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Shoyo’s seen a lot in his fruitful volleyball career.
A lot, trust him on that.
Well. Nothing tops the time Tanaka —during Shoyo’s second year— got a carrot thrown at him mid game, at nationals.
There were two carrot tops for the rest of that year.
But this is something no amount of weaponised veggies would have prepared him for. Shoyo and his stupid good for nothing engine of a pussy, that never knows when to tone it down.
It all happened way too quickly. Quick is Shoyo’s thing, it always has been.. But this was some other speed, like a blow to the head— rendering whoever touches it completely clueless of their surroundings.
Tobio’s the wielder of this stupefied speed phenomenon.
When did he learn this, how? Did he keep it a secret until now? Maybe Shoyo is biased, but can you look him in the eyes and say; Kageyama Tobio’s spikes knock the air out of you.
Since when!
Shoyo is very well aware that the setter is the king for a reason, he probably knows that better than anyone. Ever since High School he has watched the taller practice not just tosses— but every field of volleyball. It’s admirable, really, how determined he is to master every corner of their beloved sport.
But his spikes weren’t awesome.
They didn’t have that feeling to them like his tosses have. If the spiker were to try to explain it, it would go like this.
Tobio’s tosses make Shoyo all giddy on the inside.
Tobio’s spikes make him roll on the floor laughing.
Thing is, they weren’t bad. But if the spiker had anything to make fun of Tobio for, it was his spikes. So he took the opportunity and ran with it, teasing the setter every chance he got. Even during matches, whenever Tobio would adapt to spiking— Shoyo would stare at him knowingly, eyes sparkling with mischief when they met the setter’s.
Of course, his jabs were always returned in the form of Tobio’s hands pulling his hair, dragging Shoyo around by it and making sure to make it hurt. For some reason, the rough handling only spurred the spiker on even more.
That was the year Shoyo learned what kinks were.
After that, Shoyo spent way too many nights sleepless, desperately trying to imitate the setter’s hands on his body with his own small ones.
Whatever.
They’re not in highschool anymore, they’re adults. Fully functioning adults with fully functioning genitalia that stay in their pants.
Shoyo might’ve admitted to doing sinful things in the past thinking about Tobio, but he won’t admit to having broken the headboard of his bed while thinking a bit too much about how fucking sexy Tobio looks when he’s about to serve.
That was all Tobio’s fault anyway. What else did he expect when he bought Shoyo tickets to his game, picked him up in his car, let the spiker decide what they’d listen to in said car and put his hand on Shoyo’s thigh as he drove, then didn’t realize how the spiker was absolutely burning when he dropped Shoyo off at his seat.
His seat that Tobio forgot to mention was VIP!
So yeah, of course Shoyo’s stupid core would kick to life at the much better and bigger view of the setter as he played. It was hard sitting still in his chair that game. Alright, it’s hard sitting still during any of Tobio’s games.
At least sitting still isn’t an option on the court. When on court the spiker is constantly preoccupied, which means there’s no time wasted letting his pussy take the reins.
MSBY Black Jackals and Schweiden Adlers got another chance to play against each other, and Shoyo was fucking excited. Any chance to play against his setter makes him burn with want, anticipation, need.
But it took a weird turn. For the better?
As already said; it happened quickly. One second Shoyo was on one side of the court, eyes intensely focused on how the ball was moving away— out of the lines but still in the air.
Then, with unmatched speed, Hoshiumi threw himself into the air and tossed.
Shoyo felt floored.
Because the ball wasn’t a chance ball, it wasn’t passing over the net, it was heading towards their Center court— in the most perfect setup. But, towards who? Hoshiumi won’t hit it, and Ushijima’s somewhere, possibly in the back, obviously not having anticipated the turn of events.
That just makes it—
“Here it comes!” A commentator shouted through their microphone, and the whole stadium was suddenly screaming. “With this perfect set up, Kageyama Tobio—“
Shoyo’s feet were moving before he had to think. Because on the other side of the court was Tobio, body hunched down as he prepared to jump.
Like hell Shoyo was going to let him get away with this.
By the time Tobio was in the air, arm drawn back as the ball rapidly approached him, Shoyo was also there.
Floored, again. Because Tobio looked so undeniably hot.
