He breathes, and Kageyama swears he can see the heavy exhalation pass through his lips.
Kageyama tosses the ball—regular quick strike—just to test him, and yep, he was definitely too wound up. Sick, maybe? That spike was way too strong, the color of Hinata’s palm an angry red that came from over-exerting himself. Hinata doesn’t still. His chest heaves, deep and frantic inhale-exhales. A single drop of sweat beads from his temple down the line of his jaw, dripping off his chin. Hinata wipes it with the back of his hand and he doesn’t even look at Kageyama.
“Again,” he orders, monotone and colder than the heat running through his veins and barely contained in his vessel of a body. Hinata was always the screaming boil of a kettle or the low bubble of a pot, never the stagnant heat of an oven. Something was off.
Kageyama clicks his tongue and purposefully tosses the ball where Hinata can’t reach it.
Nevertheless, Hinata goes for it, a wild swipe that barely makes contact, and he drops to the ground awkwardly, stumbling. Kageyama feels a shot of pure adrenaline straight to his heart until Hinata stands up, his mind jumping immediately to the worst possible conclusion—his spiker getting hurt because of his own foolishness.
Funny, that. Wasn’t it just a year ago that Kageyama told Hinata he wasn’t necessary to win? Yet here he was, a half-step towards Hinata, wide-eyed in fear of losing him. Volleyball was weird.
Hinata does look at him this time. It’s not the mischief or the mock fear or the earnestness that characterized a typical Hinata-look. This one is sharp as ice and scalding as magma. Disappointment. Kageyama feels his own blood rise to the challenge in Hinata's eyes, even though he knows he screwed up on purpose. That look is the one that really gets Kageyama, deeper than Oikawa-san’s mocking smile or Ushiwaka’s expressionless condescension.
Hinata’s disappointment brings him back to the training camp the moment their eyes meet, the heat of summer pressing in on his shoulders and fogging up his judgment, making him quick to anger and anxious to rage against something. Someone. Hinata’s disappointment now looks just like it did back then—four parts pure, unadulterated anger; one part incredulity; and one part something else that made Kageyama’s head swim and caused the floor drop out from underneath him, enough to make it almost worth it sometimes, to disappoint Hinata, just to feel that rush of I’ll strangle you for looking at me like that unless you get over here right now, get right in my face and in my space, fucking put me in my place, just you try it…
“Kageyama,” Hinata says, terse, and Kageyama curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to drag himself to the present. “That last one, you—”
“Oi, you two done yet?” Tanaka sticks his head around the door, scowling when he sees the volleyball net still in place. “It’s time to leave, you know!”
“We’ll take care of it, Tanaka-san,” Kageyama says (he thinks) but it really doesn’t sound like his voice. Tanaka glances between the two of them, no doubt remembering the training camp, albeit for a completely different reason.
“No fighting, you two,” he grumbles finally, turning to leave. “You’re second-years now.”
No fighting, no fighting…but Kageyama wants to. He wants to grab a fistful of Hinata’s uniform and shake him; wants to throw him against the wall or the floor, slam his hands right next to Hinata’s head, loud enough to make him jump and gasp; wants to cage him in, enough to make Hinata fight back; wants Hinata to bite and scratch and tear at him and pant in his ear I fucking hate you oh my god you ruthless dictator just you try and put me down I’ll tear you apart—
“Kageyama,” Hinata hails again, infinitely patient and snapping Kageyama from his trance, yet again. “You threw me a purposely shitty ball. Why?”
It’s not really a question—a beginner’s mistake—it’s a demand. Hinata doesn’t cross his arms like a petulant child; he lets them hang by his sides, open body language dominating and intimidating, magnifying his presence and intensity to the point where the first-years would be wary of him. Kageyama doesn’t back down. Never has.
“You’re off,” he replies gruffly. “You’re too keyed up. Calm down. It’s probably best that we stop for today before you sprain your ankle going in for an obviously bad toss like you just did.”
Kageyama intends to leave it at that. He’s halfway turned to get his water bottle when he hears the slap of sneakers and a forceful tug sends him flying back towards Hinata. Hinata claws his fingers in Kageyama’s shirt, yanking him down to Hinata’s level so that he can press their sweaty foreheads together, his eyes blazing with fury. Kageyama can smell him—sweat and volleyball and something else that makes him wrinkle his nose while also pressing closer, teeth clenched together.
