Hinata said, a moment later, and Tobio swallowed with difficulty, letting his head rest against Hinata’s solar plexus.
Don’t apologize, he wanted to say. He wanted to be encouraging, the way Hinata was—to say things like I like it and it turns me on. But it felt impossible—just as impossible as sitting up and pulling Hinata’s hips into his, pressing his own straining erection against the one in Hinata’s pants—showing him just how much he understood that helpless thrust of a moment ago. His throat felt thick with words he couldn’t quite choke out.
Or maybe—maybe he could be encouraging. Not verbally, but with his actions, though not as forcefully as he wanted to. He hooked his fingers into Hinata’s belt loops, no longer leaning, and guided Hinata forward into his lap. He’d—he’d feel it, if he moved just a little further forward. Tobio held his breath and closed that last bit of distance between them, pulling Hinata close, and he saw the moment it registered for Hinata.
“Hnh…” Hinata said unintelligibly, his mouth slack, his eyes closing for a moment before meeting Tobio’s, heavy lidded. “T-Tobio…”
Tobio forgot how to breathe.
Hinata rocked forward, just a little, drawing muffled gasps from both of them. Tobio’s forehead dropped to lean against Hinata’s, and he kept himself still through strength of will, afraid of moving a single inch. He’d never felt anything like this before, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. He heard Hinata’s voice in his head: Tobio…
“You should sit properly,” Hinata said, kicking at his foot. “Not kneeling. I can’t move like this.”
“I d-don’t know if you should move—”
Hinata kicked at his foot again, and this time Tobio moved to do as he said, his hands sliding down to hold Hinata up as he changed from a kneeling position to a sitting position. A flush of heat went through him at the way Hinata rolled up against him while he was shifting.
“Stop that! If you do that too much it’ll… get really awkward.”
“Why?” Hinata asked, sounding honestly confused. “Don’t you want to?”
“Yeah but—my mother could come back at any time…”
“So? We still have most of our clothes on; we can stop when we hear the door. And I really want to.” Large brown eyes implored Tobio, and Tobio flushed as Hinata reached back to press Tobio’s hands more firmly against his ass, rolling forward again. Tobio’s breath left him.
“See?” Hinata said. “You want it, too, right?”
“Y-yeah.” Even though his jeans felt uncomfortably tight. Even though it would leave a mess in his boxers. He wanted nothing more than to draw Hinata in and rut into him, to catch his mouth in a kiss—to bite on the pale skin of his neck until there were marks.
He could do all those things save the last.
“Tobio,” Hinata said, and again he felt like all his body functions might have stopped in the sound of his name on Hinata’s breath. “Please? Move?”
Tobio’s hands tightened on Hinata’s ass, pulling him in against his crotch, and he swallowed Hinata’s answering moan. His whole body felt shaky, but somehow he still had control over his limbs, and every move he made produced a countermove from Hinata, furtive and clumsy and enough to make Tobio’s head spin.
The kiss broke, and Hinata ducked his head to the side, mouthing at Tobio’s neck again.
“Don’t leave marks,” Tobio said breathlessly.
“I won’t. If…”
There’s an if?
“If you say my name.”
“I—can’t…”
“You want to, don’t you?”
“Dumbass,” he managed, his abs clenching, the pressure mounting. His breathing stuttered as Hinata’s hands traveled down his chest, his palms so hot they felt like they were burning him. “How would you know what I want?”
“I want it.”
It was always Hinata’s wants that allowed him to give in to his own. He felt the name in his throat, in his whole body, waiting to be said. Shouyou. He ran his hands up along Hinata’s sides, over his arms, into his hair. Hinata looked at him, his lips red from kissing, his cheeks flushed.
Tobio looked away. “Sh—Shouyou…”
Hinata’s hips rolled forward into his. “Again,” he said, his voice low, his body straining to be closer to Tobio’s. It meant they were no longer facing each other, and Tobio could turn his face into the back of Hinata’s neck, close his eyes and feel all of Hinata pressed up against all of him.
“Shouyou,” he said again, a sigh this time, because it was allowed—because it was easier like this, when it seemed like maybe he was dreaming. Maybe Hinata’s warmth wasn’t soaking into him; maybe Hinata wasn’t rubbing up against him, the friction sending waves of pleasure through his body. If he was dreaming, he wouldn’t have to take responsibility for his stuttering breaths, for the way his hand tightened in Hinata’s hair, the way every little gasp of Hinata’s breath brought him closer to release.
“Ah—” Hinata said. “I’m—ah—Tobio—”
“M-me too,” Tobio said.
