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Tooru’s in a good fucking mood.
It’s nice to be back in Japan for the holidays. He misses his family (he nearly cried when he saw how tall Takeru’s gotten) and not having to cook for himself is a welcome reprieve (even if his mother refuses to acknowledge his strict diet and makes whatever the hell she pleases). He loves them, he really does, but there’s only so much of their well-intentioned smothering he can take before he starts to itch to flee back to Argentina, back to his adult life where he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, without his parents making passive aggressive judgmental comments. He needs a break.
Cue Iwaizumi saving the day. Doesn’t he always?
Dearest Iwa-chan was in a similar predicament, on break from university to visit his family, and he’d suggested a short trip to save them both from insanity. That’s why the two of them are currently here in Tokyo, heading into a dark and crowded bar, ready to drink without a care in the world and spend the next few days in the city, free from all responsibility and family obligation. They’re flushed from the cold outside, laughing over Hanamaki’s latest girl troubles, when they bump into one of the last people Tooru ever expects or wants to see.
“Oikawa,” the man says, in his deep, steady voice. His thick eyebrows raise so slightly in surprise that he might as well not have emoted at all. “And Iwaizumi. Hello.”
“Ushijima,” Tooru says faintly. “What an unpleasant surprise.”
“Don’t be a dick,” Iwaizumi says, but the nudge he gives with his elbow is gentle, and he doesn’t even sound all that mad. Aww. He must’ve really missed Tooru, huh? Nodding at their unwelcome guest, Iwaizumi says, “Hey, Ushiwaka. What brings you here?”
“Volleyball,” Ushijima answers.
Oikawa snorts. “Shocker.”
Iwaizumi elbows him again, a bit harsher this time. Ugh. Tooru rolls his eyes. You meet an old enemy once in a foreign country and suddenly you’re friends? Ridiculous.
“We had a game tonight and went out for drinks afterward. There’s quite a few people here you may know, actually,” Ushijima says. “Like Hinata—”
Tooru perks up immediately. “Shouyou’s here?”
Ushijima nods, but Tooru’s happiness at getting to see the always-delightful Shortie Pie himself is cut short at his next words: “Kageyama as well.”
“Kageyama?” He hates that he has to swallow. “As in Kageyama Tobio?”
Ushijima’s head tilts ever-so-slightly to the left. Iwaizumi gives him a funny look, too. “Who else would it be, dumbass?”
“I-I don’t know!” he sputters, too defensively. God, Tooru hasn’t even seen him and he’s already losing his cool.
It’s been so long. So long, and yet Tobio hasn’t left his thoughts once. Even on the other side of the world, Tooru can’t help but wonder about him, can’t help but watch his games, can’t help but stalk his sparse social media accounts. Tobio is Tooru’s most persistent, chronic sickness. The thought of willingly exposing himself to the source of that infection is just—
“Sure,” Iwaizumi is saying, and Tooru forces himself to tune back into the conversation.
Ushijima nods. “We’re in a booth near the back. Follow me,” he says, and then turns and starts making his way through the crowd.
Iwaizumi follows, leaving Tooru to stumble after them. “Wait, what? What’s happening?”
“Were you not listening? We’re gonna go get a drink with Ushiwaka and the others.”
“What?” Tooru’s heart leaps into his throat. “What the hell, Iwa-chan,” he mutters under his breath.
“Come on, Oikawa. It’s been years. Don’t you want to see him?”
“Shouyou, you mean?” Tooru answers loudly, desperately. “I already have plans to meet up with him later this—”
“I’m not talking about Hinata and you know it,” Iwaizumi cuts in, silencing him with an all-too-knowing look. He stops and puts a hand on Tooru’s arm, a nostalgic comfort. “Do you really not want to see him?” he asks, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the bar but quiet enough that there’s no way Ushijima can catch it, because, for all Tooru might complain to his face, Iwaizumi really is the best friend ever. If Tooru says the word, Iwaizumi will lie (albeit terribly) to Ushijima’s face and take Tooru to a different bar, no question.
But what does Tooru want? Beneath the dread in his stomach, there’s an undeniable, humming undercurrent of excitement. Tooru’s always had a good eye for opportunity. When’s the next time he’s guaranteed to see Tobio? The 2020 Olympics? Those are two years away.