“Who the fuck invited you to make calls about my fitness?” Hinata snarls, baring teeth and sharp canines that Kageyama wants dug into his lower lip, viciously.
“I’m your setter,” Kageyama answers calmly, like it’s obvious. “I know your body’s movements better than you do. And you are way too wild to play safely.”
“You don’t know a thing—”
“Oh? Then why did you go after that ball?”
Hinata seethes. “Because you piss me off, throwing a shitty fucking ball like that, thinking I can’t hit it—”
“Knowing you can’t hit it,” Kageyama corrects, pushing the boundaries, barely able to hear Hinata or himself over the blood pounding in his ears and head, drowning out rationality and self-preservation.
Hinata shoves him back, practically growling. He points a finger at Kageyama, driving it hard into the center of his chest. “You fucker,” he hisses. “After all we’ve gone through, you doubt my abilities?”
“I care about you,” Kageyama snaps back. “I know you’ll hurt yourself and I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need your help,” Hinata spits.
This time, Kageyama grabs Hinata’s shirt, pulling him up close to Kageyama so he stands on his tip-toes, stumbling and forced to rest his hands on Kageyama’s hips for balance. The contact has him bucking away from Kageyama like he’s burned, but Kageyama is the one really burned, Hinata’s hands hot from spiking and leaving heat imprints that stick in Kageyama’s memory and go straight to his crotch.
“Let go of me, you son a bit—” Hinata snarls, twisting in Kageyama’s grasp. Kageyama doesn’t even think; his other hand reaches around Hinata’s head and grabs his infuriatingly mess of curls and pulls. Hinata makes a noise—not of pain or discomfort, but an almost-gasp, almost-sigh that turns Kageyama’s legs to jelly and loosens his grip from the purity of the pleasure in Hinata’s voice.
Kageyama has lost things in his life that were preciously valuable to him. His friends. The respect for him as a setter. His position on the team altogether. Hinata would not join that list, too.
Kageyama leans in, lips brushing Hinata’s ear. “I have worked too god damn hard trying to find the perfect spiker to meet my skills and the challenge of my toss head on. I have worked too many fucking hours building an attack for us that will take us to the top of Japan—to the top of the world. I have invested too much of my life in you to let you throw it away for pride. I will never let you slip away from me.”
Hinata stills. Lets a shudder wrack his body so completely that it rattles Kageyama’s bones. Shoves Kageyama away from him.
It’s rejection, Kageyama thinks, confused. Was I reading the signs wrong? Does he not—
Hinata’s eyes run up and down Kageyama’s body once, slow enough to cut his thoughts off and light every nerve ending in his body on fire. His pupils dilate, reflecting Kageyama’s, and then all the doubt in Kageyama’s mind evaporates.
They move with all the grace and desperation of a trainwreck. Hinata rises like a leap into a spike, impatiently running his hands up the back of Kageyama’s shirt while Kageyama swoops down to finish what he started, both hands tangling in Hinata’s hair and pulling his face up, desperate for it, that one, final, connection…
When they kiss, there is no gentle testing of the waters, no shy sharing of inexperience. Hinata wants in Kageyama’s mouth like a dying man needs breath, nipping hard enough at Kageyama’s lip to make him hiss in pain. Hinata is ruthless, swiping his tongue into Kageyama’s mouth and running it along the roof of his mouth, a sensation that Kageyama feels all the way down to his toes, tilting Hinata’s head to give him better access.
Kageyama tugs at Hinata’s hair and scratches at his scalp, less of an appreciation of the tiny ball of fluff he had come to adore and more a desperate bid for contact and sensation, drinking in as much of Hinata as he could as fast as possible, wanting to be overwhelmed by the feeling of his spiker against him, his dream partner at his side. Hinata carves lines into his back with stubby nails, leaving Kageyama’s sweaty, hot skin burning and raw against the cool air, stinging pleasantly. It’s not enough, not enough this close—and Hinata agrees.
