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They have always been—historically, statistically, proven time and time again, as sure as Hinata can jump and Kageyama can glare—shitty at dates.
Not dating; dating they’ve got in the bag. The problem is the dates themselves: the dinner, the movie, the flustered exchange of parting goodnight kisses, the occasional failure to part at all.
At first, it was because they didn’t try. Instead of picking a restaurant and putting on a good shirt, Hinata would show up at Kageyama’s in jeans. One of them would mention the possibility of going out, and the other would say, “Sure, okay,” before bringing up there being a match on television that night, and they’d have to be back for that, wouldn’t they? And where could they go—Kageyama wants ramen, Hinata wants McDonald’s, Kageyama agrees that he can live with McDonald’s, Hinata has flip-flopped and now maybe he wants ramen too? Or just a big cake. By the time they wind back into agreement (they’ll go to an izakaya and order a bunch of appetizers to split), it’s too late for them to go out and get back in time for the game, so they end up picking up beer and bentos from the convenience store under Kageyama’s apartment. They watch the game, they fuck or at least fool around, they shower, they pass out. And they’re happy.
Except that this is... wrong, apparently? Hinata goes to lunch with Yacchan one day and she’s blown away when he explains how they’d spent their last anniversary, trying to kick each other’s asses in a first-person shooter. (Hinata makes sure to mention he’d won.)
“You didn’t go out together?”
“Nah, we just stayed in.”
“But you’re supposed to go on a date, on your anniversary!”
“Supposed to,” Hinata had repeated incredulously.
“Don’t you two ever go out together?” Yachi asked. Her concern had seemed so genuine, he was floored.
“Yeah, yeah, we go—I mean, we go to the gym, and we do errands together, and we go watch games sometimes...”
“As a date?”
“As... hanging out?”
Yachi sat back, pursing her lips. “Well, I guess, if you’re happy...”
“What’s the difference?” he’d asked, verging on desperate. And she smiled, a faraway smile, like she isn’t thinking about them anymore.
“A date is about celebrating your love.”
The minute he’d left that lunch he shot Kageyama a text.
(13:41) GO ON A DATE WITH ME
(13:46) we’ve been dating for eight months....
It took him a considerable amount of time and words to explain what it was he meant, and even longer to convince Kageyama that they needed to give this a try; in the end he thinks Kageyama probably agreed just to stop him from freaking out. Ultimately Kageyama is this one to remember that Valentine’s Day is just a week out, and so they decide to seize this classic opportunity. How can you fuck up a date on Valentine’s Day? It’s the most romantic day of the year! Love is in the air! Blah blah blah!
Except that Hinata had found a way. Of course he had.
And it’s his fault, any way you look at it. Kageyama was just... trying to support him. Being a good boyfriend.
So he shows up at Hinata’s door, ready to escort him to the restaurant, and he’s. Wearing a suit.
As long as he’s known Kageyama—and that’s a long time, going on eight or nine years now—he has never known this man to own slacks, yet along assemble them into this sleek grey creature of an outfit; it fits immaculately, the fabric wrapping around his angles and curves, snug in all the right places. Hinata knows Kageyama’s body pretty well but it’s different looking at it... like this. Uh—staring at it, like this.
Kageyama squints at him after he’s greeted with a stare instead of a hello. He has his coat over his arm, and his hands slipped into his pockets. Sexy. “Hey?”
“What is that?”
Kageyama glances down at himself. “What?”
His hair falls forward with the motion and Hinata realizes—that’s different too, holy shit. He’s parted just off-center, and pushed off his forehead, held back with... maybe like... gel or spray or something? Hair gel. “Who did this to you?” Hinata says, feeling utterly blindsided by this dapper vision that’s appeared at his door, like someone must have—well, he looks good, really good, uh, it’s not a bad thing—but what if someone had kidnapped him? How did it happen?
“What are you talking about?” says Kageyama sharply. But he must know exactly what Hinata’s talking about, since he’s blushing. Hinata gestures to... all of him. “It’s a date, it’s Valentine’s Day, I’m dressed up—“
“You didn’t do this yourself—“
“How do you know that?”
“Did you buy that suit just for this?”
