I Like a Little Competition

by Thesis

Summary:

“So,” Tsukishima says in the dark, feeling the heat of Yamaguchi's back pressed against his side. He feels... Bubbly. He is inexplicably in a good mood, and knows he must follow his heart. He must harass Yamaguchi until he screams. He twiddles his thumbs over his stomach, fingers linked. “Bondage?”

In which the first years are drinking buddies who probably play too many games with each other and don't know how to have adult relationships. Especially Tsukishima and Yamaguchi.

There is a small bar, walking distance from Yamaguchi's dorms. It is dimly lit, full of sports décor, and rarely gets too crowded. Fridays are karaoke nights, and Sundays, for some reason, are taco nights. Hinata complains about the missed opportunity for for alliteration every single Sunday, and Yamaguchi always interjects, “but we don't come here on Tuesdays, and you love taco night.”

There are three bartenders, all women. The blonde with the white ribbon in her hair is the best. The brunette with a dozen yellow bobby-pins in her hair is the worst. The redhead, who keeps her hair in a short pixie cut, is 'practically the worst.' Unless you ask Tsukishima, who would tell you she is the best.

It's not as if they get trashed every weekend. But frankly, there isn't much to do in such a small town for a group of young adults. And between working at Shimada-mart and attending medical school, Yamaguchi has the unfortunate combination of no free time during the week, and a desperate need to unwind.

So they go to the bar, and they play games.

They play lots, and lots of games.

***

“Millennials,” Tsukishima murmurs, rolling his eyes behind his glasses. He continues tapping away at his phone. He's been in a fierce high score competition with Akiteru for the past two weeks, and tetris is far more important to him than a game of Tower. Bragging rights for a game this low-tier come too cheap to entice him.

In the center of the table, Hinata's phone is face-down, underneath Kageyama's, Yachi's, and Yamaguchi's. Tower is a competition to see who can keep their hands off their phone the longest. Kageyama, who is not drinking, and who Tsukishima suspects does not actually have any other friends, usually wins this game. Some days, when he is in a worse mood than usual, he can't keep his hands off his phone. Tsukishima figures that whoever he does feel desperate to text must piss him off something fierce.

Yachi always wants to text Shimizu, and flirt with a dozen girlfriends from work. Hinata always spends 95% of any of their outings texting Kozume, drunk or otherwise. He is usually the first to fall.

Yamaguchi is - a mystery. Which is strange, to Tsukishima, because it's such a recent thing. They have always known everything about each other, always been inseparable. Now they see each other on Fridays for drinks and Sundays for tacos, and that's about it. Tsukishima is not used to the rarity. He isn't sure who Yamaguchi wants to text, or why, and isn't used to feeling uncomfortable with that idea.

He remembers them trading phones constantly in high school. Yamaguchi is part of the reason he has these stupid games he plays against Akiteru to begin with. They used to text for each other when one was driving, or easily be the one to read a text aloud if they saw the other's phone go off and were closer.

There had been no privacy. Maybe that was strange all along, and now they are normal.

“I just love Shimizu so much,” Yachi moans, staring forlornly at her phone, past her fruity pink drink. Her head falls until it rests on the table and she turns to look at Hinata, her cheek pressed against the surface. “You know, one time, one time, she told me I have nice legs.”

Yamaguchi is swaying in his seat already, like a metronome. Alcohol gets to him more than any of them, and he grins at her. “You do.”

“Hers are so curvy and long,” Yachi says, outstretching her arms until her fingertips brush against Kageyama's chest across from her. She stares long and hard at her own wrists and arms, turning them over like she's examining their size. “I've got stick-limbs. Lil' stick limbs.”

“Your thighs are nice, especially,” Yamaguchi assures her. “They're thick. Probably good for squeezing.”

Yachi sits up, bashfully pressing her fingers to her cheeks. “Oh, my!” Tsukishima would place the shy lilt in her voice at 80% fake, these days.

“You've never touched her thighs,” Kageyama points out. He is often the voice of reason, mainly because he is a buzz-kill who does not know how to follow up jokes. Since he is usually the designated driver, he doesn't lighten up. Tsukishima is usually the resident mood-ruiner, but unlike the rest of them, alcohol does not loosen his lips. It just makes him quieter.

“I have,” Hinata says. He nods, sagely. “They're nice an' plump.”

Kageyama frowns and elbows Hinata in the side while still regarding Yachi. “Do girls like being called plump?”

It's vaguely hilarious, Tsukishima thinks, to hear him ask in such a perfect deadpan.

Someone is soulfully, loudly, singing some awful break-up song. Half the bar seems to love it and has joined in. Yachi has to shout over the music, telling them adamantly, “I like thick thighs! They're cute as heck! I'll take it as a compliment! Look! Feel!”

His blocks are lining up in tetris, nice and organized. Too tall, but it pays off to play dangerous sometimes.

He almost doesn't hear Yamaguchi murmur, “there's all kinds of beauty.”

Tsukishima glances over, looking at him at the edge of his sight. Yamaguchi snickers into his glass like it was a joke. His cheeks are flushed from alcohol, from the crowd. The sweet of his drink stains his chapped lips that linger on the edge of his glass, like the coolness of it is a comfort. There is a thin sheen of sweat on his neck, where the messy strands from his ponytail curl around his nape.

In his distraction, Tsukishima miss-clicks in his game, his precarious tower sending him to his ruin after all. Risky plays aren't always worth it, he thinks. High risk does not automatically lead to high reward. Sometimes it is just a loss.

“Touch my thighs!” Yachi is insisting, having come around the table, hiking her skirt up dangerously high for Kageyama to examine.

“Kenmaaaaa,” Hinata is crying, already reaching for his phone.

“Why,” Kageyama is saying, his hand forcefully being held on top of Yachi's leg.

And Yamaguchi is laughing, slouching to the side so hard that he is leaning into Tsukishima's side.

He does not want to risk this.

***

“Yachi and Hinata have teamed up,” Yamaguchi stage-whispers to him, still seated in their booth, unmoving.

Above her enthusiasm, Yachi can normally manage tact, but drinking wears it thin. Hinata, conversely, has never been good with subtlety. Even without Yamaguchi telling him, Tsukishima can see the way the two of them have sidled up beside some cute brunette, chatting her up from both sides.

The game is Numbers, and the goal is exactly what it sounds like. The first to get two phone numbers wins. Or, should everyone else strike out, whoever does the best wins. It's a small bar, so there are only so many guests who aren't regulars, already tired of playing along with their stupid competitions. They can't play this game too frequently.

Tsukishima quirks an eyebrow. “Is that allowed? Does that even count?”

Yamaguchi just throws his hands in the air. “I don't know! I'm more worried about how it's not even a good strat! Shouldn't one of them team up with Kageyama? Hinata and Yachi both have the same demographic appeal, so it would be better to try for a tall, dark, and handsome guy to even out the small, bright, and cute - right?”

“Not everyone is bi,” Tsukishima points out, because sometimes Yamaguchi forgets. “Not everyone would lump Hinata and Yachi into the same category.”

The side of the booth across from Yamaguchi is open, the other three all off on their conquests. Tsukishima pretends not to notice, and slides in to sit beside a now very flustered Yamaguchi, who is stuttering out “I know, I just. I. Shut up!”

Tsukishima takes great delight in waiting for him to recover only to throw him under the bus again. “You think Kageyama is handsome?”

Except Yamaguchi doesn't fluster this time. Yamaguchi looks at him for a long moment, like he is reading far to deep into the question. Tsukishima fights the powerful urge to avert his gaze until the other boy eventually says, “objectively, I guess. Not really my type.”

Tsukishima hums thoughtfully, and scans the room for Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome. He eventually spots him talking to a pretty girl in twin-tails with thick, but pretty makeup.

Kageyama tends to skate by on good-looks alone, when it comes to this game. After a moment of observation, Tsukishima deduces that Kageyama is not actually flirting anymore - he is deep in a genuine conversation. This is probably why Kageyama never wins this game. He does not know how to be insincere, how to flirt for results. Even Hinata has figured it out by now.

Yamaguchi asks, “you're not playing?”

Tsukishima shoots back, “neither are you.”

The other boy only laughs. He is much too tall to make himself invisible, and has long-since stopped trying. But there is still a particular way that he curls into himself, just slightly. “You know I suck at this kind of game.”

Tsukishima looks around the room again, desperate for anything else to look at. He stares daggers into Hinata's back, because Hinata is the only one who seems to sense these things and actually get uncomfortable, and this amuses him. “You just don't try.”

Yamaguchi bumps their shoulders together. “Don't talk! You don't even have to try. You know, there's more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking.”

Hinata is leaning low on the counter top, just to get a good angle to look up at at the girl, making himself small and nonthreatening. Yachi is on her other side, brushing against her gently, holding their hands beside each other like they are comparing nail polish. Tsukishima looks hard at them, doing a hell of a job of not making eye contact with Yamaguchi.

“Yeah, well,” he says, and takes a sip of Yamaguchi's drink, for lack of his own. It tastes sweet and syrupy and the alcohol is an awful aftertaste, but Yamaguchi huffs, so he must like it. This makes it worth stealing, even if Tsukishima cannot understand why Yachi and Yamaguchi both love these awful prissy mixes.

Tsukishima does not think about this awful taste on Yamaguchi's lips. He does not feel suddenly dizzy and too-hot and uncomfortable.

“Well?” Yamaguchi prompts, after Tsukishima fails to finish the thought.

He had been going to say that Yamaguchi could pull off tall dark and handsome. Better than Kageyama can. A thousand times better. He had been going to say Yamaguchi is a bit of a natural flirt when he's drunk. That he is a hundred times more charming than Tsukishima, who really has nothing going for him but his transparently fake smiles and pretty-boy nonsense.

Instead he says, casually sliding Yamaguchi's drink back towards him, “we could team up.”

Yamaguchi blinks.

“It's such a hassle trying to figure out who's into pretty boys and who's into rough-trade.”

He has to bite back a laugh at Yamaguchi's sputtering, at the sound of him slamming his glass back down on the table-mid-sip. “Tsukki!”

“What's going on now?” Hinata asks, interrupting as he jumps into the booth across from them, apparently having struck out with the brunette, leaving her to Yachi.

“We're going to team up,” Tsukishima says, motioning between the two of them. It must come off as rather cool, despite Yamaguchi's repeat performance of Sputtering Into My Cup At Being Called Rough Trade, because Hinata wails.

“That's not even Numbers anymore! That's just Rounds!”

***

Tsukishima loves Rounds. He probably shouldn't. He doesn't really even care about Numbers that much. It's annoying to see Yamaguchi flirt with someone one-on-one, annoying to be too preoccupied with winning to be watching Yamaguchi, and annoying when Yamaguchi is feeling too shy to play the game.

Sometimes he thinks their roles have been reversed since high school. Yamaguchi used to always be at his heels. A loyal lapdog. Even now, they come as a pair. No one invites one of them anywhere without the other. People are constantly texting one of them to reach the other, despite that they never even get to see each other during the week. It's still natural. It's a reliable constant. As it should be, but...

But he's hyper-aware of Yamaguchi, when he used to take his presence for granted. Now he notices every moment they are not together. As if he could lose him. He always thinks this again, mentally rolling his eyes. As if he could lose him, what a ridiculous concept.

Maybe that's why he likes Rounds. It's nostalgic. It makes him feel like all of them are together, like they should be, which he would have found tremendously embarrassing in high school, but is now something of a comfort. (It is still nothing he would say out loud, but that isn't the point.)

He likes to think of it as a sort of fucked up Team Building exercise.

Rounds is just as self explanatory as Numbers. A round of drinks for the five of them, provided by one person.

They don't play very often. It's one of the harder games, and the crowd isn't right for it at this bar. They had much better success at the flashy casino bar they went on a roadtrip to for Hinata's birthday. At the bars in Tokyo Kuroo showed them to.

Here, the bar is small. Familiar. Sometimes it is just regulars, playing along with them and humoring them. Sometimes it means chatting someone up, slowly inviting them into their circle for a couple hours of the night. Sometimes it means sending Yachi or Tsukishima himself in alone like an infiltrator on a mission.

Tsukishima has no interest in women, just like Yachi has no interest in men. But, well, certain targets are easier to hit. Tsukishima has always been able to get what he wants from people, women most of all. Sometimes he can even charm a bartender.

But what he really likes is when they're a team. When Yamaguchi has had enough to drink that he forgets to be insecure and remembers that being charming is just like playing-pretend. When the five of them can exchange glances and somehow know what strategy they're going in with. As if a sidelong look is as good as a hand-signal.

