heat wave fic exchange 2021!

You, on the other hand, were another story. With a heatwave right over your town, you weren't having the best time. Both of you agree that to keep the electricity bill low, the air conditioner must be off during the night, so it can be on during the day when the heat is unbearable. But of course, that makes your nights a nightmare.

You woke up before the sun came out, sweating everywhere and the blanket tossed aside. It was still pretty dark outside, and judging by how tired you felt, there must be plenty of time before you had to go to work. Your boyfriend snored pleasantly by your side, sleeping only on his underwear. You couldn't help to curse him in your mind. "How can he sleep with this heat!" you thought. Though maybe it's because he sleeps with almost no clothes. Unlike him, your summer pajama consisted of a simple cotton nightgown, but even that feels too hot right now. So, you had the idea to follow his example and take off your clothes. But even without it, you still felt sticky and gross. Thus, you decided a nice cold shower would help you get rid of the stickiness.

The cold water started running in the shower, sliding over your skin and removing your sweat. Your corporal temperature went back to normal, and you felt relief as you got out.

Surprisingly, it wasn't the sound of falling water that woke Toji. It was the lack of weight on your side of the bed that disrupted his sleep. As he turned over to check, you exited the bathroom with your hair still wet.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?" You asked with concern. Instead of answering, he stared at you longer than usual. He had always thought that you looked gorgeous, but that morning you looked like an angel. With the few morning rays that started passing through the window and the water dripping from your hair, your face seemed to glow. But what really caught his attention was what you were wearing. It was a cute royal blue pajama made of satin, so it felt pretty nice at the touch. It consisted of a camisole and tiny shorts. It wasn't your favorite, but it sure was freshening, and it looked good on you. The only problem was that it was a bit revealing, and you could tell by how your boyfriend was looking at you. Even after just waking up, he looked ready to jump at you.

Flexing his muscles, he extended his hand, urging you to come closer. You climbed back to the bed but stayed as far from him as you could. That, of course, didn't please him.

"Come here," said Toji, almost pouting. He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer, but you pushed him gently.

"No," you replied, feeling how your temperature raised where he touched you. "It's too hot, Toji,"

"Yeah, but that's your fault," he teased with a playful smirk.

"No, I mean that is too hot for that,"

You fought with him for a little, pushing his chest to keep yourselves apart. He, however, was troubled. You looked so good, and the little fight was so adorable that he just wanted to take you right there. Nonetheless, you've never refused to do it, even when you've arrived tired from work. So he figured that you really must be struggling with the temperature. Therefore, he got an idea. He let you go and ran to the kitchen.

You heard the fridge open and, for a moment, worried that Toji might be mad at how you rejected him. But as you were about to call him, he appeared once again at the door. To your surprise, he was carrying a bowl full of ice.

"What are you doing with that?" You asked.

Instead of answering, he laid down with you again and put a bunch of ice on a cotton tissue. Next, he held it against his chest. He grabbed you again and brought you closer, hugging you so you could rest on his shoulder. The fabric with ice pressed against you and relieved your heat for a bit.

"Better?" he asked, stroking your hair carefully.

"Yes," You said, cuddling against him.

It was a nice feeling to be in Toji's arms and feeling the cold tissue to help you cool down.

You two stayed in bed for what felt like hours, with Toji adding some ice every time the ones in the cloth melted. You were so comfortable that you didn't even notice how one of Toji's hands played with the hem of your camisole.

"It really is a nice outfit," He whispered, feeling how your breath slowed, meaning that you were falling asleep again. Unfortunately, the room started to clear as the sunlight entered directly, causing the heat to increase little by little. When Toji noticed you sweating again, and the bowl of ice melted completely, he decided it was time to turn on the air conditioner.

"Don't you have to go to work?" You asked since he always leaves the house before you.

"Later, maybe," he responded with a smile, caressing your cheek. "Right now, I just want to be with you a little more,"

"It's not like you to be this needy," You giggled.

"I'm not needy. I just want to feel your pajama a bit more. It's so soft," Toji's hands roamed through the fabric, tickling you as he wandered over your clothes. Suddenly, you felt how one of his hands moved under your camisole and groped your breast.

"Toji!" you whimpered but made no effort to remove his hand.

"What?" he asked with a devilish smile. "You can't wear this pajama set and expect me to behave decently the whole time,"

As you were about to complain, he shut your mouth with his lips. A kiss hungry and desperate, showing how much he had endured while he waited for you. His tongue moved as he pleased, stealing every breath he could, leaving you both panting. You didn't even realize at what point he changed positions to end up on top of you.

Kunimi doesn’t need raise his head to see the ugly smirk dancing on Kindaichi’s lips teasingly. “You would have the same person in mind if it was you.”

“Nah, I thought it would be Yahaba-san you were referring to.”

“It’s not my fault that my building’s electricity is out till night without any prior notice.” He tries to change the topic.

There’s no way Kindaichi is going to let this slide easily. “Yeah, yeah. Sure. So you would’ve gone to her place if she was at home, am I right?”

Kunimi sighs into the pillow as he fails to make him drop the topic. “Don’t blame me for not being able to finish revising on time later on.”

“I’m already planning to place the blame on you after all.”

【☾】

“Aren’t you going to see her off tonight though?” Kindaichi questions, eyes still focused on the scribbled words inked on the papers scattered before him.

“For what?”

“Don’t you know? She’s leaving tomorrow.”

The new piece of news sparks Kunimi’s attention. “Where to?” He asks, rolling over to his side to face Kindaichi.

“I’m not quite sure,” Kindaichi taps his pen against his chin in thought. “Not quite sure what for either. Work placement, maybe? But I know that she won’t be coming back anytime soon after tomorrow.”

Kunimi’s raised eyebrows matches Kindaichi’s ones, albeit one in scepticism and the other in surprise.

“You seriously don’t know?” Kindaichi asks disbelievingly.

He finds the answer in Kunimi’s shift in position, back facing him again.

Sighing at his friend’s actions, Kindaichi resumes back to the pile of doom before him. “Well, this may be your last chance. Just saying.”

“For?”

“You know yourself best.”

Kindaichi knows that he should focus on the issue on hand that calls for urgency, but his idiot of a friend requires his immediate attention too.

“You’re actually pretty lucky, you know,” He can’t help but say. “All of these years, from primary school, middle school, high school, and even now in university. That’s more than 10 years. And you’re still in square one. That’s honestly quite an achievement.”

“I’ll take that as a complement.” Kunimi snorts.

“Seriously. I know life is a game, but it’s different from volleyball. There are still other matches after losing one, after the ball drops, but in life there’s some matches that end forever after the whistle blows. Even if you try and save the ball in the last minute, the libero may not be there to save your dig after the whistle blows.”

“I didn’t know you were so good with words.” Kunimi rolls over slightly to look at his friend.

His eyes light up in excitement. “I am?”

The grimace written on Kunimi’s face tells him otherwise.

“Okay, but in all seriousness again, you’re really an idiot if you don’t grab hold of the final chance this time. Don’t say I didn’t give you a heads up in advance.”

“You’re starting to sound a lot like Oikawa-san now with the nagging.” Kunimi comments as he rolls back to face the wall, shutting out the latter’s retorts as he sinks into his thoughts.

But Kindaichi’s right. From baby seedlings to the sturdy plants now, it’s been more than 10 years of knowing you. You have been a part of his life for more than half of his years, witnessing his and your growth over the years of stumbling and climbing back up again. To call you a mere childhood friend would be an understatement. Because he knows where you place in his heart. He’s smart enough to know, but perhaps not smart enough to acknowledge it.

But maybe Kindaichi’s wrong too. Maybe life is similar to volleyball too. The positions in volleyball can be used in real life too. Him being a wing spiker and you being a libero. He doesn’t need to look behind his back because you’re always there behind for him, no matter what.

But maybe Kindaichi isn’t completely wrong either. Because he knows time waits for no one. He knows the bitter taste in the gut when the whistle blows just as his hand is mere inches away from the ball dropping to the ground. He knows efforts pay off at the end of the day.

Maybe he should try going all out just this one time. His first that may be his last.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kunimi doesn’t know how, or even why he ended up here, right in front of your doorstep. There’s still a chance to turn back. Even after a text that has been sent out or the ding on the doorbell that has been rang, he can still back off if he wants. The bag of beer and snacks can be kept for lazy weekends in the comfort of his blankets alone.

Why did he buy snacks anyway? Maybe he should’ve gotten ice cream instead.

But they would melt on the way here. But again, snacks aren’t the best option either. Not to mention beer. Talk about being healthy…

His train of thoughts snap apart when the door swings open before him.

“Hey, you’re here!”

He can leave those thoughts for later, he guesses.

“Come on in. Watch your steps along the way!”