“No,” he finally says. “No, let’s go.” He straightens up, flicks his bangs out of his eyes, and puts on his best menacing smile. “I’ve gotta take advantage of this chance to make fun of that god-awful curry commercial in person.”
Iwaizumi’s sympathetic expression flattens out into disapproval. “I can’t fucking take you anywhere, I swear…”
They catch up to Ushijima at the big corner booth in the back of the bar, the round table full of faces he recognizes from the high school volleyball circuit. There’s the Adlers’ Little Giant, one of the top aces from back in high school, Ushijima’s bowl-cut-having kouhai from Shiratorizawa, Shouyou, and—of course—Tobio.
It’s surreal to see him again in person. He’s as pretty as ever, his eyes as intense as ever, but he’s all grown up, his body filled out with muscle, his face leaner and sharper. He’s got a new haircut, one Tooru’s more used to seeing plastered to his face with sweat in post-game interviews. It looks good.
Tobio looks good.
Tobio’s deep blue eyes meet his, widening in surprise, and Tooru has the sudden, ridiculous thought that he looks hot, too, and he hopes Tobio’s getting a good, long look.
Before he can grapple with the tiny existential crisis bursting in the back of his mind over why he wants Tobio to think he’s attractive, Shouyou spots him, too. “Oikaa-san!” he cheers, eyes lit up in excitement. “Let me up, let me up,” he hisses at Tobio, jostling and shoving him around. Tobio breaks their eye contact with a scowl and slides out of the booth so that Shouyou can skip over to give Tooru a tight hug. Tooru even forgets the strange bubbling in his stomach for a moment; such is the power of a hug from Hinata Shouyou.
“Hi, Iwaizumi-san!” Shouyou says, abandoning Tooru before he’d barely had a chance to hug back to give Iwaizumi a quick handshake. “Ushijima-san, where did you find them?!”
“The front entrance.”
“No kidding!”
After quick introductions—Tooru nods politely as if he didn’t already know Hoshiumi and Kiryuu by name, and he files away Goshiki alongside number eight and good at line shots in his memory—they all shuffle back into their seats, squishing closer together to make room for two more broad-shouldered men. As luck would have it, Tooru ends up across from Tobio. Of course.
“This is quite the group,” he says, resting his elbow on the table to lean in and face the rest of the booth, forcing his gaze away from those blue eyes. “What brings all of you here today?”
“The Adlers,” Shouyou says, making an all-encompassing gesture between Tobio, Ushijima, and Hoshiumi, “and the Green Rockets,” he makes the same gesture between Goshiki and Kiryuu, “had a game tonight, and I,” he points a thumb at his own chest, “went! Goshiki and Ushijima-san wanted to catch up afterward, and we all tagged along!”
Goshiki turns a little pink at the statement, grimacing a bit. Tooru gets the sense that he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the news that the rest of the group would be joining him and Ushijima. Thanks to the petty little piece of his heart that will always hate Shiratorizawa on principle, Tooru has to bite back a smirk.
“Well, with the two of us here, it’s like a mini Miyagi reunion now,” Iwaizumi says. He nods at Hoshiumi and Kiryuu. “And friends.”
Hoshiumi bangs a fist down on the table, making everyone but Ushijima and Tobio jump. “I’ll drink to that! Good enough of an excuse for me. Waiter!” He stands up on the booth’s bench to flag one down.
One round of drinks later—and clearly not Goshiki or Hoshiumi’s first drinks of the night—Tooru watches in mild amusement as Goshiki recounts an impressive play of Ushijima’s from tonight’s game. It’s cute, honestly. He clearly admires his old teammate a whole lot.
Tobio’s never talked to Tooru like that. Maybe if only he’d been better—a better setter, a better senpai, a better person…
“You’ve always seemed impossible to break, Ushijima,” Kiryuu adds, giving him a good-natured pat on the shoulder. “I don’t know how you look so unflappable all the time.”
Pouncing on the conversation as a distraction from his thoughts, Tooru leans forward to give Kiryuu a mischievous grin. “That’s just Ushiwaka-chan’s face. Even when he lost to the crows in his last Spring High,” Tooru waves his hand toward Tobio and Shouyou, “he still looked just like that!” He finishes by pointing at Ushijima’s eternally impassive face.