Yamaguchi is nothing if not loyal, even when the cause is something ridiculous like group flirting. Tsukishima has always thought of it as pack mentality. It's the only reason he can think of that Yamaguchi would stick with him this long. Why he would laugh along at his snide comments, look down his nose at people alongside him, when everyone knows he's sweet as pie if you catch him alone.

Yamaguchi knows how to show off, even if he's not conscious of it. The stuffy inside of the bar makes his skin glisten at his collar. He toys with his hair in the back when he feels shy, drawing eyes to his throat, to the curve of his neck into his jawline. He always manages to look warm, to be casually close, never invasive, never pushy.

Tsukishima's gaze is stuck on him, even as everyone else works their own charms on the red-haired girl of the evening. Hinata is keeping himself low, looking up at her and working the angle like he's resigned himself to long ago. He is, essentially, their secret weapon. He can endear himself to anyone, and makes their admittedly intimidating bunch less so. Kageyama is quiet, suppressing his snappish comments and keeping closer to the others than he usually does – making himself look comfortable, so that she will be. His sincere interest once a girl gets talking is his strength.

Tsukishima has already given his most dazzling smile. He works best as an opener. This girl seems to be most attracted to Kageyama. Or maybe just his biceps.

Yachi laughs along with the girl as they chat, easy and inviting, and less than thirty minutes later they are on the make-shift stage, in the corner of the bar by the door, shaking their hips and laughing their way through some idol's pop song about true love's kiss.

“I like this group,” Yamaguchi informs them, as if it is of utmost importance, then downs his drink, courtesy of – Tsukishima can't recall her name. Gou? Kou? Yamaguchi grimaces after. He complains, only because it is far from his first drink, and the girl can't hear him. “I hate these. I only like sweet drinks.”

Tsukishima and Kageyama down theirs in response, both shrugging in unison. Tsukishima is as picky with alcohol as he is with food, but Tic Tacs aren't bad. They help him fight off the drowsiness that always hits him when he drinks.

Yachi and the girl finish their song to a chorus of cheering and applause. A stray “now kiss!” floats from somewhere in the room.

And so they do.

Yachi bounces back over to the rest of them, stumbling her way into Kageyama's chest when she gets there. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi each hold a hand behind her to catch a potential fall, while Kageyama steadies her with his hands on her shoulders.

Usually Hinata is the one who makes them run back and forth between in the inside and out, constantly complaining about how stuffy it is. Tsukishima doesn't understand how it can bother him, when his number one hobby is getting sweaty in a gym, but the bar has heated lamps hanging over the tables outside, so it isn't so bad to step out. None of them ever complain, especially the rare times that it's Yachi who forces them back and forth.

“We'll be outside!” Yachi assures the redhead, who waves them off with a smile and turns to seek out someone she came with, inside.

Tsukishima's cheeks are hot under the lamps, but his legs and hands are ice-cold from winter weather. Hinata immediately chirps something about huddling for warmth like penguins, and shoves them all much too close to Tsukishima.

He cannot be bothered to shove them away.

Yachi is bouncing on her heels and giggling. “Her lips were really soft!”

Kageyama hums thoughtfully, but whatever thought he had is interrupted when Yachi sets a hand on his shoulder, tugging him down to give him a quick peck on the lips. Then she leans past him to give one to an eager Hinata. When she draws back him and Kageyama are already in an elbowing match over it.

Tsukishima accepts his turn easily enough, having lean down to meet her half way. He's pleased that she doesn't tug him down as casually as she had manhandled Kageyama. She is soft, but he is indifferent to the kiss. It means very little to him, and he knows it means very little to her.

It is just a show of friendship, extra affectionate and flavored with vodka. He pats her head, and almost feels embarrassed for himself until she beams up at him.

At Yamaguchi's turn, Yachi throws her arms around his neck, drawing him down to her height. They are both laughing, even as their lips brush against each other.

Tsukishima's insides coil tight with discomfort, so quickly. Worse than he had expected, knowing it was coming, knowing how little this meant to each of them. It only heightens when Yamaguchi's hands slide down, holding her thighs just under her ass to lifting her up.

Yachi shrieks, circling her legs around his waist. They are no longer kissing, just laughing as she clings to him. She turns to Hinata, wide-eyed. “I'm so tall! It's so very tall here!”

Tsukishima brushes his knuckle against Yamaguchi's side, warningly. He is not sure what makes him think he has the right.

Yamaguchi still obeys the wordless command, carefully lowering Yachi back down to the sound of Hinata's jealous shouting for Kageyama to lift him up. Yachi tends to settling the idiots down, and Yamaguchi is snickering, watching the three of them fuss. He seems so pleased with the fight he's created that Tsukishima relaxes, certain he's gotten away with it.

Except then Yamaguchi turns, touches Tsukishima's cheek, and kisses him like it is the natural thing to do. Like the chain hadn't already been broken and the moment of casual kissing already passed by.

Tsukishima forces himself not to tense. Forces himself not to kiss back. Pretends not to see the tiny, tiny pause from the other three, glancing back curiously before returning to their bickering.

If he can watch Yachi kiss them all, even accept her kiss himself without reading anything into it beyond drunken shenanigans, he can extend the same courtesy to Yamaguchi. He has to.

***

And that begins the Kissing Game.

It's an unofficial game. One with no discussed rules, no announcement for participation. It's not like the others. Rather, it's just Tsukishima's way of categorizing things. Like if he doesn't fit this in somewhere, like a puzzle piece, the whole thing doesn't make sense.

It's something they do when they've been drinking, and he is desperately seeking a rhyme and reason for it. Trying to figure out what rules he has to follow. He does not know what he should do to be sure he does not break anything.

He does not bring it up. Once or twice it's brought up by one of the others, and they just laugh it off like it means nothing. Yamaguchi joins in easily.

Sometimes Yachi gets touchy-feely when she's drunk, and none of them read into it. Even Tsukishima does not. Yachi likes to kiss when she is drunk, and they all like Yachi and like kissing enough to allow it. Equally, Yamaguchi likes to kiss Tsukishima when he's drunk, and Tsukishima likes to let him. They are best friends. Maybe the others are reading into this. Maybe they aren't.

It doesn't matter. It's just another game. Tsukishima only wishes he knew the rules.

Drunk off their asses at three in the morning, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima stumble their way back to Yamaguchi's dorm. They are faced with a formidable enemy: the automated locked doors. Yamaguchi fumbles in his pockets for his card to let them in, wobbling in place as he does.

“You're drunk, stay still,” Tsukishima tries to scold him, reaching into his friends' pockets. Where he would normally be snappish, now he hardly gets the words out before snickering.

“You're drunk,” Yamaguchi challenges, swaying from side to side. “Stop reaching down my pants!”

Tsukishima makes a noise to dismiss the joke, like he is disappointed in it, and Yamaguchi does his best to be obedient. His body stills, but his head leans forward like it is too heavy, nearly knocking their foreheads together. They are so close that Tsukishima can feel the tickle of Yamaguchi's hair falling on his face, his breath warming his lips.

Finally, he manages to get the key-card out and lets them in. They shush each other back and forth to not wake anyone, volume only rising as they make their way down the halls. “Shh!” “Quiet!” “Tsukki, shh! Jeez!” “Oh my God, shut up!”

Yamaguchi nearly falls into his room, bending dangerously far forward as he peels off his shoes and walks at the same time.

Tsukishima feels his back hit the door and laughs at himself – at his own lack of balance while he worries about Yamaguchi's. He hears Yamaguchi laughing too, and opens his eyes again in time to see the other boy move towards him for a hug.

He allows it, far too inebriated for pretenses, and enjoys the warmth of Yamaguchi's face burying into the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around the other boy, hands clasping at his lower back. He feels Yamaguchi's arms tighten around him, feels him breathe in deep. He likes when he is drunk enough to stop feeling guilty for enjoying this so much. Drunk enough to drop pretenses of not loving all his friends as much as he does.

“You're my favorite,” Yamaguchi tells him, muffled by his shoulder.

Tsukishima is not good with words, but nuzzles his cheek fondly into Yamaguchi's hair. His meaning seems to have been conveyed, and the other boy laughs again before pulling away.

He leads Tsukishima to the bed, index finger hooked loosely around Tsukishima's. It feels more intimate than holding hands would have been. It feels like being led to bed for different reasons. Tsukishima tries not to think of this.

Yamaguchi flops down on his bed and is promptly dead to the world.

“Gonna sleep in your clothes?” Tsukishima asks, amused.

“Don't tell me how to live my life,” Yamaguchi says, directly into his pillow. Then sits up. Steadies himself after a bout of dizziness. Looks at Tsukishima, and lifts his arms into the air.

“Absolutely not,” Tsukishima says, but after only a beat of silence, helps peel the other boy's hoodie and T-shirt over his head.

“The couch sucks,” Yamaguchi tells him, kicking off his jeans. Tsukishima knows. It always hurts his neck in the morning. But he always comes back, again and again, pretending to lose track of time until it is far too late to head home. Yamaguchi pats the space in the bed beside him. “Here, here.”

He feels like the room is spinning. He only chooses the bed because the couch would mean crossing the room. He knows it is a bad idea. He knows it's stupid to put himself in these situations. Even so, he takes off his own sweatshirt and climbs into bed beside Yamaguchi.

They are quiet in the dark for a long moment. Sometimes Yamaguchi giggles at whatever thoughts are running through his mind. He tends to get lost in his own world, when he drinks.

Hinata gets bossy, loud, and sometimes cries if he sees a stray cat. Kageyama is usually the designated driver, but when he drinks he is a bit spacey. Yachi gets physical. She likes to hug and kiss and high-five, and the rest of them are often steering her away from strangers for it.

Yamaguchi is probably just more open, if Tsukishima had to call it anything. Normally, Yamaguchi gets anxious. Keeps his insecurities to himself and tries to work through them alone. He over thinks everything and lives in his own head to begin with.

Being drunk stops him from keeping his thoughts so bottled up. When he is drunk, he does not keep secrets.

He does not spill them clumsily, like he is looking for an excuse, does not present them in a way that would trouble anyone. Even drunk, Tsukishima is certain that he is carefully thinking through every word.

He is just honest, and he is happy.

It makes it worth suffering through Hinata and Kageyama during the outings, at least.

“I love Yachi's kisses,” Yamaguchi whispers to him. “She has small lips. I usually think fuller lips are sexier, but Yachi's are small and pouty and cute.”

Maybe a little too honest. “You did have a crush on her,” Tsukishima says, reminding himself that this should not be surprising.

“In like high school. Before we were really friends.” Yamaguchi curls into himself with his laugh, curls closer to Tsukishima. “I like blondes.”

Tsukishima isn't sure what to say to that, and so he shrugs and says the only thing that comes to mind. “I like you.”

“I know,” Yamaguchi assures him. “That's something I trust a lot, actually. Sometimes it's scary to be anxious about friendship, right? Because, like, not only do you think maybe people don't like you, but you also feel guilty for thinking that at all. Because if you were a good friend, you would trust your friends, but you can't.” Yamaguchi pauses to roll onto his back. He laces his fingers together over his stomach and stares at the ceiling. “But I always trust you.”

“Do you still worry about that kind of thing?” Tsukishima asks. It has been a while since Yamaguchi mentioned it, drunk or otherwise.

“Not lately. I mean, sometimes, but only real briefly. Not like in high school. In high school it was like... Always. But now it's like, I think that for an hour or two and then I go 'no, don't be dumb,' and then I don't be dumb.”

“Good.”

“Same way I get nervous around classmates, or self conscious of my freckles. Still happens, but not much and not for long.”

Tsukishima sits up in bed, and leans over Yamaguchi. He supports his own weight with a hand on the other boy's shoulder. It's nice to look down on him in the darkness, to have him pinned with only the faint moonlight in his hair. He cannot understand for the life of him why Yamaguchi is still so insecure. To an extent, back in high school, he got it. Yamaguchi was shy, and teenagers are all awkward, so sure. But now it makes no sense to him.

Not when Yamaguchi looks like he does. Not when he is attractive without effort and brilliant with nothing but effort.

Tsukishima wants this. Yamaguchi under him with flushed skin and messy hair, star-speck freckles painted all across his cheeks.

Yamaguchi stares up at him, eyes crystalline.

Tsukishima can feel the warmth between them. He should have gone to the couch. He can hear his own uneven breathing in the quiet of the room, echoing off the walls uncomfortably loud.

