Chapter Text
It starts with a calculus problem and a stubborn bottle of taberu rayu. Later, Suga will look back and think how…?, even though the evidence will be there right in the conversation history on his phone, which he will scroll back through several times, and not always for detached investigative purposes, no matter what he tells himself. Much later, Suga will look back again and think wow, that was incredibly stupid and also well, maybe it would have happened eventually anyway and also but still, thank God Daichi sucks at exponential functions .
It starts like this: Tuesday night, 10:30 p.m., and Suga is lying on his bed, snickering as he texts Asahi pictures of his fat old cat Mochi, who has fallen asleep on Suga’s duvet with her tongue sticking out and one eye half-open. Suga’s mom passes by his half-open door in her pajamas, shakes her head at him fondly, and says, “Don’t stay up too late, Kou…”
“I won’t,” he promises. “‘Night, Mom.”
Asahi: is her eye supposed to do that?
Suga: she’s winking at you!!!!!
Suga: she told me a secret asahi… she loooooooves you
Suga: ଲ(ⓛ ω ⓛ)ଲ
Asahi: scary… she looks like a demon
Asahi: you’re sure she’s alive, right?
Suga snorts, but he pokes Mochi’s jiggly belly just to be sure. Her ear twitches, and her other eye cracks open. Definitely alive. Good. With a little feline mrp of displeasure, she hauls herself upright and pushes herself off the bed, stalking off into the hall with all the dignity her creaky, arthritic joints can manage.
Suga’s phone buzzes again, and he glances down at the screen, expecting another text from Asahi—but it’s Daichi this time. Hmm. How mysterious. Daichi is normally in bed by now.
Daichi: Hey, are you still awake?
Suga: yep! was hanging out with mochi but she cruelly abandoned me ( ╥ω╥ )
Suga: what’s up? everything okay?
Daichi: Yeah, just stuck on the math homework. Are you done all the questions?
Suga: of course!! you seem to have forgotten that I am a model student who eats juicy derivatives for breakfast!!!!
Daichi: Wow, yeah, somehow I did forget that.
Suga grins down at his phone. He can picture Daichi’s disgruntled expression, can hear his unimpressed tone, as if Daichi were standing right in front of him.
Suga: (･ω<)☆
Suga: which one are you stuck on? let me share my wisdom o youthful cherry blossom
Daichi: I’m on #3.
Suga’s already digging his math textbook out of his backpack, but when his phone buzzes this time he frowns at it. Math comes more easily to Suga than it does to Daichi, but Daichi isn’t too bad at it either. If he’s only on the third exercise, either he’s taken too many volleyballs to the head lately or he’s only just started. Suga sets his textbook down on the bed, his notebook on top of it so he can reference his own solution to the problem, and lays down beside it on his back, sliding his knees up, holding his phone over his face.
Suga: oh?????? what’s this???? nearly 11 and sawamura daichi is just starting his math homework??
Suga: such a bad example for our kouhai… what would takeda-sensei say… maybe he’ll fire you and make me captain…
Daichi: Very funny. There were extenuating circumstances.
Suga: such as????
Daichi: Well, I may have tried to open a jar of taberu rayu for my mom and the jar may have exploded all over me and the kitchen.
Suga throws his arm over his face to muffle a snort of laughter. He can picture that, too: Daichi in the t-shirt and shorts he wears around the house in the summer, scowling down at the jar, his ridiculous biceps straining as he struggles to twist the lid off—and the look of shock on his face when the lid finally comes free with a violent pop, sending chunky chili oil spraying everywhere.
Suga: my goodness biceps-chan, you don’t know your own power
Daichi: Apparently not. Anyway, the rayu went everywhere, so I had to clean up the kitchen, and then I had to take another bath. There are some places rayu should never go…
Suga: wrong, rayu is delicious and belongs everywhere
Daichi: It really doesn’t.
Suga: wrong. very wrong. listen, I would lick rayu off a dirty bathroom floor. I would absolutely lick rayu off your gross sweaty thighs
Daichi: That’s disgusting.