The mini sea of shoes flooding the genkan and the aromatic whiff of dashi soup in the air has him halting his steps. He doesn’t even need to take a peek inside to know that he should’ve went home instead.

“Uh, are you sure you’re actually free now?” He asks over the chatter coming from the inside, still taking a peek at the small crowd huddled in the living room, nonetheless.

You stand in the small hallway connecting the genkan to the living room. “Yeah! We’re actually finishing up, so don’t worry. You can join us for a few bites if you want.”

“Is your friend here? Bring him in! You’re gonna miss out the last serving of pork slices if you don’t hurry.” Kunimi recognises the voice. It’s one of the girls from your friend group that he has hung out with a few times before.

“I-”

“Who is it? Shabu shabu waits for no one. The meat isn’t nice when it gets cold.”

“Don’t be shy! Just come on in! Unless you’re too shy to be graced by our beauty.”

You laugh at your friends’ antics, ushering him to come in. “Come on, you know who they are. They won’t skin you for extra meat.”

Another voice booms from the inside. “We might actually do that if you don’t make your way here now!” A round of hearty laughter that’s mixed with a couple of beer and sake roars loudly.

Kunimi heaves a wary sigh, calculating his options. “It isn’t that. It’s just…”

“Just what?” You ask.

He looks up to your quizzed look, then to the sudden quiet living room where multiple heads are craned out like a flock of ostriches, each with a devious knowing look on them.

Now there’s definitely no way to make it out of here unscathed.

One of the girls clears her throat loudly. “You know what’s the best way to wrap up the feast? Ice cream.”

“Yes! We forgot to pick some up along the way. Could you go get some for us?” Another girl chirps in, while the others nod their heads in agreement.

You scoff playfully at them, hands crossed against your chest. “You’re asking me, the owner of the place, to go get ice cream for the guests? And leave my friend alone here in danger?”

“Who said he’s gonna be here with us?” A girl raises her hand in defence. “Take a look outside! The moon is so lovely tonight. Isn’t it such a beautiful night to walk under the moonlight with your dear friend together hand-” Her sentence gets cut off by the others who cover her mouth before she blabbers any further, smiling meekly at the both of you.

You stumble a few steps to catch the jacket thrown in your way. “Any ice cream will do! And take your time! Don’t worry about us.” They wave you off, resuming to the steaming shabu shabu on the table.

The both of you look at each other bewilderment, digesting what just happened seconds ago.

“Well… Ice cream?” You chuckle, soothing the jacket in your hands.

He chuckles too. “Yeah, ice cream it is.”

So maybe getting snacks was the right option.

The early autumn wind nips on the skin lightly. The crunching sounds of dried crumpled leaves on the pavement makes up for the comfortable silence that blankets the both of you on the way back, bag of assorted ice creams in hand.

“What a great bunch of friends you have.” Kunimi comments.

“They’re quite a handful, but yeah, I can’t imagine the past four years without them.” You laugh light-heartedly. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in? I promise they won’t bite.”

He shakes his head lightly. “It’s alright. Just dropped by to bid you goodbye and to pass you these.”

You peer at the bag handed out and swiftly turn on your heels. “I know you’re lying.”

He almost drops the bag in his hands. “I’m not. Seriously, that’s all I came here for.”

“You could’ve just sent me a text for this. Why bother making your way all the way here?”

Your question has him frozen in his steps, brain malfunctioning as he fails to come up with a convincing and rational answer.

You take the chance to plop onto the nearby stone bench, ignoring his snorts when you hiss from the coolness of the surface. “Well, I’ll be seated here until you tell me what’s the purpose of your special visit.”

“The ice creams will melt.” Kunimi reasons, digging his hands into the pocket of his jacket.

“Doesn’t matter. We can go get them again. I’ll just charge them double.” You shrug, waving him off dismissively.

“Plus,” you emphasize, “they told us to take our time. So I have all the time in the world to hear you out.”

He knows that you won’t budge until he gives in, given your personality. So he heaves another long breath and drags his feet next to you.

You rummage the bag for the ice cream you picked earlier, handing him a caramel flavoured one as he thanks you. You catch the little smile tugging his lips as he rips open the ice cream packet.

“You still like this specific brand after so many years.” You tease.

He bites the tip of the ice cream to spite you, in which he succeeds. “They’re the best. One of the only ones that hasn’t changed their recipe after all these years.”

You narrow your eyes at the crime he committed as he munches on the ice cream with a deadpan face. One of the things that hasn’t changed all these years is this habit of his too.

“So, ready to come clean now?” You ask. The ice cream in both hands is long gone, melted into a pool of liquid that chills the stomach.

Kunimi sighs for what seems to be the thousandth time of the night. Resting his arms on his knees, he trains his sight on the concrete pavement below. It’s funny how his hands start to feel clammy again despite the cool wind in the air. “So… You’re leaving tomorrow, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Keep calm, he tells himself. “What time?”

“Early in the morning. I almost missed out on the tickets because I got them last minute.”

“Can’t wait to leave, huh…” He mutters.

“A little. I’ve been looking forward to this day for quite some time, and it’s finally here!” You exclaim, excitement lacing your voice.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You snap your head towards him in surprise. “I did. I remember telling you and Kindaichi at the same time. You guys would be one of the firsts to know.”

Kunimi groans in despair as he tries to rack his head for the past memory yet no avail. He blames the now unnecessary scribbled notes from the exam earlier for taking up so much space in his brain.

The bare concrete pavement seems to be more interesting than ever tonight. “When will you be coming back?”

“I don’t know. It depends.”

“So this may be the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

“In a while, I guess.”

Another sigh escapes his lips unconsciously as he buries his face in his hands. What happened to playing it cool, huh.

“You’ll miss me, won’t you?”

A scoff sounds in the air. “As if.” He hastily replies, turning sideways to hide the tint of flush creeping on his cheeks.

You chuckle at his actions. “I know I’ll miss you.”

His eyes finally meet yours. And although his soft hair falls past his eyes a little, you see your reflection in them, as clear as day.

“Then why can’t you stay?” He asks, voice just above a whisper.

It’s your turn to heave out a long sigh. “I can’t, Akira. I can’t.”

“As much of importance you are to me, there’s just as much of importance waiting on the other side for me.”

“That just means I’m not that important.”

He doesn’t know how those words carelessly fell out through his gritted teeth. All he knows that the moon is, indeed, lovely tonight.

It is indeed beautiful night, with the moon bright and round above. But why does he feel like the moon is mocking him? As if on such a beautiful night, with the person that takes up a significant place in his heart, his wishes are fated to not be granted. They fall on deaf ears, discarded aside as he feels his hope slipping away from his fingertips like fine sand in the wind. Maybe this is the price of not going all out all these years.

Time had been kind to him, offering so many chances and opportunities to him. But he wasn’t one to grab hold on them, because he’s used to making it up at the last moment. And it always worked.

However, maybe it’s all too late this time round. Maybe he outsmarted himself this time.

In all these years of knowing Kunimi, you’ve never seen him like this. Not even when they lost the ticket to the nationals for three years straight. Not even when life got him all tied up, juggling schoolwork and work on a thin thread, struggling for a gasp of air. You know he’s a master of keeping his emotions to himself, and you should be grateful that he shows this vulnerable side of him to you on rare occasions, because he trusts you enough to be there to pick up the pieces with him. But today, it hurts even more to see him like this, like a star that has lost its glow, a balloon that is gradually deflating. Because today, you’re the one that’s causing him to fall to such a state.

“Akira. Look at me.”

He doesn’t.

Because he knows that he’ll find something that he detests with all his heart staring back at him: pity. He neither needs your pity to offer solace, nor needs your pity to stay. That would be the worst kind of consequence that he knows he will regret for the rest of his life. Yes, his selfishness and self-interest may be screaming to reign over at the moment, but he knows this isn’t the right way to keep you by his side.

You don’t belong to him; you belong to yourself.

“Akira.”

He shudders as he feels your warm fingers cupping both sides of his cheeks, turning his face to yours. He avoids your gaze on reflex, but as his eyes sweep past yours, he stops. Maybe he really outsmarted himself this time.

Instead of pity, he finds concern, warmth, sincerity. Why is that?

“You know how I feel about you, where you lie in my heart. You’re smart enough to know that.

“But it seems like you’re not smart enough to know yourself.”

He does. Or does he?

You brush his hair that covers his eyes to the side gently, a small smile tugging the side of your lips.

“If you aren’t important, then why do you already have a piece of my heart which I have never given you?”

Kunimi’s breath hitches. The butterflies in his stomach are so close in fluttering their way out from his mouth as he comprehends your words, reciting them aloud again and again in his mind.

He immediately misses your touch lingering on his skin when your hands fall to your sides. “It sucks that I’m not smart enough to know whether I have a piece of your heart that you have never given me.” You chuckle bitterly, looking up to the moon.

