Sometimes it all becomes too much, the pent-up sexual tension that comes from barely seeing each other during volleyball season. The two of them being professional players in different teams means that they always have to attend games in one prefecture or another; in Kageyama’s case, sometimes his job would whisk him to the far end of the world. For two men with well-paying jobs and one of them with an endless list of sponsorships, touch, kisses, and sex were luxuries they could barely ever afford.
On days Tsukishima is away, release comes in the form of post-practice hot showers and ten hours of sleep. On days Kageyama is away, Kei becomes daring, and Tobio is always more than willing to indulge him over the phone. Kei had already learned the different ways he could be comfortable with his right hand. Professionals need to learn how to play with the cards they’re given.
But on the rare days when they’re both in Sendai, when the other is somehow present in their shared apartment—that’s when the sexual tension becomes unbearable. Touch suddenly becomes free-for-all, and time spent not touching each other becomes time wasted.
Touch comes in the form of lips meeting lips the moment Tsukishima closes the bedroom door behind him, freshly showered and clad only in his dark green boxers. Kageyama pins him against the door, right hand carding through blonde hair that is still damp. The bed is right there, Kei thinks idly, as Tobio slips a tongue into his mouth, and yet he puts me in this difficult position.
It’s not that he’s complaining.
Tsukishima is quick to respond in kind, arms wrapping tightly around the setter’s waist. The hot water of the shower had been scalding, just the way he likes it, but somehow Kageyama’s fingers against his neck feels hotter. For once his glasses aren’t in the way, so he angles his head in that way his muscle memory knows would feel perfect—
Kageyama is barely able to suppress a moan with the way Kei’s tongue strokes the roof of his mouth. Despite being away from each other for long periods of time, somehow they are able to fall easily into their rhythms. This was what Tsukishima is good at, right? Gathering information and filing them for later exploitation; enduring for long periods of time but being perfect when it counts. Things that make him the second league’s best blocker make him an even better lover, but that’s a secret Tobio prefers to keep hidden in the deep recesses of his mind.
These are old patterns: the way Kageyama’s fingers would press slightly underneath the waistband slung low across his hips, the way Kei pulls away to mouth at Kageyama’s throat when they have to separate for air, the way Kageyama looks into Kei’s eyes when he finally lifts his head up from planting butterfly kisses at his collarbone, and the way their lips meet again in a searing kiss. These are rare moments, but it’s hard to forget the exact pressure Kei should use when biting down at Kageyama’s bottom lip to make it pleasurable for the other boy. Tsukishima gets a hand pulling at his hair in response; it almost feels like a reward. The wood against his back hurts, but Tobio’s mouth serves as a good distraction.
It only takes a few more moments of kissing for Tsukishima to pull away. “Bed,” he says, panting slightly while staring straight into Kageyama’s eyes, which are usually blue but are now dark with the way his pupils are dilated. Tobio nods in response while pulling off his shirt; Kei lays himself on the pillow and pulls Tobio’s body against him even closer. Skin against skin and Kageyama feels like a fucking furnace. Tsukishima Kei had always hated the cold.
Touch is rare but the wait is always worth it. It’s not just the kisses—it’s the fact Tobio is free to trace his hands along the flat planes of Tsukishima’s stomach, the satisfaction in hearing the breath that catches in Kei’s throat when he flicks his thumb against a nipple. It’s the way Kei clings on to him even tighter, his growing arousal evident as it presses against his thigh. It’s the way Kei’s long, long legs tangle with his own, wrapping themselves around his waist as they continue to make out. When Tobio lets his hand wander underneath Kei’s boxers to finally touch his hardening member, the other boy lets out a stuttering gasp.
“Not so fast, King,” Kei says in between shaky breaths. “I want this to last.”
Tobio pouts. To him, there has always something been alluring about speed. Quick sets, faster sprints, getting Tsukishima to become wrecked in record time. But he understands: they barely ever see each other, so there’s no point in finishing fast. The night is still young. He elects to slide off Kei’s boxers down to his ankles, but he doesn’t touch Kei’s cock again.
