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Somehow, it turns into a game.
Morisuke knows it’s pretty childish of them, but the disgusted shriek that Lev lets out during practice is impossible to resist, and, well, it’s pretty easy to get caught up in Tetsurou once he’s got an idea stuck in his head. Tetsurou makes eye contact with him in the locker room, and Morisuke frowns, because he’s wearing the sort of smile that’s usually followed by a mess they all have to clean up. He braces himself when Tetsurou approaches him, and struggles to mask his surprise when Tetsurou sails cleanly past him, smacking him loudly on the ass.
Morisuke squeaks. There’s a baited pause as the rest of the team look up from whatever they were doing - Yamamoto’s shirt is halfway over his head - to wait for Morisuke’s reaction. Tetsurou meets his gaze with confidence, and all Morisuke can see is that shit-eating grin.
Morisuke smirks, “Come on, Tetsu, you can do better than that,” he says, and the rest of the team bursts into groans while Tetsurou laughs.
*
The next time, it’s Morisuke that insitgates it. The first years have been trying his patience even more than usual, and he’s tired from too much practice and too many late nights studying. Third year is hard, and he and Tetsurou haven’t had any time alone all week, and he’s frustrated. He spots Tetsurou tying his shoelaces on the bench, and doesn’t think twice before making his way over.
“I’m exhausted, Tetsu,” he sighs melodramatically, casting a mischievous glance towards the first years as he throws himself into Tetsurou’s lap, “rub my shoulders for me.”
Kenma, who’d been sitting beside Tetsurou playing a video game, walks away without even bothering to look up. On the other side of the gym, Inuoka whines.
“Yaku-san, why?” he asks, but Tetsurou has already twisted to get a better grip on Morisuke’s shoulder, huffing out a laugh as he kneads the muscle. It feels great, and the first pleasant sigh he lets out isn’t intentional, but Shibayama’s traumatised expression has him hamming up his reactions, making the first-years as squeamish as possible.
He should probably be embarassed, but it’s way too fun for that sort of feeling.
“Maybe now you’ll try not to cause me so much stress,” he comments dryly, followed by an inappropriate moan.
(The sharp intake of breath he hears from Tetsurou behind him is a bonus, too. They take care of that later, when they finally have an evening to themselves.)
*
It becomes a game, and Tetsurou’s never one to back down from a challenge. Morisuke tells him once, jokingly, to ‘step it up’ when Tetsurou makes lewd gestures at him across the court, and Tetsurou just shrugs, so Morisuke knows he’s screwed.
The locker room’s empty when Tetsurou comes up behind him, kissing the back of his neck until Morisuke turns around and then pressing him into the corner of the showers. He doesn’t have a good view of the door, and Yaku swallows thickly when Tetsurou places a hand on his hip, fingers edging up the hem of his shirt. He hadn’t had time to take it off yet.
“Tetsu, no, this is too far…” he starts, and Tetsurou hides his grin with a scandalised expression.
“What exactly were you thinking of, Mori? I just wanted to do this,” he bends in, pressing a light kiss against Morisuke’s earlobe, and one more against his lips. Morisuke returns the kiss, eyes closed, and Tetsurou pulls away all too quickly, making Morisuke sigh.
“Okay, that’s not enough,” he says, grabbing the front of Tetsurou’s shirt to keep him still when he makes to move away.
Tetsurou widens his eyes, playing innocent, “are you sure, Mori? Anyone could walk in, you know.”
“Shut up, you idiot,” Morisuke rolls his eyes and pulls Tetsurou back towards him, kissing him harshly. Tetsurou’s hand moves instinctively around to Morisuke’s back, wide and strong against his spine, and Morisuke turns them both so that Tetsurou’s back is against the wall.
“Incoming,” he mutters, his hands moving to Tetsurou’s shoulders and bouncing once, lightly, before jumping and wrapping his legs around Tetsurou’s hips. Kissing standing up is fine, but Tetsurou tends to get back ache bending down for too long, and this way Morisuke can thread his fingers into that bedhead he’s always found so attractive.
They make out for a while, slow and languid, Tetsurou grinning against Morisuke’s lips and Morisuke beginning to pant. He’s using his thigh muscles to keep himself upright way more than Tetsurou’s using his hands to support him - they keep wandering - and it’s a little tiring; a little distracting. Eventually, they part, because they haven’t heard anyone enter, and practise is supposed to start soon. Morisuke slides down Tetsurou’s body until he’s on his feet, adjusting his shirt and hair.
Tetsurou’s smiling down at him, and the expression isn’t mischievous like all the other times. It’s the gross kind of look he usually only wears first thing in the morning, when he wakes up and Morisuke’s brought him breakfast from his mom’s kitchen.
“Love you too,” Morisuke says, gruff, and Tetsurou beams, “but where is everyone?”
They exit the locker room, Morisuke already preparing to scold the others for being late, but Kenma’s sat in front of the door. Along the wall, the entire Nekoma team is lined up, alternately staring at the ceiling or their shoes.
“We...didn’t want to disturb you,” Yamamoto says, but he’s grinning, and Yaku feels himself blush to the roots of his hair.
If it’s turned into a game, then he probably hasn’t won, but Morisuke doesn’t really seem to mind.