“I—yes, I went to the department store, I asked them to help me find something.” He shifts uncomfortably under Hinata’s burning gaze, and his shirt moves at the line where it disappears into his trousers. The outline of his abdomen under the fabric... it’s probably hard to read where Hinata’s intensity is coming from, but he almost chokes on his own spit. “What’s your problem?” Kageyama grunts.
“I don’t have a problem,” Hinata blurts, feeling the color in his cheeks deepen with this obvious lie. “What about your hair? What’s with that?”
“I went to get it cut and said I was going... and the girl just said she was going to try something different.” He points into Hinata’s apartment. “We need to go to the restaurant so I’ll rinse it out, if you stop interrogating me.”
“Don’t rinse it out,” Hinata says quickly, and Kageyama gives him a glare. A scenario flashes through his head: Kageyama goes into the bathroom, comes out with soaking hair, Hinata jumps him, they forget about dinner altogether.
A date is about celebrating your love, says Yachi’s voice in his head, clear and singsongy. Hinata clears his throat. He’s about to announce that they should be on their way, but Kageyama hits first.
“Are you embarrassed because I’m more dressed up than you?”
Hinata glances down himself: he’s rolled up the short sleeves on his button-down, which has a sort of a green floral pattern on it, and it’s not even tucked into his jeans. He had thought this would be considered at least nice casual, but looking at Kageyama, he thinks he’s probably missed the mark for nice. “Um,” he says, eyeing the door to the bedroom over his shoulder. He doesn’t know what’s in there that might be better.
“Because I think you look great,” Kageyama insists, a little too loud. Hinata blinks at him and his expression is kind of sweet in its intensity, in a way that only Kageyama can be.
“I guess we can just go.” So far they seem to be missing the mark on this date thing, he doesn’t think an argument and let’s just go is the most romantic start to their evening. Kageyama’s shoulders relax, he nods once. “Let me get my coat.”
Kageyama raises the plastic bag dangling from his hand—Hinata had almost forgotten this strange little ornament. “Can I stick this in the fridge?”
He does, and then they head to a soba restaurant that he had selected after reading “a lot” of reviews online. It has individual tables, so they get sectioned off in a corner by themselves, and Hinata... stares at the suit the entire evening. Every time he looks at it, there’s something new to appreciate, something he hadn’t noticed before. There’s the way the fabric stretches when Kageyama reaches across the table and his bicep bulges; there’s the little gesture of loosening his tie, which he does when the food arrives; the gaps that appear between his shirt buttons when he turns to look at the server. He’s not wearing an undershirt, so Hinata can peek at his skin.
The server is also staring at him, Hinata realizes after two or three encounters, causing him a mild panic. She drops something every time she comes to their table; Hinata is both embarrassed for her and incredibly sympathetic. And Kageyama has no fucking clue, he says, “She’s pretty clumsy, huh?” And starts inhaling his noodles. It’s unbelievable. Hinata tries to remember how to eat.
“Are you going to talk at all tonight?”
See, this is how he ruins the date. His one-track mind is notorious—and tonight all he can think about is Kageyama in that stupid fucking suit, and how they’re going to leave the restaurant, and go back to Hinata’s apartment, and Kageyama will back him into the kitchen counter, growling under his breath, and—he’ll loosen his tie again, but without taking off his jacket—he’ll grip Hinata’s thighs, his ass, press into him—
“I asked if you were going to talk tonight.”
He spends so much time contemplating getting laid by this be-suited Kageyama he forgets why Kageyama put on the suit in the first place. Celebrate your love. “Sorry,” he pleads, flopping forward. They’re both unhappy with him, really, it’s not like he’s proud—he feels ashamed, and kind of slutty, and not even good-slutty.
“I feel like I’m talking to myself. Normally I can’t get you to shut up,” Kageyama murmurs, peering into his dinner. Hinata forces a laugh.
“Well, I guess you know how, now!”
Kageyama lifts his head, frowning. “How?” Oh. He doesn’t know, he really truly... has no clue. Hinata can tell his mouth is hanging open. How to explain...
Their server returns and Kageyama says, clearly fed up with his stunned silence, “Let’s get the bill and get out of here.” She looks both utterly relieved and heartbroken to see them go.
“Are we going to make the movie?” Hinata asks carefully.
“We’re skipping the movie.”