Kageyama’s hands slide down to Hinata’s hips so that he can pull them flush against each other, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Hinata takes charge of the kissing in full, small hands cupping Kageyama’s jaw roughly and running fingers against its hard edges, pulling him in for filthy kiss after filthy kiss and wrecking his hair. Hinata rolls his hips against Kageyama confidently, like he’s done it a thousand times and Kageyama has to break from him, has to throw his head back and gasp because it’s not just Hinata hard against him (although fuck that is certainly most of it), but also the feeling of Hinata’s strong body under his hands.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Hinata purrs, backing Kageyama up with each press of his crotch against Kageyama’s.
“You’re a monster,” Kageyama groans, taking step by shaky step backwards. “Where did you even—how do even know what to d—”
“Watching porn, of course,” Hinata snorts softly. He grins fiercely, dropping his voice to a low whisper. “The number of times I thought of you, how much I hate your stupid, elitist mug in my face all the time, the way you look when I score and when I make you crazy…you think I didn’t notice how it turns you on?” Sexuality drips dramatically from his words, but Kageyama is still light-headed. “I just want you to shut the fuck up all the time, just want to shut you up and—” Hinata breaks off to moan inappropriately loudly for the empty gym when he grinds at the perfect angle against Kageyama.
Kageyama nearly stumbles, but Hinata slams him back against the wall, his plan all along. “So shut up nicely like you are now and touch me,” he hisses.
Maybe Hinata expected Kageyama to hesitate, to be shy, but Kageyama had had enough with the teasing. His hands slide down to grab Hinata’s ass and knead hard enough to make Hinata shout, shoving a leg between his thighs, trapping him. Hinata whines and gasps as Kageyama rubs against his almost embarrassingly obvious hard-on.
“You keep talking about shutting up and being quiet,” Kageyama snorts. “But I don’t want that at all. How loud can you be, Hinata? Loud enough that the whole school hears you? Loud enough that an adult comes in to break us up and sees you falling to pieces, soaking through your shorts?”
“Kageyama,” Hinata breathes, lustful.
“That’s not my name, Shouyou,” Kageyama corrects.
“Tobio, Tobio—touch me already, please, you fuck, I want you—hnngngng,” Hinata breaks off as Kageyama frees one of his hands to reach down into Hinata’s pants, just barely stroking him and nearly reducing him to tears.
“Together,” Hinata snaps. “You’re my setter; you think I’ll let you go either?”
“As you wish, Prince,” Kageyama replies, cutting off any response with a kiss, sucking the words right off Hinata’s tongue. Kageyama pulls his own dick out of his pants with Hinata’s, then grabs Hinata’s small hand and wraps it around them both, not even large enough to reach all the way around.
“Need a little help?” Kageyama snickers into Hinata’s ear, but Hinata has other plans. He stops Kageyama from pulling his hand away, leaving it covering Hinata’s hand around them.
“Together,” he murmurs, and the amusement falls from Kageyama’s face, melting into something softer and more adoring.
“Yeah,” he agrees, and then guides them into a slow rhythm. Hinata doesn’t look away from Kageyama’s eyes, watching his gaze grow faint and distant, consumed by pleasure, unfocused on anything but the feeling of their joined hands up and down, up and down. Hinata insists on a swifter pace but breaks eye contact as he pants harder and harder, arching his back and resting his cheek on Kageyama’s chest, quivering.
Kageyama can see, just a little, the look on Hinata’s face when he comes. His body shudders a little right before, his mouth drops open, and his eyes squeeze shut. There’s just the slightest shine of spit running down his chin as his body quakes with orgasm, the tremors reflected in Kageyama’s body, and he, too, is forced to close his eyes and throw his head back hard against the wall as he reaches climax.
They come down together, falling as they rose, melting together like one person. Kageyama lifts one shaky hand to brush Hinata’s bangs out of his face when he catches his breath. Hinata leans into the touch, kissing the palm of Kageyama’s hand gently and blinking wide eyes to look at him with all the warmth that had been missing that practice, like the first peeks of sunlight through passing storm clouds on Kageyama.
I love you, Kageyama says with each strand brushed to the side of his face.
I love you, Hinata says with each swipe of his thumb over Kageyama’s hip.