Suga bites lip, grinning. Daichi’s just so easy to tease. Two-and-a-half years of high school together mean Suga has learned exactly what to say to wind him up. Now he’s picturing Daichi sitting at his desk—that funny way he sits, with his legs all tucked up on the chair—pushing his phone away from him, massaging his temples like an old man, wearing the half-pained, half-laughing expression that says Suga, why are you like this…
Suga could stop now. He could leave the joke there and direct Daichi’s attention back to his math homework. It’s getting late, after all, and they have morning practice tomorrow at seven. He could do that. Or…
Suga: oh dai-chan, the thought of your shapely thighs dripping with rayu has my maidenly heart all aflutter… take me now… _(:3 」∠)_
Daichi doesn’t respond right away, and Suga almost wonders if he’s gone too far. Suga’s teasing borders on flirtatious with lots of his close friends, not just Daichi. He gets the best reactions out of Asahi, who goes all red and flails around. Tanaka’s good too, because he plays along until Daichi or Ennoshita says, “Guys, please… ” Lately, though, with Daichi, sometimes Suga’s been second-guessing himself. He doesn’t really know why. All Daichi ever does is roll his eyes or let out a longsuffering sigh, never seeming all that bothered by it—and Daichi isn’t the type to let that sort of thing slide, if it actually made him uncomfortable.
Suga pictures Daichi’s thighs, which are in fact very shapely, very muscular. Suga thinks he has the best thighs on the team, easily. Without meaning to, he pictures oil dripping down those thighs, catching in the divots where the different muscles meet, and feels his face heating up.
Okay, so maybe he does know why he’s been second-guessing himself.
It’s not a crush. No. A crush would be pointless, because everyone knows Daichi is going to end up with Michimiya, his childhood friend, his counterpart on the girls’ volleyball team. Crushes are for pretty girls, and then if you’re brave you confess to the girl, and then if you’re lucky the girl likes you back and you date. You don’t do that with other boys, at least not at Karasuno; no one even talks about stuff like that. A crush on Daichi would be completely pointless. So it’s not a crush. It’s just… something. An occasional heat in the pit of his stomach. Hormones. Friendly affection bumping up against some kind of line once in a while, the kind of line you’re not supposed to cross. Something like that.
Finally, Daichi texts back, and Suga lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, like he’s just surfaced from a dive.
Daichi: You know you’re ridiculous, right? You’re aware of that?
Suga: what’s that? I can’t hear you over the sound of me licking spicy oil off your abs (っ˘ڡ˘ς)
Suga sends the text before he can think better of it, his heart giving a nervous, electric stutter. What a rush, sending your best friend very slightly risqué texts late on a school night; Daichi’s right, he is ridiculous.
Daichi: I thought you were licking it off my thighs?
Suga: okay we just established that I’m weak for rayu and will lick it off anywhere. try to keep up please
Daichi: Right, my mistake.
Daichi: You’d lick it off anywhere?
Blood rushes to Suga’s cheeks and makes his skin flush all the way down his neck, warm and heady. He flops over onto his stomach. What’s that supposed to mean? Daichi has to know how that sounds, doesn’t he…? But then again, this is Daichi. Maybe he’s thinking of rayu all over his feet, or something. His feet, all sweaty and smelly after practice. That ought to be a sufficiently revolting image to quell the heat coiling Suga’s stomach into knots, the way his hips are pressing involuntarily down against the mattress…
It’s easier to say things like this across text, things that might actually make Suga blush if he said them in real life, because he can type them in the privacy of his room where no one can see him and no one has to know that they’re sort of turning him on. He doesn’t have to look Daichi in the face as he says oh, let me lick your thighs, which is good, because he probably wouldn’t survive that.