Yamaguchi's composure from only a moment ago is lost. He had spoken with such clarity, but now his voice is breathless and uncertain. “Tsukki--”

“--Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima interrupts. He does not think it was a question. He does not know what it was going to be, but it was strangely erotic, and he does not know what to do with this situation. He defaults to the familiar: “Shut up.”

His lips quirk up against his will. Telling Yamaguchi to shut up has always been a joke, in its own way. He just can't pokerface it as well, drunk.

Yamaguchi snickers, whatever moment he had been caught up in, lost. “How rude. Tsukki, I am trying to express the depths of my soul to you, and—mm?”

Tsukishima kisses him. He knows better, knows this is breaking the rules for sure, but he leans down and presses their lips together, and it is better than anything. Better than Yachi's kiss and better than being led by the hand into someone else's bed.

Yamaguchi radiates heat, his lips a soft warmth and his cheeks alcohol-red, still. Tsukishima loses himself in the tilt of his head. In the part of his lips and the taste of those awful sweet drinks he always orders, still on his tongue.

Quick pecks in the bar are one thing, when everyone in their group is exchanging them like currency. Tsukishima is never the one to instigate this game, because he is always afraid of breaking the rules. If he doesn't play right, he might not be allowed to play at all.

The thought makes him nervous. He tries to pull away, but Yamaguchi guides him back with a hand on his cheek. He is entranced by the feeling of breath on his lips. Yamaguchi's fingers trace back until they curl around to the back of his neck, rubbing gently and keeping him pulled down.

When they do separate, Yamaguchi does not let him lift very far back.

“Kissing 's nice.”

Tsukishima's voice is breathy, weaker than he wants. “Yeah.”

“You're nice.”

“Not so much.”

“You're nice to me.”

Yamaguchi finally lets Tsukishima pull back and lay down. There is a comfortable quiet. Yamaguchi's knuckles knock against Tsukishima's, and neither pulls away like it was a mistake. Distantly, Tsukishima hears an alarm clock many dorms down, some poor sap who wakes up before the sun rises. By the time it is shut off, Yamaguchi's breathing is evened out.

***

“Is there a reason you're staring at me?” Tsukishima snaps, after catching Hinata staring for the eighteenth time in as many minutes.

The smaller boy beams at him over the table. “Why are you mad?”

Tsukishima is about to state the obvious for that tiny pigeon brain of his when he figures out what's happening.

Yachi catches on too, and giggles before asking, “what's with all the questions?”

“Is it that unusual?” Yamaguchi chimes in, and dissolves into full-blown laughter with Yachi. Tsukishima does not find it so exciting.

Tsukishima stares at them with disdain. “You know I hate this game, right?”

“Do you think you're in charge of every game we play?” Kageyama asks. His voice is so severe that Tsukishima almost mistakes it for a genuine question.

“Why did you start this?” Tsukishima demands, staring Hinata down.

Hinata counters, “why do you want to win so bad?”

There is a beat of silence. No one else offers anything up, and Tsukishima finds himself forcing back a wry smile at what his brain comes up with. “What more do you need than pride?”

Yamaguchi buries his face in his hands and moans in misery. “Can you not?”

“Gotta,” Tsukishima answers, immediately met with four pairs of hands slamming on the table, a command to down his drink. Fuck. Tsukishima has never been great at Questions. It takes too much talking. Witty retorts come easy to him; he's honestly never had to think long for a quip. Questions is a game that makes him talk fast and bite back his first thoughts.

He loses at Questions all night.

Yamaguchi matches him drink for drink, apparently just for the fun of it. Or drowning his embarrassment at their high school days in alcohol.

He is dizzy and hot, and for however much Tsukishima struggles with this goddamn game, everyone else seems to love it. He loses harder and harder as the night goes on, his ability to trade snide comments for inane questions slipping further and further away.

Later, he and Yamaguchi walk down the dorm halls clumsily, complaining all the while.

“Stupid fucking game,” Tsukishima bitches.

“Fuck that game,” Yamaguchi agrees.

“Fuck Hinata's dumb fucking ass.”

Yamaguchi laughs, a sudden burst of sound in the midnight-quiet. “Dirty mouth!”

Tsukishima just rolls his eyes. “Fuck you, too.”

They fall against each other the moment they get inside Yamaguchi's dorm at the end of the night. It is cliché and stupid, but Tsukishima shuts the door by falling backwards into it, quickly pinned by Yamaguchi who kisses and nips at his neck. This is new.

“Could do that,” Yamaguchi says, lips dragging against sensitive skin.

A strong shiver runs up Tsukishima's spine, his whole body trembling. He wonders if Yamaguchi came out drinking with this in his mind. Wonders if he thought of it, sober. Wanted it, sober. Wanted him. Or if he is just like a cigarette, just a stress relief only craved when coupled with alcohol. He dismisses the thought. He doesn't want to think of those things right now, and is drunk enough to let it go.

Tsukishima looks forward to kissing Yamaguchi. It's the best part of his week. He thinks about it every day. There is a huge rush of relief each time he sees the other boy, followed immediately by impatience when he realizes that he has to wait until they are drunk so that he has an excuse. Those are the rules. That's how you play.

He wonders, sometimes, if Yamaguchi is playing the same game as him. He is scared of this self indulgence.

“Please,” Tsukishima manages, his voice hitching, awkward, embarrassing. This is fleeting. This is what they do when they are drunk, and this is the only time they do these things. He doesn't want to waste what little time they have.

Yamaguchi's body presses against him. They line up perfect, warm and hard. He feels Yamaguchi's erection straining through his jeans, feels it twitch against his own thigh. He shifts himself, just slightly, lining them up so Yamaguchi can feel how hard he is, too.

Yamaguchi drags out a shuddering breath. Like he is working himself up. “Yeah.”

He is nervous.

Tsukishima doesn't want him to be nervous. He reaches down, making quick work of unbuttoning Yamaguchi's jeans before sliding his hand down the front. His first touch is careful, fingers brushing against his erection through his briefs.

Yamaguchi's cheeks are hot against his neck. He feels the boy's legs shaking to support him, just from this, then sharp teeth biting into his shoulder. Tsukishima lets out a hiss, more startled than hurt, and feels Yamaguchi twitch under his fingers for it. Then lips, an apology kiss over the sore spot.

“Been thinking about this?” Tsukishima asks. He is not sure if he is playing up his confidence or if he is fishing for a sincere answer. He drags his fingers up the bulge before reaching beneath his waistband.

Yamaguchi whimpers as Tsukishima's hand circles his cock, just feeling him for a moment. Then sliding up and down his length gently. His lips press into Tsukishima's throat, dragging with his words. “I think about it all the time.” His mouth is soft on Tsukishima's flesh, his hips stuttering weakly into his touch. “All the time, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima's erection throbs, his pulse thrums through his whole body like lightning. It's strange to hear that innocent nickname he's heard since he was a kid – like this. And Yamaguchi's voice, so familiar, but with such a new huskiness to it. He opens his mouth to ask what else, but doesn't get the chance.

He is hyper aware of Yamaguchi's voice in the dark. He can feel every word on his skin. “An' I think about fucking you, 'cause you're so pretty and I wanna mess you up, an' I bet I could.”

Tsukishima pauses. Blinks. He had always assumed... Something else. In light of the only word that comes to mind being hot, he decides it doesn't matter what he had expected. He slides down to his knees, lifting Yamaguchi's shirt to kiss his way down his abdomen.

Yamaguchi's fingers are in his hair, giving his scalp a light, encouraging massage as Tsukishima frees his erection. Takes the head of his cock into his mouth, carefully wetting it with his tongue. It's mind-numbing to suck him off, soothingly overwhelming. He and Yamaguchi both tend to live in their own heads, each in their own different ways. Right now his head is empty.

The floor feels hard against his knees. Yamaguchi's cock is hot in his mouth.

He likes the quiet sounds Yamaguchi lets out. Hitched breath, heavy pants. Needy whines as he twitches in place, fighting the urge to thrust into the heat of Tsukishima's mouth. And the best part, when Tsukishima takes him deep, his murmurs of Tsukki, Tsukki, his mantra even now. Tsukishima is not sure if his own weak moans around Yamaguchi's cock are what elicit his name, or if hearing his name is what's getting to him enough to moan just from sucking dick. He supposes it doesn't really matter.

He thinks he can make Yamaguchi make sounds. Play him like a soundboard.

Until Yamaguchi lets out a quiet breathy sound, something relaxed and contented. He peers up at him from under his eyelashes, taking in the way his head falls back. The deep satisfied sigh he lets out.

His sounds are praise. His sounds are instructions.

Tsukishima realizes, heels against the door behind him and Yamaguchi tall above him, filling all his senses with no escape, that he is not at all in control of this. And that he does not mind.

“Stop,” Yamaguchi murmurs, quiet.

Tsukishima obeys. He draws back, pressing his spit-slick lips in wet kisses along his shaft. He looks up, questioning, and allows Yamaguchi to guide him back with only his fingers pressed gingerly to his cheeks.

“You can say no,” Yamaguchi tells him. His tone is strangely authoritative. As if he has ever, ever been the one in control between them. Tsukishima nods his understanding, unsure of what he's getting at. Yamaguchi drops down to his level and kisses him hard and long, as if Tsukishima has not just had his cock in his mouth. This is mind-numbing, too. He feels the wet swirl of Yamaguchi's tongue against his own, sharing the taste of his pre-come. Yamaguchi draws back, voice heavy; “can we do more?”

Tsukishima thinks this is probably a mistake to say drunk, to a drunk person. He still whispers, “yeah.”

Yamaguchi smiles at him, and it's – different. Yamaguchi reaches out. Runs a finger slowly along his throat, under his jaw, like he is trying to memorize the feel of it with just one touch. With the feather-light touch, he guides him up, and leads him to his bed.

The most infuriating thing is that Tsukishima does not remember what happens next. He wakes up in the morning naked, next to Yamaguchi. The other boy is snoring, blissfully asleep, a damp spot of drool on his pillow.

His head and stomach hurt from the hangover, and his ears ring off and on uncomfortably. He is a little sore. Mostly his lower back. He can barely see, at the edges of his vision, deep purple bruises on his shoulders. He feels up his own neck, testing the sensitivity, and knows that they climb higher.

There are vague memories. Raising his hips for so long explains the ache of his back. Hands pushing him back down at the shoulders. He can feel his ears burning up with the tiny, vivid snapshots.

Yamaguchi looks as sloppy and comfortable as a teenager oversleeping on summer break. This is what Tsukishima thinks of. He thinks of all the summer vacations they have spent together, all the school years, afternoon club activities, volleyball games, video games. All the childish things that came before drinking games.

They have been together for so, so long. He still doesn't know the rules. He doesn't want to break them.

He gets up, showers, gets dressed, and does not speak a word of it.

***

“Phone swap,” Kageyma says, almost idly, sipping at his glass of soda through a comically twisted curly-straw.

“Fuck.” The word explodes from Yamaguchi, sudden and volcanic. Louder than he meant. There is a beat of silence before Hinata and Yachi burst into laughter at the sheer rarity of these outbursts from him, and he shrinks into his seat, flustered.

“Here,” Yachi offers, holding her phone out. Yachi having your phone is the jackpot. She does not blurt things out by mistake. She can actually keep a secret, and usually doesn't even demand much in return.

The two of them swap phones, then Yamaguchi trades the girl's phone for Hinata's, while Tsukishima takes Kageyama's.

“One more,” Yamaguchi insists, suspiciously hurried, and swaps again with Kageyama.

In the end, Hinata has Yachi's phone. Kageyama has Hinata's. Yachi has Yamaguchi's. Tsukishima has Kageyama's, and Yamaguchi has Tsukishima's. Good. This kind of outcome is the safest for Tsukishima, though he would much rather have Yamaguchi's phone than anyone else's.

The rules of Phone Swap have changed. At its inception, the rules were:

Step 1: Trade phones around at will.
Step 2: Immediately talk as much shit as possible.

They have since been refined. Now the rules are more beneficial:

Step 1: Trade phones around at will.
Step 2: An enforced five minutes of complete silence for snooping.
Step 3: Mercilessly blackmail each other.

Kageyama is the worst, for snooping on. There is nothing interesting in his phone. He does not play games, his texts are concise and to the point. He seems to actually prefer calling for some reason, and does not take embarrassing selfies.

Even his browser history is pretty dull. Volleyball sites. Sports magazine websites. School websites, some innocuous shopping websites. He doesn't even have porn sites in his history. His call log is just Hinata, Yachi, Oikawa, and Sugawara, over and over into infinity.