Hinata moved, drawing back and away, and his hands came up along Tobio’s jaw, tilting his head—and then Hinata’s mouth descended on his, hungrily, messily, gasping. Hinata’s legs clenched around him, changing the angle, and with a stutter of his hips Tobio was coming, holding Hinata’s ass as he thrust, mind blank with pleasure. The taste of blood was in his mouth—had he bitten his lip?—but all he could focus on was Hinata clinging to him, no longer kissing but breathing the same warm air, his hands clenched in Tobio’s hair.
“Shouyou,” Tobio whispered, over and over until he silenced himself against Hinata’s neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses there. Hinata moaned—and then he began to twitch, jerking against Tobio with uneven movements, his breaths audible. His moans as he came sounded almost like sobs, and Tobio told himself to remember the hopeless cadence of Hinata’s voice, to replay later in his mind when he was alone and doubting himself.
He couldn’t help feeling like Hinata was the most precious thing in the world, right then. He couldn’t voice it—not ever—but he felt it in every cell of his body, blasting through him as Hinata rode out his orgasm and began to slump against him, his breathing rough.
“You were loud,” Tobio whispered, unable to disguise the fondness in his voice. I’m glad you were loud, he thought.
Hinata huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well.”
They both drew back, and Tobio fought the urge to look away. He wanted to remember what Hinata looked like right then: eyes wide, cheeks flushed.
“You’re not gonna scold me for being loud?” Hinata asked.
I liked it, he envisioned himself saying, but he couldn’t quite manage it, so he shook his head. The taste of blood was still in his mouth, and he held a finger up to his bottom lip.
“O-oh,” Hinata said. “You’re bleeding.”
“I must have bitten—”
“No, I think it was me—”
They both fell silent, eyes wide, and Hinata laughed. Tobio held up a hand to cover his smile, knowing it would probably look creepier than normal if his teeth were bloody, too.
“We need to—” Hinata started, motioning helplessly at their crotches. “Can I borrow underwear?”
“Yeah—in there—”
Hinata stumbled over to his closet, seeming to have trouble walking. “I’ll go clean up,” he said, grabbing a pair of boxers and darting out the door, his whole face flushed. Tobio fell back against the bed.
That had happened, hadn’t it?
He cleaned himself up, changing his underwear before donning the same dark jeans he’d been wearing, wondering if he’d ever be able to look at them the same way again. He was pulling his shirt back over his head when Hinata came back in.
“Wait,” Hinata said, and pressed his hands against Tobio’s abs, letting them slide upward. Tobio felt a flush travel up his neck.
“What are you…?”
“Appreciating,” Hinata said, with the hint of a pout. “I’m not going to be allowed to touch you when I see you in the dressing room tomorrow, so I need to do it now.”
Tobio saw the sense in that. He let the T-shirt sit bunched up at his armpits, busying himself with Hinata’s hair, curling it around his fingers gently. He felt a little guilty for pulling at it earlier—it was so soft in his hands—and something about it made his breath stick in his throat.
Hinata finished running his hands over Tobio’s chest and abs, moving to the bed to pick up his T-shirt. Tobio watched Hinata tug the shirt down over his back, feeling his mood dampen. Suddenly he understood why Hinata had stopped him from pulling his shirt down a moment ago.
He wanted to go on touching Hinata’s skin unhindered.
“I need to wash my hands,” Tobio said suddenly, making his escape. He felt really strange—like he wanted to cry, or something, but not in a sad way. In the bathroom he splashed his face and washed up, rinsing the blood from his mouth, and when he returned to the living room Hinata was sitting on the couch waiting for him.
“Do I have any marks?” Hinata asked. “You don’t, but—”
Tobio sat down next to him, examining his neck and hands. He shook his head, still finding it hard to speak.
Hinata smiled. “Good. You can’t notice your lip, either. Here, lie back.”
He pushed Tobio back against the couch arm, positioning his body with the air of an artist. When he was satisfied with how Tobio was lying, he slouched down, resting his head on Tobio’s chest. Tobio’s arms snaked up around him of their own volition.
“We’ll unpause the game when we hear the door,” Hinata mumbled into his chest. Again, Tobio felt that weird crying urge. He buried his face in the crown of Hinata’s head, nodding, thinking again that Hinata was precious in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel comfortable saying out loud.
“Hey,” Hinata said. “That was good, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Tobio said. Good. He didn’t sound like he was about to cry, after all.
“I wish we could stay like this all night.”
Tobio let out a shuddering sigh. How did Hinata always know what to say? He nodded again, arms tightening.
I love you, he thought as Hinata snuggled in close. Maybe that was why he felt like crying: that thought, thrumming through his veins and tightening his throat.
It wouldn’t be a sad kind of crying, though, if he did it.
Not that he would.