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i'm always on my knees for you

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Kageyama had been staying late at practice recently. His serves had been getting sloppy, he told Hinata and Tanaka, and he insisted on staying to improve them. Daichi knew that he had grown into some semblance of a responsible student, so he let him lock up after he was done, because chances were the setter would be the first one at practice in the morning anyway.

But today was different: Hinata begged him to come with the rest of the team to the family restaurant down the street, and practice had been particularly rough due mostly in part to certain members of the team being massive jerks during their interteam scrimmage – not like Tsukishima being an ass was anywhere out of the ordinary, but Kageyama got pissed when someone he liked accidentally hit him in the head with a serve. The pure rage he felt when it was done possibly on purpose, and by Tsukishima no less (so definitely on purpose, actually), was overwhelming; even long after that segment of practice was over, he's still thinking about it, scowling harder with every passing moment.

“Next time you pull something like that, you're dead,” Kageyama growls as he passes by Tsukishima, who stops toweling off his hair to watch the other boy pass.

“That's not very nice, your highness...” the blond taunts, smirking when the setter stops in his tracts. “Can't you be a little kinder to a subject as loyal as me?”

Kageyama turns on his heel and walks back to Tsukishima, glaring up at him and jabbing a finger into his chest.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Tsukishima puts his hands up in front of him, shrugging a little.

“I doubt someone less loyal than me would let you stick your dick up their ass.” His eyes shine behind his glasses, maliciousness slipping across his lips as his tongue runs over them.

Kageyama's whole body tenses, his fingers digging into palms as he curls his hands into tight fists.

“That was one time,” he mutters, shaking his head and making to walk away again. He's not going to be goaded into doing something he doesn't want to, with someone he hates, again. Tsukishima is a piece of shit, and he reminds himself of this fact over and over, thin fingers gripping the strap of his bag.

But for some reason, he can't make himself leave. This whole thing could be very easily resolved – he could leave, and go with the team to dinner, and Tsukishima and Yamaguchi would go and do whatever it is they do after hours – the idea that they're doing something dirty crosses his mind and makes his vision go white for just a moment. He presses a hand to his temple--

“But you liked it.”

His fingers curl up against his skin and he straightens up.

“As if you didn't,” he retorts, letting his voice become haughty, but refusing to turn back around. He briefly wonders if it's normal to hate someone so much you want to make out with them. Or fuck them, whatever. Same difference, or at least he's trying to convince himself it is.

“Let's do it again, then,” and Tsukishima's voice is right up against his ear, and Kageyama shivers as his breath hits the nape of his neck.


It feels cramped in the club room, even though this same room regularly houses a dozen rough-housing boys changing for practice. Everything within Kageyama's senses feel muggy as their huffing breaths mix in front of their faces in the brief gaps in actual lip contact – Tsukishima is dragging his tongue and his teeth across his jawline, making Kageyama feel sticky.

“If you bite me hard enough to leave a mark again, I'll kill you,” the setter says, voice halted and breathy, not intimidating at all.

“Tch, nothing I do pleases you, does it?” The blond mumbles, breath ghosting over the wet spot on the other boy's collarbone, lithe fingers of one hand dragging down the neckline of his sweater while the other plays with the waistband of his shorts. The smug grin he gives is positively dirty, lips only barely touching Kageyama's pale skin, tongue darting out to smooth over the indents in his skin that his teeth left.

Kageyama's mind is white with hate, and underlying, disgusting lust and desire to fuck Tsukishima until he hurts, to cover him with bite marks until he bleeds. He takes one hand from its current resting place on the blocker's arm and roughly jerks down the latter's shorts in the back, just enough to slip a hand inside and use his fingers to start to loosening him up – Tsukishima takes in a rasping breath at the intrusion, but soon stretches out his back and pushes his ass into Kageyama's hand, a mild, breathy groan passing his lips just as his fingers dig deeper, hitting the right spot--

“Fuck,” he breathes, swallowing and dropping his head back until it hits the cool metal of the locker behind him. He repeats himself, slower this time, squirming under Kageyama's touch, which only makes the setter smirk in a way that should be illegal. Tsukishima grimaces and looks away, struggling to keep his composure under the circumstances. “Why don't you just get on with it?” He mumbles, voice strained.

