Work Text:
Tooru is used to being the pretty one.
It's not a narcissistic bias, though he's certainly vain enough for it to count. It's just the truth; a statement of fact. Something everyone knows even if most of them would rather saw off their own tongue than admit it.
Tooru is pretty and it gives him the advantage of secretly being allowed to act like a dick. Less beautiful people wouldn't get away with half the shit he does. He knows his blessings. He uses them well.
And he likes it, really. While he often has doubts about his skill, personality, and practically everything else, his looks are the one thing he can always count on. They rarely fail. Even if he's chained to second place in every unsuperficial way possible, there are few people who can turn heads the way he can and Tooru soaks up that validation like a sponge.
He's the pretty one. He's the one everyone looks at.
But with Hinata Shouyou, things are very, very different.
"You look like you're about to kill someone," Nice says with amusement, swirling her margarita expertly around her glass. She's a lovely bride and Tooru made sure to tell her so in the beginning, but the longer the night goes on, the more his facade has started to crack, and Nice is nothing if not observant.
Heitor has a very perilous future ahead of him.
On the other side of the venue, Tooru's super friendly, unfairly perfect boyfriend is talking to a man who also plays volleyball locally and is unfortunately not horrendous-looking. While speaking, the man puts a hand on Hinata's arm in a gesture of familiarity and Tooru nearly cracks the champagne flute in his grasp.
"Remind me again what Brazilian laws have to say about murder?" he asks between gritted teeth.
Nice hides a smile behind the rim of her glass. "Pretty sure they're the same in most places."
"Even if it's a crime of passion?"
"You're far too pretty to go to jail," she tells him solemnly. "I'd personally advise against it."
Damn it. That's what he thought, too.
When Tooru agreed to be Hinata's date for Nice and Heitor's wedding, he thought it'd be a fun excuse to hop on a plane to Brazil and dress up with the beautiful boy of his dreams. Ever since they ran into each other here a year and a half ago, they've visited each other so often that agreeing to be in a relationship seemed like the logical conclusion, though Tooru was admittedly a bit of a pining disaster until Hinata officially asked him out.
It wasn't his fault; Tooru had never confessed to anyone before. It was always the other way around, some lovestruck girl—or guy—blurting out how much they admired him in abandoned courtyards and empty stairwells, and Tooru occasionally humoring them in rare moments of loneliness—though it only ever played out long enough for them to realize how messed up he actually was.
He had no idea how to deal with having real, actual feelings for someone. He was a mess. He was like some pathetic, whiny romantic cliche. It's a good thing Hinata is always so open and honest with his feelings, because otherwise Tooru would still be stuck in an endless abyss of staring at his phone waiting for Hinata to text him, constantly waxing poetic about Hinata's calves to his poor teammates who'd been forced to put up with his obsession for so long.
This weekend was supposed to be fun. Another pointless justification for flying three hours across the continent in the middle of training just to see each other smile.
Tooru forgot to factor in how fucking gorgeous Hinata is. Clearly a gross miscalculation on his part as it is now kicking him in the balls.
"Why does my boyfriend have to look so damn good in a suit?" Tooru moans, slouching petulantly on his stool by the bar. "It's not fair. I know that dating him gives me special privileges on seeing him without his clothes on, but I should totally have a monopoly on certain outfits he can only wear for me, too."
"Let me guess," says Nice. "The only things you'd deem acceptable for Shouyou to wear in public would be woefully oversized, horrendously patterned, and virtually a crime against all fashion."
Tooru slumps further in his seat, dejected. "I have a right to be annoying, okay? People keep staring at his ass. It's mine; they can't have it."
"In their defense, it's a really great ass," Nice offers helpfully, and Tooru shoots her a betrayed look like she just personally stomped all over his face.
"You're supposed to be on my side!"
Laughing, she pats his cheek affectionately before sliding off her stool, her flowy white dress blowing against her knees. "Come on, you big baby. Stop sulking and go ask your boyfriend to dance."
Tooru makes a noise like a dying animal, and Nice smiles as she's whisked away by some passing guest. They both know he's too much of a chicken to do that. Whatever charm he liked to claim he had in high school is absolutely useless when in the presence of the sun. Tooru may fake his charisma with practiced ease, but Hinata is radiant, brighter than anything anyone's ever seen, sweeter than anyone has a right to be. Everything about him is real and warm, and the gravitational pull he possesses far outweighs anything Tooru can fabricate.