The only thing worth noting is that his saved images folder is 90% selfies of Oikawa making kissy faces. Even Tsukishima's thinking voice is sarcastic. Well, this could mean anything.

He sighs. His eyes scan the others and their expressions. Despite having started the game, Kageyama has set down Hinata's phone, and his eyes are wandering the room in boredom. Hinata is ecstatically texting someone, from Yachi's phone. Yachi is scrolling through something on Yamaguchi's phone, snickering quietly to herself, while Yamaguchi appears to be very intent on whatever he is doing with Tsukishima's phone.

Tsukishima tries to recall if he has anything incriminating on there. He's been playing some stupid rhythm game against Akiteru, so the icon for it is on his home screen, and he knows their text conversations can get shamefully childish sometimes. He's not worried about that. There shouldn't be anything in his browser history.

What do the rest of his chat logs look like right now? They should be fine. His eyes narrow as he watches. Yamaguchi is definitely texting.

Five minutes comes and goes.

“Are you hitting on your boss, again?” Yachi asks, almost the second it's up, not even trying for the blackmail. Tsukishima rethinks her title as jackpot.

Yamaguchi continues using Tsukishima's phone, even as the others are trading theirs back. Yachi slides his phone across the table to him, but his fingers keep tapping. He doesn't even look up. “How dare you judge me.”

“I demand two drinks for your recent downloads,” Hinata pipes up. “Also I confessed your undying love for Shimizu.”

Yachi buries her face in her hands, her cheeks red. Her whine is muffled by her palms. “She can tell the difference between our typing, you know. And she just thinks I'm joking whenever I try to tell her that.”

Hinata shrugs, only mischievous enough to make the attempt, but not to see it through.

Kageyama nudges Hinata and says blandly, “I want two drinks, too. Also, do my laundry this weekend.”

Despite that he had barely even looked at Hinata's phone, Hinata lets out an annoyed whine, but agrees. Kageyama must have dirt on him. He chose the game just for the opportunity to blackmail, not to find new material.

It must be a more interesting game, as roommates. There are a lot more favors to ask for. Sometimes he is almost jealous of the three of them. Not when they are loud and obnoxious together, not when they are shrieking and complaining about the largely ignored chore wheel on their kitchen wall. But when they casually mention things like bumping into each other in the middle of the night on the way to get water, or quietly doing their own thing in the same room.

Small things like this appeal to him, when he goes home from Yamaguchi's tiny dorm, back to his empty, too-big apartment.

Tsukishima could probably get something from Kageyama for those Oikawa pictures. Drinks, or even just an amusing reaction.

He stays quiet and brushes his hand against Yamaguchi's leg, silently asking for his phone back. The motion keeps going further than it should; he winds up with his palm resting on top of Yamaguchi's thigh, fingers stretched in a loose, comfortable grip. He's warm. It feels strange, but Yamaguchi looks at him like it is not. He frowns and hesitates, but Tsukishima knows it is not from the touch. He just wants to hold onto the phone, but resigns himself to handing it over.

“I was uh,” Yamaguchi murmurs to him, as the other three continue bickering about drinks amongst themselves, “I was going to delete the texts. So you wouldn't see.”

Tsukishima's cheek twitches, wanting to smile. He loves, more than anything, Yamaguchi's obedience. His inability to keep real secrets from him. He has done nothing to deserve this loyalty, but it is everything to him, and if he's honest, a bit of a rush to abuse. He doesn't look at his phone, yet. “Oh?”

“Was just. You know. Gathering intel.”

He hums with skepticism. “Uh-huh.” His hand doesn't move. He can feel the tense of Yamaguchi's muscle with his nervousness, and strokes a soothing circle with his thumb. It only seems to make things worse. With his other hand, he begins pulling up his text messages. “Shimada again, huh?” He asks to distract him, falsely disinterested.

Yamaguchi's answer is sulky and embarrassed, still quiet. The sounds of the bar, the play-teasing from the others, the karaoke, all fade into white-noise. Tsukishima is amazed to even hear him over all the sound. “It's just a joke.”

“It's alright if it's not,” Tsukishima says, unsure why Yamaguchi would need his permission in who to flirt with, of all fucking things. Unsure of why he is giving it, when it isn't fine.

There is a silence, awkwardly long. Tsukishima does not look up from his phone. He does not think Yamaguchi looks up from the table.

“He's known me since we were like, what, sixteen?” Yamaguchi eventually says. His laugh comes out forced. “I'm just playing because it's funny. Nothing happens. Nothing will happen.”

Tsukishima finds where Yamaguchi got to his texts. There are sent messages to Akiteru, trying to see if he's there. Too bad for Yamaguchi, it took nearly the whole five minutes to get a reply.

Hey, Akiteru – we're playing phone swap. I have a question, are you there?

Oops!! Sorry, your message was hidden behind my game. Yamaguchi? Or Hitoka-chan? (Or someone else???) What's up?

Do you think Tsukki could fool around with someone and not mean anything by it?

“Does that make sense?” Yamaguchi asks. Their eyes meet briefly before both flit away. Tsukishima's stomach feels hollow. “It's not real. If you've known each other long enough, there's no real chance. So it doesn't mean anything.”

“Sure,” Tsukishima says. It sounds robotic. He is hyper-aware of his hand on Yamaguchi's thigh but does not let go.

His phone vibrates with Akiteru's belated response.

I think he probably could. He's good at disassociating, or maybe he can just shut down the things he doesn't want to deal with. I'm not sure exactly how to say it, but I think he's the type who could do it. I mean. He's a guy lol.

Tsukishima knows this is what he seems. He isn't particularly offended. If anything, this means all his faking works. He almost puts his phone in his pocket until it vibrates one more time.

But I don't think you could. Are you alright?

He's fine. Tsukishima replies.

Kei? Akiteru asks. Tsukishima does not reply.

“It's whatever,” Tsukishima says, eventually. Smiles come easy. Everyone knows by now when they are sarcastic, but even as he sees right through it, it seems to soothe Yamaguchi into smiling back. “Thought you went for blondes.”

“Glasses are hot, too!” Yamaguchi defends himself, over-loud in a hushed moment.

“Right?” Yachi interjects, interrupting Hinata mid-sentence. He does not seem bothered. “Right?!”

Hinata just shrugs, while Kageyama takes a moment to consider it. He seems to come to a conclusion, nods his approval, and then says, “sure, on older men. Sometimes.”

“See?” Yamaguchi snaps, biting back a laugh. His knees knock together, then back open. Tsukishima's hand is too high up, sliding closer to his inner thigh, but Yamaguchi is at ease, now, almost leaning into his touch.

“I think we all have different definitions of older,” Yachi says. “See, the thing about anyone more than a couple years older is that they've got real jobs and seem so busy and stuff. They're always tied up.”

Yamaguchi, very suddenly, looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Tsukishima knows it is not about the age difference. “I guess.”

“It's good to know you're not actually, seriously pursuing Shimada,” Yachi continues. Yamaguchi relaxes. Then tenses twice over when she continues, “You could use some restraint, though. Your flirting is bound to get you in trouble at work.”

His knee bounces anxiously.

He pays for the rest of Yaachi's drinks throughout the night, and does not answer Tsukishima's silent question.

***

Sometimes they do not play games.

Sometimes they are just ordinary friends.

They go to the bar, because where else could they go? They listen to bad karaoke and have a few or a lot of drinks, depending on the night. They talk about school and work and sports and news. They talk circles around ever addressing who, exactly, is dating who.

That's alright. Tsukishima thinks it would kill the mystery, and at this point, it's kind of a miracle that Phone Swap hasn't finished the job. May as well keep it going.

Sometimes they go out just to have a good time, and every time, Tsukishima winds up in Yamaguchi's dorm.

He is pleasantly buzzed from the generosity of his favorite bartender. All of them had been sober by the time they left the bar, save for him and Kageyama. It's a bit strange to be more inebriated than the others. Usually he is the least.

“So,” Tsukishima says in the dark, feeling the heat of Yamaguchi's back pressed against his side. He feels... Bubbly. He is inexplicably in a good mood, and knows he must follow his heart. He must harass Yamaguchi until he screams. He twiddles his thumbs over his stomach, fingers linked. “Bondage?”

“Everyone looks at porn on their phone, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi snaps, his voice shrill as he lifts himself up to look over his shoulder. “Everyone has kinks, Tsukki!”

They are silent for a beat. Yamaguchi drops back down, and when the bed's creak has silenced, they break into laughter together. Tsukishima turns on his side, taking in the view of Yamaguchi's back. The way he curls forward to laugh, the way his shoulders shake and his shoulder blades get more pronounced. He leans forward, burying his face into Yamaguchi's nape.

He smells like sweet drinks and that weird hospital soap that he's even started buying for at home. He is warm, warm, and slowly uncurling until their legs are tangled together and their bodies are lined up parallel.

Sometimes they don't play games.

“You wanna be tied up? Or you wanna tie people up?” Tsukishima asks. He puts the effort in to keep his voice quieter. He doesn't want to be mean. Not that he isn't shamelessly making fun of him, but there's a sincere curiosity behind it.

Yamaguchi just groans. Tsukishima's view is largely blocked by dark, messy hair, but he sees the deep red of his ears. “Why are you like this?”

“I'm just asking,” Tsukishima says, blithely. He rests his hand on Yamaguchi's hip. Hesitates, when he feels Yamaguchi stiffen for a split second. “Is this okay?”

“It's fine,” Yamaguchi murmurs. Tsukishima feels a little bit dizzy, but in a nice way. He can feel Yamaguchi's back pressing against him with each breath. Feel his heartbeat through his own chest. The room spins, out of focus, like a background falling away. It doesn't matter.

“Tell me,” Tsukishima tries again, because he knows Yamaguchi can only deny him for so long.

“Do you remember when I had to do injection practice?” Yamaguchi asks.

Tsukishima shudders, but nods.

“Don't be like that, I never actually stuck you,” Yamaguchi says, tilting his head just slightly, then turning back to stare at the wall. “We did a lot of practicing in class on ourselves and each other, but... I dunno. Needles still felt really weird in my hand. And I really hated getting shots as a kid, so I wanted to be sure I could do it as smooth as possible. I mean... I know I'm gonna get a ton of practice when I actually start being a trainee, but still.”

He likes listening to Yamaguchi talk, and lets his heavy eyelids rest. He likes Yamaguchi. He likes that he is so thoughtful and always rose-tints the past. He likes when he turns around and talks shit about their friends without loving them any less. He thinks he knows where this story is going. “Mm.”

Yamaguchi chuckles lightly. “You were the best one to practice on because even with a cap on the needle you still flinched every time I got near you. I'll probably have to deal with a lot of people as prissy as you.”

He does not bother arguing the title. Instead, Tsukishima points out, “you tied me to a chair,” because he does not think doctors are allowed to do that to their patients.

“You volunteered to help me,” Yamaguchi reminds him. “And then slapped the needle from my hands. The cap came off, Tsukki, you could have gotten actually poked.”

Tsukishima mutters, “your grip was too light. It tickled.”

“Anyway,” Yamaguchi huffs. “I dunno. It was just. Like, tying you to a chair wasn't much of anything. It was funny. But then later when we were play-fighting it got. Kind of weird.”

Tsukishima considers. Considers what had seemed natural in the moment. Ticklish hysteria between their bickering and snickering, ramping up and up until Yamaguchi had been straddling him in the chair, holding his arm down forcefully against the writing desk. His senses had screamed at every light touch from over sensitivity, all of him on edge. At one point Yamaguchi had finally let go of his arm, only to slap a hand over his eyes, telling him maybe he'd stop flinching away if he couldn't see it coming.

It is strange to talk about Yamaguchi finding something in that hot. Tsukishima doesn't disagree, but that isn't the kind of thing you tell your best friend. They do a lot of things that best friends shouldn't.

He isn't trying to make fun of him anymore, rather, he is being honest when he offers, “you're just not used to having the upper hand. Of course being in charge turns you on.” The explanation comes to mind only as he's saying it. He has always kind of thought Yamaguchi was a little too into being bossed around. He would have bet money on it. It's a surprise to be wrong, but he's pleased to be able to trace the logic.

Yamaguchi shivers. Tsukishima feels the small vibration all the way up his body. He admits, “maybe. I don't know.”

“Haven't gotten a chance to try it for real?” Tsukishima asks, sleepy.

“Why are you like this?” Yamaguchi complains again.