Instead, he clamps his mouth around a nipple, staring right at Tsukishima as he gives the nub a tentative lick. Kei lets out a soft hiss in response, fingernails scratching against his back. When they’d started doing this back in high school, the ridges of Tsukishima’s muscles had been a lot less defined; now, his chest is—bigger, there’s really no other word for it, shoulders broader. The years of volleyball and goading Tsukishima to lift weights had borne fruit that are now all laid out in front of his eyes. He barely sees his boyfriend, but he takes note of everything new whenever they meet. Today, his hair is longer, making it so much easier to pull, and his lips are chapped, probably because of the onset of winter. He hopes no one else notices how much Kei has changed. The brief flash of possessiveness causes him to bite at a spot just below Tsukishima’s collarbone. That’s going to bruise in the morning, Tobio notes as Kei whines. Good.
Tsukishima pulls him up so that their mouths can meet again. Kissing Kageyama isn’t something that gets old; maybe their prolonged distance makes it that much better, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the way their mouths slant perfectly against each other even if he has the privilege of getting to do this every day of his life. When he lets his hands slide down to cup at the setter’s ass—oh, his ass—Tobio lets out a moan that Kei is only too happy to swallow.
Kei doesn’t know how much time has passed since they started making out. Times like these are rare, but they aren’t novel; seven years of being together means that he knows how just good it will feel if he takes the time to savor the moment. It’s all familiar: Kageyama tastes like mint toothpaste, smells like sports cologne, his fingertips a white-hot brand against his skin. Tobio starts to demand for faster in the same tone that he uses on a volleyball court and thank god they aren’t teammates anymore.
He flips their positions so that the setter is under him, dark hair and fair skin and well-defined muscle for days. He’s beautiful, as always. Kageyama Tobio is a vision that the world has seen many times over. A successful food endorsement meant that Kageyama had gotten signed on to be an underwear model or whatever last year, but what Kei sees is fondness and lust mixed with love in Kageyama’s eyes; those are tiny imperceptibles that can’t be seen in magazine spreads.
He plants a chaste kiss on Kageyama’s lips before pulling away slightly and moving his hands downwards. He pulls off his boxers and wraps a palm around his shaft, to which Kageyama groans.
“Maybe I should serve his majesty today?” Kei asks, teasing. He doesn’t wait for a response before putting Tobio’s cock in his mouth.
“You piece of shit,” Kageyama breathes out. There’s a part of him that’s annoyed that Kei managed to flip the tables—at this rate, he will be the one who’ll end up coming first, and he’s far too competitive for that, but then there’s another part of him that instead focuses on the vibrations against his length when Tsukishima merely chuckles in response. He lets his hands wander to the back of Tsukishima’s head, burying his fingers in the softness of his hair and tries his goddamn best to not accidentally push Kei further down his cock. A king should always care for his people, Tsukishima’s voice says from somewhere in the back of his mind as his toes begin to curl. Choking Tsukishima would not exactly be caring, but maybe it can work on some other day. The real Tsukishima closes his lips around his cock’s head and hums as the blocker’s calloused hands make their way to his balls.
Screw familiarity: it’s not like he’s ever coherent enough mid-blowjob to remember the exact details of how Kei gets him off with his mouth. It’s all still so exciting—the flat of Kei’s tongue slides wetly to trace a vein on his shaft, before going back to sucking at the head. Tsukishima Kei is a piece of shit, but his shitty personality is leading to everything right now feeling—damn—good. And then in the middle of all that sensation, the head of his cock hits the back of Kei’s throat. Kei looks him in the eye. Kageyama remembers that he is in love.
Kei knows the tell-tale signs of Kageyama nearing completion. Red paints his face all the way down to his chest, the tugs on his hair become more frantic, the rhythm of his breathing becomes erratic, and Tobio begins a helpless mantra of Kei and fuck and god—and, well, he’s no deity if he’s about to come untouched to the sound of Tobio’s moans. He lets up, pulling away completely from Kageyama’s dick just before the other boy comes.
“Not yet,” Tsukishima says, planting a soft kiss on the inside of his thigh. Kageyama can only look at him with a frustrated glare. There’s slight wetness in the corners of his eyes and Tsukishima moves to wipe it away.