You may have been there to pick up the shattered pieces of his heart and soul over the years, but at the end of the day, you return them to him. It’s awfully tempting to smuggle a few pieces, hiding them in your pocket to keep them safe and sound, but you don’t. It’s his heart, his only.

It’s your turn to hitch a breath. “You do,” Kunimi says, placing his hand over yours. “You always have.

“And now, I’ll give you not only a piece of my heart, but my whole heart.” His squeezes your hand gently, leaning in close. “Is it too much to handle?”

It takes a few seconds for you to apprehend his words, and once it links together, the butterflies on your end take flight in frenzy.

“Yes. I mean, no. I-” The chill autumn wind isn’t helping much to cool down the heat rising on your cheeks and ears. You can’t look him in the eye without averting elsewhere other than him. “It’s my honour to be bestowed your heart.

“And I hope it’s the same for you.”

“Look at me.”

Kunimi tips your chin up to face him, and you are welcomed by the soft smile that you love seeing, the one you don’t know that’s reserved for you only.

“Thank you for trusting your heart with me.”

He wondered where the stars in the night skies went tonight. It turns out they were all in your eyes, and they shine so ever brightly even without the sliver glow of the moonlight.

“Come on. We need to get more ice cream.” Kunimi nudges towards the now soggy bag that has tainted the stone bench with colourful liquid.

He picks up the sticky bag with a tissue from his pocket, shaking them a few times lightly as he stands up and extends his other hand to you. “They’re all on me.”

You place your hands in his. “What about the broke student you are?” You quip, footsteps falling in line together with each gentle swing of the hand.

“Hmm, I would rather be broke than be skinned alive in the lionesses’ den back there.”

【☾】

“Where are you leaving for though?”

“Miyagi. Our hometown.”

“What for?”

“It’s my grandma’s birthday tomorrow! I’m going back to give her a surprise and celebrate with my family over the week.”

You turn to him quizzically as he halts in his steps, rooted in place. His face is twisted and contorted in ways you never thought possible. It’s a mixture of shock, dumbfoundedness, and flabbergast all together. Words die at the tip of his tongue as he struggles to find the right words, brain buffering from the sudden new input of information, resulting in information overload as the new and existing information fail to fuse together.

“Where did you think I was leaving for? Some other prefecture for work?”

It takes a whole lot of effort to come up with a complete sentence. “Then why don’t you know when you will be coming back?”

“Because the train tickets back for the week are all sold out. So it depends on when my parents want to drive me back, I guess.”

You drag the babbling mess towards the konbini up ahead like a stone statue that looks like it’s stuck in a daze, caught in a trance.

“I’ll be starting work here in a month’s time. It’s not that far by metro, so I’ll still be renting my place here.”

“Kindaichi you lil shit…”

“Hey, don’t blame him. The best wingman award goes to him! It’s all thanks to him that I get to hold your hand now.

He loses himself in the endless galaxy in your eyes once again, losing sense of gravity.

You’re already taking another sip of your drink, too late to notice the way the object of your praise stiffens and his eyes go wide. It seems like the temperature at the table drops ten degrees suddenly as all eyes are either on you or him. If only you knew how your words shot right through his chest like a bullet, or how long he’s spent pining after you- Kanji knew better than anyone, but at some point everyone else in the tight-knit group had figured out that Kentaro was helplessly in love with you. This flippant confession shared over drinks caught him - and everyone - completely by surprise. Enough so that Kanji couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“You love him?” He starts, leaning in a little closer, “That’s convenient because he lo-” He’s cut off by Tadashi’s swift kick to his shin, whining a wholesome curse as he rubs the freshly sore spot, but now thoroughly distracted from his previous train of thought. Your head whips toward Tadashi, face signaling your confusion.

“What’s he talking about?” Your eyes jump back and forth between the three sitting in front of you, pulse quickening a little bit when your thoughts spiral into the what-ifs of Kanji’s sentence. You know what you hope he meant, but you know getting your hopes up is a dangerous game. In all the years that you’ve known him, Kentaro has never eluded to having any feelings for you. Even when you accidentally and casually let slip that you love him, he’s silent. Yachi, bless her heart, must be aware of the anxiety bubbling up in the minimal space between you and the very warm and solid body that you’re still leaning against, as she’s the one to finally speak up.

“We all love hanging out with you at the games!” Her voice squeaks a little and it’s enough to draw all of the attention away from you and Kyoutani, and you’re thankful for the change in subject that Kei offers as he playfully teases Yachi for her voice cracking. It isn’t brought up again, which you’re thankful for, and the rest of the night goes down about as smooth as the alcohol in your hand.

---

As is your tradition, Kentaro walks you home. On most nights like this you would share a lighthearted conversation, voices raspy and wobbly from drinking and laughing - but tonight the walk is blanketed in a thick, awkward silence. You’re eager to fill it with anything, throwing bits of conversation at him like darts and hoping one will land, but he dismisses you with a series of halfhearted grunts and hums in response. His eyes only drift towards you when he knows you’re not looking (and he’s aware that he’s behaving like a lovesick teenager all over again).

You spend so much mental effort trying to crack him that it seems like your door appears out of thin air. In the length of a second your thoughts swirl into an anxious mess, worrying about what you had said or that you made him feel weird or that after you walk through that door he’d be silent like this forever, friendship ruined. You mutter an apology as your clouded thoughts apparently disrupt your fine motor skills, fumbling with your keys in the lock, awaiting the news that he didn’t feel the same way and maybe hanging out together was a bad idea. Instead, a large hand closes around yours, silencing the noisy jingle of your keys.

“Wait.”

When you turn to face him, shoulder blades pressed back against the still-locked door, you notice that his gaze is pointing at your feet, brows furrowed in what seems like frustration. And he’s still holding your hand. Your eyes jump back and forth from his own (nervously doing anything he can to not meet yours) to the way he trembles slightly as his hand cages yours.

“What’s wrong?” You take your other hand and place it on top of his, loosening his grip and pocketing your keys. He’s held your hand once or twice before, very casually, but the way he moved so hesitantly this time makes you wonder. With a sigh, he finally speaks up.

“What you said before-”

“Oh, Ken- I’m sorry if that was too much, I didn’t mean to-”

“Did you mean it?”

There’s a beat of silence, and his eyes snap up to yours. There’s an intensity in his gaze that seems to punch the air right out of your lungs, searching as if he’ll find the answer reflected back at him. Where your hands are clasped together you can feel him shaking, almost imperceptibly. Had he been thinking about this all night? He reminds you of an animal poised and waiting to strike, muscles vibrating with an excited energy just waiting to be released.

“I- yes,” you say with a shaky voice, as though you still hadn’t caught your breath. You feel him inch just a little closer, and add, “of course I meant it.” Your pulse quickens as his form begins to loom over you, your back arching slightly off of the door behind you as you anticipate whatever it is that’s about to come.

“Tell me again.” His voice is so small and quiet, so nervous and unsure.

“I love you,” you breathe, watching his eyelids flutter shut as he gently presses his forehead against yours, noses brushing. He seems to revel in it, breathing unsteady as your free hand rises to trace the collar of his shirt, feeling his heart nearly pounding out of his ribs.

“Say it again- please-”

His hand releases yours as he finds purchase in the fabric of your jeans, thumb tentatively tracing the slightly exposed bit of skin above the hem. The small touch fogs your brain, makes it nearly impossible to think about anything else besides the overwhelming presence of him so close to you. His other hand carefully cradles your cheek as he presses just a little bit closer, eyes now half-lidded and trained on your lips.

“I love you, Kentaro, I always have.”

With the way your bodies seem to understand that, yes, now is the time to move, lips brushing softly before connecting a second time with a little more fervor, he doesn’t need to say out loud that this is what he had been waiting for. He pulls your lower half flush to his with the hand that rested on your hip, now pressing you close at the small of your back. He slips under the thin fabric of your shirt, broad palm hot against your barely exposed skin.

His kiss is equal parts hesitant and desperate. He’s careful, taking his time to be gentle with you, and it’s enough to make your heart absolutely melt - but there’s a hunger brewing, you can tell by the way the hand on your cheek slides back to hold you by your neck, firm and steady. His fingers tease the hairs at your nape, and the thought of him being rough, even a little possessive, pulling on your hair to deepen the kiss sends a shockwave of need through your veins. Still, he’s tentative, keeping that just out of reach, so you up the ante. Your hands fist the soft fabric of his shirt and pull him closer, nipping lightly at his lower lip to encourage him to deepen the kiss.