Kageyama only gives a mild shrug, suppressing a smug expression. He rolls on a condom and slicks up with lube as Tsukishima leans against the row of lockers behind him and shakes off his shorts.

He starts off gentle, though he doesn't even know why he's giving Tsukishima the privilege of being eased into. His fingers drift down the blond's stomach, feeling the lean muscles and prickling skin under his fingertips, dragging them along the angled V-shape of his pelvis and to his hips. The blocker lets out an almost impatient sigh – if his arms weren't busy supporting his body up against the locker, he would be crossing them indignantly.

“C'mon king, fuck me like you hate me,” Tsukishima teases, smirking over his shoulder, eyes flickering to meet Kageyama's, whose heated eyes are narrowed the same way they always are when the blond calls him by his nickname.

“I do hate you,” the setter growls, digging his fingernails into the other boy's boney hips.

“Ohh, nasty. Is that really the best you've got?” He rolls his shoulders back and cracks his neck, the popping of his joints the only noise in the room. He wiggles his hips into Kageyama's groin, taunting him, making a shudder run down his spine. “I know you can do better than that, your majesty.”

If he had half a mind, he would stop right now, leaving Tsukishima hard and in concealed sexual agony, making him feel empty and open – but if he left now, Kageyama would feel the same things, with nothing to remedy it but his own hand.

“Fucking bastard,” he manages, voice weak and breathless, resigning himself to finishing what he started, though definitely not for the other boy's sake – no, this is for his own gratification. He allows himself to picking up the pace a bit, before slowing down without warning, a narrow-eyed glare burning a hole in the back of Tsukishima's head, as if trying to get his thoughts into that bastard's head, to let him know that Kageyama has no intention of playing things by the other boy's rules. The blocker groans, a high pitched, breathy kind of noise that desperately rings throughout the clubroom.

“Hurry up, damn it,” he says, voice all kinds of sharp, jagged breaths being pulled into his throat until it hurts. A cruel kind of smug grin tugs at Kageyama's lips as he continues at a steady, agonizingly slow pace and he simultaneously drags Tsukishima's hips back further and leans his torso forward to allow himself to breathe against his neck and his spine, making the blond squirm and try to grab desperately at the smooth metal of the lockers before settling for digging his nails into his own palms.

“I really love to see your control crumble,” Kageyama mumbles against his back, wrapping a hand around the other boy's dick, running his palm roughly along its length – Tsukishima stifles a gasp and a whine at the same time. His rubs his thumb along the head before dragging his fingers down again.

“Sh... shut it.” His voice is weak and shaking, and the muscles in his back are tensed so tightly Kageyama can see where his pale skin is stretching across his shoulder blades, and the coolness of the lockers is the only relief he can feel from the heat coiling in his stomach.

The setter matches up his strokes to the rhythm already established as he slides in and out of Tsukishima, each one making them both fill with heat, faces flushing, and witty, spitting banter stopping altogether in favor of breathy, cracking moans and the noises of them trying to catch their breath. With a final, muffled groan, Kageyama cums, dragging the fingernails of the hand that remains on the other boy's hip down hard enough to leave marks, culminating in half moon shaped indents in his skin.

“Finished already?” Tsukishima asks in an attempt at mocking, but the halfheartedness of his halted speech almost makes the setter feel bad for him – at least enough to convince himself not to leave the blond there as he stands with his ass out and torso pressed against the wall. He finishes him off with a final exhalation of whining breath and wipes the cum that dripped over onto his hand on the towel that has been long since abandoned by Tsukishima.


“Don't forget what I said earlier,” Kageyama mutters, less bite to his voice than before, face still flushed from orgasm.

Tsukishima pauses from cleaning his glasses, tilting his head and raising a mockingly amused eyebrow. “Which one, that you hate me, or that I'm dead if I hit you in the back of the head again?”

The setter carefully considers his options as he picks up his school bag and cracks his neck.