But doing this over text is harder, too, because he can’t see Daichi’s face or hear the tone of his voice. He can’t tell if Daichi is wrinkling his nose in distaste, which would definitely mean he was thinking of his own gross sweaty feet, or if he sounds fondly exasperated, which would mean he was just playing along for fun. Or if he looks the way Suga feels right now, red-faced, prickly all over, curious about how far he can push…
You’d lick it off anywhere? What should Suga say back to that? The innuendo is laughing right in his face, breathing down his neck. Should he acknowledge it? He’s waited a few minutes to reply now. He could pretend he’s fallen asleep, but he doesn’t really want to. Because of the math homework, Suga tells himself, I promised I’d help him with it, though he knows perfectly well that’s not the real reason. Okay—he’ll make a joke. That’s all this is, after all. They’re just messing around. He’ll see how far Daichi will let him take it.
Suga: daichi…
Suga: please don’t put your dick in rayu…
Daichi: Oh my God
Daichi: Suga, if anyone was going to put his dick in rayu, we both know it’d be you.
Suga grins, and the heat in his stomach starts to cool. Okay, this is familiar ground. They are just joking around after all.
Suga: what can I say… I will never love any woman as much as I love taberu rayu… sad but true, it’s who I am ｡ﾟ･ (>﹏<) ･ﾟ｡
Daichi doesn’t text back after that, and after checking his phone a few more times, Suga forces himself to leave it on his desk and go to bed. He doesn’t want to be a total zombie at school tomorrow, during practice or in class. He’ll never catch up to Kageyama, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try anyway, and besides, he knows everyone is skeptical of the third-years staying on after inter-high when they should be preparing for university entrance exams—and everyone is especially skeptical of Suga, who isn’t even on the starting line. His teachers are just waiting for his grades to start to slip.
He lies awake for a while, though, wondering about Daichi in his own bedroom, at his desk, typing you’d lick it off anywhere?— wondering what his face looked like as he typed it, wondering if his finger hesitated over the screen of his phone before he sent the text.
He never does end up helping Daichi with his math homework, in the end.
***
“Daichi-san, stop yawning or you’ll put us all to sleep!” says Tanaka during the warm-up for morning practice, and he gives Daichi a friendly punch on the shoulder. Suga looks down at the waxy wood floor, pretending to focus on bouncing through his set of high-knees while really eavesdropping intently.
“Sorry,” says Daichi, and it sounds like he’s stifling another yawn as he says it. “Late night.”
And that’s it. Well, obviously. Suga hardly expected Daichi to say anything to Tanaka about their texting—sorry, I was up exchanging borderline flirty texts with our vice-captain, and by the way, when I texted him about licking rayu off anywhere, here is precisely what I meant…
Daichi doesn’t bring up the texting later during the day, either. They go to their classes—Daichi seems to have survived exercise #3 in the math homework without Suga’s help—and they meet Asahi for lunch, and they go to afternoon practice, and the whole time Daichi is just Daichi, and everything is normal, and Suga thinks okay, for sure we were just messing around. That’s fine. He’s just glad to know.
“It’s mint green,” Daichi insists as the third-years walk home together after practice.
“It’s clearly seafoam,” says Suga, shaking his head vehemently. He tugs on Asahi’s sleeve and demands, “Asahi! Mediate! Is Seijoh’s uniform white and mint, or white and seafoam?”
“Um,” says Asahi, looking panicked. “Um…”
“Yeah, Asahi, you’re good with colours,” says Daichi. “So which is it? Is Suga wrong, or am I right?”
“Red card, Sawamura, red card!” Suga exclaims. “You’re deliberately confusing him!”
“What are you, a soccer ref?”
“Asahi, my dearest and most handsomest friend, my sweet summer peach, love of my life, please explain to Daichi that I’m right—”
“Don’t let him charm you, Asahi, tell him I’m right—”
“Um, well, isn’t it more of a pale turquoise…?” Asahi suggests tentatively.
Daichi and Suga look at each other.
“Alright, Daichi’s wrong, but you’re clearly delusional,” Suga says. “Poor Asahi… and you were so young…”
“Suga, he’s delusional, not dying ,” says Daichi.