Tooru is a fraud. He never belonged in the company of someone so kind. And yet somehow Hinata sees him anyway—beneath his perfect model hair, behind that million dollar smile—and he loves him anyway, even though without that mask, he's the ugliest thing in the world.
Is it any wonder Tooru loses all ability to speak coherently when Hinata is around? All it takes is one smile, one look, one touch, and he is a goner. Done.
He's so busy moping into the sticky bar top that he doesn't notice the presence behind him until Hinata speaks.
"Tooru? Is everything okay?"
Tooru jumps five feet in the air, inelegantly slipping off his stool as he hurries to whip around and meet Hinata's concerned gaze. "O-of course!" he says, faking a smile. "Was just resting my feet, is all. Nothing wrong here."
Hinata furrows his brows a little and the gesture is so cute Tooru doesn't know how he's not self-destructing right now. "If you say so," Hinata says in a tone like I wish you wouldn't feel like you needed to hide things from me, I love you so much.
Tooru could cry from this level of affection. Being around Hinata truly isn't safe.
As if to condemn him further, the music changes then, shifting to something slower, more soothing. Hinata immediately brightens to radioactive levels that could power ten flights to the moon. "I love this song!" he gushes, grabbing Tooru's hands with sparkles in his eyes and woodland creatures worshipping at his feet. "Dance with me? Please?"
Tooru doesn't stand a chance. He melts into a puddle and allows himself to get dragged off into the crowd.
Dancing with Hinata seems to have a polarizing effect on his central nervous system. On one hand, Tooru feels a little calmer knowing Hinata is wrapped up in his arms, away from schmoozy, sun-kissed beach boys and their too-touchy Latin American palms.
On the other hand, having Hinata this close to him always causes an automatic spike in his heart rate, and since Hinata's head is resting against his chest, his arms around Tooru's waist as they sway together in a way that is probably far too leisurely to be considered slow dancing, Hinata can hear every turbulent palpitation of his heart.
"Mm," Hinata sighs happily, his arms tightening around Tooru's middle. "You feel so good. I missed you."
Tooru is going to die. "It—it's not like I went anywhere," he manages to scoff, keeping his voice as teasing as physically possible despite feeling so insecure. "I've just been across the venue. You're the one off flirting with anyone who looks your way."
"What?" Hinata leans his head back, surprised. "I haven't been flirting!"
"Your face is flirting," Tooru insists. "You just—you're so unfair. You can't look at someone with those big, adoring eyes of yours and not expect them to imagine what you must look like naked. It's criminal is what it is! Blasphemous! I should have them all arrested!"
Hinata splutters spectacularly, seeming at a complete loss for words. "Are you serious? As if you have room to talk!" he exclaims. "Have you never looked in the mirror before? Are you blind? How can you—god, you're so—"
"So what?"
"Hot!" he blurts. "You're hot! Do you really not know how much you've been teasing me? You've been staring at me with bedroom eyes all night and I've had to keep my distance just so I didn't beg you to take me in the bathroom!"
"Wait, what?"
Realizing what he just said, Hinata's eyes widen with horror before he buries his face into Tooru's chest. "Gah, I can't believe you made me say that! I'm so embarrassed!"
Tooru's mind is a bluescreen. Or it would be, if it wasn't currently running some raunchy mental porno on playback. "So that means... All night, you've wanted me to—"
Hinata squeaks adorably. "Don't say it out loud!"
"Like... rough?"
"OH MY GOD."
"What position?"
"NO. DESIST."
"Hey, I'm just trying to understand here," he says innocently. "You're the one with your mind in the gutter. In this imaginary bathroom scenario of yours, am I at least being responsible? Because I have to admit, I don't have a condom in my wallet right now—shameful, I know—and—"
"Tooru!" he cries. "Please."
The begging shoots right to his dick and Tooru groans lowly while simultaneously tightening his hold. "That's not fair, Shouyou," he murmurs into his ear. "You know that only makes me want you more."
Hinata is visibly shaking now, his trembling hands gripping weakly at Tooru's jacket as he tries to get his halted breathing under control. They are in public, in a foreign country, in the middle of a dance floor surrounded by dozens of Hinata's friends, and somehow Tooru managed to reduce him to a stammering, needy mess with a few murmured words.
Just the thought makes him feel so powerful.
In the face of Hinata's overwhelming brightness during daylight, Tooru always forgets how completely he owns him once the sun goes down. It strengthens his spine. Makes the pace of his heart calmer, even if it's still heavy with affection and want.