It takes that impassive face raising its eyebrows slightly, Iwaizumi shooting him a meaningful glance, and Shouyou saying, “Waaait,” for him to realize his slip.
“Aww, Oikaa-san, you watched us in the finals that year?” Shouyou asks, grinning. “Like, on TV?”
Tooru takes a sip of his beer to stall, which turns out to be a mistake, because Iwaizumi decides to answer for him. “No, Oikawa and I went to the game.”
Tobio chokes on his drink. Tooru refuses to look at him.
“Well, that strength of yours always inspired me, Ushijima,” Kiryuu says, steering the conversation away from one of Tooru’s more humiliating life choices. Tooru could kiss him. “It’s nice to have a peer like that, right? Someone you can look up to, but also treat as a rival.”
The last part is addressed to Goshiki, and Goshiki opens his mouth to reply, but it’s Tobio who speaks. “Yes,” he blurts out, so sudden and loud that the whole table turns to look at him. His blue eyes are latched onto Tooru, but he falters at the sudden attention, gaze flitting over the rest of the group and then settling on the glass in front of him. “It is,” he mumbles. “Nice, I mean. To have someone like that.”
Tooru can’t look away. His heart is pumping like he’s in the middle of the final set of a match. Tobio glances up at him, scowling but shy, painfully sincere, and it smacks Tooru with sudden onset claustrophobia. He forces himself to breathe. In his periphery, Shouyou exchanges a look with Iwaizumi that Tooru stubbornly does not understand.
The conversation moves on, the company continues being pleasant, but Tooru can’t stop accidentally meeting Tobio’s eyes across the table. It happens enough times that he’s forced to admit it might not be accidental at all.
Tobio's gaze used to feel like a knife, cutting Tooru open, revealing his strengths and weaknesses alike. Tooru had been terrified of it. He'd done his best to chase Tobio off, to make Tobio stop. And he'd succeeded, for better or for worse.
At least, he thought he had.
But Tobio is certainly looking now, his gaze more of an electric crackle than a knife, and Tooru’s teeth might start chattering in terror at any moment but fuck, Tooru doesn’t want him to stop.
His own eyes are drawn down Tobio’s neck, the slope of his traps, the wide breadth of his shoulders, the swell of his biceps, the thick veins in his forearms. And of course, those talented fingers curled loosely around his drink. Tooru reaches over and steals his glass, staring Tobio down as he brings it to his own lips for a leisurely sip. He wipes his mouth with a drag of his thumb before sliding the glass back across the table.
Tobio immediately takes a drink, not breaking eye contact for a second. Tooru smirks at him.
Eventually (after too much time, if you ask Tooru), the night draws to a natural close. The drink bill is settled. Hoshiumi passes out face-down on the table, and Ushijima volunteers to get him home safe like an infuriatingly upstanding citizen. With Ushijima exiting, Goshiki and Kiryuu follow. That just leaves Tobio, who keeps fidgeting and glancing at Tooru, and Iwaizumi and Shouyou, who Tooru’s pretty sure are texting each other right now.
“Well, I’m gonna head out,” Iwaizumi suddenly announces. “You coming with?” he asks Tooru, but then he’s quick to add, “You don’t have to. You have your copy of the room key, right?”
“I think I’ll stay,” Tooru says slowly, and Tobio’s eyes snap up to meet his again, burning right through him.
“Oh, wow, would you look at the time!” Shouyou says, glancing at his suspiciously watch-less wrist. “I’ll walk with you, Iwaizumi-san.”
Tobio and Tooru have to get up to let them out of the booth. There’s the gathering of coats and scarves, one last exchanging of handshakes and hugs and hair ruffles, a pat on the back from Iwaizumi and a cheeky “Be safe!” from Shouyou—that menace— and then they’re alone. Or, at least, as alone as you can be in a bar still packed to the brim with people and noise. Neither of them make any move to sit back down in the booth.
“I saw your terrible curry commercial,” Tooru says, finally.
Tobio flushes and scowls. “It’s good curry!”
Tooru can’t help but laugh a little. “You’re as uselessly adorable as ever, Tobio-chan.”