“Thanks, guys,” Asahi says with a sigh.
Asahi leaves them at his usual turn, going right where Daichi and Suga both go left, and then it’s just Suga and Daichi, alone. They don’t have much further to go: Daichi’s house is just a few blocks up, after which Suga will walk the rest of the way home on his own, definitely not obsessing over those texts at all, nope, no way. Suga sneaks a glance at Daichi as they walk and catches Daichi looking right back at him.
“Your spiking is getting better,” Daichi says.
Suga knows he’ll never have the spiking power of Asahi or Tanaka or Kageyama, and he’ll never have Hinata’s supernatural speed, but hearing that from Daichi means a lot. He’s been working on his spiking for their synchro attacks and it’s finally starting to feel like he’s getting somewhere. “Thanks,” he says, grinning. “Maybe I can give you a few tips sometime.”
Daichi rolls his eyes and says, “Very funny. Hey, you know, I noticed this attack Fukurodani does with their setter—”
So they spend the rest of their walk together talking about volleyball. Which is fine.
In front of Daichi’s house they pause, and Suga says, as casually as he can manage, “If you’re still having trouble with your math, you could come over to my place for a bit and we can do the homework together.”
“Thanks, but I can’t tonight. Sorry,” says Daichi, looking apologetic. “My parents are out, so I have to make dinner for the kids.” He means his younger brother and sister, although he talks about them like they’re his own kids, which is a constant source of entertainment for Suga and Asahi. “But—tomorrow night? I—uh—I don’t really get this derivatives of exponential functions stuff.”
“Sure,” says Suga. He pokes Daichi in the stomach and adds lightly, “Try not to get rayu all over your kitchen this time, okay?”
Suga feels himself pushing up against that line again—it’s the first time either of them has said anything about last night out loud. Mostly, he’s waiting to see Daichi laugh it off or groan at the memory of having to scrub rayu out of the kitchen tiles, to confirm they haven’t talked about it only because there’s nothing to talk about. To Suga’s profound interest, though, Daichi’s face flushes. “Ah… right,” he says. “I’ll—yeah. I won’t.”
***
Alone in his room after dinner, Suga flops on his bed again with Mochi cuddled up beside him and pulls out his phone. He goes back to his conversation with Daichi: they haven’t sent each other any more texts since last night. Well, of course not. They’ve been together all day. Everything Daichi could possibly have wanted to say to Suga, he’s had the chance to say in person.
Suga scrolls back up through their conversation. I thought you were licking it off my thighs? Daichi said, and then, You’d lick it off anywhere? Taberu rayu is spicy and garlicky and delicious, but if you’d asked Suga yesterday to classify every food in the world into a binary of sexy and unsexy , he’d probably have put rayu in the latter category. Tonight, though, just looking at the bottle on the kitchen counter had been enough to make Suga go a little pink at dinner. His mom had kept trying to make him take his temperature.
Now he thinks again about Daichi’s thighs, which he found himself noticing more than usual during their practices today. Daichi just looks so good in his practice shorts. He looks so good in everything, but especially in those practice shorts, which show off a few inches of bare leg above his knees. It’s really not fair. Suga pictures kneeling in front of him, wrapping his slender fingers around Daichi’s bare calves, bringing his hands up the backs of Daichi’s legs, feeling the corded muscle from years of jumping and running and lunging to dig the ball. He wonders if Daichi would like being touched there. Suga lets his free hand ghost down his own thighs, brushing the skin right on the inside of his leg where the boxers he wears to bed end. He shivers.