The animal that was waiting to attack moves now as you’re shoved up against the door, his knee pushing your thighs apart as he grinds the thick muscle of his thigh against your clothed cunt. His kisses devolve into a messy, needy clashing of lips and tongues and teeth, so desperate and hungry to finally taste you like he’s always dreamed of. He’s lost in your panting and sighing as he kisses along your jaw, hand tugging at your hair to expose your neck. The slight pain feels so good, and the way his hot lips move against your sensitive skin, the way his teeth gently scrape at the column of your throat leaves you breathless. You want so badly for him to mark you, to make sure that when you’re sitting in the stands at his next game everyone knows you’re finally his. That might be too much too soon, so you settle for rocking your hips against his strong thigh, chasing a delicious friction that builds the fire in your core.

He hoists up one of your legs and hooks it around his hips, holding you firmly by the meat of your thigh. As if he read your mind, he quickly sucks a dark bruise onto the junction of your neck and shoulder, prompting a throaty moan to escape your swollen lips. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so enamored, completely lost in the way his hands explore and squeeze your body. His lips find yours again, rough and desperate as he kisses any remaining air from your lungs.

He pulls away briefly, breathing heavy as he takes in the sight of you, lovestruck and needy and flushed. He knew he loved you, but the way you look right now is enough to make him fall all over again. You try to catch your breath as you roll your hips again, arms locked around his neck.

“Maybe we should go inside,” you offer as he presses his forehead to yours again, still holding you close. “Could be a little more...private.”

His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation, and when he doesn’t find it his hand creeps into your pocket to steal your keys, unlocking the door and pushing it open in one swift motion. His lips find yours again as he hoists you up by your other thigh, carrying you into your apartment just far enough to drop you on your couch.

---

“Again.”

You’d lost count of how many times he’d made you cum that night, by his tongue or his fingers or his cock. Your mind and limbs are fuzzy from the overwhelming pleasure, tender clit buzzing as he traces circles around it. His thrusts are slow and calculated, hitting the spot within you that has you seeing stars. He laces his fingers with yours as he holds your hand just above your head, leaning over you and enveloping you as he watches you writhe.

“One more time,” he grunts, enamored by the way your jaw goes slack as you whine, glassy eyes and furrowed brows barely focused on him. “Cum for me, again.”

The way he whispers it so lovingly, so full of care and admiration, sends you over the edge. The burning ache in your core builds to a singing high as your exhausted muscles squeeze all at once, clenching down on him as he lets loose a cracked moan, forehead falling to rest against yours once again as he releases with you. You’re barely able to babble out a string of ‘Iloveyou’s quietly as you float down from your shared high.

“Thank you,” is the last quiet thing you hear from him as his sweaty body settles against yours, thoroughly spent.

You really couldn’t have asked for a better night.

taglist ; @shnnn @sugako @ushidoux @toonpai @goldenshoyo @mitskitadori

“I’m heat addled!” You sputter. “I’ve got heat brain, I’m, I’m broken!”

“Alright,” he gives you the softest smile, letting you off the hook. “Someone will be by to fix the AC in the next few hours, so we just have to wait for the repairman to arrive.” You sigh, crumpling onto the counter, pressing your sweaty forehead against the cool surface. You keep watching him, and he frowns, blood visibly pooling in his cheek.

“Do you mind if I take my shirt off?” He asks very quietly.

“Is that your way we can both cool down?”

“Actually,” he raises his eyebrows, “Yes.” He tugs his black t shirt over his head, standing in the living room in only a pair of gym shorts. “Eyes up,” he says, with only the gentlest suggestion of teasing in his voice. He walks past you, opening the freezer and taking out two bags of peas. He gestures and you follow him out onto the couch, he hands you bag. “Put this on the back of your neck,” he says, still hesitant to touch you. You take it, and the second the plastic hits your burning sweaty skin, you let out a yelp.

“That’s so cold,” You leap up, “Megumi how are you just,” you look down at him, laying with the bag of peas pressed to the back of his neck. “I can’t keep it on there.” He raises his eyebrows.

“I could, um, I could hold it, for you?” You look at him, skeptical. “If you cool down the blood traveling through the back of your neck, it’ll cool your whole body down.”

“Fine.” You huff, turning your back to him, squirming when he presses the cold bag directly to your skin.

“Can you uh,” He reaches for your hip with his free hand, adjusting you on the couch. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you sigh, genuinely starting to feel the relief. “I appreciate you doing this.” He shrugs.

“You’re going to do it for me.” You turn your head, a half smile on your lips.

“Really, am I?” You expect him to scowl, maybe to stalk off but he just smirks.

“Yes, you are.” He rests a hand on your shoulder, and you relax a little under his touch. “You’re so tense,” he mutters, and it doesn’t feel like a line, it feels honest.

“I uh,” you close your eyes, now was not the time to admit the crush you have on your roommate. “I’m nervous.”

“About the air conditioner?” He says softly.

“No,” you pause, “You’re really um, you’re really close to me.”

“Oh.” Megumi says. “I can, I can be farther?” You swallow.

“No, no it’s alright, it’s a good kind of nervous.” You squirm a little and it hits him, several images flashing flashing in his mind, how embarrassed you’d been when he accidentally walked in on you post shower, the way you’d look at your feet sheepishly when people would enquire if you were single-” he’s interrupted as a shiver rips up your spine and you jerk away from the bag of peas.

“Sorry it’s too-”

“You like me,” he says, and it’s almost accusatory. He regrets both his tone and his choice of words very quickly, as you visibly deflate in front of him.

“Yeah,” you turn around to look at him, “I”m so sorry, Megumi, I can um, I can move or-”

“Why would you do that?” He responds, eyes narrowing, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “WHy would you move because you like me?”

“Because it’s weird,” you stand, and start to pace, “It’s weird to have a crush on your roommate, and we have something so good, like you and I have such a good easy thing, I don’t leave dishes in the sink, and you never shave your balls in my sink I-” Megumi stands so quickly you almost don’t see him move, pulling you into his arms and taking your face in one hand, kissing you sweetly, desperately. He pushes you forward, until your flat against the wall, resting a hand on your hip. It’s breathless, soaked in aching need, and it’s a few minutes of kissing like that before he pulls away, stroking your cheek softly.

“I’m um,” he shakes his head a little, “I’m shirtless.”

“Yep,” you squeak, face hot, hands trembling. “Yes you, you are.”

“That was perhaps, inappropriate of me,” he says, dropping his hand from your face. “But I don’t regret it.” You swallow.

“What uh, what happens now?” You ask, already warm again after having left the peas on the couch. He shrugs.

“We could watch a movie, but uh, it sounds like you might want to uh, talk about that?” He gestures to your fidgeting hands, unsteady stance. You nod, and he sits back down on the couch, patting the cushions. “I can start,” he says stiffly. “I am, unfortunately in love with you.” You blink at him, taking a couple steps backward. “I understand ah, that this information might be jarring for you but ah,” he chuckles to himself, “That thing you do when um, you know how no matter what you’re eating you get something on your nose?” You nod.

“It’s um, it’s not on purpose I um, I promise.” You rock onto your tiptoes. “It’s uh, is it just that?” He shakes his head, seriously considering.

‘It’s a lot of things I, I’m sorry I kissed you like that,” He wipes his forehead, “Fuck it’s hot I uh,”

“I um, I’ve had a crush on you for months.” You confess, “Everytime you bring Nobara over I would-”

“Nobara’s gay.” Megumi moans, “I meant it, we’re just friends.”

“Oh god.” You flop on the couch next to him. “It’s so hot and we’re so fucking stupid.” He laughs, rolling his neck, listening to the little crackles. He laughs again.

“Yeah.” You elbow him.

“So, you gonna kiss me again?”

“Hmmmm,” He thinks about it, “You’re very sweaty.” You swat at him and he catches your wrist. “Easy there,” you pout and he yanks you across the couch into his lap. “I was kidding,” he says, carefully brushing some hair out of your face. “You look so beautiful, even if you’re sweaty.” You squirm in his arms.

“Call me sweaty one more time!” You protest, and he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“Disgusting.” He muses and you giggle, wiping your face on his bare chest, “Oh gosh,” he sighs, “How will I ever move on, maybe I’ll have to try this,” he adjusts you slightly and buries his face in the crook of your neck, you can feel his tongue, rough on your soft skin, and soft moan falls from your lips. “Ooh,” he groans into you, “Sounds like you like that hm?”

“Ah,” you gasp, and his hands move lower, moving you so that you’re straddling him on the couch, “Fuck, Megumi,” you breathe, and then lean in and kiss him. It’s soft at first, deft and intentional, but it gets sloppier, you grind against his lap, his hands trace your body, squeezing your ass and your hips guiding you as you roll your body against his. He shoves a hand down your tummy, and gently into your underwear.

“Is this alright,” He mumbles.

“Yes, please, please, Megumi, ah-” His fingers, somehow still cooler than your skin, brush your folds and your clit, pushing the hood back and causing you to collapse onto his chest, knees buckling at the sudden pleasure.

