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The air tingles around them, a comfortable sensation especially for what it holds; electricity zapping across their skin uncontrollably, fanning out and reaching every part of their body. The space surrounding them is hot and heavy, the scent of sweat still hanging low; the unrhythmic breaths heaving from their chests granting the melody to their relaxing hymn, cooling down with their still burning bodies.
Neither dare to break the peaceful sound with their voice, want to treasure the aftermath of muffled moans and cries and broken words that could be names. They take it all in, together with the twitching tension in their muscles being washed over with relaxation.
Hinata lies on his stomach, chin resting on crossed arms. His eyes flutter closed as slender yet slightly calloused fingers trace invisible patterns across his bare back. They wander across shoulder blades, follow the rise and fall of muscle and bone as if trying to memorize every part with the lightest of touches.
His fingers slide along Hinata’s spine, from the nape of his neck to the dip of his back, slide across every single vertebrae with utmost care. The corners of Kageyama’s mouth twitch with the ghost of a grin as Hinata trembles slightly beneath his touch, a heavy and shaky exhale breathed between his slightly parted and still reddened lips. Lips that whispered and cried promises only for Kageyama to hear, promises that would last with him forever.
Kageyama shifts closer, hand resting at the small of Hinata's back, his own head supported by his free arm. Heat spreads across his skin in waves, travels down his arms and chest and legs, up his neck and right into his thoughts. A shiver meets the waves of warmth, and Kageyama sighs, content, chest light. His hand feels cool against his still burning cheek, and it's comforting. A small distraction from the fire in his chest and fog spreading through his mind.
The sight before him is truly beautiful—the first, confident sunrays of a new day falling through the window and dancing on his love's features, illuminating his cheekbones and strands of flattened and slightly dampened hair in orange tones; lashes casting warm shadows across cheeks that are still tinted in a mellow red, the memory of perspiration still lingering on Hinata's forehead.
Amber eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, but meeting dazzling blue in a heartbeat. Hinata tries to glare from the corner of narrowed eyes, but fails—cheeks painted with washed-out red and still dilated pupils give him away, soften his features too much.
But Kageyama still understands, and begins to move his hand once more against bare skin, lips curled up into a gentle, almost tired smile. His fingers continue to paint the never ending portrait of invisible colour, the touch almost ticklish. The tension in Hinata's shoulders melts away like ice on a summer's day, eyes falling closed again. He exhales weakly, voice too tired—or maybe even too worn-out—to form proper words.
Sapphire eyes never leave pale skin, always following the motions of the hand, mind bursting with the possible colours of the invisible painting. They free themselves from the calming trance, move up Hinata's back, tracing the sharp angles of muscles until they halt at the neck. A picture of purple and blue expands to the front of Hinata's chest and shoulder, blooming roses decorating his skin so beautifully. A sight only for him to see.
It's almost a pity, Kageyama thinks, to hide something so stunning. The contrast of velvet against cream, every mark of his love fanning out as time passes.
But also just almost. Because this is a sight only he can see.
His.
Kageyama lets his eyes fall closed, heart beating fiercely against his ribs. The mere thought can set his body and mind aflame all over again. Only temporary marks grace Hinata's body, vanish much too soon for his tastes.
He can't wait to give Hinata the permanent ring of his love, a mark that won't disappear after the passing of a few days or weeks.
Kageyama sighs, lets his hands fall uselessly against the pillow and leans in. He traces bruised skin with equally reddened lips, marks of teeth not only his own still imprinted on them, the shade of colour battling purple and red. The memory of heavy breaths, muffled whines and teeth against his flesh are still so vivid in his mind.
Breaths that break, as if having forgotten how to function properly; moans that turn into mere huffs against skin; names neither one quite manages to finish—all still so very vivid and lovely etched into his memory. The sight of Hinata's eyes squinting shut, back arching off the bed, and voice croaking silent something only for himself to hold precious.
His.
Kageyama places feather light kisses on every blooming flower available to him; inhales the scent of sweat mingling together with the shadow of Hinata's shampoo. His lips brush over bruised skin in silent apologies—or maybe in hopeless attempts to reinforce their colour, to deepen the bond with Hinata's skin, to make it permanent.