At this point Hinata switches from staring longingly at the suit to staring miserably at the suit. Kageyama spends most of the subway ride back to Hinata’s glaring out across the car in silence; here, too, people look at him. Women and a few guys. A girl around their age sits opposite them and, when Kageyama makes fleeting eye contact with her, she turns bright red. Hinata has to resist the urge to scoot a little closer and claim his territory. His territory—he can dream—he gets the feeling that he’s banned indefinitely from the state of Kageyama. There are other couples in their car too, and Hinata tosses them envious pouts. He slumps down in his seat and stays like that for the rest of the journey.
They get off at the stop for his place. The walk home is relatively private, and he’s starting to get that vibe off Kageyama—as soon as they’re alone, Hinata will get rammed for his offensive behavior, but not a moment sooner. He thinks maybe it’s bad enough that Kageyama will explode preemptively, in the lobby of the building or in the elevator, but even as Hinata slots the key into his door, his boyfriend stays deadly quiet. Hinata glances at him out the corner of his eye and there’s smoke coming out his ears. Well, essentially.
Hinata has one shoe off, and Kageyama finally snaps. It’s hard to ignore the fact that Kageyama + being angry < Kageyama + being angry + being in a suit.
“Listen, you’re the one that wanted to go on this fucking date—“
“I know!”
“I don’t want to hear anymore of this shit about how we’re not trying.”
“You won’t, I swear!”
“I’m trying, I tried really hard tonight—“
“I know you did.”
“I don’t know what is the matter with you, but...”
Scowling, Kageyama’s stomped his way into the living room, and he stands with his hands on his hips, his suit jacket pushed off them, specially defining the shape of his waist. Hinata has to cover his mouth and turn away. Kageyama can’t know what he’s doing, but he’s... really doing it.
Finally—how many years has it been?—Kageyama notices his reaction. “What? What’s the matter? Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Hinata’s hand falls away from his mouth, and he slowly turns to face Kageyama, all the terror and glory of him. They’re separated by about ten feet, at the very center of Hinata’s apartment, and it feels like miles. He tries to say something, anything, but the sound that comes out of him is a... gurgle.
That’s it, for Kageyama. He groans through his teeth and surges toward Hinata—no, toward the door behind him.
“You look really hot!” Hinata finally... screams.
Kageyama freezes, just a couple paces from him now. Hinata hadn’t needed to shout, but it had punched its way out of him, a revelation, a shattered mystery. The scowl melts from Kageyama’s face, and he’s gorgeous, a whimper sneaks up Hinata’s throat. He wants to throw himself on Kageyama, what’s with all this distance?
“What?”
“Your—you look so good,” Hinata blurts, practically in tears. “It’s been driving me crazy all night, I can’t think about anything else. I’ve never been so attracted to you in my life and I hate it, and I hate that I ruined our date and I feel—I feel terrible, but I couldn’t help it—“
He runs out of breath and has to stop talking. Kageyama stares at him, pink rising to the tops of his ears, then takes a step back. He smooths his jacket down his torso, self-conscious. Hot and cute. “You really like it?”
“Like it?” Hinata echoes, aghast, closing the gap between them with a couple of unsteady steps. Kageyama rears back from him a little, his eyes going huge, he’s probably unsettled by how forward Hinata is being about his attraction; but Hinata chases him until he’s backed up against the arm of the sofa. He gets his fingers in Kageyama’s belt loops, he tugs their hips together. “Please don’t leave,” he whines, leaning into Kageyama’s neck, hoping it sounds persuasively sexy, hoping it’s enough—
“Shit. Shit,” is the answer he gets, and he can hear it when Kageyama swallows hard by his ear. He feels hands on his shoulders, tight but far from pushing him away. And he slips his own hands down to Kageyama’s thighs, and strokes, and listens to him hiss. The suiting fabric is different under his fingers, a new texture and tightness when Hinata slots his knee between Kageyama’s. He’s swarmed by the desire to see Kageyama with an erection straining that fabric and his palm goes right to the crotch—Kageyama curls into the crook of Hinata’s neck at the first squeeze, gasping.
“You think,” he pants, as Hinata does his best to stroke the shaft through the fabric, “this is going to make me less mad at you?”
“Kageyama,” he whines, planting a tiny kiss to the skin just above his collar. He can hear his voice slipping into kiddish taunting, as he tries to draw what he wants out of his partner. “You’re so mad at me... what are you gonna do? How do I make it up to you?”