Right on cue, Suga’s phone buzzes, and he nearly drops it on his face in shock, fumbling frantically to read the notification—
Asahi: do you have my kneepads? they’re not in my bag (-_-)
Oh. He’d hoped…
Suga makes himself take a few deep breaths, then gets up and checks his gym bag, where he does indeed find an extra pair of kneepads; Asahi must have stuck them in there by accident when they were getting changed after practice. He texts Asahi back, and brushes his teeth, and goes downstairs to say goodnight to his mom, who’s still watching TV in the living room. It’s late , he tells himself. Go to bed. Go to bed and stop fantasizing about your best friend’s thighs, you creep. When he grabs his phone off his bed to put it on his desk, though, he has a few new notifications: a text from Asahi expressing gratitude for the location of the mislaid kneepads, and—three texts from Daichi. He reads the first one and sinks down onto his bed slowly, rereading it again and then again, his heart pulsing in his throat.
Daichi: Hey, is it weird that I keep thinking about you licking rayu off my legs?
Daichi: I’m taking your silence to mean that it is weird, so maybe just forget I said anything, haha.
Daichi: Suga?
Suga: sorry!!! I was brushing my teeth!!!!
Hmm. That’s not exactly a sexy answer. Not that he’s trying to be sexy, obviously. But if he were—which he’s not—he’d be failing miserably. He tries again.
Suga: it’s not weird at all, in fact many people spend their days thinking about me licking rayu off their legs because I am so handsome and alluring, so welcome to my fan club sir ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_
He doesn’t wait for Daichi to reply, instead hammering out the next text and sending it before he can second-guess himself.
Suga: anyway I may have been thinking about licking rayu off your legs too so there you go
Daichi: Just my legs?
Suga swallows. His face is hot. Actually, all of him feels hot. Last night he’d thought maybe it was an accident— you’d lick it off anywhere? —but Daichi has to know what he’s doing, he has to. This time he’s the one pushing the line. And Suga wants to push back, just to… see what happens. But he’s not quite brave enough to stop joking around just yet. He wants to be able to backtrack if he needs to, he wants a way to say just kidding and get the hell out of there if it turns out he’s horribly misinterpreting everything.
Suga: you really just want to put your dick in a jar of rayu huh
Daichi: You got me. It’s my dream.
Suga gets off the bed and walks around his room for a minute, glancing down at his phone every few seconds. Daichi hasn’t followed up at all. Maybe that’s the end of it. He tells himself that’s good. Any further and things might get weird between them, and he absolutely does not want that at all, ever. It’s late. He should go to bed.
He glances down at his phone again and sticks his thumb under the waistband of his boxers. The skin there feels feverish. He’s half hard already, which is ridiculous and embarrassing; Daichi’s texts aren’t exactly explicit. They’re barely even suggestive. Suga just has a wildly overactive imagination, apparently.
It’s a bad, bad idea, but his heart is pounding and his head is hazy, and he wants to keep pushing at that line—he wants to keep pushing so badly, instead of leaving this all vague and unfinished again like last night and spending tomorrow trying to guess what Daichi was thinking. He texts Daichi back and then presses his phone to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut, turned on and terrified at the same time. In the hall he hears the floor creak quietly as his mom steps carefully past his door, probably trying not to wake him. Ha.
Suga: you know you don’t need to endure the capsaicin burns first if you want me to put my mouth on your dick… you can just ask (･ω<)☆
To keep himself from panicking outright, he starts counting in his head, and makes it to twenty-one before his phone buzzes against his chest.
Daichi: Capsaicin?
Oh… okay. So Daichi isn’t going to push the joke further. That’s alright. Suga’s disappointment is matched by his relief. He reads his last text again and figures he can probably play that off as teasing, too, and they can keep their friendship just the way it is now, nudging against that line every so often without ever crossing it.
Suga: it’s the compound in chili peppers that makes them feel like they’re burning your skin ~(>_<~) iwasaki-sensei talked about it in science last week!! pay more attention!!!
Daichi: Oh right
Daichi: So… if I did ask, what would you say?