Tobio’s flush darkens, his expression shifting to uncertainty, but Tooru’s done being uncertain.
“Tobio,” Tooru says. He steps closer, putting a hand on Tobio’s solid shoulder to speak right into his ear. Tooru has to lean up a bit to make up for the extra centimeters Tobio has on him now. “You’re not drunk, are you?”
Tobio shudders. “No.” In a moment of sudden boldness, he touches Tooru’s waist. The feeling of it simmers through Tooru’s bones. “You?”
“No.”
Well. Tooru’s always had a good eye for opportunity.
“It’ll have to be your place. Iwa-chan and I are sharing a hotel room.”
Tobio tilts his face toward Tooru, the hand at his waist gripping just a little firmer. The answer comes in a breath of warm air against his temple. “Okay, Oikawa-san.”
Tooru deserves a fucking gold medal for not sucking Tobio’s dick in the back of their taxi. The anticipation threatens to consume him the entire trip, and Tobio puts his fucking hand on Tooru’s fucking thigh and strokes his fucking thumb along it like he’s trying to give Tooru a fucking heart attack. By the time they get into Tobio’s apartment, he feels downright unhinged and ready to snap.
He jumps Tobio the millisecond they’re inside, kissing him furiously and manhandling him out of his coat before he even has a chance to take off his shoes. Tobio, infuriatingly, thankfully, recovers quickly from his surprise and meets Tooru head-on with the same desperation and a breathy Oikawa-san.
Tooru wouldn’t be able to explain how they make it to Tobio’s bedroom, but they manage it somehow, and Tooru pushes Tobio down onto his bed and wastes no time crawling over top of him and getting his tongue back in Tobio’s mouth.
He slides his fingers through that nice new haircut, tugging a little, and Tobio whimpers. The sound of it cuts through the mounting static in Tooru’s ears, makes him grab a little tighter, a little more possessively, determined to wring plenty more noises like that out of him by the end of the night.
Tooru only lasts for another moment of making out before he breaks away in an impatient rush to demand, “How do you wanna do this? I fuck you? You fuck me? Something else?”
“You—” Tobio gasps prettily as Tooru takes a good, firm squeeze of his cock through his pants— “fuck me.”
Oh, oh. That just so happens to be the answer Tooru was hoping for. He’s practically salivating as he says, “Tell me you have lube and condoms.”
They have to disentangle to get what they need, taking the opportunity to shed the rest of their clothes. The full exposure of Tobio’s naked body only makes Tooru more frantic to get on with things. He practically throws Tobio back down onto the mattress.
“Do you want me to prep you?” Tooru asks, trying his very hardest not to sound as desperate as he feels.
“…Sure.”
Tooru forcibly yanks himself out of the fog of his arousal. “What? Why did you pause?”
Tobio’s face turns a little pinker. “Nothing. No reason.”
“It didn’t sound like no reason. What? Would you rather do it yourself?”
“No, it’s just, I thought…” He falters, voice dropping into a mumble. “I thought you’d be meaner.”
It catches Tooru so off-guard that he laughs. “Why,” he asks, nudging Tobio playfully, “are you into that?”
It’s just a joke, but the angry blush that takes over Tobio’s face is completely sincere. Tooru’s laughter dies in his throat, and Tobio flushes worse, turning his head into the pillow to hide.
Tooru shudders, an electric current sizzling through him. He cups Tobio’s face, sliding his hand down in a gentle caress. “Oh, Tobio-chan.” He grabs tight onto Tobio’s chin and tugs his head back over, forcing Tobio to meet his gaze again. He speaks the next words lowly, a growl curling in at the edges. “I can be mean.”
Tobio’s eyes go wide, and suddenly he’s looking at Tooru the way he used to, back when they were barely teenagers, his eyes wide with open awe and admiration. The weight of it presses so hard against Tooru's chest that his ribs ache.
Tooru softens his grip, lightens his tone. “You have to say it, or I won’t do it.”
“Yeah,” Tobio breathes.
Tooru lets his fingers dig into Tobio’s skin again. “Maybe you should ask a little nicer.”
Tobio’s so stubborn, so unrelenting, that the last thing Tooru expects is for him to shudder under him and offer, without protesting, “Please.”