‘Shhhh,” He breathes, “Shh, and let me make you feel good, like fuck, I’ve wanted this for goddamn months.” He traces circles onto your body, ripping the air from your lungs as you grind your body against his hand. There’s a hard knock at the door, and Megumi freezes.

“Oi,” you hear, “I’m here to fix some air conditioning.” You explode into giggles and Megumi groans, standing and pressing a kiss to your head.

Not just your TV either: your entire apartment immediately goes dark, the air conditioning stops running, and your phone is no longer charging.

“Hey! What happened?” Bokuto asks as he sits up, and you can barely see his golden eyes thanks to how dark it is in your apartment.

Your phone blows up with texts from your neighbors asking what the hell is going on, and soon your landlord texts saying that they’re “working on the problem but it might take a while.”

“Looks like the power is out for a bit,” you sigh and toss your phone onto the table, sitting back against the couch. Without the air conditioning, your little apartment is already starting to grow hot in just a few minutes, and you fan yourself to keep cool. “Doesn’t look like it’ll be back any time soon.”

“Good thing I’ve already seen the movie,” Bokuto laughs.

“Yeah, Mr. Bokuto, I don’t feel so good,” you joke as you elbow him. “It’s already hot enough in here and it’s only been five minutes.”

“You could always stick your head in the freezer!”

“And let my precious meat go to waste?” You scoff playfully. “I don’t think so. Besides, you sweat more than I do so you’ll probably have it worse than me.”

You hate how you’re right. Not even fifteen minutes later, Bokuto is already complaining about how sticky he’s become thanks to the summer humidity lingering in your apartment, and through flashes of lightning from outside the window, you see that his thin white t-shirt clings to his body. You shouldn’t ogle—well, it’s hard to even ogle with how hard it is to see—but you do anyway. Volleyball has been good to Bokuto, giving him muscles and a thick body that you wouldn’t mind getting your hands on. You’ll never admit that out loud however, not wanting to ruin the good relationship you have with the star so far.

“It’s so hot,” he whines as he sinks further onto your hardwood floor. You made him get off the couch ten minutes prior, worried he’d make the fabric smell like sweat. “How are we supposed to live like this? Why don’t we go to a cafe?”

“In the middle of a storm?” As if answering your question, thunder claps loud enough to shake your windows, making you jump slightly. “See? Even the sky is telling us to stay inside.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure the sky isn’t sweating through their shirt but—”

“Then just take it off.”

Your offer rings in the air, and through the darkness, you can see Bokuto blinking at you as he turns his head your way.

“Why?”

“If you’re sweating through your shirt, isn’t it better to take it off?”

“But then I’ll be sweating through your floor.”

“Bo,” you sigh, shaking your head lightly. “What kind of logic is that?”

You think you hear him mumble something akin to, it makes perfect sense, but the white t-shirt is tugged off and set next to him on the floor. Damn is he good-looking, back firm with his muscles, sweat clinging to his skin as he sits up. You pretend you aren’t looking when his eyes flick over to you.

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

You can’t contain your incredulous laugh, face heating at the thought of Bokuto sitting in only his pants on your floor. It doesn’t help that you’re already hot from the apartment, sweat beading down your neck and back as your night shirt clings to you.

“You look sweaty, too.”

“You truly know the way to woo a woman, don’t you, Bo?”

“That’s not what I meant!” He pouts, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt. His fingers on your arm feel electric, making you shift on the couch as he stares at you. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I can’t… I can’t be shirtless in front of you.”

“Why not? I am.”

“It’s different for us,” you sigh. You’re wearing a sports bra but it’s still embarrassing to think he’d see you half-naked for the first time. “You know that.”

“I don’t mind! You’re probably dying.”

Though Bokuto is exaggerating, you do feel stuffy and uncomfortable with the thick fabric clinging to your back. You sigh, trying to swallow down your nervousness as you tug your shirt over your head and set it on the floor by your feet. Bokuto blinks at you, and you swat in his direction to mask your embarrassment.

“Don’t stare at me, Bo, it’s rude.”

“M’not staring,” he mumbles, but by the way he pouts and looks away, you know he’s probably lying.

It’s quiet in the apartment after that, the rain and thunder masking Bokuto’s tap tap taps to his phone. The light from the device illuminates his collarbones and allows you to see the shining sweat gathered on his skin there. He looks flushed, cheeks red from the heat, and although you crack a window, it doesn’t do much to help. It isn’t long before your shorts are already sticking to your thighs, so you slip to the ground next to Bokuto with a whine.

“If it stays like this all night, I won’t be able to sleep.”

“The news says the subway lines are stopped now too thanks to flooding,” Bokuto hums as he flicks through a few websites until he lets out a happy exclamation. “Hey! This site says that ‘taking a cold shower’ will help cool us down. Let’s try it.”

“In the dark?”

“We can use my phone!”

“In the water?” Bokuto gives you the most wounded expression, face twisted as he glances over to you, and you cover your mouth to keep from laughing. “I’m sorry! Sorry. It’s a good idea. Do you want to go first?”

“Why would I go first?” He blinks. “We could go together.”

“Bokuto,” you immediately answer, cheeks growing hotter thanks to the way heat flushes through your system at the implication. “You can’t be serious.”

“I won’t look! I promise. I’m not going to make you wait outside your own shower. Besides, with how dark it is, I won’t see much, don’t you think?”

You hate that you can follow ‘Bokuto logic’, as you’ve come to understand it. He has his own ideas and thought process for how things should operate, and the more time you spend with him, the more you start to think like him too. You don’t know how Akaashi copes with it.

“...I guess.”

This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea that you try to convince yourself away from as you both carefully trudge to the bathroom. Bokuto sets up his phone on the counter so it shines on the bathtub as you fiddle with the settings to start running a cold shower. When you turn back after the water is running, you find Bokuto’s already stripped of his shorts and his fingers are hooked around the waistband of his boxers.

“B-Bokuto! Keep those on!”

“Wait, what? They’re wet too! How else are we supposed to shower?”

Oh my God, he has to be joking.

“In our undergarments?” You offer lamely, already knowing that it’s a losing battle. The logic makes sense as much as you hate to admit it. “You… you can’t just… strip here, you know. You have to tell me first—”

“Hey, I’m going to strip now,” he interrupts you.

“Keep your underwear on and go commando later!” You squeak, squeezing your eyes shut to keep from staring.

“Okay, if you say so,” he relents, and you hold tight to the strings of your shorts as he walks past you, the curtain making a noise as he jumps into the tub and closes it.

With the light from the phone on the curtain, you can see the outline of his body, a shadow of his muscles, from his arms, to his abs, to his—

No, no, no. Now is not the time to get lost in your dirty thoughts. Not the time to imagine Bokuto opening the curtain, inviting you inside with the perfect glimpse of his dick. Not the time to visualize Bokuto pressing his lips to your back as his fingers slowly dance down your stomach from behind, his hard cock grinding into your ass as he whispers, I’ve always wanted to do this, you know, and I know you want me, so now…

“Are you coming in? I’m not looking!” Bokuto’s loud voice breaks your reverie, and you have to squeeze your thighs together to get your cunt to stop throbbing.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” you agree before you can convince yourself to walk back out to the living room and become an even bigger puddle of human on the floor.

Bokuto is already wet when you shed your shorts and step in, but he’s kept his promise, eyes shut as he stands under the cold stream. The water drips down his chest and his abs, trickling down to his wet boxers, where you can see the perfect imprint of his cock. It doesn’t help your pulsing core, and you have to take a deep breath to keep yourself from reaching out and touching him.

There’s an awkward shuffle when you try to get under the stream too, with Bokuto keeping his eyes closed as he backs up. Your body brushes against his as you both maneuver to share and you swallow to keep sane. You need to cool off and get out of here immediately, or you’re going to go crazy. His body is so firm, so hard, looking like a goddamn statue from the art museum as you watch him massage the water into his muscles.

“Are you staring at me?” Bokuto suddenly asks, and the second he tries to open his eyes, you squeak and move to cover them. The tub is too slippery and you end up falling right into his chest, which sends him falling back into the wall. He holds you close as you both tumble awkwardly to the ground, a mess of bent limbs and pained hisses.

“Shit Bo, I’m sorry!” You pull back slightly, running your hands over his arms to make sure he’s not injured. “I didn’t mean—”

“Hey,” he cuts you off with a signature goofy grin, but his hands traveling up your exposed back are certainly more than friendly. “I’m fine. Great, in fact!”

Heat floods your body as you realize the position you’re in. You’re settled between his thick thighs, his hands keeping you close, your hands firmly on his arms. Cold water pounds on your back, but you can only feel the way his calloused fingers dance along the bottom of your wet sports bra.

“Bo, what are you doing?” Your question is barely audible over the shower and the ringing in your ears but you somehow manage to voice it.

“Would you be mad if I said I planned this?”

His return question catches you off-guard, and you lean your head back in surprise. “You did?”

