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Tobio nervously squirms on the bench and inhales heavily, trying his best to to look natural among his teammates sitting with him. He deliberately chooses to ignore his brain bitching and reminding him how it would be easier if he just stopped staring at Oikawa-san. His eyes won’t listen: they keep following his senpai’s slender figure as he jumps and bounces around the court.
He looks at him, alternating between analytical attention and obsessive yearning. He often wonders when it started, how it is possible that he found himself in the middle of something so big without even realizing it. It’s the first time he has fallen in love for real in his short life, and he has convinced himself that he will never get over it with all the stubbornness and recklessness of anyone experiencing butterflies and daydreams for the first time.
Meanwhile, it’s Oikawa-san’s turn to serve. Tobio watches him as he walks juggles until he stops behind the white line and, as always, his brain and hormones go haywire. A drop of sweat drips from Oikawa-san’s, runs down the side of his face, stops at the tip of his chin and falls after a couple of seconds. His muscles flex as he takes aim, ball held safely in his experienced hands as if it recognizes them by talent, and then tosses. Needless to say, the ball flies straight in, hitting the ground right between Kindaichi and Iwaizumi with a loud noise. Tobio doesn’t know where to focus anymore. It’d be nice if there was at least one part of Oikawa-san’s body that didn’t make him feel like he was on fire – even better, if he wasn’t so good at volleyball.
When practice ends, Oikawa-san waves everyone goodbye – well, his kohais, but not Tobio. He doesn’t even look at him – and heads toward the locker room, stretching his arms. Only Tobio and a few others stay around a little longer. He could have approached him for the umpteenth time and ask him to teach him to serve, but recently it seems to him like he’s started lacking the courage. And he has never been afraid of anything before, so it’s pretty upsetting. What’s worse is that he knows what’s to blame: Oikawa-san’s constant rejections. He wonders if he should just... stop bothering him. Given that it’s clearly what he is to him. A pain in the ass. A naïve, annoying freshman ruining something that’s not just a sport to him, but a passion.
Silence brings him back to reality: he looks around and finds out he’s alone, who knows for how long. He sighs heavily and attempts one last service. Good, but not outstanding. He still has a long way to go.
He makes his way to the locker room, mentally reminding himself that since he’s the last to leave the gym today, he has duties: after shower he’s going to gather the balls, lower the net and turn off the lights. He’s almost excited. It’s the first time he’s this late and has this kind of responsibility.
“Still here, Tobio-chan?”
Tobio chokes on the water he had just started drinking and coughs violently. He turns around out of pure instinct, not even taking time to put on a casual face.
He’d have recognized that voice anywhere, so he already knows who to expect. What he doesn’t expect, is for him to be naked. Well, half-naked, to be precise. Covered only by a towel tied around his waist, skin smoking and hair dripping.
“It’s late for kids” says Oikawa-san mockingly. “Don’t you have homework to do or something?”
Tobio swallows down his disappointment and looks down with a pout.
“I just wanted to practice a little more”
“No way, brat! Thought you were here for the coach’s party”
“The coach threw a party?”
“... You’re so dumb, Tobio-chan”
Tobio doesn’t know what to feel: the older boy’s – dare he say it – affectionate tone clashes with the words he used. He blushes, hovering between embarrassment and elation, the latter always overwhelming him whenever he becomes the target of Oikawa-san’s jokes. It’s a blow to his pride, but a shot of adrenaline for his heart.
He decides to just turn his back on him and resume exactly what he was doing: he puts the water back in the backpack and places one foot at a time on the bench to untie his shoes.
“Well?” he hears him say from behind. "What’s wrong? I was kidding!"
Tobio’s silent. Call him childish, but he almost takes a perverse kind of pleasure in being begged by his idol, even though he’s not really begging. Let’s just say it feels like he’s a tiny bit above him, which never happens.
“Tobio-chwaaaan”
“What?”
“Are you mad?”
“No”
He turns back to him and finds that Oikawa-san got much closer to him in the meantime: he looks down at him – and not just metaphorically – as Tobio looks something smart to say around in his brain. Something decent. Something normal. There, that’s good: he lowered his expectations enough.
“And I didn’t have any homework today” he points out, a little too defensive to seem detached. Then it occurs to him that Oikawa-san was among the first to leave the court. “Why are you still here?” he adds with genuine curiosity.
“Me? I was just watching”
“Watching what?”
Oikawa-san stares silently at him with an unreadable face for a while, before answering in a neutral tone:
“Watching you”
Tobio’s breath catches in his throat. Oikawa-san was watching him. What does it even mean? A thousand questions cross his face, but he can’t get a single one out. Oikawa-san shrugs carelessly.
“Well, at least until you suddenly fell into a trance and stood there doing nothing” he specifies lightly. “That would have been boring”
Great. I got caught red handed by the person he admires the most. No matter how much he forces himself to do so, he can no longer stare back at him. But unfortunately, as he learned from his very early days in the Kitagawa Daiichi, Oikawa-san is persistent: he starts tapping his forehead with his index finger.