“Fuck you so much.” There it is—the growl. Hinata exhales and squeezes Kageyama’s dick firmly, firm enough that Kageyama throws his head back and releases a hnnnnnnnng through his teeth, and Hinata giggles victoriously.
It’s a short-lived victory. A few seconds later he’s being shoved to his knees, eye-to-eye with the bulge in those trousers he’d so wanted to see. Kageyama stares down at him, his chest shuddering with each breath, undoing his belt with shaky hands.
“Make it up to me.”
Winning and losing—it’s all relative. Hinata definitely feels like a winner, right about now. Even if he’s on his knees.
He helps Kageyama with the belt and his fly, and then peeking through is...
“Are these new too?”
Kageyama looks decidedly away from him, pulling a face. “The guy at the store said I had to wear briefs with this.” Hinata needs to meet this salesperson and thank him, wholeheartedly. He’s a genius and a hero, as far as Hinata’s concerned. He can’t stop smiling.
“So you got bright red ones?”
“It’s—Valentine’s Day—“
That’s explanation enough; Hinata leans in and dampens the fabric with his tongue, then sucks Kageyama’s cock through it, listening for the labored breathing above him. As it gets more frustrated, Hinata tugs down the waist and frees his cock to take it in his mouth completely; Kageyama has one hand on the arm of the sofa behind him, steadying himself, and Hinata pries the other from his shoulder and shoves it into his own hair, hoping he’ll get the message and pull a little; and he does, the tightness going right to Hinata’s own dick, which is now straining uncomfortably at the crotch of his jeans. But it’s bearable—he throws himself into giving Kageyama the best head of his life—a fist around the base of his cock, he laves his tongue up the length, circles the head, sucks hard on the tip. He goes and goes and goes; he can hear himself moaning under his breath as he works, and it’s good, it’s driving them both crazy. Kageyama’s hips twitch over and over, more and more forceful, until Hinata has to steady them with his free hand.
Kageyama chokes out, “Do you want me to come?” Which is supposed to be a cue to stop, probably. Hinata pops off his dick, wiping away the thread of saliva that trails him. Both of them are panting.
“Do you want to?”
“No, I—”
“You could come on my face!”
Kageyama squeaks, which is an unusual but cute noise from him. “I don’t want to—come on your face, fuck.”
Hinata grins. “You totally do.”
“I don’t!”
“You do.”
“I don’t—”
“Do it!”
“Get up,” says Kageyama suddenly, but before Hinata can actually complete this task, he’s being pulled up by his arms, Kageyama lifting him like—like he’s a feather or something, or nothing, which is shocking enough to knock the wind out of him. He’s usually too indignant to let Kageyama pick him up, but now—now that’s he’s being heaved on to his back on the sofa, he’s thinking in the future he might not protest. Kageyama climbs over him, caging his head between his arms, dick still out. “Better,” he murmurs, dipping down to kiss an already breathless Hinata. He has to suck in air through his nose while their tongues slide together.
Hinata’s arms come up to link around Kageyama’s neck, and he presses up into his mouth, thinking how kissing so deeply sometimes makes him feel like they’d consume each other if they could. Kageyama’s tie hangs down and tickles Hinata’s neck, and Hinata pulls away with a gasp to start freeing him of it. Kageyama takes on the buttons of Hinata’s shirt; once Hinata’s gotten rid of the tie and tosses it away in a ball, he dips down and kisses up Hinata’s stomach, the flat planes of his chest and ribs.
“You sure about the sofa?” Hinata asks.
“Do you not wanna do it on your sofa?”
He shrugs. Kageyama is sucking on his clavicle, hard enough to bruise. “I’m fine with it. But I’m going to ride you, just so you know.”
Kageyama’s head pops up. Somehow he hasn’t managed to fuck up his hair yet, and Hinata plans to keep it that way. At least, until he gets him on his back. “Thanks for the update...”
“You’re welcome!”
Kageyama sits back and moves like he’s going to take off his jacket, and Hinata grabs his cock.
In retrospect this was probably about the worst way to get him to stop undressing, because the look on Kageyama’s face when he freezes in place is one of true terror, but it’s effective, at least. “Keep it on,” he whines, loosening his grip and giving a few careful strokes, trying to jerk the fear out of him. “Just unbutton your shirt, leave everything on. Please.”