“Gathering intel,” Tsukishima tells him. Breathes in his smell and nuzzles into his hair. “Do you think you could fool around with someone without it meaning anything?”

“Yes,” Yamaguchi answers, without hesitation.

Tsukishima blinks. Does not allow the surprise to touch his body.

“I kiss Yachi pretty frequently,” Yamaguchi ponders. “Sometimes even Hinata and Kageyama. I've made out with Shimada-san. Nishinoya-senpai, a couple times, like when we had the party-of-melting-clocks.”

Three generations of the Karasuno Volleyball Team, Kageyama's older sister, for some reason, half of Nekoma, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi. All of them in Sugawara's mansion of a house, playing drinking games and Mario Kart. In the morning all the stragglers had been passed out, sprawled all through the living room in a way that Oikawa had called “Salvador Dali-esque.” (Kageyama had murmured that he was just eager to show off his art history degree, earning boisterous laughter from Iwaizumi.)

The rest of that night is a bit of a blur. He didn't realize that had happened. He didn't realize Yamaguchi had kissed Shimada, either. It feels strange to learn Yamaguchi keeps secrets from him. He knows they do not see each other as often as they used to, but even so. He is used to knowing everything.

“You still use senpai on Nishinoya?”

“He likes it.”

Tsukishima is quiet. The room is quiet, the hall is quiet. Someone's alarm goes off in the distance, but even that is muffled through the walls.

He probably dozes off. It feels a lot like waking up when Yamaguchi asks, hushed and hesitant, “what do you like? I can never tell.”

It's a struggle to speak. His words are heavy, weighed down with exhaustion. He has to drag them from his body, but wants to. “Are you asking me about my fetishes?”

Tsukishima will make a sarcastic joke with his dying breath, someday, he's sure of it.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi whines, but does not say no.

Tsukishima says, “I like you.”

Yamaguchi sighs. Just sighs, his whole body heaving with it. As if those words held the weight of the world, but it is not a relieved sound.

Tsukishima tries again, wanting to lighten him and not knowing how. “What do you want me to say?”

“Why are you like this?” Yamaguchi asks, but before Tsukishima can make it into a joke, he continues. “Why do you let me kiss you so often? Why do you not make any moves when we're like this? Why don't you take hints? Or are you pretending not to notice to let me down gently? Did we – did we actually have sex? Do you remember it better? Was it... Bad? Do you regret it, do you really only do this all as friends?”

“Ask me again later,” Tsukishima murmurs. It feels like crossing an ocean to even finish the thought. His head is hazy, finding vague memories is even harder than usual. He wants to give Yamaguchi a proper answer, sober and lucid. “When I'm not asleep.”

“Okay,” Yamaguchi says easily, and snuggles back against him. Tilts his head until Tsukishima's lips brush his neck lightly.

In the morning Yamaguchi is awake before him, for the first time in approximately five hundred years. Tsukishima rests off his hangover, enjoying the feeling of Yamaguchi petting his hair.

Yamaguchi holds a stapled packet in his free hand, flipping through it. He is quiet, scanning it attentively. They do not talk or move for so long that Tsukishima watches the stripe of sunlight travel all the way across the bed sheet.

Sometimes Tsukishima hears the catch of breath as Yamaguchi prepares to ask. He steels himself each time. Yamaguchi backs out, each time.

***

It is New Years eve, four in the morning. Yamaguchi trails butterfly-light kisses along Tsukishima's jaw. His fingers carefully tug the collar of Tsukishima's shirt aside to press kisses to his collar bone.

The rules of this game, after months of playing, are becoming a bit of a blur. Tsukishima is dizzier than ever. He has drank more this night than he can recall drinking in one night for the past year. It's important to push yourself. New years resolution: out-drink everyone.

He had considered making his resolution: stop drunkenly kissing Yamaguchi before answering his question. Right up until the clock hit midnight and Yamaguchi had slapped hands to his cheeks and pulled him in for the first kiss of the new year.

Tsukishima thinks he should stop him and make him go to sleep. Instead he hears a shamefully helpless whimper leave his own lips when he feels the wet of tongue ghost over his shoulder. Yamaguchi bites, suckles, and Tsukishima's arms clench around him reflexively.

The other boy is shirtless. His skin is smooth under Tsukishima's palms, firm under the aimless patterns he rubs into him. Tsukishima curses his own shirt, in the way of Yamaguchi's endless kisses and in the way of skin to skin. He feels the uncomfortable press of Yamaguchi's erection through briefs and jeans. The slight arch, the desperate grind of his hips almost uncontrollable.

Whatever willpower he had is tapped out; he pushes back against him with purpose and feels the other boy's whole body tremble. Yamaguchi raises his head to return to Tsukishima's mouth.

It's always just light pecks. Yamaguchi drunkenly whining for his good-night kiss. Yamaguchi, nuzzling into Tsukishima's in gratitude for being walked to the restroom. Leaning over and smooching him blind when they are laying down to sleep.

This time Yamaguchi guides his mouth open, lips parting like he's showing the way. The hot wet of his tongue is overwhelming. He is more intoxicated by this than the drinks. This feels familiar. They have done this once before.

Except then Yamaguchi is crying. Abruptly, Yamaguchi's face is buried in his shoulder, damp, his body shaking in Tsukishima's arms in a very different way than a moment ago.

Tsukishima tries to kick start his brain. It works slow, like he is pushing through a thick fog. By the time he comprehends that they have gone from furiously making out to Yamaguchi sobbing, it is over, and the boy is snoring.

Tsukishima is very, very confused.

***

“Do you ever think about if stuff was different?” Hinata asks, swirling his drink with his straw. He knocks the maraschino cherry around the bottom of his glass before changing strategies and stabbing it with his straw. He offers the skewered fruit to Yachi.

She takes a moment to munch. “How do you mean?”

This is apparently a difficult question for him. Slow night, Tsukishima thinks, as they all stare, patiently waiting.

“Like, what if I lived in Tokyo? I'd have gone to school with Kenma.”

“But you wouldn't have met Kageyama,” Yachi points out.

Hinata considers this for a moment. “Maybe we would have played against each other. Still been rivals. Just... Not teammates?” The thought seems to sadden him as it occurs, and his expression falls until Kageyama elbows him in the side.

“Idiot. You'd probably cling to me just as hard.”

“Maybe you'd be sitting around with your Tokyo friends,” Yachi offers, “texting Kageyama.”

Hinata still seems put out by the whole concept, even though it was him that had brought it up. He tries changing the scenario. “What if... Yachi were a boy?”

Yachi is starry-eyed. “I would love to be!” After a moment, she clarifies, “oh, I love being a girl, I'm definitely a girl, but wow! That would be so interesting! I would have 700 girlfriends.”

Kageyama asks, “don't you already?”

Hinata has somehow managed to upset himself even more, and ignores Kageyama completely. “Then you wouldn't have become our team manager!”

“Maybe I'd be on the team...” She tries, but Kageyama snorts, blatantly dismissing it, and Yachi gives him a resigned nod. “Yeah, I don't think so. Do you think since I'd have more pressure to be social besides just my mom, I wouldn't have been so shy in school?”

“Nature versus nurture is a big question to tackle like this,” Tsukishima comments. Yamaguchi snickers.

“What if you weren't an asshole?” Hinata asks, somehow managing to say it without any malice.

“Probably no changes,” Tsukishima says, flatly. “Assuming nothing else changes, that just makes me more sociable with you people. And I'm already hanging out with you, anyway.”

“I can't picture it at all,” Yachi laments. Tsukishima wonders if he should be concerned that all his friends so openly call him an asshole.

“What if,” Hinata suggests, “Kageyama, what if your sister was our age?”

Kageyama just shrugs.

“Okay, what if... You went to Aoba Jousai with Oikawa?”

This one seems to make Kageyama think. Quietly, he mulls it over, at what Tsukishima is sure is a glacial, meandering speed. His expression goes from curious, to annoyed, to somewhat peaceful.

“That might have been alright,” he murmurs.

“What about me?!” Hinata demands, affronted.

“We'd meet at prelims,” Kageyama says. He doesn't sound like it took much thought. “We'd wreck Karasuno. You'd be devastated.” Hinata makes an amusing squawk of indignation, but the other boy just continues. “You'd probably have to quit volleyball and take up something else. Or just die from the shame.”

Yamaguchi's laughter, barely muffled behind his hand, gains everyone's attention.

Trying to fend off his own sour tone, Hinata tries, “what if you were the same age as your weird boss crush?”

Tsukishima runs calculations in his head. Yamaguchi born years ago. The two of them bonding in volleyball club, practicing together, learning together instead of one teaching the other. Equals. No power dynamics, no weird age gaps to be a barrier. No Tsukishima. That's as much detail as he figures out before realizing no one has spoken up.

They are waiting for Yamaguchi to lead the image, but all he does is shrug and say “nah.”

“Nah?” Hinata asks. “You don't even wanna think about it?”

“Not really,” Yamaguchi says.

The silence stretches longer, as the group of them collectively enjoy their drinks and ponder this pragmatism.

***

“Sorry for crying,” Yamaguchi says, curled up against Tsukishima's side, with his head resting at his shoulder.

They are sitting up against the headboard, pretending to watch some animated children's film on his tablet. Kageyama had taken a phone call half-way into the night that ended with him throwing his cell to the ground and leaving early. Hinata had chased after to calm him down. Yachi had stayed with the two of them at the bar for another hour or so before having to anxiously head home and tend to the boys and their drama.

He doesn't envy that side of being roommates. Sometimes things are bad, and you just have to deal with it.

Tsukishima toys with Kageyama's cell phone. After everyone had left, he had picked up the pieces. The battery had flown halfway across the parking lot. Tsukishima was surprised it hadn't been run over. The protective screen was shattered, but it served its purpose. The actual phone just took some dings and dents around the edges.

He pops the back on and off. It isn't supposed to be this easy, but that's what the idiot gets for throwing it. He shrugs in response to Yamaguchi, not sure what to say. Turns the phone on to make sure it still works.

He didn't ask, but Yamaguchi still explains. “I think it was like lingering stress from all the tests we'd just been doing all month. Plus we're like... Choosing which hospital to intern at, and it's a little scary to be separated from my classmates. And. Stuff.” He knows what 'stuff' means. 'Stuff' means him.

“It's fine,” Tsukishima says, shortly. It wasn't the first time he's seen Yamaguchi cry. He's just usually a little more prepared for it. Not in the middle of making out with him.

Rather, all this means to him is that Yamaguchi may have been drunk, but he remembers it and was willing to bring it up sober. Even though he'd broken the rules of the game and deepened the kiss. Tsukishima can justify kissing friends, really he can. It's harder to justify the way Yamaguchi pulled his clothes aside to kiss his collar. Harder to justify it when they've fucked before.

“Did you choose a hospital?” Tsukishima asks to distract himself. “Or... However that works?”

“Not yet. That's part of why I was getting so... Aaaah.”

“Please don't let your communication deteriorate to that.” Tsukishima lifts Kageyama's phone, then nudges the tablet, warningly. “See what happens to people who talk in sound effects?”

“It wasn't a sound effect so much as a quiet scream.”

“Ah.”

Yamaguchi minimizes the movie to check his school email account for the tenth time in forty minutes. Once he's sure there's nothing new, he resumes the movie that nether of them is watching. “I'm not sure quite where I want to go. Once it's time, I'll move out of the dorms, so I need to figure out where I'll be living. At first I kept thinking I need to stay close to Shimada-mart for work, but then once I'm at the hospital I won't be working there, anyway. So it's kind of like... Finding an apartment and a nearby hospital in a pair.” He shakes his head against Tsukishima's shoulder, sighing.

They are quiet as Tsukishima mulls it over. They slouch further and further in the bed until they are laying down. Yamaguchi's hands roam under Tsukishima's shirt, dragging along his abdomen down to his waistband. Tsukishima has to hold the tablet up for them, and this is a game, too. His fingers tremble with his uneven breath. Twitch with the sharp hitches when Yamaguchi's fingers brush something ticklish and overwhelming at his side. He hides it well.

He is quiet in hopes it will hide his uneven breath. “What about Hikarizaka Hospital?”

The hospital is new. It is maybe thirty minutes from Tsukishima's apartment, around the corner and down a long stretch of road. Tsukishima passes it every day on his own way to work. He watched it get built.

Yamaguchi's hand twitches, then resumes as he tries to pretend it hadn't. He plays dumb. “That's not too far, I guess. I could look for a place in that area.”