Something kicked to life inside the spiker’s smaller body as he looked the setter up and down while he prepared to fire a death shot.
Tobio had made it over the big wall, allowing Shoyo to take in all of him. No more nets to cover anything or blockers to hide the setter’s beautiful posture.
Tobio has always looked way too good to be true, but this was just unfair.
Back arched slightly, just so he could see the ball, chest muscles fighting against the fabric of his stupid shirt— fuck, his muscles. Those arms hold so much power, they probably wouldn’t let him up even if he thrashed against them..
A wave of slickness made itself apparent through Shoyo’s shorts.
Shame quickly overtook the spiker’s body, making him shudder against his will.
But it didn’t last long. You see, after all this time crushing over the setter in secret, it’s become much easier to shut the horny part of his brain off whenever Shoyo wants to. The cogs started to turn slowly, painfully, all the while Tobio’s hand hurtled closer and closer towards the ball.
After a few tantalising seconds, Shoyo regained full control of his body again, almost like nothing had happened, but then—
Tobio’s eyes found him, holding enough force to make Shoyo’s breath hitch and legs shake. They probably succeeded, because suddenly Shoyo felt all too unstable on his strong legs.
All of the spiker’s restraints broke down like paper.
Then, a ball, straight to Shoyo’s flushed face.
Seconds before Shoyo’s body hit the ground, all that went through the spiker’s head were questions out of disbelief.
Since when did Tobio know how to have a form like that?
.. was he always that hot?
His body hit the ground and pushed the remaining air inside his lungs out of him. And the remaining slick, probably, but the pain in the back of Shoyo’s head was too sharp for him to feel the discomfort between his thighs.
There’s a lot going on at the same time. Voices, vivid calls of his names that Shoyo barely manages to take in, and then the swaying of his head– back and forth, rolling side to side..
“Wait, don’t move him.”
It’s hard to see with all the swimming in his vision, but Shoyo somehow recognises the blur of white and black that sweeps past his body. Not much later, a tall figure with blonde hair— and the looming frame of who’s obviously Sakusa joins in on hovering over him.
But.. that voice, it doesn’t belong to any of his teammates.
“What the fuck, Hinata.”
Another head pops up into the spiker’s view. This time, Shoyo doesn’t have to squint his eyes at them, or try to clear his bleary eyes— this person is way too recogniseable.
Stupidly sexy, heaving out a mouthful of air, drenched in sweat— Kageyama Tobio.
Shoyo might have lost most of his twenty twenty vision, but this view beats any VIP seat he’s ever been in.
It's so unfair. At any point of today, right now is the worst time Shoyo would like to feel the small prickling from his core, and the familiar gush making him uncomfortably hot.
Damn it.
Shoyos eyes don’t waver as they follow every move of Tobio’s moving lips, the way his arms flex in front of him— how tense they are from holding himself up above the spiker.
Shoyo doesn’t have to check to know that the setter’s hands are placed on his sides. No, it’s not because of some sudden sense of clearance. Actually, it’s because of the warmth radiating from Tobio’s hands.
And the small touch of his pinkie, pushing just the slightest into Shoyo’s waist.
Shoyo shudders under Tobio’s looming body, the uncomfortable slide of slick makes him squirm on the floor.
“Does he have a concussion?” Someone asks. There’s some whispers in response, Shoyo just barely manages to capture someone saying maybe, and that he hit his head pretty hard.
It’s hard to keep his eyes open, but closing them would mean not being able to take in the view of Tobio’s jaw from below, and how the setter’s throat bobs as he speaks.
Shoyo’s not sure if it does, but he feels like his heart slows down.
So pretty..
He stays like that, eyes slightly hooded to shield his eyes from the bright lights above the court. He quietly watches as Tobio finishes up discussing with whoever the heck he’s talking to.
Honestly, Shoyo would do anything to get all of the setter’s attention right now. But if Tobio is going to be frustrating in denying his needs, then he’d at least rather watch the other than sulk.
But then a hand rudely swipes over his forehead and down over his eyes, effectively blocking the sight of Tobio’s paper sharp jaw and long eyelashes.
A stab of pain envelopes Shoyo whole. It’s not anything like the feeling of possibly splitting his head open, it’s worse. It’s like being denied your own birthday cake.