Kageyama inhales and starts obeying, working down the buttons on the front of his shirt, but he’s shaking his head. “Don’t use it like a fucking handle.”
“I wasn’t!" (He was.) Hinata starts squirming out from under Kageyama. “I’m gonna get the—” He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence, padding into the bedroom as fast as he can, considering how tight his jeans are feeling right now. It takes him a couple of minutes to find everything they need because he’s so distracted, and a couple of times he stops to squeeze himself through the denim.
When he comes back into the living room, Kageyama is sitting up on the sofa, naked but for his shirt and jacket, open to reveal his chest. Head back, eyes closed. Still hard. Hinata stops just to look at him, for a moment. His phone is in his back pocket… if he’s fast, he could snap a picture—
Kageyama raises his head and looks at him with dark eyes, obvious interest. He extends a hand and Hinata comes to take it, standing between his knees. Kageyama doesn’t make to pull him down on to the couch but sits forward, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and kissing from his chest and to his stomach. Hinata dumps the lube and condom on the floor and leans into the touches, waiting for—Kageyama toys with the button of his jeans, but only toys with it.
“We haven’t done you at all.” His breath is warm on the sensitive skin beneath Hinata’s belly button. His eyes squeeze shut, but just for a second. He wants to watch Kageyama work.
“It’s okay...”
“I came here to do you.” And Kageyama undoes the button; careful of Hinata’s currently very painful erection, he takes on the zipper, then slides his jeans and underwear down enough to clear the way for what he’s about to do. The moment Kageyama’s fingers touch him he lets out such a sigh—his head drops back, he swallows, feels the apple of his throat bob with it. And then comes the touch of tongue, the sucking wet heat of Kageyama’s mouth, and shit, it’s good, he waited too long and he needs this more than he knew. Kageyama gives head like he’s doing math, or calculating a challenging set, all his movements a little slow but perfectly precise; but the slow works, it magnifies even the smallest licks and sucks and nips into something he’d beg for, if he had to beg; but he doesn’t, because Kageyama knows just what he needs and likes and he delivers. He always delivers, that’s his thing. Eight or nine years, sure, but not much has changed; they play the same game on a different court.
Kageyama pulls away and looks up at him, and Hinata just nods, wriggling out of his jeans and boxers and kicking them away. He tries not to think about the fact that he’s entirely naked without any sheets or blankets to make him modest—it gets him for a moment every time they do it out of the bed. Like most of what he enjoys, it’s as terrifying as it is exciting. He climbs over Kageyama’s lap, a knee on either side of his thighs, which gives Kageyama a hard time leaning down to get the lube and condom from the floor. Eventually Hinata climbs back off and helps him. (“Baka.” “Boke!”)
The second time he straddles Kageyama, he settles in. Kageyama is pouring lube over his fingers and palms, probably more than necessary, Hinata squints at him.
“I’m going to finger you now,” he declares. Hinata’s squint intensifies.
“I know?”
“Oh... I thought because you said you were... I thought we were announcing things before we did them.”
Hinata tries not to laugh but, he does. He giggles. It titters out of him, he leans forward and laughs into a bewildered Kageyama’s shoulder.
“What?” Kageyama is saying, while he laughs. “Isn’t it supposed to be hot? Why are you laughing?”
“It was just—you were all like—“ Hinata slips into his impression, shoving down his hair. “I’m going to finger you now. Like super serious! I don’t know, it was funny.”
Kageyama frowns with him, holding his lubed-up hands stupidly in the space between them. He doesn’t get it. Hinata gives him a smile, and takes his face in his hands.
“It was cute.”
This clicks with Kageyama. “Oh.” He understands that when Hinata finds him cute, it means his teasing is harmless. It’s all a matter of learning to speak Kageyama’s language, Hinata has found; Kageyama had done this for him so he figures he can at least return the favor. Hinata leans in and kisses him lightly. When he pulls away, he feels hands on his ass. “Can I finger you now?”
“Please!”
Right away there’s a wet chill at his entrance, and he concentrates on breathing evenly, doing his best to relax. It’s easier that way, tension just makes the weird feel weirder.