“Yamaguchi.” This time his hand comes to a still. Tsukishima lets the tablet fall on its back, gingerly touching Yamaguchi's hand with his own. He hopes it soothes him, even if only a little. “It's close to my place. Move in with me.”

It takes him a long moment. The movie continues on, muffled.

“Sure,” Yamaguchi says, eventually.

***

“This makes sense,” Tsukishima comments blithely, watching everyone else throw Yamaguchi's house-warming party in his home. He sits in his favorite recliner with his knees pulled up to his chest, toes curling over the edge of the cushion. It used to sit in the house he grew up in, a hand-me-down from his grandmother that his father was always complaining about for the way it mismatched other furniture, the way it creaked when Tsukishima climbed all over it as a child, and the way he could never get rid of it.

Hinata is still pinning streamers to the wall with Kageyama's help, the two of them bickering and struggling to keep them even with their height disparity. Sugawara is distributing drinks as if he's the host. Maybe he is. Who knows?

Nishinoya is sprawled out across the couch, pushing Asahi off to the side. He doesn't seem to mind. Tanaka sits on the floor in front of them, having some sort of battle, his elbow versus Nishinoya's foot. Ennoshita is murmuring with Kinoshita, something about whatever is on his cell phone screen. Narita hovers behind them, listening, but keeping quiet.

Yamaguchi stands off to the side of the room, out of the way, as if he doesn't belong. Shimizu is at his side, a partner in awkwardness.

Yamaguchi has been moved in for a week now, and only gotten less and less at home. At first it was like staying the night, like he's done a thousand times. The longer he stays, the more out of place he feels. That's Tsukishima's guess, anyway. Tsukishima just hopes the feeling goes away; he doesn't know how to handle it.

“I'm surprised you guys hang out every weekend,” Sugawara is saying.

Tsukishima wriggles his toes, feeling awkward, and tries not to wince as the chair creaks beneath him. He doesn't even know how it got this way. One weekend had just led to the next, with Hinata's group-text of “again, again?!”

He knows the whole Karasuno team has kept in contact, knows they've all spent countless days together since graduating high school. He also knows it's not nearly as frequent. This is something he never would have imagined in freshman year. That, of all of them, his group would be the ones who cling to each other harder than anyone. That he would call them his group. His year. His friends.

He glances over to Yamaguchi. The other boy meets his gaze and gives a tentative, almost apologetic smile. Like he is apologizing for the fuss, like it isn't his home now, too. Like he wasn't the one who sent out the invites.

They live together, now. This part has always been an eventual inevitability. If he's honest, he was startled that they didn't move in together fresh out of high school. But Yamaguchi had gotten into medical school and moved himself into the dorms there and hardly said a word about it until he was done and settled. Maybe he just hadn't wanted to bother anyone.

“It's probably just coincidence that we all wound up living so close,” Yachi says, as if sensing Tsukishima's discomfort.

“Not really,” Hinata immediately counters, looking baffled by the claim. He hops down from the dining room chair he'd been precariously balancing on. “We spent a lot of time--” Kageyama is beside him in an instant to slap a hand over his mouth.

Tsukishima arches an eyebrow, but refrains from comment for once. He gets the feeling the answer would annoy him.

He chooses to focus on something else. With so many people here, he has high hopes for the games of the night. Not that he takes Sugawara or Sawamura for very high energy party-goers. They're more like an old married couple that likes to stay in with their eight cats and watch a nice movie on tv. He imagines Sugawara simultaneously knitting and baking an apple pie.

“Do you knit?” He asks, amused with the idea.

Sugawara looks vaguely affronted. “No.”

“He gardens, though,” Sawamura volunteers. “There's a public garden he rents space at for tomatoes and carrots and potatoes and stuff.”

Sugawara whirls on him like a man betrayed, but does not have time to defend himself before Nishinoya enthuses, “he brings over baskets of vegetables a couple times a month! He's like a granny! And Asahi-san is always like 'oh, I'm so excited to cook these,' and they share recipes online and stuff.”

Any annoyance Sugawara had is gone with the new target to laugh at. Asahi shrinks as much as he can under everyone's amused staring. Tanaka had managed to contain himself, but meets Tsukishima's eyes, and apparently upon seeing Tsukishima's dead-stare, can't contain his laughter anymore. Nishinoya does not even seem to realize what he has done, and continues on, “it's sooo cute!”

Tsukishima had not thought Tanaka's laughter could get louder, but he had been gravely mistaken. He hunches forward, curling into himself and holding his stomach. He probably isn't even laughing at Asahi anymore.

Shimizu takes pity on him; the whole world goes quiet to listen to her quiet voice, “um... Were we going to play something?

Tsukishima fights the urge to wriggle his toes like an excited child. Not just for the game, but for the interesting idiocy he is sure to observe.

Hinata pulls three children's boardgames from his bag. Kageyama pulls four more from his bag. Yachi pulls three different card-games from her purse.

There is silence. Shoulders tense and square. Eyes narrow.

Yamaguchi is the only one not immediately overcome with competitive fire, and just buries his face in his hands. Even Shimizu next to him has gotten a determined sparkle in her eyes.

Tsukishima is not sure how they turn Sorry into a drinking game. He's also not sure how the teams are divided up, and judging by the number of alliances and back-stabs, it never mattered. Monopoly doesn't go much better.

At one in the morning, Yachi is climbing across Kageyama and Hinata's laps to grab their money, loudly announcing, “I love butt-stuff! What about it?! Nothing wrong with that!”

Shimizu's face is red, but Tsukishima suspects this is mostly from the strain of suppressing her laughter. Nishinoya and Tanaka are frozen in some sort shock. In their infrequent visits, they've managed to miss Yachi's transition from shy innocent angel to depraved drunken nymph.

She is too far gone to notice the silence of their seniors, and jokes, her voice high in feigned stupidity, “does this make me an honorary gay?”

“Why are you looking at me?!” Yamaguchi asks, recoiling from her gaze.

She sets her eyes on Tsukishima. He has been observing all night, hardly participating, and it takes him a moment to realize he has to reply. He tries to count the shots he's taken in his head, because maybe he can blame those for the delay, but the number gets hazy around ten. “You're just a regular gay.”

Yachi considers. “Good call,” she tells him, and pulls away from Hinata's money. She doesn't bother leaving Kageyama's lap, making herself at home between his criss-crossed legs.

“Show of hands, who's straight? Just for curiosity's sake?” Ennoshita asks, somehow managing to sound disinterested in the answer.

Narita and Kinoshita raise their hands. Tanaka raises both his hands. Nishinoya begins to raise his, then a thoughtful expression flits across his face, and he lowers it. Sugawara is snickering when he nudges Sawamura until he raises his.

“Have you ever cried during sex?” Yachi blurts out, ruining any sort of sexuality bonding time. Tsukishima is not sure if he's grateful or not, given the question.

“Oh, sure,” Asahi answers, not appearing to realize he said it out loud. It is only Nishinoya's sudden burst of laughter that makes him realize, flustering and stammering incoherently until Sugawara comes to his rescue.

“Same.”

Sawamura arches an eyebrow, and the two of them elbow each other back and forth in what Tsukishima suspects is their own private language.

“I've cried making out,” Yamaguchi offers, like he is not sure it qualifies. Then adds, “I was crazy drunk, though.”

Tsukishima turns his head to hide his quiet snort of laughter in his shoulder. Yamaguchi still shoots him an annoyed look.

“No,” Yachi wails, “that's not the same! I don't even mean like emotional crying, I mean like super overwhelmed hyper-sensitive crying.”

“This feels sacrilegious, somehow,” Tanaka says. It does not sound like a complaint. He and Nishinoya exchange a fist-bump.

“I thought you'd understand,” Yachi laments, shaking her head at Yamaguchi. “What with your interests.” Tsukishima snickers again as Yachi exchanges a look with him. He had forgotten that she was the one to find out about that particular kink of Yamaguchi's.

Yamaguchi does not look embarrassed, even with his cheeks flushed. This time Tsukishima counts the shots Yamaguchi has had. Seven? Eight? Yamaguchi recovers from huffing at him, grins, and says, “I wanna make other people cry.”

“Hot,” Nishinoya comments, and receives simultaneous nudging from Tanaka and Asahi.

Tsukishima shifts in his seat. His stomach feels tight.

They don't manage to finish Monopoly. Somewhere between Sugawara and Shimizu holding Asahi down for Nishinoya to tickle him in a fit of rage over being bankrupted, and Tanaka crying as he throws his money in Ennoshita's general direction, Yamaguchi manages to fall asleep, sitting on the floor with his head resting against Tsukishima's leg. Kageyama is the next to give in to sleep, his head resting on Sugawara's lap.

Tsukishima likes watching each of them give in as the night goes on. Their shouting and climbing across each other, their reminiscing, and their games – and how person by person, the room quiets. Sugawara's head eventually leans to the side until Sawamura sidles up next to him to provide his shoulder as a pillow. He doesn't last much longer.

Asahi has spent the whole night curled up tight to avoid taking up space, and unfurls only in the relaxation of sleep. He takes up the whole couch, save for the last cushion, where Tanaka dozes off, slouched over the arm-rest.. Nishinoya lasts another solid hour, before finally climbing on top of Asahi and falling asleep with his hand shoved up his shirt.

Shimizu and Yachi are laying down on the floor, whispering to each other when Tsukishima looks once. They are asleep when he looks twice. Tsukishima is surprised that, of all people, Ennoshita makes it nearly until the sun rises. But eventually he seeks out the Narita and Kinoshita cuddle pile, returning to the trio whence he came.

Hinata's energy comes as less of a shock. Eventually it is just the two of them, sitting in the quiet too-early morning and playing on their cell phones. Tsukishima suspects of himself that he is only staying awake out of stubbornness.

The constant vibration of Hinata's phone is annoying. Tsukishima does not understand how Kozume can be available to reply within two seconds at any hour of the day or night.

“You could use the bed,” Tsukishima says, at length.

Hinata looks at him, wide-eyed like any kindness is still a shock after all these years.

Tsukishima frowns and thinks if you're going to look so surprised, never mind.

Hinata hums, and rests his head on his arms. His eyelids are heavy, and he takes so long to reply that Tsukishima almost thinks he has finally fallen asleep, too. “I'm happy being with everyone.”

Yamaguchi is drooling a wet spot on his pant-leg, and the room is full of the obnoxious snoring of a hundred boys. The sun is rising and this night has fucked over his sleep schedule probably for the rest of the week. His back hurts from sitting on this chair so long and he knows he's going to wind up sleeping in it like an idiot instead of moving to his bed.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

***

Yamaguchi is scarce, after that. Tsukishima can tell from what he sees that he is more and more at home, but he is busy with work. Tsukishima has not seen him wearing anything but scrubs for two weeks, and often comes home to him asleep on the couch. He wakes up to the sound of the door closing, most mornings.

Tsukishima still goes out with Kageyama, Hinata, and Yachi some weekends. He gets invited each week, but it's hard, lately. Yamaguchi is too busy to go. Too tired.

Maybe that's just life. Everyone seems busy. Three weeks in a row, Yachi replies to the group invite, “can't! Me and Shimizu are hanging out!” The next week Kageyama texts on Hinata's behalf, “no outing this week. Hinata is in Tokyo.” After that, Kageyama has plans. As if they are always alternating who is busy, their schedules refuse to sync up.

How frustrating, Tsukishima thinks. To get so used to kissing Yamaguchi, to get him in his home, and get less time with him than he started with.

To finally, somehow, maybe not directly, maybe not as clearly as he should, thank Hinata for what he does to keep them together – only for their stone-set traditions to immediately crumble.

Significant others, Tsukishima thinks bitterly, looking over their bleak conversation-log of canceled plans. Yachi and Shimizu are finally, finally going steady. Hinata and Kozume, if their ever-cycling facebook relationship status is anything to go by, cannot seem to decide if they are dating or not. And Kageyama – who even knows?

On his walk home, Tsukishima texts him. Everyone is couples now. Who are you boning?

Tsukishima watches the status mark his message as read, then waits impatiently for Kageyama to type his response. He is an obscenely slow text-er. As a fellow millennial, Tsukishima is offended. But eventually his response comes. What. No.

I would have guessed Hinata, a couple years ago.

The dots appear and disappear several times in indecision. No.

Must be someone, with how frequently you're mia lately.

Why are you like this???

He determines this isn't going to get him an answer and gives up the venture. He slips his phone back in his pocket, trading it for his keys. He lets himself in to his apartment, and is immediately surprised.