“You know, I kinda thought I loved you for a second there,” Kageyama bites with no real heat to his voice. He pulls again at Kei’s hair, a signal for him to meet him in another kiss. This time it’s languid, as Tobio is still trying to calm his heart down after Tsukishima almost led him to orgasm. The taste of his own precome on Kei’s lips isn’t something he wants to get used to, but ultimately isn’t unpleasant.
“Because I deepthroated you?” Kei says with mock indignation, rolling off Tobio’s body so that they were laying face-to-face on their sides. A smirk ghosts over his lips and Tobio wishes it weren’t so attractive. “Your majesty, I had no idea you were so cheap.”
Tobio scoffs. For the second time that night he moves his hand so that it is directly palming Kei’s cock.
This time, the other boy doesn’t stop him.
Kageyama’s hands are soft, but the way pleasure shoots up his body at first contact is anything but. It’s intimate like this, with their bodies facing each other while Kageyama pumps his hand along his cock. He watches the concentration etched on his face, the furrow in his brow as he continues his ministrations. Kei is almost flattered by the way his boyfriend tries so hard.
He’s close now, a mere half-hearted handjob would’ve been enough to get him off. Sucking Kageyama’s cock while watching the setter go from somewhat composed to a writhing mess had been doing all sorts of things to his insides. The world may own Kageyama Tobio on some days, volleyball on most others, but the pleading whines and the hazy eyes and the taste of precome mixed with sweat were his, even if he could only stake his claims once in a while.
And the kisses, dear god. He inches his face closer to Kageyama’s, letting his eyes flutter closed as their lips meet in a sloppy kiss. It’s awkward, with a muscled arm snaked in between two overly-large torsos and the pad of Tobio’s thumb tracing light circles on the tip of his cock. All his senses are enveloped in Tobio, the fire under his skin is all because of Tobio, and still he wants more. That’s the problem when the sex is so rare: Kei finds himself getting greedy.
He motions for Kageyama to stop and maneuvers their bodies so that he’s laying down under him. The last position had been interesting, allowing him to see all the minutiae of the setter’s facial expressions. Now he just wants the entirety of his lover’s body against his own. Here, now, it’s perfect—chest against chest, long legs wrapped tightly around Kageyama’s small waist. Everything is hot and slick and damp and too much and neither of them had even gotten fucked yet. To an outsider, this must be pathetic, two boys in a long-term relationship getting too worked up over foreplay; to Kei, enjoying the rare feel of Tobio’s skin sliding against his own is everything. He knows Tobio feels the same.
Kageyama plants his lips against Kei’s pulse point, the spot under his ears that he knows is so sensitive, the angle so perfect it’s almost like one of his trademark pinpoint tosses and the taller boy keens. He bites, hard enough to leave a mark, and Kei drags fingernails across his back as revenge. He lets his hand wander lower still, past the curve of his waist, to clutch at the setter’s ass. Your nails are too long, Tsukishima, Kageyama notes. He doesn’t really mind.
When Tobio pulls away and raises his eyebrows, an unspoken question—how do you want to do this?—Tsukishima knew exactly how to respond.
“Shouldn’t a good king serve his people?” Kei breathes out, lips cherry-red and swollen as he feigns confidence.
“What do you think I’ve been doing this entire time, you asshole?” Tobio snaps. Kei grins and Tobio files the image of a happy, almost blissed-out Tsukishima in his mind for later use. He moves to the bedside table to get the condoms and the small bottle of lube Tsukishima had previously set aside.
Tobio looks at the other boy as he coats his fingers in lube that makes him flinch with the way that it feels cold. Tsukishima may call Kageyama a king, but to him Kei is the one who looks downright majestic with his blonde hair splayed across the pillow, too-long limbs, pale skin with little bits of redness where Kageyama had made his marks, and a condescending stare that really shouldn’t be turning him on.
“Get on your knees,” Kageyama instructs, stern. By now, he knows which position is Tsukishima’s favorite; his demanding tone sends shivers up Kei’s spine.
“No,” Kei answers, always ready to contest his king. “I want to see you. I never get to see you.” Tobio tries his hardest not to melt as he nudges Kei’s legs open so that he can settle himself in between them, then pushing his knees upwards, high enough to expose his hole.