Or worse, of a mind blowing orgasm.
The hand moves a little closer, and Shoyo instantly starts closing his eyes in reflex. But Tobio snaps his own hand at the mystery one, pushing it out off Shoyo’s face. “Are you stupid? What part of don’t move him didn’t you get—“
“You’re the one that hit the guy!” A rough voice says, it’s hard to no wince at it.
“He’s the one that rammed into it—“
Shoyo whines at the raise of volume. After being on the cold floor for so long, he hasn’t really been thinking about his other senses than his vision. It’s only now that it’s becoming apparent how sensitive his ears are.
His eyes flutter shut as the last coils of noise crash into his ears. He keeps them shut, until a soft hand touches his cheek.
“I'm sorry, dumbass.” Comes the breathy whisper from the all too familiar setter. Shoyo’s heart twists, does a little jump– and then it starts sprinting.
This.. has to be out of the ordinary? Right? Tobio’s obviously worried, and well he usually is— but it’s never this intense. It’s not unusual for him to go out of his way to care, but this feels extreme.
It doesn’t help that Shoyo feels stupidly needy all of a sudden. The soft touch of Tobio’s hand on his cheek does nothing but make him want more, it’s so stupid.
“Idiot—yama,” he manages to whine, again, and Tobio raises his eyebrows at his sudden voice. The way he looks relieved almost makes Shoyo’s heart leap. “You hit me..”
Tobio has the audacity to scoff. “I didn’t hit you. You didn’t receive it, that’s what happened.”
The hand on Shoyo’s cheek doesn’t leave, it just stays there. It’s not even barely touching, it’s full on cupping his jaw. Shoyo’s eyes flicker down to see it, but Tobio lifts his head back– searching for his eyes.
Shoyo gives in to the draw of Tobio’s eyes. But before he fully focuses in on them, he manages to flicker to the sides of the setter’s head. To blazing headlights and weird chunks of hair from other people’s prying heads, and to the bright colours of their team’s commercials.
The setter must have noticed this, because his hand tugging at Shoyo’s jaw yanks the spiker’s head back and forth– gently grabbing his attention again.
When Shoyo finally takes in the sight of the other, the first thing he notices is how rough Tobio looks. Shoyo doesn’t hate it, not at all. The glistening sheen of his sweat does nothing but enhance his face, and the wildness of his hair makes him look so messy. Messy but hot.
Shoyo bites his bottom lip, quickly tasting iron on his tongue. It doesn’t faze him, tasting blood is way better than whimpering into the face of his desires. The pain is minimal, but Tobio must think otherwise, because his eyes flicker down to Shoyo’s lips– and his eyebrows furrow.
“Stop that.”
Before Shoyo can react, Tobio’s hand moves from his jaw to his lips. The first prod of his thumb catches the spiker completely off guard, and he can't help but let out a soft gasp at the touch. It burns, but he’d be lying if he called it unpleasant.
Tobio’s fingers are long and soft. His nails are clean and fresh, and they're cut like they usually are. Even so, the tip of Tobio’s index finger’s nail digs down into his lips, leaving a pricking sensation there.
Shoyo ignores how his mouth starts watering under the setter’s intense gaze, and especially how a different kind of pull ignites in his abdomen. He’s not shoving the other away, but his lips stutter against the easy probing of Tobio’s fingers. It’s too much, way too much, especially for something in public.
Shoyo can’t get himself to care about everyone around them.
Softly, the setter pushes Shoyo’s lips away from each other to Shoyo from biting them. Tobio’s eyebrows are clenched in concentration, but Shoyo cares more about how his shirt clings beautifully to his hard chest. Everything about the other only adds to Shoyo’s fire, it doesn’t help that he can feel the ghost of tobio’s legs on each side of his own.
It’s always been hard to ignore how obscenely big Tobio is. His hand covers all of Shoyo’s lower face, and it wouldn’t shock the spiker if he’s completely covered from everyone else in the stadium. For people just tuning in, it must look like Tobio’s having some kind of tantrum on the floor.
Suddenly Tobio thumbs at Shoyo’s strained bottom lip, softly running his thumb back and forth. The tickling sensation does nothing but make Shoyo more agitated, if anything he just feels even hotter.