Goosebumps trail across Hinata's arms like sprinkles of sugar, tingling yet so sweet. He mutters something that almost sounds like “idiot”, but lacking any actual anger or edge. Kageyama's eyes flicker open, lips resting on Hinata's neck, the image of him moaning incomprehensible words darting across his memory. Or of Hinata baring his neck even more for better access, clutching on to broader shoulders, nails scraping and digging into skin deep enough to bruise, filling the air with muffled cries between hasty breaths—all of it is his and his alone.
Kageyama's hand stills for just a moment against burning skin before he curls his arm around his love; presses Hinata even closer to himself.
“Sorry,” he says, leaving kisses as gentle as a summer's breeze along the lobe of Hinata's ear, following an invisible trail towards his cheekbones.
Kageyama's voice is a tremor coursing right through Hinata's body, shakes him to his very core. Even if he tried to glare it would have been for naught. His heart simply continues to beat along to the ever strong allegro they have created.
The marks on his neck and chest still prickle softly, but can't compare to the tingling feeling that would settle in his every fibre whenever Kageyama would touch him, brush his lips against his own, or even so much as look at him with tired eyes, fondness swirling within them like waves clasping at the shore.
And he can't wait to carry a mark around his finger to show to the world.
Hinata quivers at the thought, shifts to wrap an arm around Kageyama's neck; the latter only pulling him closer as if it was the most natural thing to do. Now chest to chest, their heartbeats mingle together, become one solid strong force, growing more powerful and forming a bond for no one else to see but for them to feel.
Kageyama's free arm brushes away a few strands hiding away Hinata's face, motion soft and careful, lost in thoughts that don't even form words. Hinata drops his gaze to Kageyama's bruised lips, stills and traces the rough edges and gentle marks before his vision turns black again, relaxing against the strong hold around himself. Warmth surrounds him, creeps into every empty space within him, and like this, Hinata could fall asleep.
He could fall asleep to this every night.
He can picture himself waking up to Kageyama next to him every morning. He wants to know how long it takes for Kageyama to be fully awake, wants to know how sleepy he is while brushing his teeth or how wildly his hair sticks out. He wants to know how bad his breath is, and whether he has breakfast before or after brushing his teeth. He wants to watch him prepare breakfast, and whether or not he's good at making scrambled eggs or cooking rice in a slow cooker.
There's still so much Hinata wants to know about Kageyama, things outside of his volleyball habits and how much he likes milk. How he can perfectly set the ball into his palm, or how his scowl is just a façade. Or how all his social skills can completely dissipate in front of strangers not related to volleyball.
Hinata grins to himself at that thought, shoulders shaking slightly from a laugh that can't turn into more than tired huffs. Kageyama was so much more than a volleyball prodigy who'll end up with the worst of wrinkles as he'll grow older.
“What's so funny?” The subject of Hinata's thoughts asks, still a little rough around the edges and so beautifully close.
“Nothing,” Hinata replies, the smile seeping into his tone as he shifts to nuzzle the neck before him. He can feel Kageyama's heart sit out a beat at his motion, both at his chest and through the pulsing artery in his neck—which only widens Hinata's grin all the more. He gives the skin a soft kiss, warm breath brushing and scorching across the small space between. Kageyama's fingers at his back twitch, curl in just the slightest before he slides his flat palm up Hinata's back, up to the space between his shoulder blades to pull him in even closer.
Kageyama shifts his head forward until his nose brushes dampened hair, blue eyes falling closed with a sigh.
“Happy birthday,” he whispers, just loud enough for Hinata to hear; a kiss left on the crown of Hinata's head to seal his words.
Hinata's heart jumps and stills; breathes against his love's neck before it turns into a soft giggle.
“Tobio, you're being so sappy right now.”
“Shut up, idiot,” he says, grin on his features too big, voice too soft for Hinata to take any offence.
They curl against each other—soft touches tracing bare skin, hushed words like secrets exchanged even when no one else can hear them, tender brushes of lips and teeth. They wait for the sun to rise higher, to fill the room with visible warmth, to erase the cool tones of the shadows. They wait for the new day to come, one step closer to the day this becomes a routine.