Sound. A movie is playing on his tv. Yamaguchi does not appear to be watching it, seeing as how Tsukishima can hear that he is in the kitchen, singing along to the music streaming from his phone. Tsukishima closes the door quietly, and makes his way to the other room.

Tsukishima does most of the cooking. He is a picky eater, whereas Yamaguchi mostly eats garbage junk food. For a doctor, or a soon-to-be doctor, or wherever he is on that scale, he sure doesn't follow the rules he must know he should. Usually they are home at such differing times that Tsukishima just leaves leftovers for Yamaguchi in the fridge. It isn't as though roommates are responsible for feeding one another, but he doesn't mind.

He watches for a while, unnoticed. Yamaguchi mixes up verses, even in his favorite songs. He seems to be making vegetable curry while simultaneously washing the dishes that had piled up. It's a habit he's always had. Leave no traces and use your time wisely. There is no such thing as idle waiting, for Yamaguchi.

There are two glasses on the counter beside him. The left over whipped cream vodka from the party is out, and a case of orange soda.

“One of those for me?” Tsukishima eventually asks.

Yamaguchi shrieks, shoulders jumping wildly. He whirls on Tsukishima, a hand over his heart. “Holy fuck, Tsukki, you startled me.”

“I live here, you know. And I come home at the same time every night.”

“I wouldn't know,” Yamaguchi says, sounding a bit sulky, but brightens as he hands Tsukishima the other glass.

Tsukishima makes a face at it, even though he'd been the one to ask for it. He doesn't like sweet drinks like Yamaguchi does, but supposes the vodka was just taking up space. What good is young adult life if you aren't drinking far, far too much? It's like a rite of passage for living on your own. He takes a sip, and it tastes a bit like creamsicles and summertime.

Yamaguchi turns his music down and rambles about the hospital while he cooks. Tsukishima hovers behind him and hears all the gossip about the interns and nurses and doctors. Learns about the patients and their conditions and medications and procedures. His head spins with the amount of detail Yamaguchi can remember like it's nothing, the big words he throws around like they mean something.

They start the movie over and eat while they watch. Then have to start it over again, because they spent so much time talking that they reach the half-way point and have no idea what's happening. Plates and glasses are set on the end-table to be put away later.

Tsukishima lets himself stretch out on his back. Lets Yamaguchi curl up on his side, head resting on his chest to watch the movie.

There is no game. They only have one drink each.

Tsukishima lets his arm go numb under Yamaguchi's weight, and lets the other boy slip a hand under his shirt to rest on his stomach.

The credits roll. They do not move.

Finally, Tsukishima tilts his head at an angle. Yamaguchi lifts to meet him half-way. The kiss is easy. It's familiar. After all, they've already done it a hundred times.

“You're not drunk,” Yamaguchi points out, as if perhaps Tsukishima had not noticed.

“You might be,” Tsukishima says, and shrugs. “You're a lightweight.”

Yamaguchi huffs. “Not that bad.”

They are quiet for a long moment. Tsukishima knows why Yamaguchi brought it up. This is against the rules.

As if sensing Tsukishima's train of thought, Yamaguchi murmurs, “this isn't a game, Tsukki.”

“I know.”

Yamaguchi hums in disbelief. Tsukishima knows he is trying to joke to ease himself from nervousness, and allows it. In case it helps, he slips his free hand up his own shirt to lace his fingers with Yamaguchi's.

Yamaguchi squeezes gently. “I can never figure out what you're thinking.”

“You used to be able to tell. Used to be the only one who could tell.”

Tsukishima had meant for that to be comforting, but Yamaguchi winces like it was an insult. “It's a little different, now. Kissing and s.... Sleeping together when we drink makes it confusing. You never answered me.”

It is a genuine question when Tsukishima asks, “what do you think?” For as much of his personality is pretenses, he is often unsure of how he comes off. He usually does not care, but if it is for Yamaguchi, it matters.

Yamaguchi considers the question carefully. He's got a good radar for when Tsukishima is being sincere. “I think... That if something has had the opportunity to happen for like ten years, and hasn't, then that's a sign. Or, I mean... I thought that. We've always been together, but nothing happened for such a long time. And there was always talking around it, or talking in metaphors, you know? But only ever to confirm that I wasn't crazy for seeing something there, and never to tell me what it meant or where it was going.”

This time Tsukishima is the one to wince. He forces himself not to mumble. “It was too comfortable to risk changing.”

“Mm.”

“But,” he says at length, “this is comfortable, now.”

“'This' like... Being physical?”

He doesn't blame Yamaguchi for being cautious. He still rolls his eyes. “Don't be stupid. 'This' like being a couple, Ya—Tadashi.”

Yamaguchi is starry eyed, even as he says, “I'm not dropping 'Tsukki.'”

***

The dry spell with their whole group ends, in time. As easily as it began. Their schedules that had fallen out of sync shift and rearrange until suddenly it is possible again.

Yamaguchi can only make it every other weekend, usually too busy at the hospital, but Tsukishima is always sure to bring him home some tacos on Sunday nights, and knows the other three text him frequently throughout the night so he does not feel quite so left out.

At first he worries this will just rub it in his face that he couldn't join them, but Yamaguchi seems satisfied. Exhausted, but satisfied.

Tsukishima hadn't thought it was possible for him to be more exhausted than when he was a med student, but it doesn't compare to being an intern. Yamaguchi always had nice things to say about his classmates, but now he trails off to hold back from complaining. Tsukishima knows this habit well enough to know that it's to refrain from bitching about mostly irrational, petty things, only bothering him because he is so worn down from the unavoidable things that he could never complain about.

Instead he tries to keep work talk positive. It doesn't matter much, either way. Tsukishima tries to listen attentively, really he does, but the stories tend to include the names of seven other interns and five doctors and three or four nurses, plus however many patients, so he doesn't remember as much as he should.

Somehow, Yachi can always remember the details.

Yamaguchi finishes up his story, a bit ruder than usual now that he has some drinks in him, about Such and Such nurse sleeping with Such and Such intern.

“Couples,” Yachi complains with him. Kageyama and Hinata each grab for their phones from the tower in the middle of the table. Yachi rolls her eyes, as if they are proving her point. “It's good to be able to go five minutes without texting your boyfriend, you know?”

“Yeah, well, it would be nice to get to see him more than like once a month too,” Hinata snaps. Then looks tremendously guilty, yet not nearly as remorseful as Yachi.

If Tsukishima had to guess, he would place it at five consecutive minutes of the two of them apologizing back and forth before Kageyama gets irritated and smacks Hinata upside the head.

“I, however,” Tsukishima offers, resting his chin on his hand, “don't need my phone that desperately.”

Even leaning forward, he is still looking down the table at Yachi. There is fire in her eyes, or maybe it's just the flicker of the heated lamps overhead. She laughs. “No high score contest?”

This time Tsukishima rolls his eyes, as if those contests are beneath him now. They are not. The latest game is Words with Friends, and Akiteru has already gone to bed for the night with the game waiting on his turn.

“It's just that your boyfriend is already here,” Yamaguchi points out.

“Bragger,” Hinata mutters, this time joking as he taps at his phone.

The Tower is now just Tsukishima's phone, sandwiched between Yachi and Yamaguchi's. One of them vibrates and the stack topples. Their phones splay out across the tabletop.

“Could be Shimizu,” Tsukishima taunts. They are still face-down – he isn't sure which phone it was.

He eyes the sailor moon sticker on the back of his phone. Yamaguchi has always liked putting stickers on this possessions. Gaming consoles, phones, laptops. Tsukishima's cell phones have always second-hand suffered.

“I have a custom text tone for her!” Yachi counters.

“You put your phone on vibrate earlier.”

Yamaguchi suggests, falsely casual, “it's probably your game. You know how Akiteru wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes. ”

“Or maybe Shimada is giving you a booty-call.”

Jokingly, Yamaguchi reaches for his phone. Tsukishima plays along, shooting a warning look that draws Yamaguchi's hand back to his mouth to muffle is laughter.

Hinata does not look up from his phone. “Maybe it's Kuroo.”

“Doubt it,” Tsukishima says. Kuroo does not text much, let alone late in the evening when he could be napping. Besides, Kuroo's texts are never imperative. They are usually just memes and photos of Kozume.

Hinata hums. “Probably your brother, then.”

His phone vibrates again. This time they all see it. It is certainly his. All of them stare at it, shuddering its way across the table, buzzing.

“Might be important,” Kageyama finally chimes in.

“It's not.”

It is still for a minute. Tsukishima is ready to look away when it goes off again.

Hinata asks, “you sure?”

Yachi is the first to cave, snatching up her phone with an exaggerated eye-roll, so bored of the competition that she is ready to lose.

Tsukishima eyes Yamaguchi. If it were anyone else, he would probably withdraw the same as Yachi. Especially with the curiosity over the alerts eating away at him. This game is usually easy. Usually boring and not worth his while.

But it's fun to get riled up with Yamaguchi, sometimes.

“This is going to last all night,” Kageyama complains.

Yachi comments, idly, “we won't be able to go inside because they can't pick up their phones to bring them. Maybe we should refine the rules for stalemates and relocations?”

Hinata assures them, “it's part of the challenge.”

“If you pick up your phone first,” Tsukishima says, “I'll do your laundry.”

“I can do my own laundry!” Yamaguchi says, play-acting his offense with a hand over his chest. “Are you trying to bribe your way to victory?”

“Winning is winning.”

“It's amazing that you can be so unsportsmanlike after everything.”

“Thanks.”

Yachi buries her face in her hands. Kageyama wanders off. Hinata flips their phones over to let the blinking message alert light eat at Tsukishima's resolve.

“If you pick up your phone, I'll vacuum this time.”

Tsukishima considers this. He hates vacuuming. He enjoys having a clean home, but the sound of it annoys him. But now Yamaguchi is to the point of bribery too. That's too good to give in to. He shakes his head and counters, “I'll buy you that game you wanted.”

“You can't bribe with literal purchases, it's gotta be favors.”

He feels himself grinning. “Is that a rule?”

Yamaguchi grins right back. “Of course.”

Tsukishima does not think before speaking. It does not occur to him that Hinata and Yachi are still right beside them. He says, “I'll let you tie me up.”

He only realizes what he has said and considers his surroundings when he sees the wide-eyed look on Yamaguchi's face, and the way his gaze darts towards the others, then back.

Gears are turning in Hinata's head, no quicker than usual. Eventually he lets out an “oh,” of profound realization. Yachi cannot seem to decide if she is amused or embarrassed for them, her hands once again hiding her red face.

Even after realizing, Tsukishima is nonplussed. It isn't as if they don't talk about sex on a fairly regular basis.

“Hold out for more,” Hinata says, sidling up to Yamaguchi.

It takes Yamaguchi a moment longer to stop gaping and recover. He tries to play along, but his voice wavers uncertainly even with his joke: “But all of my hopes and dreams, Hinata.”

Tsukishima allows the amusement to drip from his voice. “You think I'm kidding.”

He watches Yamaguchi swallow thickly.

“Don't give in,” Hinata cheers, like they are a sport to behold. Yamaguchi nods.

Tsukishima decides to call his bluff. He begins reaching for his phone. His fingers don't even make contact before Yamaguchi snatches his own up.

It feels nice to win. It's always easy to get Yamaguchi to do what he wants. But when he looks across the table to gloat, he freezes.

Yamaguchi is holding Tsukishima's phone out for him, looking ten times as smug.

A promise is a promise.

***

Despite having his own room, Yamaguchi does not use it very often. Most evenings, Tsukishima comes home to find him napping on the couch. Tsukishima usually leaves him there. Sometimes he wakes him, and sends him off to his bed. Sometimes he wakes him, and they link their index fingers as they pad to Tsukishima's room together.

Nights they fuck are nice. Nights that Yamaguchi flops onto the bed and is immediately back to being dead to the world are nice, too. There are nights they stay up, far later than they should, just talking in hushed voices about work and the world and each other. There are nights they laugh themselves into exhaustion early, kicking each other's ankles and desperately trying to convince each other that this time they are just cuddling, and definitely won't tickle them the second they relax.

Tonight is different. It is Yamaguchi's weekend. Yachi is doing over-time, and Hinata and Kageyama are on some weird friend-date. Tsukishima is almost willing to call that normal, and his mind offers up how he and Yamaguchi have been going on 'dates' for years. Except then his mind reminds him that they're a couple now, and probably should have been back then, too. Maybe that's why those two seem to be struggling in their relationships so much harder than anyone else he knows. They're too wrapped up in each other.