“Hurry up,” Kei goads, left hand moving to grasp his own member. Tobio’s staring had been getting him hot and impatient, and Kageyama almost short-circuits at the sight. Tsukishima Kei had always been pretty, but him sprawled out with his dick in his hand really is something special. Is this what Kei looks like when he makes those late-night phone calls that end with Kei panting desperately on the other end of the line—
“Oi. Stop making your people wait.”
Kageyama smirks as Kei’s voice bring him back down from his fantasies. “I thought you wanted me to slow down,” he retorts, tracing a finger around Tsukishima’s hole, grinning when he gets a sharp inhale in return. “Make up your damn mind.”
“It’s not like—” he hisses, stuttering when Kageyama slowly puts in one finger inside. “—you’re not going to feel good when you—ah—”
Kageyama’s digits are long, fingertips roughened by the hundreds of tosses he’d make each day. He’s also precise and has good memory, knowing exactly how to angle his fingers to get the optimal response, even if the last time they’d fucked was around a month ago. When Kageyama manages to get one finger fully inside, he looks at Kei’s face and sees the hallmarks of pleasure beyond the initial pain. He looks at Tsukishima and sees an almost-imperceptible nod—go ahead, king—so he slowly inserts another finger. Kei’s eyes fly open, and Kageyama has to press a hand to his abdomen to stop him from making any harsh movements.
“Fuck,” Tsukishima breathes, eyes unfocused, sweat matting down the blonde hair on his forehead. “You are so—”
Tobio’s volleyball career had taken him to some of the most beautiful sights in the world—the snow-laced mountains of Hakone, Rio’s lively beaches, the orange court of the national training center—but Tobio would argue there’s nothing prettier than Tsukishima Kei reduced to a gasping mess at his fingertips. He inserts a third finger while using his spare hand to push Kei’s bangs aside.
Kageyama hums when he gets the third finger inside and twists his hand so that his fingers can stroke Tsukishima’s prostate. When it does, Kei lets out a loud, guttural groan that would’ve never come from the composed boy otherwise. Anyone who thinks Tsukishima lacks emotion is wrong, Tobio thinks, but I don’t care if people never figure it out.
“I’ve missed you,” Tobio states bluntly as he works his fingers in and out of Tsukishima. The other boy is a complete mess by now, his normally rational brain barely registering the words coming out of Tobio’s mouth. “I’m sorry I had so many away games this month,” Tobio says, and Kei wants to beg him to shut up. He thinks he hears a stray I love you, but Kei really can’t be sure at this point.
“Please—king—just,” Kei pants. “I might—finish—”
Tobio smiles, pulling his fingers out. Tsukishima lets out a whine, unused to the emptiness. Kageyama’s hands are a godsend, with the fingertips the setter so meticulously maintained serving another purpose in the bedroom. When they were younger, Kei had been the recipient of so many perfect volleyball tosses. Now, Kei feels so lucky to be able to bottom for Kageyama; after all, Tobio always makes sure that the prep is perfect. His fingers are magical either way.
“I’m just serving you,” Tobio says lightly, planting a kiss on Tsukishima’s lips, before pulling away just as quickly.
“Ew, that’s cheesy,” Kei manages to say, chest heaving. His snark could never be able to hide the fondness in his eyes.
Kageyama laughs. “You started the king jokes.”
It doesn’t take much fumbling for Tobio to get the condom on his cock, and when he manages he’s quick to line his member with Tsukishima’s entrance. It’s been forever since they’ve done this: their last time, Tsukishima was the one on top. Tobio moves slowly, inserting the tip of his cock, before gently putting in the shaft.
The term King really isn’t a joke. Tsukishima will always be willing to serve if Kageyama Tobio’s cock inside him would always make him want to explode.
Kei can only clutch at Kageyama’s shoulders in response. It hurts—it often does, at first, but then Kageyama moans as he digs his fingernails deeper against his hips, and the idea that Kageyama is also in pleasure makes him forget that he’s in pain. Kageyama is slow, and gentle, and perfect; eventually the pain gives way to the multi-colored fireworks dotting the back of his eyelids.
It’s okay that the sex is rare if it always feels this good.