The setter grumbles something before leaning closer– leaving Shoyo still staring at his probing hand.
“Are you dizzy?” Tobio asks, eyes looking for any sign of a brain injury.
Shoyo ignores it and goes completely still against him. The way Tobio’s hand stays by his lips, softly clenching down against it to keep him from biting down on it again– is way more addictive than Shoyo would have originally thought.
“Shoyo?”
It’s possible the clash with the ground could have rendered him more dumb than Shoyo originally thought, because without thinking, as he looks up at Tobio’s waiting eyes– his lips close in on Tobio’s thumb.
Shoyo lowers his head back to the floor, and his stomach coils in pleasure at how Tobio’s hand follows him down— silently accepting the assault on his digit.
The small twitch against his tongue sends a shockwave down to Shoyo’s core.
When he finally finds Tobio’s eyes, lips still softly clenched around the setter’s thumb– it's hard not to moan at Tobio’s expression. He sees it all, how Tobio’s face contorts from confusion to shock, how his cheeks turn a deep shade of red, and how his lips stutter as he tries to form any kind of sentence.
Shoyo needs this man.
“Kageyama? Is Hinata alright? There’s someone to check his head here—“
The call of his name is enough to knock some sense into Shoyo’s head. Before he knows it, his lips are unleashing Tobio’s thumb, and his head throws back against the hard floor in a hurry to get away.
Thump.
Shoyo blinks slowly, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
It’s not the sound Shoyo had somehow expected. During the seconds following his quick movement, it was easy to assume that he’d hit the floor— and possibly hurt his head even more.
But the sound isn’t harsh or hard, it’s soft and quick.
A heartbeat.
Why? Because Shoyo’s heart is weak, and for some reason Tobio has some incredible quick thinking, and even quicker hands. Hands that are folded under the spiker’s head.
Tobio stares at him, face completely flushed and lips parted. From the way his head bops up and down along with his breathing, it’s obvious he’s inhaling through his mouth.
Shoyo stares back. That’s really all he can do.
“Kageyama? Hey!”
Something breaks inside of the spiker when Tobio’s eyes drift away from him to the source of the call. But it’s hard to be moody when his head is still being clutched by other.
That’s until those big hands move away, softly letting Shoyo’s head fall to the ground.
The softness of it is enough to make him clench.
“Right, help me get him up.” Tobio says, slowly rising from where he was on the floor. Shoyo wants to protest, he really does— and even tries to— but a pair of arms around his legs make him freeze up.
Then they’re lifted up, and Shoyo turns to stone. Because if it wasn’t visible before, it is now.
He’s soaked.
The look on Tobio’s face says it all.
Shoyo can’t bear to look at it, there’s no way he’s willingly going to continue watching the color drain from the setter’s face. To watch him draw back in disgust at how damp he is, at how his shorts cling to his skin.
Because that’s how the state of his lower parts is, and sadly, Shoyo can’t do anything about it.
After catching the smallest of looks of Tobio’s shocked face, and eyes— that are staring right at his core, Shoyo wastes no time and closes his eyes shut.
He expects the familiar harsh tone from the other, a slap to his face, possibly a full on calling out.
But as the seconds pass by, nothing happens. The only thing that is heard is the familiar bustling of a stadium, commotion all around the court, and the call of Tobio’s name.
Multiple calls of the setter’s name, all bearing the same level of confusion as the other.
Right, because what is Tobio doing?
Shoyo frowns, lips souring as the reaction he expected never comes. Tobio is unusually quiet, especially after obviously seeing.. that. It’s impossible he hadn’t seen the mess, that's for sure, it’s way too apparent.
Tobio’s hands that had been moving to lift the spiker’s legs up have completely stilled against him. They’re barely touching Shoyo’s skin, but the touch still feels electric.
Shoyo can’t help but press his thighs together. Even behind closed eyes, the intensity of Tobio’s eyes burn.
“Kageyama? Do I take his arms?”
That seems to kick the setter back to life.
Before Shoyo can realise what’s happening, a low mumble of a decline reaches his ears, and then Tobio is moving again.
“No, that’s fine, I—“ a pause, Shoyo wishes he could see the setter’s face right now. But his fears outweigh that desire, so he keeps his eyes shut.