“Wow. You must want it pretty badly,” Tooru says, releasing Tobio’s chin and taking his cock in a firm grip instead. “Tonight’s not the first time you’ve thought about this, huh?”
That gets Tobio to flush again. He scowls. “I haven’t—”
Tooru shuts him up with a thumb pressed against the head of his cock. Thank God Tobio’s always been easy for him to read. “Don’t lie to me, Tobio-chan. Have you jerked off to the thought of Oikawa-senpai?” To jog his memory, Tooru starts up a slow, torturous rhythm.
Tobio writhes and moans and tries to buck his hips into a faster pace, but Tooru holds him down and stops him from just taking what he wants. The power in their bodies is essentially matched, so even though Tobio puts up a good struggle, Tooru resists him well enough, maintaining his wickedly drawn-out strokes. If Tobio wants relief, he has to earn it.
“Y-yes!” he finally chokes out, his pride crumbling under the force of his arousal.
Tooru smiles, body humming with triumph, and he lets go of Tobio’s cock entirely.
Tobio whines in betrayal, but Tooru ignores him and picks up the bottle of lube. “You’ve fingered yourself, too, right? Pretended it was me fucking you?”
“Fuck you,” Tobio says, his face red, but before Tooru can even react, he’s answering, “Yes, yes, toys too…”
Tooru hikes Tobio’s leg up, all thick muscle, and grabs the generous, toned ass underneath. “How long?” Tooru demands. His composure is in tatters. “How long have you thought about it?” He smooths slicked fingers along Tobio’s hole.
“Since— since middle school,” Tobio admits, so open and vulnerable that it makes Tooru torn between gathering Tobio up into his arms and holding him tight, never to let go again… and fucking his goddamn brains out.
Given their current position, Tooru picks the latter. “No wonder you were so easy,” he says, and Tobio’s embarrassed, hopelessly-aroused whimper is cut off by a sharp gasp as Tooru presses into him.
One lubed finger inside Tobio is enough to make Tooru wild. He bites nasty hickeys onto Tobio’s thighs as he adds a second, then a third. The roll of Tobio’s hips as he grinds down on Tooru’s fingers drives him crazy. He’s practically feral by the time Tobio insists he’s ready, his hands shaking as he rips open the condom packet.
Tobio jerks himself off while Tooru rolls it on, and Tooru smirks at him. “So fucking eager, Tobio-chan,” he taunts, taking his place over top of him. “You’re that desperate for my cock?”
Tobio groans in frustration. “Just fuck me, already.”
“Brat,” Tooru sneers, but he’s just as eager, just as desperate, and he’s got no more patience left. He snaps his hips and Tobio takes him to the hilt in one go.
It all becomes a haze after that, primal need taking over. The sex is a humid tangle of sheets and limbs, the taste of Tobio’s skin and tongue, the wet noises of lube and spit. Tooru does his job, fucking Tobio hard enough to make tears well up in those pretty blue eyes, and Tobio’s a perfect wet dream, moaning and sobbing, clenching tight around Tooru and clawing at his back. It’s enough to make Tooru dangerously close. When Tobio starts twitching and making choked-back little shouts, Tooru almost sighs in relief.
He slows down, smirking. “If you wanna come, Tobio-chan, you’ll have to ask me nice—”
“Please, Tooru, pleasepleasepleaseplease—!”
Tooru doesn’t stand a chance; he comes instantly, his orgasm shocking through him like lightning. It leaves him wobbly and weak, but all he has to do is close his hand around Tobio’s drooling cock and stroke once, twice, and Tobio throws his head back and splatters cum across his sculpted stomach.
They lie there panting for a moment, then Tooru gets up on shaky limbs to take care of the cleanup. Tobio watches silently, his gaze hot on Tooru’s bare skin. Tooru hates how it feels. Hates that he’ll probably lose it again, after tonight.
Since— since middle school! echoes through his mind, though, and he pauses to reconsider.
He straightens up, flicks his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, and declares, “I’m not a one-night-stand, Tobio-chan.”
Tobio, the awful little brat, smirks, an expression which has no business being as attractive as it is, and says, “I’m not either, Oikawa-san.”
Tooru pounces on him.