Before long, Kageyama is fully inside. Tsukishima manages to open his eyes to stare at the boy on top of him: Kageyama is Japan’s wonder boy, whose muscles are taut as he thrusts his hips quickly against his own. In the heat of the moment, Kageyama always has difficulty controlling his speed, and Kei really can’t complain. On top of him is Japan’s most eligible bachelor, the boy who’s also an occasionally in-demand underwear model, the one who took the medal as the World Cup’s second-best setter…
“Fuck, you’re so good,” Tsukishima mumbles, incoherent as his fingers grasp at the sheets underneath him. On top of him is Kageyama Tobio, his boyfriend of seven years, a boy whose skill on the court he’d admired long before they’d even met, the man he barely ever sees but somehow always loves—
Kageyama uses his hand to stroke Kei’s dick and it all becomes a little too much. When Tsukishima manages to get one eye open he immediately registers how Kageyama’s tell-tale signs were all back in full force, blissful to the point that he’s already biting his lips to reduce the sound of his moans. It’s all only a matter of time, so Kei pulls at the back of Tobio’s neck so they can kiss again, just to maximize sensation even further.
“Tsukishima—I—Kei,” Kageyama groans against his lips, almost unintelligible. His thrusts have become completely nonsensical by now, hips slamming against hips with no rhythm whatsoever. For lesser men, the breathless sound of their first name tumbling out of Kageyama Tobio’s lips would’ve been enough to get them completely undone. Tsukishima Kei had always prided himself on his self-control. “I’m sorry but—I’m—close.”
Tsukishima can only let out a half-hearted mmh in response, holding onto Tobio’s waist more tightly. Kageyama takes it as a sign to move faster, faster—
It doesn’t take much before Kageyama finally comes, form slumping against Tsukishima’s abs as he lightly pulls out of Tsukishima’s entrance. Kageyama then rolls off Kei’s torso, positioning himself to lie down flat beside Kei. Tsukishima makes quick work of his own cock—it takes a only a few strokes of his hard dick before he comes, cum spurting all over his own abdomen. He scrunches his nose in mild disgust: it would’ve probably been easier if he just let Kageyama suck his dick and then swallow. Still, it would’ve been over too fast. It wouldn’t have been worth it.
He can clean up later.
“Come here,” Tsukishima mumbles, stretching his arms to envelop the other boy beside him. They’re both hot and far too sweaty for any sort of intimate post-sex interactions, but sex is rare and the post-sex afterglow is even rarer. He’s not usually a hugger, but after sex, Tobio allows himself to be enveloped in Kei’s arms. Tobio intertwines their legs, seeking heat: Kei acts ice-cold but he’s also rather warm.
“Sorry,” Kageyama murmurs against Tsukishima’s chest. He narrows his eyes even if Kageyama couldn’t see. “Ha?”
“The king should serve his people,” Tobio mumbles, obviously falling asleep. Kei is tired, too. He has to strain his ears for the next few words. “But I came first.”
“It’s okay, your highness,” Tsukishima answers, smiling, fingers combing through Tobio’s hair as the setter starts to drift to unconsciousness. “I love you, don’t worry about it.”
They’re sweaty and there’s cooling cum on both their skins. Their shared blanket had fallen off the bed, and yet it doesn’t stop them from holding onto each other tightly.
Tobio’s groggy “I love you, too” gets nothing in response.
These are old patterns: the way they sleep with their limbs intertwined; the way Tsukishima will eventually wake up in the middle of the night just to pick up the blanket to cover them both; the way Kageyama snores softly against Kei’s chest. All of these are old patterns; at this point, they’re almost routine.
It’s also an old pattern that one of them will be gone early in the morning, on a plane or in a game or attending a grueling training session. It’s an old pattern that one of them would make the other wait, only having time to come back days, weeks, or months later.
Seven years of being in love means that they’re used to it at this point.
(“How long are you in Sendai, Kageyama?” Tsukishima asks, genuinely curious, as he stirs his spoon in his cup of coffee. His legs are sore, his throat is sore. Across him, Kageyama is calm as he sips on his glass of milk.
“A week, I think?” Tobio responds. “I’m not so sure.”
Tsukishima lets out a non-committal hum, trying his best not to let his excitement show. “Maybe I can give the king his reward tonight.”
Seeing Kageyama’s smile is rare, but really, it’s nothing new.)