“I got him, but thank you.. Bokuto—san.”
A moment doesn't pass before Shoyo’s whole body is lifted into the air. His eyes shoot open against his will, but he’s not met with the face of the setter— instead he’s met with the white fabric of Tobio’s jersey. And his feet dangling in the air, held up by one big hand.
“You’re an idiot, you know that right.”
Suddenly, Shoyo’s hoisted higher in on the setter's arms. He can’t help but yelp, but it’s not out of fear..
Tobio’s arm faintly brushes against his clothed core, leaving a feather touch against his inner thighs— before they return to their place under his knees.
It burns.
Without warning the spiker bites down on Tobio’s jersey in hopes of stiffening his moans, and it helps, kinda.
Or it would’ve, if the setter wasn’t already looking at him— which makes it quite hard to hide it.
Tobio’s hands grip hard, hard enough to cut off Shoyo’s blood circulation. He can’t have not heard that. Shoyo hesitantly looks up at the setter, only to find him staring down at his..
Legs? Lower abdomen?
Cunt.
Shoyo’s breath hitches, and this time he can’t hide the small whimper he lets out at the Setter’s intense eyes. It’s small and muffled, but Tobio's eyes follow his lips.
“..Tobio—“
“Right, Kageyama, put him down over here.”
Sitting on the bench sucks.
Shoyo has felt like this before, kind of, the feeling of missing out on something he badly wants. Nothing can describe how much he wants to run back on court, to jump and hit, to render Tobio completely helpless.
But he can’t, and the chances of getting back on the court are as small as Tobio taking him against the nearest wall.
It doesn’t help that Schweiden Adlers are winning, plus his head still faintly aches, he can’t help wincing whenever it does.
But then there’s also..
Shoyo grips the hem of his jersey, fingers digging into the fabric like it’s done something to him.
Tobio won’t stop seeking out spikes. He must’ve picked up on the effect it had in the spiker, right? He’s doing this purposely to fuck with his head!
When the setter’s hand crashes into the ball again, and the ball hits the opposite side of the jet’s floor with a thud, Shoyo watches as Tobio pumps a fist into the air.
He promptly grinds his thighs together to soothe the rising interest from his core that he gets from Tobio’s stupid victory smile.
Just like that, the Schweiden Adlers wins the second set and levels out the scores. 1–1, only one set remaining.
Shoyo is forced to look away from the setter when his own team returns, albeit looking a bit sour, as they all huddle back to their changing room.
But Shoyo stays on the bench, because of coach’s orders. The doctor hadn’t been able to make any conclusions, and for now Shoyo would wait for a ride to the hospital– for a proper examination.
Right now, he could care less about the set loss.
The arousal from watching Tobio play has gone out of control. Shoyo sneaks an eye down to his shorts. They’re sticking to his skin, dangerously, and if you look close enough— there's a damp spot, somehow visible on the black fabric.
Tobio had seen that, he saw exactly what he'd done to the spiker.
He hadn’t done anything about it, but the lust in his eyes keeps plaguing Shoyo. Even if it’s been a good twenty minutes since it happened.
Ever since he dropped Shoyo down on the bench, he hadn’t really done anything. Of course, he hasn’t had a lot of time or place to do so, but Tobio hasn’t even sent a glance his way! It’s frustrating, all it does is make Shoyo seek him out even more.
Tobio can’t possibly not know what he’s doing to the spiker.
He’s right there, on the other side of the net– with a towel wrapped around his neck and a water bottle in his hands. Everyone's already back from the changing rooms, but Shoyo can’t get himself to greet his teammates.
All Shoyo wants is some relief. Preferably for his clit.
That warmth inside of him keeps itching for him to scratch, to ease, but masturbating in public is a level of low Shoyo will never fall down to. Probably.
Tobio's behaving weird.
Shoyo scoots over on the bench to get a clearer look of him. He decides to ignore how blatantly obvious his staring is. Tobio doesn’t see, that’s all that matters.
From what Shoyo’s eyes can see, Tobio is over by the opposite side’s benches. Everyone else looks occupied with warming up. It’s puzzling. Why isn’t the setter doing the same as his teammates?
He’s shuffling around in his bag, it seems. Shoyo can’t guess whether it's to store or to grab something. His water bottle has long been forgotten, after the setter there it away some seconds ago.