“What were you thinking, huh?" he questions, keeping his finger pressed at the center of his forehead.
Tobio merely shakes his head violently. Oddly enough, Oikawa-san seems to realize that he has reached his limit and his smirk disappears, giving way to an unexpected seriousness, somewhere between defensive and guilty. Tobio likes to believe that his teammate doesn’t hate him, but then what’s with that strange attitude he has toward him, only him?
“W-What?” he stutters, almost intimidated.
Oikawa-san shakes his head as if to say ‘nothing,’ chuckles a nervous tsk and runs his index finger over his forehead, down to the tip of his nose. Tobio’s tall for his age, so he has never been accustomed to being treated this way, but the few times it happened he had hated it. And now he melts. He just melts, butterflies taking flight in his stomach. He swallows, and the locker room is so silent that it’s almost like the noise echoes between the walls. Do it again, he pleads internally.
Then Oikawa-san’s right hand rests on his cheek, and the ground falls under Tobio’s feet.
He runs his hand down his face, stroking it gently as he does to his girlfriends – Tobio knows because he has seen him do it several times, and Oikawa-san must never know the jealousy he felt at that sight –, only with a different look in his face. It seems neither ironic nor annoyed or patronizing. There’s something else, something Tobio cannot identify. He only knows that he’s never looked at him like that, and it excites and terrifies him at the same time. Heat radiates from his teammate’s palm as pads collide with his skin in a burst of electricity. And Oikawa-san continues.
He brings his hand down until his palm covers Tobio’s mouth, as if to keep him from talking but without the slightest pressure. He just keeps it there, and maybe Tobio has completely lost his mind, but he’s sure he can almost see him hold back – from doing what, he doesn’t know, but he decides he doesn’t care. He’s burning up, the warmth of his senpai’s hand on him is incredible and if Oikawa-san will start to avoid him after this then what the hell, so be it.
He shuts down his brain and sticks out the tip of his tongue, gathering the wetness in a shy upward motion, just to allow himself a crumb of its taste, of those hands he has been staring at for months and whose evert single detail he analyzing over and over until he started dreaming about them at night. He keeps his eyes closed the whole time, and when he finally opens them again he all but drowns in Oikawa-san’s brown pupils, dilated to their full depth. He always liked his eyes. Perhaps more than anything else about him.
When Oikawa-san moves his hand to brush the younger’s lips with just his index and middle fingers, Tobio thinks he might die; he loses himself in his gaze and swears that they’re somehow communicating without speaking. He moves his fingers gently, no haste or expectation, but always as confident as he is in everything he does: he rests them on the seam, and waits.
For a split second. The time it takes Tobio to part his lips for him and let his fingers inside. Heat overwhelms him, his blood rushing downward to his groin; Oikawa-san slides his phalanges over his tongue to travel its length back and forth, caressing it without pushing, soft and slow as if he had all the time in the world.
Tobio stares at him through half-lidded eyes, careful not to miss an inch of his face. He’s only letting himself be guided by instinct now, an instinct he didn’t even know he had, and it’s absurd how it comes so naturally to him, as if it were an everyday thing, yet he tilts his face upward to encourage more access to Oikawa-san and starts to respond. He meets his fingers with his tongue, lifting it and prompting them to play with it again and again, tracing their contours.
He feels his breath against his face and only now does he notice how close they are. He likes the way he’s looking at him. He looks even more handsome than usual, wet hair sticking to his forehead, short breath and drops of water sliding down his neck.
When Oikawa-san decides he has explored enough he withdraws the fingers, and Tobio holds the tip up against them to maintain contact to the last, barely suppressing a moan of protest, like a brat who’s been denied a candy. But he has no time to be ashamed, for Oikawa-san has already glued his hand to his throat, rested the other on his shoulder and claimed his open lips.
He tilts his head to the side as his tongue plunders his mouth, giving him the exact same treatment as his fingers, only more fierce, more determined. Tobio’s eyes go wide. His first kiss. It’s wet, invasive, awkward and uncomfortable because of the strain he has to subject his neck to, since Oikawa-san’s taller. His lips are soft, his tongue hot and slick as he laps at the inside of his mouth.
Tobio has only just realized the enormity of what’s happening and he’s already kissing back: he shyly moves his tongue against his, unable to hold back a moan that goes straight into Oikawa-san’s mouth; he raises his hands slowly, trying to figure out what to do with them, and eventually rests them on his senpai’s hips. He has no idea how long this goes on; all he knows is that suddenly Oikawa-san’s hands are in his hair, gripping them greedily as he devours his mouth as if it were his own.
When the lack of air forces them apart they’re both panting. Tobio’s erection throbs so hard it hurts, demanding attention. And Oikawa-san seems to read his mind, because he looks straight into his eyes and then down between their bodies, where Tobio’s member stands unashamedly, his pants forming a tent. Tobio blushes all over again and for a moment, just a moment, he finds himself thinking about Oikawa-san laughing at him and leaving him there alone, aroused and mortified.
