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“Hey, dumbass.”
Shouyou doesn’t know which is worse, that he’s responding to that nickname as if it’s written on his birth certificate or the fact that he’s not even bothered by it anymore. Probably the latter, he concludes as Kageyama stops in front of him.
Now, Shouyou has been up on his feet for twelve hours (practiced for three), he can let his eyes linger on Kageyama’s thighs a little longer than what’s appropriate. It’s like a reward.
“I asked you a question,” Kageyama groans, nudging Shouyou’s left foot with his own. “Stop zoning out.”
Shouyou hides behind a smile. “Sorry, I’m listening now,” he says, patting the ground and Kageyama drops down right next to him.
There’s a pause, Kageyama taking a generous sip of his bottle. Shouyou can’t help but stare again, a droplet of water dripping down Kageyama’s chin, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He’s annoyingly hot with sweat shining over the tan of his skin, his bangs sticking to his forehead. Oh, wow, Shouyou, get your head out of the gutter.
“So… Question?”
Kageyama hums. “I was thinking —”
“Ugh, that’s new,” Shouyou interrupts. “How’s your head?”
Now, Shouyou is prepared for many reactions. One, Kageyama tells him to fuck right off. Two, it’s the most obvious, a death-glare (which Shouyou’s pretty much immune to). Three, Kageyama’s just in the right position to kick him in the ribs without breaking any more sweat than he already had. Four, any kind of mix of the first three. But what comes out of Kagemaya’s mouth is this:
“Haven’t had any complaints.”
Shouyou snorts in surprise, an ugly little sound. “Oh god, where did you learn that?”
“Yamaguchi made me watch Drag Race.” Kageyama huffs. “He says it’s part of the gay experience.”
“That’s—,” Shouyou stammers, another chuckle bubbling up. “You know, actually, I don’t have the right words to describe this.”
“That’d require a proper vocabulary,” Kageyama agrees, nodding along. “Require? You know that one, right?”
Shouyou rolls his eyes, yet his grin doesn’t fade. “Says the one who sat next to me on the supplementary exam,” he says. “I still haven’t heard your question, though.”
“Right.” Kageyama sighs and he’s playing with the hem of his sweatshirt, suddenly avoiding Shouyou’s eyes. Ah, it’s not a common phenomenon, Kageyama Tobio being nervous.
“Come on, spit it out.” Shouyou nudges. “Are you really shy around me?”
“Have you,” Kageyama starts, another sigh. “Kissed anyone?”
“Oh! ”
“Don’t make it weird,” Kageyama adds quickly and finally his eyes are back on Shouyou — cold blue full of uncertainty.
“I’m not!” Shouyou holds his hands up, waiting till Kageyama’s features soften. “So, like, recently?” he asks once the coast is clear.
“No,” Kageyama says and he stops for a beat. “Ever?”
Again: Oh. Except, this time Shouyou keeps it in.
“Just once,” he admits instead. “In first year. I’m sure you don’t remember, but there was this girl who confessed to me on Valentines.”
“I remember,” Kageyama says. “You shared the chocolate with me.”
Ah, right. Shouyou’s heart swells up at the memory. They were sitting on the gym floor after everyone else left, just like they are now, the box of sweets between them. And hours later, when Shouyou was riding his bike home, up the hill, he was still thinking of that little smear of chocolate over Kageyama’s upper lip — The next day, he kissed the girl who gave him those chocolates just to try to get rid of the craving.
“So you and her,” Kageyama concludes, grounding Shouyou back in the present. “No one else?”
Shouyou shakes his head. “That’s it. Why are you asking?”
“No particular reason,” Kageyama says and sure enough the indifference he fakes is quite believable. Except, Shouyou knows where to look for signs and the redness of the tip of Kageyama’s ears is a telltale one.
“Okay, have you?”
“What?”
“Have you kissed anyone?” Shouyou specifies, opting for the same casualty Kageyama’s trying to sport.
Again, there are many reactions that can be expected. One, Kageyama tells him to fuck right off. Two, a glare. Three, Kageyama kicks — You know the drill. But instead,
“No,” he admits. “I haven’t.”
Shouyou has this distant understanding of the fact that the right (platonic) response goes something like this: “That’s fine, friend, you’re not late. You’ll kiss someone eventually. Don’t worry about it.”
Yet, what he actually says out loud is —
“Do you want to get it over with?”
“With you?” Kageyama blurts out. “Right now?”
“It’s just an offer.” Shouyou shrugs. All the while, his heart is right inside his throat, about to leap out of his body. Good, Shouyou thinks, you bring me nothing but trouble anyway.
Kageyama scoots closer and — the sound Shouyou makes is absolutely pathetic, a trembling gasp of air as Kageyama takes his hand, intertwining their fingers. “It’s like a practice match before the real one, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, sure,” Shouyou agrees and he scrambles up, his arms over Kageyama’s shoulders, one knee between Kageyama’s outstretched legs. “Just practice.”
Shouyou is just an inch away from a fatal heart attack, then Kageyama rests his chin against his stomach, looking up at Shouyou, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed pink.
Shouyou passes away. Gone. Engrave this into his tombstone: In memory of Hinata Shouyou, who kicked the bucket all because Kageyama Tobio gave him bedroom eyes.
It’s not the worst end, he concludes. Too soon. Kageyama slides a hand between Shouyou’s legs, grabbing his left thigh right where his shorts end.
And Shouyou just can’t bottle up the craving. He can’t stay away anymore.
So he doesn’t.
There’s no explosion. It’s something much calmer, but more satisfying. It’s Kageyama’s lips on his own, being a little uncertain first, then he tilts his head, a soft sigh escaping and Shouyou is right there to take advantage of that, slipping his tongue inside his mouth.
Kageyama squeezes his thigh, fingers digging into flesh. Oh, two can play that game — Shouyou tugs at his lower lip, coaxing the most wonderful sound, a shaky little gasp of air, out of him.
It’s without doubt the most worked up Shouyou has ever been and he played at the nationals, so take it as you will.
Kageyama is the one who pulls back after who knows how long (Shouyou lost his sense of time, his sense of reality the moment Kageyama took his hand).
“That was —” Kageyama starts, stopping for a second to clear his throat. He’s flushed, lips shiny and red and Shouyou simply wants to eat him up. Swallow him whole and — “Uhm, thank you,” Kageyama says awkwardly, yet his hand is still over the back of Shouyou’s thigh.
Oh, Kageyama Tobio, Shouyou wonders, you’re truly the end of me.
Now that’s not something you tell your teammate, nor your friend. Instead,
Shouyou leans in again to press a last, quick peck to Kageyama’s lips. “Practice match is over. You’re ready for the real thing.”