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Oikawa’s palms are warm against the naked skin of Kageyama’s back.
It feels nice, his fingers curling under Kageyama’s shirt, his hold tight, his body pressed as close as they can get. Kageyama’s entire body tingles, mouth taken in a searing kiss, lost in the hunger of Oikawa’s eagerness and the demanding curl of his smile every time he pulls away for breath. Kageyama clings to him, hands splayed against the letters on Oikawa’s uniform, pulling him as close as he’s physically able. There’s nothing quite like the familiarity and warmth of Oikawa’s embrace as he settles between Kageyama’s legs, one hand slipping down to his thigh, his grip unforgiving, pulling it up.
If Kageyama immediately attempts hooking his leg on Oikawa’s waist, rocking his hips, cursing at how nice it feels when Oikawa nips his lower lip ― well, that’s no one’s business but his own.
The wooden locker at his back is a little uncomfortable, made all the more so by the new position the both of them settle in, the way Oikawa squeezes himself close, swallowing Kageyama’s protesting whine with a kiss. It reminds Kageyama of the reason they ended up here in the first place, and it’s entirely against his will that he breaks off the kiss, turning his face a little to avoid being kissed again and attempting to catch his breath.
He fails, just a little.
Oikawa has absolutely no reason to look this good, swollen lips and wide pupils, looking at him as if he’s about to devour Kageyama whole, if only he’s given the chance. Desire pools at the pit of Kageyama’s stomach, and he’s almost a little annoyed at how much he wants to ignore the world and stay right here, damned be his obligations and responsibilities ― it wouldn’t be a first.
“We’ll be late.” Kageyama licks his lips, Oikawa’s eyes following before he minds himself and looks up, mouth set in a smirk.
Kageyama’s frustration at how pleased the sight of it makes him doesn’t last.
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Tobio-chan.” Oikawa’s hand sneaks to touch just above Kageyama’s knee pad, underneath his shorts, mindless of the way he sucks in a breath when his hand grazes his bare thigh, as if he doesn’t know full well what he’s doing, as if there’s anything innocent about the gesture. “We have plenty of time, still.”
They don’t. They definitely don’t. Kageyama’s sure that, if he even as much as considers showing up late to the pre-match warm-up, out of breath and sweaty, stinking of sex, Iwaizumi’s going to beat him with a clipboard.
It’s entirely unfair that Oikawa’s hands keep him in place, that Kageyama himself feels no desire to pull away, that desire aches under his skin and makes him clutch him tighter, desperate for the kind of contact he’s fully aware Oikawa will tease him mercilessly for, if given the chance.
Too bad Kageyama keeps giving him ammunition for it.
“I can get us warmed up just fine.” Oikawa hums a little, leaning in just enough to press their foreheads together, and, though his words are anything but, the tenderness of the gesture is not lost on Kageyama. “Wanna bet?”
Kageyama shouldn’t. No matter how nice Oikawa’s touch feels, or how much he wants to pry the uniform off him and make a mess of them both in this locker room floor, to remind him he may be the love of Kageyama’s life but Kageyama’s still so done with his cockiness ― Kageyama knows he shouldn’t.
He’s always had a hard time resisting Oikawa, though, whether it be in or out of the court.
“Five minutes.” Kageyama concedes, half annoyed, half endeared, knowing full well they’ll be in a world of trouble if they lose track of time.
Oikawa’s smile is far too pretty for the amount of smugness it conveys.
“I won’t need that long.”