“Well, I mean, I didn’t plan a blackout but I thought, ‘hey, maybe this is a chance to tell her I like her!’ And I think maybe you like me, too? Because, you know, you came in here with me and were staring at me, so…”

Your mind is reeling from his confession, your heart racing a mile a minute, and the only thing you can think to say is: “Your plan to confess to me was to get me half naked?”

“Did it work?”

This situation is absolutely something Bokuto Koutarou would do—from the half-baked cold shower plan, to the awkward yet endearing confession, to the way his hands hold you close, his fingertips dipping under the elastic of your sports bra. It makes you laugh, the sound echoing in the small shower, and you shut his sputtered, ‘Wait, am I wrong?” up by leaning forward and kissing him.

You can feel his smile against your lips as he kisses you back. It’s even better than you imagined, his hand a bit chilly as he cups your cheek to keep you close. It’s one chaste kiss, then another, and another, like he’s drinking you in and getting taste after taste. His tongue darts to touch your lower lip and you part your lips to let him in, but Bokuto makes a sound of surprise, like he didn’t expect you to do that.

“If you don’t want to—”

“Kou,” you breathe against his lips, and his hitch of breath is loud in your ears. “I’m sitting half naked between your legs, just kissed you, and you’re worried I don’t want you?”

“I’m trying to be respectful,” he pouts. “Just in case.”

“Well, don’t,” you urge, running your tongue over his lower lip, enjoying the way his chest starts to rise and fall with his breaths. “You can do whatever you’d like to me.”

Bokuto looks like he’s short-circuiting for a moment, eyes wide and fingers digging into your back, but then you whisper his name and he snaps out of it. His lips are hungrier on yours, holding the back of your head to keep you pressed against him when he delves into your mouth. His kiss is as carefree as he is, twirling his tongue around yours, pushing against yours hard enough to make you moan. He shifts beneath you and you suddenly remember your position. It’s probably uncomfortable, so you break the kiss, leaning back to turn the water off.

“Where are you going?” He asks and stops you with a firm hand on your back, the water beating down on the both of you.

“Water,” you whimper when he leans up and attaches his lips to your neck, licking up the water that trickles down to your collarbones. His fingers push up your sports bra and immediately cup your tits, thumbs running over your hard nipples.

“Too hot,” Bokuto counters before his nose bumps your jaw, forcing your chin up so he has more access to your flesh. He sucks and licks all over, and you run your fingers through his wet hair and tug. It forces his head up so you can meet his lips again, tongues immediately tangling. Bokuto lets out the faintest groan when you suck and it goes straight to your core, making you do it again so you can hear that sound one more time.

“We should move,” he pants when you pull back to breathe, and the second you shift your legs, you realize why. His cock presses up against his underwear, hard and extremely inviting, and you lick your lips as you stare at it.

“You play volleyball with that thing just dangling around, Kou?”

His cheeks go wildly red, noticeable even in the dim lighting, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat. “How else do you play volleyball?!”

“I don’t know, I feel like you might take Atsumu’s eye out—”

“It’s not that big, please—”

“Can I suck it?”

He goes quiet at your question, pausing for a split second before he’s nodding so hard you think his head might fall off. You lean back so he can move to the edge of the tub, swinging one wet leg outside so he’s straddling the thin wall. He lifts his hips and you help peel off his wet underwear, exhaling softly when his cock springs into view. Your pussy throbs at the sight of it, and you wiggle closer, wrapping a hand around the base and pumping a few times just to feel him.

The groan he lets out is pure electricity, traveling straight down your spine and making you shiver. You lean over his thigh to lick around the tip, eyes on his expression as you take it into your mouth. A soft suck makes his thighs flex, and you dig your nails into his flesh as you lean down to take more of him into your mouth. It hits the back of your throat before it’s completely in, so you squeeze your hand around the base, starting a slow rhythm that makes him whine.

“Could you…?”

He looks so good biting his lip like he’s trying not to beg, and a sick thrill races through your veins at how vulnerable he seems under your touch. You trail your tongue down the underside of his length, pumping your hand as you move back up to the tip. Bokuto groans when you dip your tongue into the tip of his cock before swirling and taking him again, and a gentle hand on the back of your head forces you down even further.

You make a sound that’s muffled by his cock and the hand lets go. “Sorry, sorry—”

You make another sound, this one more adamant as you suck harder, your free hand grabbing his wrist to force him back. Bokuto whines when you squeeze your hand none-too-gently around his cock, and he seems to get your hint because his hand is back and pushing you further down as you work. Your sucks and Bokuto’s moans are even louder than the water, echoing in the small bathtub and making your clit pulse. His hand tightens on the back of your head when your fingers brush over his balls, squeezing as you bob up and down, lips tight around his shaft.

There’s a sudden jerk to your arm and you’re popped off of Bokuto’s cock by the flushed man himself, his grip tight as he heaves for breath.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished.”

“But I need to be inside of you,” he counters.

It sounds so casual, like you’re discussing dinner or weekend plans. It still goes straight to your wet cunt, and you can’t be mad at him as he scrambles up and helps you out of the tub. He lays down on the tile of your bathroom as you peel off your wet underwear, and you’re barely naked before you’re tugged down on top of him; you have to catch yourself from falling forward with a hand on his chest.

“Kou!” You squeal, and his happy laugh sounds so good as it rings in your ears.

“Sorry, too excited, need to be—”

You feel his hard cock graze your folds as he lifts his hips, and with a moan, you grind back down into him. His thick length feels so good swiping over your cunt, and you keen when he accidentally bumps into your clit with too eager of a pass. His hands move from your arms to your breasts, squeezing and kneading as you rock against him, nails digging into his broad chest.

“Man, you’re pretty.” He grins as he starts to tug at your nipples, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. It makes you mewl and rock faster against his cock, core pulsing with the need to be filled. “Have I ever told you that? Pretty.”

“I think you’re trying to butter me up, Kou,” you manage between sighs when he starts rolling your hard nipples between his fingers.

“For what?”

You lift your hips and let the tip of his cock brush your folds, dipping into your entrance before you pull back. It makes you both moan, and his grip on your breasts tightens even more as you wiggle on top of him to feel him more. You lick a stripe up your hand before running it over the tip of his cock, lubricating him enough to slip him inside of you.

It’s still a stretch, the burn of his thick cock stretching you out making you gasp. You hold your folds open as you rock up and down a few times to get more of him in you, your wetness making it slightly easier to sink down on him completely. You feel so full with him sheathed inside of you like this, pressing against your walls and rendering you breathless. When you sigh out his name, his hands travel down to your hips and hold you down so you can’t move.

“K-Kou,” you whine as you wiggle on top of him, trying to lift your hips so you can start riding him.

“No, wait, hold on, I want—” He pauses, licking his thumb before his hand moves to your cunt. He touches around the top of your folds until you moan, and his playful grin grows darker once he finds your clit and starts rubbing. “—want to feel you squeeze me.”

“But I want to ride you,” you counter as your walls squeeze him, pleasuring rippling up your spine as his finger works faster. You grind down on his cock, hips circling and ripping a moan from his chest. “Please?”

“Just... just a little,” he chokes as his hips raise to meet yours. His face is twisted like he’s concentrating on not fucking you, determined to feel your walls clamp down on him more with swift rubs to your clit. You whine, running your hands over all of his muscles to feel him, hips raising to get the friction you so desperately crave. But he doesn’t let you—his hand grips tighter, holding your hips down as his thumb works even faster and makes your toes curl.

“Kou, please.”

“You know, you feel so much better than I thought,” he pants as he bucks into you one more time before swallowing and stilling his hips. Part of you wishes he wouldn’t talk because you can feel your orgasm start to rise with a few quick circles of your pulsing nub; the other part desperately wants to hear how he’s wanted you just as badly as you’ve wanted him. “Tighter than I imagined.”

“I bet I could ride you better too, if you just let me—”

“Shh, stop talking,” he teases, and you’d be angrier that Bokuto Koutarou of all people just told you to be quiet if his thumb wasn’t quickly bringing your orgasm.

You steady yourself on his chest as you lean back, grinding circles into his hard cock as your walls spasm around him. Your heavy breaths are louder than the shower behind you, and your eyes slip closed as pleasure overrides everything else. It’s like the crashing of a wave, and your whimpered Kou, fuck, echoes in the small bathroom as you release. Your eyes squeeze shut with your moans, and he finally lets go of your hip so you can bounce slightly on his cock to prolong your orgasm.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, and your eyes flick up to him. His pupils are blown, stuck on where his cock impales you as you lightly bounce on him, and he looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands as he watches your essence drip down his shaft. “Dripping, fuck, you’re so wet for me.”

Any retort you have for him is lost to a squeal when he bucks up into you. His hands are back on your hips, legs lifting to set his feet and fuck up into you. You try to match his pace, fingers digging into his chest as you ride him, and when he slaps your ass, you can’t help but squeak.