The line snaps with a silent twang that Suga feels reverberate all around his ribcage. Oh my God , he thinks, suddenly lightheaded. He shoos a disgruntled Mochi off his bed, sliding his door open as quietly as possible so he can herd her out into the hallway. He feels kind of bad for disturbing her, but having his childhood pet cuddled up beside him while he’s doing… this… whatever this exactly is… well, it seems wrong. Before he closes his door, he listens for a moment; the tap runs in the bathroom down the hall, not quite obscuring his mother’s absent-minded, off-tune humming. She’ll be in bed soon, so he should be alright if he stays really quiet. His fingers are going white at the knuckles where he’s clutching his phone as he slides the door closed and sprawls on his bed, on his stomach again, so he can press his hips down against the mattress. The pressure sends heat spiking from his crotch all the way up through his chest. Even his fingertips feel kind of tingly.
Daichi: Suga?
Suga: I wouldn’t say anything because I’d already be on my knees
Oh God. He can’t believe he just wrote that. He can’t believe he just sent that. To Daichi. Daichi’s going to think he’s some sort of—
Daichi: oh my god
Daichi: You’d look good like that
Suga stifles a moan and shifts his position, letting one leg slide off the side of the bed so he can grind down against the corner of the mattress. He presses his fingers to his throat; he feels hot there, hot all over. He’s sure he has to be flushed all the way down his chest, red and blotchy and ugly, the same way he flushes in the sun at the height of summer, or after a practice game that’s gone on for set after set. Good thing Daichi can’t see him—good thing Suga gets to hide behind rows of bland characters on a tiny screen, organizing himself however he wants so he can smooth over all the embarrassing bits.
Although—he wonders what Daichi looks like right now. Is he on his bed? At his desk? After practice he’s always red across the cheeks from exertion. Is he blushing like that now? Is he hard too? Suga pictures Daichi’s sparse, neat bedroom, where the bed is always made with hospital precision, where there’s never laundry on the floor, where you have a perfect view of the moon rising through the window in the summer at just about this time of night. He pictures Daichi sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing those practice shorts (they probably smell bad from all the sweat, but this is Suga’s fantasy, so he can edit that little detail out). He pictures Daichi’s legs splayed open, the bulge of his hard-on prominent through the thin fabric. He pictures kneeling between Daichi’s legs, his hands pressed against the insides of Daichi’s thighs, his fingers slipping just under the edges of his shorts, Daichi’s muscular legs trembling with anticipation.
Suga bites his lip hard, until it hurts. He’s putting off actually touching himself; he doesn’t want to rush. He types I’d and then stares at his screen blankly, thinking uh…
Crap. How do you give a blowjob, anyway? Do you use your tongue? What for? Are you really supposed to be able to fit the whole thing in your mouth? What do you do after you get it in there? Sex ed in school has made Suga fairly confident in his ability to not get a girl pregnant, but that’s the extent of it, and he’s pretty sure that that particular skillset is neither relevant nor useful right now. He hasn’t watched a lot of porn, either; the videos always just end up making him uncomfortable. When he gets off by himself his ideas about sex are vague and blurred, very handwave-y, but he can’t exactly text Daichi I’d, eh, you know… and expect him to get it. So what do people normally talk about when they sext—because that’s basically what they’re doing right now, isn’t it? Very badly, alright, very awkwardly, but—
Suga: I’ve been thinking about touching your thighs all day. they look so good in your stupid practice shorts, I was watching you at practice and I just kept thinking about how I really wanted to kiss your thighs
There. It’s not very eloquent and probably not all that sexy but it’s the truth, and it’ll buy him at least a minute or two to do some frantic internet research. Thank God for private browsers… He’s typing how do you give a good blowjob please help SOS into the search bar when his phone buzzes again.
Daichi: My thighs are pretty ticklish so I might just end up kneeing you in the face. Sorry.
Suga snorts with laughter, then claps a hand over his mouth, hoping he wasn’t loud enough for his mom to hear. Well, at least Daichi’s being honest.
Suga: oh dai-chan, always so tender and sensual
Daichi: But I’d try really hard not to.
Suga: wow such a gentleman… refraining from concussing me while I’m sucking your cock… true boyfriend material
Daichi: fuck
Daichi: suga
Suga: what?