Instead, Oikawa-san catches his breath as if trying to contain himself, grabs the hem of his pants and pulls them down to the middle of Tobio’s thighs along with his underwear. It’s both impressive and amazing, being so exposed in front of him. Especially when he raises the palm of his right hand, which Tobio has not yet had a chance to taste, to bring it in front of his face.
“Do it again,” is all he needs to say.
If he could bring himself to care at all, Tobio would bury himself in shame for the eagerness he’s showing in obeying: he grabs Oikawa-san’s wrist with both hands and starts to worship it with his tongue as before, wetting it down to the space between his fingers. He has just a vague idea of what’s about to happen and only now does he realize how much he wants it, needs it, craves it.
Oikawa-san’s hand gone before he can notice and it’s already closed around his erection, and Tobio was wrong: now, he thinks he might die. His high pitched gasps turn into moans: he clings to the older boy’s arms for support as the latter runs his hand along its length from base to tip, where he concentrates on gathering the first drops of fluid.
Tobio lets him do what he wants, enjoying the feeling of Oikawa-san’s power over his pleasure with a self-control he didn’t even know he had: he stands still in his arms, biting his lip to hold back the cries that the other’s wrist’s motions are eliciting him, his face hidden against his neck as he breathes in deeply his scent. This should be enough for him – it should be even more than he had ever allowed himself to dream of – but it’s not: all of a sudden, the physical need to be touched gets reached by the need to touch, to touch him. There’s only Oikawa-san. And him. There are the two of them together, and though he has no idea what he’s about to do or how to do it, he knows for a fact that this the last chance he’ll ever get to be with him like this again, so he lowers his trembling hands and pulls off the towel wrapped around his waist.
Oikawa-san’s body is not yet that of a man, but certainly his transformation’s at a more advanced stage than his. Yet Tobio’s not afraid. He swallows and takes his time admiring him, his hand stilled at a few inches from his erection, fearful and impatient at once. A quick glance at Oikawa-san’s face is enough for him to understand he has his permission.
He touches him unsteadily, trying to imitate his motions on him as best he can, and in no time he learns his rhythm: Oikawa-san’s open-mouthed sighs, combined with his closed eyes and furrowed brow, captivate him to the point that he almost forgets his own pleasure. It’s a completely different Oikawa-san from the one he has known so far; one that perhaps, just perhaps, he’s the first to see.
He’s again torn from his thoughts and pushed back in growing arousal the moment Oikawa-san reaches down with his hand to his testicles, rolling them over in his hand and massaging them, then rubbing the tip of his member and teasing its slit with his thumb. Tobio whines out pathetically for a couple of times, before pressing his left hand against his mouth. But then Oikawa-san grabs both his wrists forcefully and walks him backwards: Tobio surrenders against him and lets himself be pushed against the wall, while Oikawa-san takes them both in his hand and starts stroking them together, along with frantic pelvis thrusts so they can rub against each other’s.
The friction is just perfect. Oikawa-san’s skin is still wet, hot and soft, his moans in his ear are something else.
Tobio knows he doesn’t have much left, so grabs the other’s hair almost angrily and kisses him with abandon, intruding his tongue into his mouth. Oikawa-san lets out a satisfied moan and lets him have his share of power, but only for a while; then he starts to fight back for dominance, which Tobio instantly grants him, ceaselessly whimpering in his mouth as he comes harder than he ever has since he learned to relieve himself. Oikawa-san keeps kissing him through his orgasm, swallowing his sounds and gasps before coating Tobio’s white liquid with his.
They lean on each other for an indefinite amount of time as they catch their breath, and Tobio takes the opportunity to keep his forehead against Oikawa-san’s sternum, enjoying his caresses on his hair. He knows it’s over, but he dares not open his eyes and lift his head until he hears him giggling:
“Damn it, Tobio-chan. I had just taken a shower”
Tobio blushes from head to toe – which is just ridiculous, considering what just happened between them – and reluctantly pulls back. He looks up at him and, as he predicted, Oikawa-san is himself again. Just like this. As if he flipped a switch. He looks down at Tobio with a sly smile and nods toward him.
“But I guess you had it way worse” he admits, visibly amused.
Tobio follows his gaze and frowns in affliction at the sight of his uniform, stained with both of their fluids. This will be hard to explain back home.
“Hey”
One word and Tobio’s attention is drawn back to his teammate: Oikawa-san strokes his face softly with his usual, obnoxious grin.
“Cute,” he says, moving a strand of hair from his forehead. Tobio is torn between wanting to punch him in the face or throwing himself at him again. Oikawa-san picks up the towel from the floor.
“Well” he announces with a sigh. “I’m going to take another shower” He starts heading toward the bathroom, then stops and turns back to him. “You better come, too. Unless you’re thinking about going home looking like that”
Tobio’s heart stops in his chest, as he’s seized by a sudden awareness that makes his member twitch with interest. He swallows loudly, his lips tight in a thin line. Oikawa-san winks at him and walks away.
By the time he hears the sound of water, Tobio is already naked. He takes a deep breath and follows Oikawa-san.