The most noticeable part of Tobio is his obnoxious frown. Is he mad?
Shoyo grips the sides of the bench to keep himself settled. When it doesn’t work, his only solution is to keep himself calm by continuing to follow Tobio’s every move.
That’s until the whistle blows, marking the start of the third and final set.
Shoyo is started at first by the sudden blow, and a pang of remorse fills him. He’s really lacking in his cheering abilities right now, but it's not his fault it’s impossible to look away from Tobio.
To the spiker’s absolute confusion— Tobio throws his jersey on, and then reaches down to pick up his bag in one pull.
What the fuck.
Shoyo stares, dumbfounded, as the setter rises from his hunched down state with his equipment.
The match is starting, what the hell is this idiot doing?
Was he kicked out of the starting line up? No, that doesn’t make sense at all. Unlike Shoyo, the setter had actually been operating exceptionally. No falls or injuries, no misses or anything.. just a top notch performance.
The idea that Tobio might’ve chosen on his own to leave, out of disgust, is too much for his heart to take.
Is he disgusted? Is he mortified from what he saw, from what Shoyo did? Does the knowledge that his partner finds him stupidly arousing throw him off? Completely?
If that’s true, what will he think when he learns that Shoyo is still drenched like the ocean, and trembling at the mere thought of him?
Because that’s how it is, and Shoyo has no idea how to put an end to his stupid Tobio high in time for the setter not to notice.
The harsh sound of a ball hitting the floor knocks Shoyo out of his thoughts, making him gasp sharply on the bench. The game is still going, but it feels weird to not seeing Tobio amongst the players.
Shoyo feels a little guilty about it all. He’s the one that got hurt and dragged his team down, the least he can do is watch.
But it’s hard when his own needs clash with these self proclaimed obligations, and Shoyo eventually gives in to the need of averting his eyes— only to look back at where Tobio was the last time he looked.
Only for the other to be much closer than he anticipated.
Like, way closer.
Close enough for Shoyo to feel the sudden need of throwing his hands all over his clothed pussy, just to hide it from Tobio’s sight.
A thousand thoughts spiral through the spiker’s head as Tobio continues to approach with no means of stopping. In the end, all he does once they’re at an arm's length distance is to stare up at Tobio with quivering lips.
The sounds of volleyball and cheers go on in the background, but Shoyo can only focus on the way his partner shuffles back and forth on his feet. He looks nervous.
“Where’s your stuff?”
“Huh?” Shoyo blinks up at the setter, who only scoffs in return.
“Your bag, idiot.”
Oh, right. Somewhat stressed, the spiker starts frantically turning his head around to look for his bag. He could’ve sworn it was somewhere around here..
To his shock, two hands clutch either side of his head- making him abruptly stop in his thrashing.
Tobio twists his head around slowly using his hands, putting them both face to face. He breathes out with his nose. “Are you trying to make it worse?”
“.. Make what worse?”
The setter stares at him in disbelief. “Your fucked up head, that’s what. Just.. Where’s your stupid bag?”
“I— Maybe back in the lockers?”
Shoyo barely registers it when Tobio starts heading towards the changing room. By the time he’s back, the spiker is still as hot and bothered as he was when Tobio left.
The setter doesn’t give him his bag, and it’s confusingly frustrating. Why does he need it in the first place, and why does Tobio decide to carry it himself?
“Come on,” he says and grabs Shoyo’s forearm. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“What.” Shoyo says, mouth hanging open.
“You might have lost a sense or two, but you’re not deaf. Now come on—“
“But, the game?” It’s utterly confusing, and Shoyo really needs some clarity right now.
Tobio still hasn’t let go of his forearm.
The setter drags in a long breath before his eyes flicker to the court and back to him. “Don’t worry about it, just get up already.”
Getting up would mean waddling around trying to not look like he’s leaking like a pipe, and honestly? Shoyo would rather not bother with that right now.
He’d rather not Tobio notice how screwed over he is over something as small as the droplets of sweat running down the setter’s temples.
“Hinata, get up.” Tobio mutters, patience visibly growing thin.
“You’re talking like I’m— I’m stupid. You’re the stupid one! Get back on the court you big idiot—“
“Hinata.”