Daichi: Just
Daichi: You’re really good at this
Wait. He is?
Daichi: it’s really hot
Daichi: you’re really hot
Suga swallows back another moan, or maybe more like a whimper, and rolls over onto his back (quietly, so that the mattress doesn’t creak). He lets one hand drift down his body, lingering over his bare stomach where his t-shirt has ridden up for a moment before finally, tentatively touching himself through his underwear. The head of his cock has already left a damp spot, the skin slipping against the fabric in a way that makes his whole body thrum. He clenches his eyes tightly shut and squeezes his hand very gently around himself and thinks don’t come yet, don’t come yet, don’t come yet…
Suga can’t help but notice that the quality of Daichi’s typing has degraded. Daichi is normally so precise, all his texts grammatical and properly punctuated, as if he expects to have his phone confiscated by their Japanese teacher for grading purposes at any moment. Not right now, though. Daichi usually texts with both hands, but it seems like maybe he’s having some trouble at the moment. Interesting.
Suga: what are you doing right now?
Daichi: my math homework
Daichi: what the hell do you think I’m doing suga I’ll give you three guesses
Ooh, no punctuation and a run-on sentence. Daichi is definitely texting one-handed right now. Getting off to the thought of Suga’s mouth on his cock. That’s… well, in Daichi’s words, that’s really hot, ridiculously hot. Suga pictures himself between Daichi’s legs again, Daichi’s hard-on flush against his cheek, a sticky-damp spot already leaking through the fabric, heat radiating through his shorts as Suga noses against him. Alone in his room, Suga shudders, his hips jerking up into the friction of his hand.
Suga: three guesses huh?
Suga: okay #1 curve sketching log functions
Suga: #2 jerking off while you picture me on my knees swallowing your whole cock and drooling all over you
Suga: #3 logarithmic differentiation
(Suga hopes he doesn’t sound as ridiculous as he feels. He’s trying not to laugh, knowing full well that he’s lying through his teeth right now; there’s absolutely no way he’d be able to cram a whole dick in his mouth without gagging and breaking down into a very unsexy fit of choking and coughing. The article in the peppy online women’s magazine he has open on his phone right now reassures him that deep-throating is not mandatory and that using your hands on the bits you can’t fit in your mouth is “totally allowed!” He can’t quite visualize how that works, nor can he visualize the “three ultimate tongue cheats!” the article describes to “make your man feel like he’s slamming the back of your throat!”, so he thinks saying it like this is just simpler and less confusing.)
Daichi: fuck suga
Suga: was I right
Daichi: maybe
Suga: it’s the logarithmic differentiation isn’t it
Daichi: yeah it is
Suga: I knew it… you’re so dirty…
Daichi: suga
Daichi: I wish you were here right now
Suga wishes that, too. He pictures slipping Daichi’s shorts down his hips, reaching up to rub his thumb over the slit of Daichi’s cock a few times (Suga likes doing that when he gets off, he’s doing it to himself right now through his boxers in fact, maybe Daichi would like it too). He pictures leaning forward to run his tongue across the underside of the head (“The frenulum, or underside of the head of the penis, is super sensitive to tongue action!” asserts the peppy women’s magazine). He pictures taking the whole head into his mouth, letting it rest on his tongue while he tightens his lips around it and sucks (as per the directive of the peppy women’s magazine), and looking right up at Daichi, looking him right in the eyes while Suga kneels there with his cock in his mouth. In reality Suga thinks he might be too shy for that, but in the privacy of his own head he can be as bold as he wants.
He slides his hand into his boxers and starts stroking himself in earnest, his breath coming faster already, almost panting.