Tooru belongs to Hinata. That cannot be mistaken. He can never say no to him. He can't even try.
But Hinata belongs to him, too, something Tooru often loses sight of, and the reminder alone is enough to make up for all the ways Tooru feels weak in Hinata's presence, for the terrifying truth that Tooru is so vulnerable when Hinata is around, like he's been stripped of all those protective walls he's spent years building and is just an open nerve waiting to get burned.
A lot of these fears come from insecurity. Tooru isn't blind to that. He's never felt good enough to be loved before, and the fact that he's dating the sun—the fact he somehow managed to con Hinata into wanting to be with him—has always seemed too good to be true. Like an unbelievable dream he's bound to wake up from, leaving him broken and yearning for things he should've known better than to grow dependent on.
But then there are times like these when his jealousy and self-doubt feel almost crippling in ways he can't help but be a brat about, and Hinata just looks at him, just touches him, just curls his small frame into Tooru's towering one like he knows and trusts that Tooru will always be there for him, always protect him, no matter what—and Tooru feels steady. Strong. Like maybe he's capable of being the knight in this story instead of the demon. A prince instead of the villain.
A king worthy of his throne.
"Do you love me?" Tooru whispers. It's a question he's usually too scared to ask but always wants the answer to, repeated so often and emphatically that he'll never have a chance to doubt. But in this instance, he is sure of the answer. In this instance, he is calm.
Startled, Hinata pulls back a little so he can peer up at him, and even though his face is still flushed with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, his eyes are earnest. Clear. "Of course I do," he says. "More than anything."
Heart fluttering, Tooru cradles his face in his hands and leans down to claim Hinata's lips as his own. Hinata gasps a little, probably remembering how they're still on the dance floor at a very public wedding, but his brief tension immediately washes away to devotion, always so willing to bend for Tooru and defer to Tooru and curl in to be anything and everything he could ever want.
Tooru deepens the kiss for a while longer, feeling Hinata melt further and further into him with each passing second, before he finally pulls away, though not without stealing one last peck.
"Sorry," Tooru says, not sounding sorry at all. "Been waiting all night to do that."
"Ah—y-yeah," Hinata stammers. "I'm—yes. Yes. Same."
Around them, the music has shifted back to a faster, more danceable rhythm, but the two of them remain locked in the center, wrapped up in each other's arms with no sign of leaving. Absently, Tooru uses one hand to play with Hinata's hair, the soft strands like silk against the calloused pads of his fingers, and Hinata becomes like goo against him, so malleable and sweet. Tooru could probably ruin him right here and Hinata wouldn't do a thing to stop him, but instead he holds the boy close, savoring every little touch, every trembling breath.
So perfect. So kind. So absolutely meant to be.
"So what were you saying before again?" Tooru asks casually, knowing full well that Hinata can only blink up at him in a daze, still disoriented from the kiss.
"H-huh?"
"Oh, I don't know," he teases. "Something about how your boyfriend is so hot you almost can't control yourself?"
Crimson blooms across Hinata's cheeks like a wildfire. Tooru has to resist the urge to take a photo to use as his phone's lock screen. He expects Hinata to stammer out an embarrassed response that borders between a useless denial and a bound-to-be amusing rationalization attempt, but Hinata surprises him, merely tucking his sweet face against Tooru's chest as he mumbles, "You look... really pretty in a suit."
Well, fuck. A goddamn knock-out punch. An unintentional death strike.
Does Hinata even realize how much power he holds? Does he know?
Tooru has to bury his nose in Hinata's hair, he's so happy, the stupidly giddy smile on his face probably the furthest from attractive he can be. "Utterly dangerous," he whispers.
Hinata flutters a little, though he seems just as euphoric and contact-drunk. "Tooru?" he slurs. "Did you say something?"
Shaking his head, Tooru holds Hinata tighter and allows his nose fill with the fruity smell of his boyfriend's shampoo. All around them, people are laughing and dancing and moving around without a care in the world. He's been to hundreds of parties with a similar setup, and yet somehow this one feels different. He feels different. He feels happy, alive, true.
Maybe it's the warm buzz of alcohol in his system or the languid mood enhanced by the thousands of twinkly lights surrounding them, but Tooru knows what his dream is now. He knows what he wants. And for once, it has nothing to do with volleyball.
"Hey, Shouyou, how do you feel about big weddings?"