The shudder that runs down Shoyo’s spine feels akin to a full body tremble. Tobio lowers his body so he’s hovering closer to their eye level.
His eyes darken dangerously, but Shoyo can’t get himself to move away.
“I’m not doing anything to solve your problems until we know you don’t have brain damage.”
What.
Shoyo stares, unmoving, as Tobio’s face turns into a deep crimson red. The spiker opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a breathy sound.
Tobio wants to help him.
“So just— get up. I’m..” after a short pause, Tobio drops his eyes to the floor. “I don’t want to wait, so come on already.”
His voice is so sweet, soft, and gentle. Shoyo can’t believe he’s talking about what he thinks he is.
He doesn’t want to wait.
Tobio wants to fuck him. Right now, actually, because apparently he’s as impatient as Shoyo is. “You want to..” he starts, gazing, trying to find the setter’s far away ones.
“I want you.” Tobio interrupts. “I want to.. unravel you. I want to feel all of you— make you.. I’m not sure.”
It’s too much. Too sudden, and god forbid Shoyo can keep his hands to himself when Tobio is admitting to things like that. He rests one of his hands on Tobio’s chest, and the other lies limply on his lap, brushing between his exposed thighs.
The small friction he gets from his hands is nowhere near enough.
“I want to make you fall apart around me, I want to..”
“Yama,” Shoyo says breathlessly, the name sliding off his tongue with a sigh. “You already have.”
Tobio finally meets his eye, but they quickly move down to Shoyo’s lips— before he sighs, shakily. “I need more.”
More.
“Then take it.”
Shoyo needs it too, he’s so undeniably needy that his head feels fuzzy and the edges of his vision blur. He half expects Tobio to cave in, to take whatever he wants and dig deeper into him, down to his heart.
He wouldn’t protest if he did.
“Are you an idiot? I just said I’m not doing anything until I know you don’t have a concussion.”
Of course.
Shoyo snorts, but It comes out sounding whinier than intended. “Right, we better get to it then.” He says, but he makes no move to stand up.
Standing up would mean the same as before. A mess, from his own mess.
“Right,” Tobio agrees. “If only you’d do as I say and stand up.”
“That’s easier said than done, Yama.” He says it without expecting much of a reaction, so the confusion on Tobio’s face feels like a blessing. Then the confusion morphs into something more like bashfulness.
“You think you have it hard,” Tobio grumbles. “Just imagine how hard it was for me to walk over here.”
Oh, Shoyo realizes.
His eyes dive before he can think, quickly taking in the obvious hard on that he somehow hadn't caught before. Tobio is hard. Has been hard.
Oh god.
It’s barely visible under the baggier fabric of his white sweatpants, but Shoyo would lie if it’s anything unlike the rest of the setter’s body.
He’s never felt a more whorish pull to devour ever before.
That’s weird.. is it not?
He’s so fucking horny it hurts.
Letting out a soft moan despite himself, Shoyo’s head falls flat against Tobio’s hard chest— earning a sharp gasp from the setter in return.
“Tobio..”
“I never would’ve guessed me spiking would work as a turn on for you.” Tobio’s chest vibrates as he whispers only for Shoyo, making the spiker turn his head slightly.
Shoyo grabs a hold of his shirt, trying to calm the rising heat from between his thighs. He whimpers, “God, can you blame me? When you looked like that?”
“Like what?”
He doesn’t know how to describe it. Maybe Tobio understands that without any explanation, or he doesn’t, yet Shoyo knows he wants to share it with him—
A hand moves down the back of Shoyo’s neck, easily sliding down under his jersey. The spiker gasps, hands closing in tighter around Tobio’s own shirt.
“I wanted to touch you, so bad— Shoyo..”
Do it, again, and again.
“I didn’t even get to be scared from your stupid fall, because you were throwing yourself all over me in no time. How do you expect me to hold back when you do that?”
Tobio’s voice breaks halfway through, voice thick enough with emotion to make Shoyo clench his thighs impossibly tighter.
It’s impossible to soothe his spiraling arousal, he needs Tobio.
“Shoyo, let me take you out of here.”
The spiker nods without hesitation, looking up from his place in Tobio’s chest— only to meet the setter’s lustful eyes.
“Please.”