“Is- is this what you wanted?” You ask breathlessly, batting your eyes down at him as you work. He hits so deep that it makes you shiver every time his cock brushes against that spongy part of you that spikes heat in your stomach. “Me like this?”

“Kinda,” he replies with a sigh, and suddenly you’re flipping on your back—but not without a few fumbles.

“Hey, watch it, Kou!”

“Sorry! Here, move over—”

“My back is sticking to the—”

“Lift your hips a little—”

When you’re finally all settled, your back rests on the cold tile, your legs wrapped around his waist. Even through the dim lighting, Bokuto’s grin is blinding, water dripping from his hair down onto his chest. His cock grinds against your folds again, making you moan when he runs up and down slowly.

“I wanted you like this more,” he confesses. It makes your heart skip a beat, cheeks warming at the intimacy, and you immediately hold your arms out for him with a smile.

“Okay, then come get me.”

Bokuto laughs and leans down, setting his elbows next to your head as he kisses you. He’s just as intense as before, if not more now, his tongue flicking all over yours as you tangle them. His fingers run down your cheek, to your jaw then your collarbone, down your stomach to his cock. He’s just about to slip in again when—

Click.

You’re both suddenly blinded by the fluorescent lights kicking on in your bathroom, and you squint to get used to it, blinking a few times. Bokuto fares as well as you do, and when you both catch each other’s gazes, you laugh, cheeks warming at finally seeing everything out in the open.

“Don’t stare at me, Kou,” you scold him playfully, exactly like you did earlier in the night. “It’s rude.”

“M’gonna be rude,” he grins and slips back inside of you.

It’s easier now that you’re so wet for him, and it doesn’t take him long to have your legs pulled over his shoulders, thrusting into you with harsh slaps of his hips. He knocks you back so much that you have to put your hands on the wall, holding yourself down to meet him. Your moans echo in the bathroom, mouth parted with your heavy breaths. Bokuto’s gaze bounces from your dazed expression, to the bouncing of your tits, to the way his cock disappears into your pussy with slick sounds and the slapping of his balls against your ass.

He holds onto your hips to lift them slightly, angling even deeper to make you cry out. Your fingers dig into the wall before one moves down to your clit; it’s easy to rub now that you’re so wet, and your quick rubs match his fast thrusts. He looks so good with his flushed expression, eyes bright with desire, hair matted to his sweaty and wet forehead.

“Can’t wait to see you cum for me,” he rumbles, dark and deep and oh so sexy. It makes your walls clench down on him with a quiet sound.

“I already—mm, fuck, Kou—” you gasp when he brushes your cervix. “I already did, you know.”

“Yeah, but—shit—” he shivers, goosebumps rising on his arms as his thrusts start to grow sloppier. “Now I can see it.”

You keen, head falling back so you can watch his pleasured expression with lidded eyes. His scrunched eyebrows, his sweaty temples, his lolling tongue—all of it goes straight to your pulsing cunt, toes digging into the tile. You don’t have to tell him you’re about to cum; Bokuto can tell by the way your walls flutter as he drags his cock along them, your fingers working even harder to bring your release.

“Yeah, come on, let me see it.” He’s practically begging, voice a whine as he chases his high. “For me, please.”

“Kou!” You squeal and arch off the ground, body shuddering in as your orgasm hits, this time crashing into you. You barely register Bokuto’s harsh sounds, ears swimming with pleasure and body buzzing with everything him. It’s only when you feel him yank his cock from you, warmth spreading across your stomach and upper thighs, that you open your eyes and look back down. Cum spurts from his cock all over your flesh, his large hand jerking himself to completion as he groans. Holy shit, that’s hot, you think, but then Bokuto looks up with a playful grin and you realize, oops you said it out loud.

“Sorry I made a mess,” he tells you as he leans down to set his head on your chest. You thread your fingers through his hair as he kisses along your sweaty flesh, squirming when he lazily runs his tongue over your nipples.

“Yeah, now I’ll have to shower.”

“Good thing we’re in the bathroom,” he laughs, and the loud sound heats your cooling body down to the very core.

“Next time just finish inside, it’s fine.”

Bokuto freezes before peeking up at you, the expression on his face twisting in delight. “What?”

“I’m on—”

“No, no, no, you said ‘next time.’”

Your fingers tug at his hair as you laugh. “Well, yeah. I thought you said you liked me?”

“I do!”

“Well the feeling is mutual.” Then you flick his nose, scrunching up your face in mock annoyance. “But you need to get off of me so I can shower.”

“Can I join?” The way his face lights up reminds you of a puppy, and you shake your head with a small grin.

“Only if you wash my back.”

You feel his fingers dip into the cooling cum on your stomach, trailing down, down to your thighs, and then up further, tracing around your sensitive flesh before he asks, “Can I wash other places, too?”

“Bokuto Koutarou!” You squeal indignantly, determined to finally get off your bathroom floor.

So far, the fan is only blowing warm air around, so Kageyama leaves it to do its work while he takes out a trash bag full of chunky milk and black-spotted cuts of meat. He doesn’t mind, really, since he’s too tired to really attempt cooking and had just planned to microwave something. Now, though, his microwave clock is blank and black; he supposes he’ll have to fight his way through crowds of similarly powerless people to get meat buns at the supermarket.

While he’s on his way back up the complex’s stairs, he pauses to watch an open can roll down one step at a time. When it reaches him, he stops it with his toe, twisting his head to the side to read it.

Pickled peas, the can reads, with a little green graphic of the vegetable. He looks up to see you, two steps above him, focused not on the stray can but on his face.

“Sorry,” he says, “is this yours?” He picks up the can and holds it out to you, but thinks better of the gesture after you unsuccessfully try to maneuver the trash bag you’re carrying so that you’ll have a free hand to take it. Instead, he retracts his hand, still holding your pickled peas can.

“Sorry,” you blink and shake your head. “Sorry, my bag is, uh, overfull. I’m surprised more people aren’t out here, but I guess they’re all probably shopping and stuff for the free air-con.”

Your bag looks like the one he just tossed, and on the verge of bursting as well. Kageyama thinks about how gross it would be if it exploded all over the stairwell and shudders inwardly. Outwardly, his face remains the same as always, if a bit scrunched up in disapproval of— well, he doesn’t know what. Too many things.

“Uh, I can carry that for you,” he says. “If you want.”

“Oh, are you sure? I can,” you start, but he’s already hefting it up, tossing in the pea can, and twisting the top of the bag around, corded muscle bunching up beneath his sweat-soaked t-shirt. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The two of you walk down the stairs in silence, and he breathes a sigh of relief when the lid shuts over the bag. You introduce yourself and thank him again, and he reciprocates when he accepts, trying to subtly stretch out his right arm.

“What level are you on?” You ask. “I moved here a couple weeks ago; I haven’t really met any of my neighbors yet.”

“Five,” he says, and wonders if he should warn you that he’s not really the best person to be friends with unless you’re a volleyball enthusiast.

“Oh, so am I!” you say, and he’s not sure why the small smile you wear when you look up at him makes his head feel cloudier than it did the time Hoshiumi tried to explain taxes to him. This isn’t the irritated, dark shadow that had passed over him then, though. He blinks profusely and wonders how it can be heating up, how he can feel so blinded when he’s not staring at the sun.

“This is mine,” you say, and he realizes that he’s been so distracted by the sway of your hair and the glow of your skin (there’s a lot of skin, it’s hot, it’s so hot in this powerless building, even in near darkness) that you’ve made it up all the stairs and down the halls, three doors past his own.

“Okay,” he says, and doesn’t move. You don’t, either, taking out your keys but not putting them in the lock.

“I don’t know what I’ll do for dinner,” your warm voice takes on a nervous tinge. “I just threw out most of my food, and I ate most of the stuff that wasn’t bad for lunch.”

He can’t tell if that’s an invitation or real distress. After all, you just moved in. Maybe you don’t know many places to eat yet.

“There’s a supermarket just a block away,” he says. “They have meat buns and other ready-to-eat meals.”

“I’ll look up the address,” you look truly grateful. Not an invitation, then, so he’s not sure why the next words spill out of his mouth.

“Do you want me to show you there?”

He stutters and stumbles over his next words, trying to pry open a way for you out of the outing should you want to walk out. You watch the red slowly rising on his face, admire the way his speech trips from a slow stroll to the speed of a sprinter in the last meters of a race. Finally, he slams on the brakes, an electric calm settling over him when he takes a deep breath and says:

“I’m sorry for all that. You can say no, if you want, but I’d like to get to know you better if you feel the same.”

