Work Text:
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
“You’re home late,” Ushijima says, opening up the apartment entrance, nodding for you to step into the lobby first. The chill air from the outside suddenly vanishes the second you step onto the marble flooring, immediately causing you to reach up to your scarf and take it off.
“Mmm,” you hum, “After work I had dinner with the girls from the office,” you say walking ahead as he waits for the glass door to close. “And then I stopped by Daiso to see if we needed anything for the apartment.”
“And?” Ushijima asks, finally walking up to you while you reach for the elevator button.
“I ended up buying washi tape and stationary.”
“Of course you did.”
“Can’t help it,” you say as you watch the elevator doors open. “It’s 100 yen.” You both stand in the elevator side by side, pressing for floor fifteen while the two of you sigh. “How was practice? Have you had dinner?”
Ushijima looks straight ahead at his reflection in the stainless steel doors, “Practice was fine. We should be ready for the game on Saturday.” You purse your lips, nodding along. “I had dinner with Kageyama because we were discussing his sets but I might have some tea.”
One behind the other, the two of you leave the elevator, walking straight to your apartment door. When Ushijima pushes through, the both of you immediately slump your shoulders in relief, tired from the day that unfolded.
Ushijima places his gym bag on the floor, immediately unpacking his training clothes from both gym and volleyball practice. “Do you have anything I can put in the wash?” He asks, looking back at you as you take off your heels.
You shake your head, “No, I think I put most of my stuff with your clothes from yesterday.”
Ushijima nods curtly and turns around, turning on the lights in the small hallway, lounge room and laundry room as he goes along. You call out, “I might just go and prepare a bath first, I’m absolutely ready to unwind.”
“Wait for me,” Ushijima calls out. “I’ll join you.”
Well, you weren’t going to say no to that.
What did you didn’t tell Ushijima was that on your trip to Daiso, you also picked up some floral bath salts since you were intending to take a bath with your lonesome. You hope he won’t mind smelling like flowers.
You bring the plastic bag to your dining room table, trying to dish out the small packet. “Do you mind if I put some bath salts in the tub? My shoulders are killing me.”
“Do what you want,” Ushijima replies. You assume he’s still in the laundry room somewhere.
You walk over to your shared bathroom, giving the tub a little rinse before you start to fill it. Ushijima had grown up in a typical Japanese home, so when apartment hunting he insisted that he wanted a bath tub to soak in, whereas your family grew up with a shower for your tiny apartment. You weren’t exactly complaining about that, either.
Ripping the sachet open and waiting for Ushijima, you sit on the toilet seat cover, reaching over to your shoulder to massage it a little. By the end of the week you usually tense up this way; working an office job wasn’t the most stressful, but sitting in a chair and staring at a computer did have its downfalls.
Ushijima appears at the doorway, adorned only in his track pants he wears after he returns from practice. You study him closely with your hand resting against your chin, your elbow on your knee for support.
“You look very tired,” he says, walking further into the bathroom.
“I feel very tired,” you retort, not wanting to get up. “And you’re the one who moves more than I do.”
Ushijima shrugs, holding out his palms towards you. You crinkle your brows when you notice little nicks on his palms. “What happened?”
“I’ve been washing my hands more often during practice so they’re cracking.”
You pout and reach for his hands anyway, “You should tell me. I can lather them up with cream and massage them for you tonight.”
Ushijima hums, reaching to untuck your shirt from your work skirt. “I’ll help you get undressed.”
Now standing up you nod and spread your arms out, your eyesight in line with his chest. “I think it’s unfair that you’re this attractive.”
Ushijima lets out a dry chuckle as he unbuttons his way down your shirt, “You’re only flattering me because I’m helping you.”
“No, I bet Satori would agree.”
“He agrees because we talk about working out.” Ushijima slides your shirt off, and you reach for the side of your skirt and zip down, stepping out of your skirt. He hangs them on an empty towel rack, along with his track pants. “I’ll get in first.”
You follow shortly after discarding your underwear, suppressing a giggle as Ushijima leans as far back as possible to make room for your in between his legs.
The hot water and steam relax you just as you had hoped, and you lean back into Ushijima’s body as he drapes his arms around the length of the tub.
The two of you do this from time to time, and usually when Ushijima initiates it. One thing that you admire about him was that even though he was very stoic and very quiet, he picked up on when you needed some time to relax. Perhaps being a sportsman gave him some sort of underlying intuition, but you would prefer to think it’s because he cares. Or maybe it’s a little of both.
“This scent smells good,” Ushijima comments, closing his eyes and letting his head lull backwards.
“Mmm, I think it’s lavender mixed with something,” you say, reviling in the warmth of the tub and the skin on skin contact with Ushijima.
Ushijima moves his arms off of the tub and places them underwater, finding your hands in his. You both lay wordlessly for a while, until you start to shift a little more to your right, your neck stiffening from being strained for so long. Of course, Ushijima picks up on it instantly. He releases your hands from the tips of his fingertips, slowly crawling up the lengths of your arms to reach your shoulders, working his calloused hands into a routine he knows too well.
You hum in relief as Ushijima’s fingers knead into your muscles, trying gently to unwind the knots underneath your skin, knowing that the only way to relieve the pain is through a proper rest. And maybe a word or two with your department head - whoever is supplying you with awful, non-ergonomic chairs.
You sigh something warm and inviting, and Ushijima knows he’s hit the right spots on your shoulders. He tries to focus on the task at hand, but the curl left behind that’s decorated on the nape of your neck from your high bun is tempting him to do everything but.
He kisses the back of your neck, still trying to apply the same amount of pressure without making too much of a move. He can tell you’re quite comfortable and the silence is never a bother between the two of you. When he kisses deeper with his lips, dragging his nose along your skin, you smile, feeling the faint stubble roam over as he moves.
Ushijima gives up massaging altogether, wrapping his arms against your waist, his chin cradled in the conjuncture between your neck and shoulder. His legs squeeze, bringing yours closer together.
“Thank you,” you manage, still in daze. Ushijima responds by squeezing tighter, placing his hands just where your ribs are, embracing the flesh beneath his fingers.
You both stay like that for a few minutes more, in a comfortable silence only the two of you could ever appreciate.