Suga: oh??? what would you do if I was there
Daichi: uh
Suga: paint me a word picture daichi
Daichi: I don’t know
Daichi: sorry
Daichi: you’re better at this than me
Daichi: I just really want to touch you
A little thrill of satisfaction blooms deep in the pit of Suga’s stomach. He doesn’t care if Daichi can’t think of anything to say. Knowing Daichi likes what Suga’s saying, likes hearing Suga talk about sucking him off, likes it a lot, likes it enough to sacrifice his militant grammatical standards so he can text Suga with one hand and touch himself with the other—knowing all that makes Suga hot enough already. His hips twitch as he rocks up into his own hand, now sticky and slick as he leaks more pre-come. He’s close, really close, that familiar, prickly heat unfurling in his balls. He types frantically, barely thinking about what he’s saying anymore.
Suga: would you jerk me off after I’d finished sucking your cock
Suga: I’d let you come on my face if you wanted to
(This was another tip from the peppy women’s magazine; Suga feels like he owes the magazine’s editor a heartfelt letter of thanks at this point, and maybe a department store gift-card or something for her troubles. He wouldn’t actually let Daichi come on his face, because that sounds super gross, especially if it got in his hair, but whatever. It’s not like Daichi’s going to show up at his door and demand to see him deliver on all his inexperienced, optimistic promises right this second, so Suga is just saying whatever will make him sound like he knows what he’s doing.)
Suga: sucking you off would really turn me on so it probably wouldn’t take long
Suga: in fact I’d probably be jerking off the second I had my mouth on you because you’d be so hot like that and I’m weak so you could just step in at the end and take all the credit
Suga: then you could get right back to your true love, logarithmic differentiation
Daichi: oh my god
Daichi: anything I’d do anything you wanted if you let me
Suga’s whole body shudders when he comes, his knees jerking up reflexively, the screen of his phone blurring hazily in front of him before he drops it and squeezes his eyes shut. He pretends it’s Daichi’s hand stroking him through this, Daichi’s hand that he’s spilling all over right now, Daichi kneeling between his legs, Daichi watching him come (Suga thinks he probably makes an embarrassing face when he comes but, once again, this is all in his head, so why not)—Daichi’s voice saying this is really hot, Suga, you’re really hot —
Afterwards, he lies there for a bit, panting, wrung-out, sweat adhering his bare skin to his duvet, his heart-rate slowly settling back to normal, his full-body blush cooling along with the sticky, unpleasant mess in his boxers. He feels boneless and exhausted; his hands shake a bit when he finally manages to strip off the nasty boxers, wipe himself off, and shove the boxers right down to the bottom of his laundry basket under all his gym clothes. His head buzzes blankly, as if he came so hard his brain has to reboot. He puts his phone on the desk, crawls under his duvet, and falls asleep in minutes.
***
Somewhere in the territory of 3:00 a.m., Suga wakes up to the sound of Mochi slamming herself against his door, demanding to be let in. He fumbles his way blearily across his dark room to slide the door open, then scoops her up and carries her over to his bed, where she settles down into a big fluffy blob.
He slips under the duvet and tries to go back to sleep, but now that he’s gotten out of bed he’s wide awake. The notification light on his phone is blinking, and he can’t resist reaching over to check it, still too tired to decide whether he’s anxious or excited. It’s not Daichi, though, it’s just a couple of messages in the volleyball club’s group chat from earlier in the night—a video clip Ennoshita shared from the Russian National Team, followed by Hinata and Tanaka all freaking out over how cool some move or other is, followed by Kageyama making a snarky comment addressed to Hinata, followed by Tsukishima making a snarky comment addressed to Hinata and Kageyama, followed by...
Normally Suga likes catching up on his teammates’ bickering, but right now he closes the thread without reading all the way to the end, and opens his conversation with Daichi instead. Skimming the messages he’d sent, his face starts to burn again, not with arousal this time but with mortification. Apparently he turns into a real idiot when he’s horny. Did Daichi actually like any of that garbage he said? Maybe Daichi was too polite to say anything, so he just played along. Yikes. That’s…
Suga sets his phone back down. He wraps an arm around his knees and sinks his other hand into Mochi’s fur and spends a bit of quality time just short of hyperventilating, thinking oh God oh God oh God why did I do that, why the hell did I let myself do that?