It’s still weird, though. Thank god that they’ve done this enough, Kageyama understands him: he gets his finger in far enough and curls it with precision, making Hinata sit up, right off his lap, and gasp loud enough for even the neighbors to admire Kageyama’s exact knowledge of his prostate. “Good, right?” he murmurs into the center of Hinata’s chest, still rubbing; Hinata cries out again, hugging Kageyama’s head (there goes the hair, crap) in lieu of a coherent verbal response. His eyes are watering, and Kageyama adds another finger while he’s caught up in it. He gets to stretching him right away, he must be able to tell how bad Hinata wants it, how ready he is. And he’s so ready—he can’t help looking down at Kageyama’s dick while he’s being fingered and wishing they could speed up the process.
Maybe he’s a little impatient, but he doesn’t want to wait anymore and it’s not like they’re virgins or even a little inexperienced—so he lets himself be prepared for another minute then nearly shouts, “Okay, we’re doing it!” He’s loose, ready, hard enough to throb, it’s enough prelude; he wants to get himself on top of Kageyama as soon as possible. He almost doesn’t have the patience for the kiss that Kageyama insists on giving him, before they twist around so Kageyama is on his back—but only almost. It’s a good kiss, after all.
Now longways on the couch, Kageyama is splayed out under him, his shirt and jacket falling open to expose his torso, his hair a little fucked up but still recognizably polished. He looks like he crawled out of an office-themed porno, honestly—Hinata would know, he’s watched a few—or maybe from the pages of a dirty magazine. The sheen on his skin, the way the light throws his muscles into relief. Hinata settles over his thighs and feels around the cushions until he finds the condom, all the while admiring this sight. Kageyama is watching him closely, probably doing about the same thing. “Hey,” he finally says, because why not. “Can I take a picture of you?”
“A picture...” Kageyama repeats.
“With my phone?”
His lip curls. “Why?”
“Because, you’re really hot right now, and on days when I don’t see you...” Hinata bats his eyelashes and gives Kageyama a coy purse-of-the-lips. Kageyama does not seem impressed.
“No, we’re not—that’s like one step down from a sex tape. Come on.”
“Tobioooooo!”
“What if someone found it!”
“No one will. It’s just like, slightly more than a dick pic! You’re okay with those.”
Brow furrowed, Kageyama stares up at him, takes a few deep breaths, then shuts his eyes. “Fine.” Hinata whoops and scrambles along the side of the couch for his jeans, with his phone in the pocket. He gets it out and sits back, arranging the shot. “What am I supposed to do?” Kageyama asks, hesitant. He’s pink in the ears again. Hinata smiles at him around the phone.
“Just look at me, like you were before.”
This answer seems to catch him off-guard, and his lips part, just as Hinata snaps the photo. And a second one, just in case.
“Okay!” He drops his phone and goes for the condom again, rolling it on before Kageyama can get his wits about him, and he groans at the firmness of Hinata’s handling. Another round of lube and Hinata is positioning himself over Kageyama, a hand on the cock, another bracing himself against Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama holds his waist, ready to help steady him, if he gets too overwhelmed to keep going. Always so thoughtful, that guy.
Hinata sinks down on Kageyama’s cock, a few inches. He doesn’t let himself swear, tries to hold it in, because he’s about to get really loud. Instead he sucks a breath that shakes his chest, while Kageyama hisses low and soft, clinging to his waist. Hinata goes lower—takes the last few inches, and he knows it’s a decent amount of cock but he feels like it’s probably the most cock anyone has ever taken in their life. And... that’s what he wanted, isn’t it? He’d wanted to be on top, in the literal sense.
Kageyama turns his head and grits out a moan into the sofa cushions.
Ah, right. That was why he’d picked this.
Clawing past the combined sensation of overwhelming pleasure and slight discomfort, he rolls his hips, and Kageyama—back arching, his neck curving, showing every tendon, every flinching muscle—he says, “Fuck.”
Hinata doesn’t know if he can make his voice work normally when he’s so full. He manages, in a gasp, rolling his hips again, “Like it?” That was another reason: he gets to choose when and how Kageyama hits his prostate. The only person who knows it better than Kageyama is him.
“Hina—Shou. Go slow.” Hinata gets this, he could hurt himself if he goes too fast too soon, but he’s getting used to the fullness, and he wants to move. He wants Kageyama to moan more, he wants to moan himself, he wants to come all over the perfect whiteness of Kageyama’s chest and maybe get a little bit of it on his shirt or jacket, if he’s lucky. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all—he has to aim for the stars. And maybe they’ll be seeing them.