The calm is splintered all too soon. You can see the panic clawing up his throat, making veins in his neck stand out and the whites of his eyes show as he mutters something about being a stupid idiot under his breath, and so instead of letting him run on his last legs right into the ground, you place your hand (gently, like you’re trying not to scare off a wild animal) on his forearm and pull him right back to earth.

“I’m just as interested as you are,” you say, and let him wonder whether you’re more interested in the market or in him.

In the still summer heat, something is blooming. Little green shoots, poking through soil with the awe of newborns after a lifetime spent buried. Kageyama, although he can’t name the psychical flora, can sense a presence where the fields have been barren for many years, too young yet to require a welcome and watering or even an upheaval.

And he thinks he can see the same feeling rising in you.

He walks you to the grocery, sticking to the shaded side of the street and putting on his most threatening aura to part the cloying crowds of people also trying to find sustenance that won’t turn in the heat.

The heat, the heat, the heat seems to be the most anyone can think about, fanning themselves and commenting on the lateness of sunset and pouring bottles of water on their heads. You don’t seem to wilt beneath the weight of the sun’s wrath, though, keeping up a steady flow of conversation punctuated with enough comfortable silence that Kageyama feels neither awkward nor exhausted. When you nudge him and comment on something you’ve seen, or when you hum in agreement, or when you ask him questions, it doesn’t make him want to respond tersely the way strangers usually do at first. When he snaps at you accidentally or says something that should shut down the conversation, you just laugh lightly and let your tongue rest before he says something— hesitant, perhaps dry, but still something to let you know that he’s here because he wants to be, and he’s here because he’s growing to like you.

When the both of you get back, holding little packages of food, not enough to worry about leftovers going bad, you take the elevator. The walk back was more tiring than the walk there; it’s barely getting cooler.

Kageyama takes your meal into his hands, glad his skin is thick enough that the heat from the bottom of it isn’t so bad. He doesn’t have to balance the package on his fingertips like you did. You glance at him curiously, but say nothing.

When the elevator doors slide open, he steps out first, walks straight to his door and goes inside. Just inside the doorway, he turns to look at you over his shoulder, blue pools stirring with hope in their deepest depths.

You pick up your pace and follow him through.

Kageyama’s apartment is spare, but comfortable. His couch is navy blue and threadbare, his TV admirably old. There’s a table covered in papers— before you can look too closely at what appears to be a magazine with his face on the cover, he’s sweeping them away and dumping them unceremoniously in a pile on the TV stand. The curtains are pulled shut to keep out the sun’s rays and the fan seems to have pulled the temperature down to bearable.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a chair. You take it, letting yourself smile a little wider, knee bouncing beneath the table as he turns to pull out two plates and sets of utensils. “I figure we won’t need to use the microwave.”

“Would it work, anyway?” You return, and he blinks and turns to look at the appliance, which remains lifeless.

“Oh. Yeah,” he seems unfazed by the blunder. “Let’s eat.” So far, he’s seemed supremely nonchalant— except for the blip when he’d asked you to stay by his side.

Well, that was dramatic. It was just groceries and dinner, even if it felt like breaking dawn.

Conversation starts slow, because Kageyama seems so insistent on shoving all his food down before it runs away from him, in addition to some kind of health drink that looks like it tastes worse warm. While the warmth tends to curb your appetite, the walk helped, so you waste no time in chowing down yourself.

Once he’s slowed down, Kageyama speaks. You trade stories of your youth— the first time you rode a bike, the first time he set a ball— of your relatives— he speaks of his grandfather with a reverence you’ve found is increasingly rare, and with a love that you know can’t be pulled from a child with any kind of negligence— of your job and his. You ask if there’s a channel on which you can watch his games, and he offers you free tickets. You’re strangers, but the way you communicate makes you feel like you can see each step to take from here. The path you’re following is one not taken alone.

“It’s dark,” Kageyama notes, when the sun is no longer burning through the curtains. “Should you—”

“Do you have candles?” You say at the same time, then wince. “Sorry, what did you say?” He swallows, then crosses his arms and rests them on the table.

“Never mind,” he shakes his head. “I think so.”

He stands to search one of the rooms down the hall, and returns with a thick handful of taper candles, his other hand holding a bag that he dumps out on the table to reveal a number of candle holders. He winces when they clang against the table, but you’re already putting the two together, needing something to do with your hands.

“Wait,” you look at him, pupils dilated. “Do you have anything to light them with?”

He responds by grinning widely and producing a lighter, and the training of his fine motor skills is apparent as he dexterously lights each taper.

Hinata insists that his smile remains a terrifying freak occurrence when he remembers to; Kageyama’s publicist, who keeps trying to wrangle him into advertising campaigns, vehemently disagrees. His smile remains without his knowledge once every light is successfully lit, and unbeknownst to you, your opinion couldn’t be more different from his orange-haired friend’s.

In the candlelight, he’s more handsome than before, a thought you allow yourself only grudgingly. He invited you to dinner, and Kageyama doesn’t seem like the kind of person to do anything unless he really wants to.

In the candlelight, your face is lit up brilliantly, your features softened and eyes hooded in shadow. Kageyama is often oblivious to the outside world, too focused on his game and his goals to stop and smell the roses, but now he couldn’t break the moment if he tried. He drinks you in, liquid fire rippling over the both of you in slow waves.

“I should probably go,” you say, your tone quiet to match the night, eventually, once the moon is high overhead. “Thank you for being so neighborly. I’m sorry if I overstayed my welcome.”

He laughs a little at that. There’s a fondness in the sound that scratches at his throat and threatens to poke up and out of the cavity, but when you share his mirth, however light, he can’t bring himself to choke it back down.

“You didn’t,” he assures you. “You should come back sometime.”

“Yeah?” You regard him in the doorway with an amused grin.

“Yeah.”

You find yourself dropping Kageyama a line whenever you’re running short on food or company, which quickly transitions into an easy friendship bordering on something more. He tries to drag you out on morning runs, and you convince him to start using skincare products beyond a splash of water at the beginning and end of every day. He complains affectionately about his teammates and listens like you’re the Prime Minister as you rant about your worst work days. With time and care, the wasteland becomes an oasis, lush greenery thriving with every demure smile and brush of skin against skin and shared, sarcastic glance.

It’s on another warm night that Kageyama (Tobio, he reminds you to call him) invites you over, citing the fact that he’s run out of matches to rewatch (a lie) and that his friends are mostly out of town (true). You’re there all too quickly; when he teases you about it, you roll your eyes and tell him that the commute isn’t long.

You’re just finishing your meal, although Tobio’s been done for minutes yet, when the lights flicker out. There’s barely a beat before the two of you pull out your phones in sync, searching for the power map before making twin noises of understanding.

“Power outage,” he speaks first, and you nod.

“Candles?”

There’s a strange sense of remembrance hanging in the air as you walk ahead of him to find the candles; you’ve seen them before on previous expeditions to his home. Strange, the passage of time.

You gather them together, hip-bumping him before you walk out of the room. He lights them, just as he did the first night, and you watch as the sparks flare to life, growing into full flames.

There’s something new in the air this time, though. A breeze brushes over your skin, every hair on your body standing up straight at the touch of the air current. You’ve graduated from sitting across from Tobio to the seat next to him, and you can feel the warm press of his leg against yours. You kick lightly at his ankle, your intent playful, but it does nothing to dissuade the turning tide.

Like the last time, Tobio is captivated. Your eyes shine too brightly in the quickly dimming room, and he feels too relaxed, too ready to do something he hasn’t yet had the chance to think through. There’s something new in the air, but nothing unexpected; nothing that hasn’t been building gradually since he looked up at you in that stairwell and saw all too much more than there was. He was the stranger under the filtered sunshine, the dinner buddy behind the candlelight. But since the first morning, he's wanted to be your lover of tomorrow's tender dawn.

You’re not sure who leans in first.

The first press of lips is electric. You shiver, a full-body shock sweeping over you that prompts you to move quickly where you might have taken things slow, to act when you wanted to learn him first. Your hands push into his hair and cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer or pushing yourself in; you’re not sure. He doesn’t seem to mind the change of pace, just keeps kissing you. Inevitable, is what you think he is, a force of nature washing over you with a steadiness and skill you’ve never experienced.

He doesn’t break away, only lets you pull back and rest your forehead against his when you need to. You can see his blue eyes blinking at you, asking silently why you’d pulled away. You take a deep breath in response, and exhale with an oh as big hands pull you into his lap so he can nose at your neck, up your jaw, along your cheek.

“Tobio,” you whisper his name, and he hums in response, opens one of your hands and places his own in it to hold. “Shit, the lights— the lights are back on.”

They are, throwing the picture in his kitchen into sharp relief. You’re in Kageyama Tobio’s lap, kissing him like you’re promising him forever and more, letting him reciprocate with all the vibrant energy he carries in his soul.

“Everything okay?” He asks, letting go of you just enough that his hands hover over your skin instead of gluing themselves to it.