He moves a third time, and when he hears that noise out of Kageyama again, starts up his rhythm, smooth and slow, but unrelenting. Kageyama grips Hinata’s thighs, Hinata’s legs tucked on either side of his hips; he starts to use his nails as they keep going, but Hinata doesn’t complain, he likes that fine right now and he’ll love it tomorrow when he finds the marks in the shower.
With each twitch of his hips he pulls the groans out of Kageyama, and he feels great about that, even if he knows he’s moaning just as much without Kageyama having to try—he does start responding as they go, though, starting to match each of Hinata’s rolls with an upward thrust, the first couple making Hinata shout. His cock aches and leaks horribly, Kageyama attempting to jerk him off for a spell, but the faster they get the more he can’t keep up, the more they lose themselves to anything that isn’t fucking into each other, so that he doesn’t even have the coherence to think how he’s probably going to come untouched. It’s just the heat building in his cock, the blood pounding, and then—bam, gwuah like he used to say, he’s shouting, a high noise that surges out of him in uneven bursts, while he’s coming in much the same way. He does see stars. He sees stars and planets and moons, even.
When his hearing starts to come back he can hear Kageyama under him, swearing again, “Fuck... fuck, Shou.” He isn’t sure if that’s about the sight of him coming like that, or because Kageyama is so close and aching from having to wait while Hinata recovers, or a bit of both—both seems likely, knowing him.
“Come on,” Hinata murmurs, his eyes still closed, but he grabs for Kageyama’s arms and finds them. “Fuck me, finish up.” He presses a messy kiss to what feels like the crook of Kageyama’s elbow, and feels a tentative thrust up into him. It’s still good, even if the stakes are lower, now that he’s had his. Another thrust, then another. Hinata leans as far forward as he can without hurting himself. He manages to pry his eyes open, to look Kageyama in the eye when he murmurs, “Come, Tobio.” He hadn’t meant it as a command but it sounds that way, and he wonders—
Kageyama thrusts again and this time his hips jerk wildly, and his face contorts, and his moans jump an octave. Well; whatever it was, it did the trick.
Hinata sits back while Kageyama is catching his breath, his head rolling to the side as he relaxes. He makes slow work of climbing off—he gets an even better sense of how deep they’d gone, now—and once he’s free he flops back on the opposite end of the couch from Kageyama, their legs mingling between them. His ass feels weird. Not a bad weird, though.
“I’m glad we skipped the movie,” he sighs.
“What movie?”
Hinata laughs. He watches Kageyama sit up and remove the condom, tying it off. He looks at Hinata for a clue about what to do with it, and Hinata just shrugs.
“Leave it on the carpet, I don’t care.”
Kageyama makes a face. “I’m going to throw it out.”
He tugs on his stupid red briefs and gets up and disappears behind the divider to the kitchen. Hinata sighs again and snugs into the couch pillows. He thinks about how it’s kind of cold now that they’re not working out, as it were, he feels a little cold. He finally fishes out his own underwear and has just finished pulling it on when Kageyama returns from the kitchen. He's wiped off his chest and is holding... the plastic bag he’d put in the fridge before.
“I almost forgot.”
Hinata blinks at him. “What’s that?”
“Your chocolates.” He pulls a little gold box out the plastic, and stands over Hinata. Not quite sure what is happening, Hinata takes it from his hands. Chocolate. His mouth is flinching between a smile and a laugh.
“Girls give chocolate on Valentine’s, Kageyama.”
Kageyama plops down on to the sofa beside him. “Yeah, but it didn’t feel like Valentine’s Day unless someone was getting chocolate.” The suit and the red underwear and the chocolates. Hinata gets swarmed with this feeling that someone’s looking out for him, some god up in the sky, or a spirit of luck. He’s been blessed—he has a treasure, and he has to care for it, and protect it. Treasures are for treasuring, he thinks, watching Kageyama pick at the couch fibers shyly.
“Did you make them?”
“Does it look like I made them?”
“I guess you don’t really love me, then.” Hinata grins, and after a beat, Kageyama returns him a smile.
“I guess not.”
And they’re happy.
Hinata pops the lid off the chocolates, takes one, and passes it to his boyfriend. Then he scrambles for the remote. “Hey, if we’re lucky, I bet we can catch the end of the game!”