Tsukishima thinks of all the people who have tried to date him since high school. It wasn't as though he turned them down for Yamaguchi. It's silly to hold out for someone you've given up on.

And now - Tsukishima sits on Yamaguchi's bed, already stripped down to his underwear. His eyes have not fully adjusted to the dark; the sun is still a gradient of blues with the spring sunset, but Yamaguchi has thick, black curtains to keep the light out. His work schedule often means sleeping during the day – Tsukishima has been considering getting thicker curtains in the living room, for how often Yamaguchi sleeps out there.

The safeword is “volley.” Tsukishima is not sure if he will need it or not.

He does not expect to get anything from bondage. It's never really appealed to him. He likes bossing people around, and maybe takes a little more pleasure in it than he should, but to call it a kink would be a stretch. Especially with the roles reversed.

But there is certainly fascination as he watches the silhouette of Yamaguchi toy with the cable. He watches him loop it around in his fingers and stretch it taut. He can't tell if the tension in his gut is anticipation or nervousness. He swallows thickly.

Yamaguchi is surprisingly calm. Tsukishima is used to him flustering, stuttering, and letting Tsukishima take the lead in any other situation. But during sex he is composed, like there is nothing to fear, like none of his insecurities reach this.

They are quiet as Yamaguchi wraps the cable around Tsukishima's wrists and knots it between them. They pause to test it, Tsukishima tugging his wrists apart gently. The only space between them is the knot itself. He can feel the cable digging into his wrists. It doesn't hurt, necessarily.

His body feels hot. Maybe it's just that he knows they are going to fuck. Maybe it's that he can already see the muted awe in Yamaguchi's eyes.

He pulls at his wrists again, experimentally. It's unfamiliar to not be able to move as much as he wants to. He shifts in his seat, uncomfortably aware of how visible his erection is through his briefs. He shouldn't be this hard already.

There's something nice about the bite of cord against his wrist. He hears Yamaguchi snicker, muffled behind a hand as if that would hide it. A violent shiver runs up his spine and he is not sure if it is the rope or the sound.

“Hands and knees,” Yamaguchi commands.

Definitely the sound.

Tsukishima manages to get himself on knees on the bed, but pauses. “Can't support myself on my hands,” he points out, and holds his bound wrists up, to show.

Yamaguchi pushing him down comes as a surprise, but he doesn't hate it. It isn't rough, just guidance. The bed is soft as he falls forward onto it. It's only mildly embarrassing to have his ass in the air, hands trapped between his knees, face pressed to the pillow. He is unused to the feeling of helplessness. Being on bottom isn't new to him – being unable to even lift himself up is what's strange.

The bed creaks as Yamaguchi comes behind him, pressing his hips against Tsukishima's ass. He feels Yamaguchi's bulge pressing against him, then fingers slipping into the waistband of his briefs on both sides. Yamaguchi's breath goes shallow as he slides them down. This view should not be new to him. Tsukishima still feels his body burning up, more vulnerable than he is used to. He shifts his weight as much as he can, hips swaying loosely.

“Don't be impatient,” Yamaguchi tells him.

“I'm not,” Tsukishima bites back. He gets a quiet laugh in response, then more jostling. His cheek rubs against the pillow as Yamaguchi takes off his own remaining clothes.

He hears the sound of the lubricant bottle popping open, then the wet schlick of it being spread on Yamaguchi's cock. He knows what this looks like by now, even without being able to see. Yamaguchi stroking his own length to spread the lube, eyes shut. His breath hitches in anticipation.

Yamaguchi's cock is slick as it slides between Tsukishima's ass-cheeks. His hands are slippery from spreading the lube as they hold Tsukishima's hips in place. It's an almost unpleasant sensation, but the dick dragging between his cheeks overrides it.

Wet palms slide from his hips to further back, until Yamaguchi's thumbs are stroking over Tsukishima's entrance. As if he is exploring his body for the first time, he drags one thumb across it, then squeezes his ass-cheek. He repeats with the other hand, thumb barely, barely pressing into him, teasing, rubbing a small circle just barely inside him, then drawing back to repeat the cycle.

Tsukishima's hips press back into the touch against his will, but Yamaguchi holds him in place.

It's normal to tease a little bit, but this goes on far too long. It is dizzying, infuriating. The hair on Tsukishima's neck stands on edge, nerves on fire. He is not aware of his own breathing until suddenly it is taking over the whole room. He can only barely hear Yamaguchi's aroused breathing behind it.

But still, Yamaguchi gives languid massages to Tsukishima's lower hips. Presses a thumb inside his hole and gingerly crooks it until he hears Tsukishima gasp. Then pulls back to repeat it again.

They have had good sex. They have had amazing sex. Tsukishima feels like he is going to explode. He has never felt desperation this high from so little action. He knows he needs to be prepared, needs to be stretched out before he can take Yamaguchi's cock inside him, but God, he wants it now. The slow teasing just makes him want to jump past all foreplay and straight to having Yamaguchi buried deep inside him, stuffing him full.

He can feel Yamaguchi's impatience too, through the twitch of his cock sandwiched between his cheeks.

He was just told not to be impatient. He bites his tongue and forces himself to allow this.

Yamaguchi draws back slightly, and the head of his cock presses against Tsukishima's hole. He knows he is not stretched, and he knows he will be stopped, but even so he tries to press back. He needs this, more than he ever has before. He almost thinks Yamaguchi will allow it for a moment. He is so hot, so relaxed from his arousal that he thinks it would not even be so difficult.

The whine he lets out when Yamaguchi draws back is undignified. “Tadashi,” he snaps, or tries to. It comes out just as needy.

“No,” Yamaguchi chirps.

Yet he still finally, finally pushes a finger inside. Tsukishima gasps, startled, reflexively pressing back into it. It is easy to take him in to the knuckle, and Yamaguchi does not stop him this time. Just chuckles. He begins working his finger in and out of Tsukishima in gentle, almost exploratory thrusts.

“I said don't be impatient, Tsukki,” he reminds.

Tsukishima tries to sass him back. All he manages is a weak, incoherent moan. That earns him a second finger, scissoring him open with ease. From all the build-up, he feels like he could come from just this. From being fingered. His own cock is painfully hard, sometimes even brushing against his own wrists when his hips are pushed lower with the occasional rough thrusts.

He writhes back into Yamaguchi's hand, trying to convey, silently, that he desperately, desperately needs his cock touched, stroked, held. Fuck he just wants Yamaguchi to touch him more, however he can.

“You're not being very good,” Yamaguchi says, and hums thoughtfully. It is ridiculous how casual he manages to sound. There is a tiny part of Tsukishima's mind that tells him it is silly to hear Yamaguchi talk to him this way. The louder part of his brain snaps to shut up, that his hands are literally tied here, and that he will do anything to be good if it means Yamaguchi will fuck him.

Words still won't come. He is not much good at playing a role. Begging doesn't suit him. Not being in charge doesn't suit him. He worries he is not living up to whatever sort of role he is supposed to be playing, here.

Yamaguchi leans over his back, fingers buried deep inside him, and kisses Tsukishima's neck as if silently telling him he is doing fine. Like a reward for being scolded.

It feels nice. Validating.

Enough that Tsukishima blurts out, without over-thinking it, “please fuck me.”

“Oh, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi breathes, his hips pausing in his grinding, suspiciously sudden. He bites Tsukishima's neck, then kisses the spot before drawing back. He pulls his fingers out, and lines his cock up with Tsukishima's entrance. He pushes in, the head of his cock easily sliding inside after all of the teasing.

He slides in until he is sheathed, the two of them shuddering together, connected.

Then he pulls back, all the way out, and says, far too cheerfully, “no.”

Tsukishima cranes his neck to look over his shoulder, incredulous. He feels tears welling behind his eyes, over-stimulated, overwhelmed and disappointed. Still filled with a white-hot want, unsatisfied.

Yamaguchi curls over him, chest to his back, and does not reply. Instead he just reaches around, wrapping his fingers around Tsukishima's swollen cock. He is wet, leaking precome, but too far gone to feel any shame as he immediately tries to thrust his hips into the grip. Yamaguchi allows it, thank God. Lets him fuck his hand, squeezing him, perfect and wet.

A handjob should not be enough to make him moan, but Tsukishima hears himself, barely muffled by the pillow. His eyes are clenched shut and he feels tears at the corners, now. “Fuck, Tadashi, please.”

“That's cute,” Yamaguchi murmurs, kissing down his spine. “You're so cute. I would let you get yourself off if you weren't tied up.”

Tsukishima whimpers. That could be hot. Jerking off in front of Yamaguchi. He can easily picture the awe-struck look on the other boy's face, can picture himself getting heated for it. The scenario plays in his head, stroking his cock, eyes closed, hearing Yamaguchi's labored breathing just from watching. Maybe he would jerk off too. Maybe he would come and finish Tsukishima off with his mouth.

Yamaguchi's hand draws away. Tsukishima's hips still move in the air, helpless. He tries to move his arms, but with them tied he can't get the leverage to do anything. He feels the first tears leaking out. He turns his head to wipe his face in the pillow, suddenly mortified. He considers the safe-word, out of sheer embarrassment.

But he doesn't say anything, because he feels Yamaguchi's cock at his entrance again. Yamaguchi lets him press back. Lets him spear himself, lets him push back until he is filled up.

Yamaguchi breathes out, “You look so good when you cry - you look so good tied up and helpless. You have no idea how long I could play with you like this.”

He shudders. This has been sheer torture, but. It's satisfying. Even while he is squirming, yearning for more, for friction and movement. He isn't used to being used, but it feels good to be useful. It's validating and empowering in a very strange way that he can't analyze right now.

He tugs at his wrists just to feel the restraints bite into him.

He knows begging will only get him punished, so he refrains from words. Instead he keens wordlessly, grinding into Yamaguchi's hips. He loves the feeling of being flush up against each other, the feeling of thighs against his own as he's stretched open inside.

Yamaguchi slides his length almost all the way out, then pushes back in just as slowly. His pace is far less frantic than Tsukishima wants it, but at the same time, fulfilling in how hard he presses in, how deep he hits. Each drawn-out thrust drags a weak moan from Tsukishima's lips, against his will.

The pace stays tantalizing slow. The air in his lungs feels like it's being pulled out with the sounds he is making. His eyes feel sore, and he realizes it is because he is tearing up, still. The tears are slow, trailing from his eyes down to his lips where he tastes their salt.

“I can't,” Tsukishima gasps out, finally, his throat aching, worn out from heavy breathes and bitten-back pleads. This is not the safe word. He knows this.

Yamaguchi seems to take in the words like a treat, letting out a satisfied sound. “Mmm...”

“Tada--” Tsukishima tries again, but cuts himself off with a silent moan as Yamaguchi hits something in him, something blinding and overwhelming. And then again, with the first quicker thrust. He draws out and pushes in, deliberately seeking it, reading him easily. Tsukishima sobs, quieting himself in the pillow but without the energy to even control himself.

It is too much, again and again, as Yamaguchi angles for it. Yamaguchi's arms wrap around him, his thrusts suddenly becoming closer to grinding, not even pulling back before pressing back as deep as he can, pace quickening. It is calculated, but frantic now.

He feels the tears streaming down his cheeks, now, his gasps high-pitched and wrecked. Inside his head is a mantra of oh God, fuck, please, please, I'm so close, Tadashi, but none of it can reach his lips without becoming a wordless sob.

Yamaguchi has no more words, just pressing into him, hard and fast.

Tsukishima comes first with a strangled sound barely making it out of him. His come hits his own tied arms, hot and sticky. Yamaguchi is not far behind, just a blinding moment later, with one final mumbled, “Tsukki.”

Tsukishima stays how he is for a long moment. Partly due to exhaustion and partly because with his hands bound, it is somewhat difficult to get up. Made worse by Yamaguchi staying hunched over him, squeezing him tight, chest heaving on his back.

Yamaguchi finally pulls out with an awkward wet sound. Tsukishima feels himself dripping. Hears the creak of the bed under Yamaguchi's movement come to an abrupt halt at the same moment as come slides down his thigh.

His whole body tingles. He is tired and spent and hyper-sensitive. He thinks he is quite ready to be untied.

He feels fingers pressing into his asshole again.

Tsukishima can only manage a near-hysterical sound of disbelief. The wet squelch is mortifying as Yamaguchi presses in experimentally. It feels like he is being stirred up inside, and he feels lube and come sliding down his legs. His eyes are sore from crying.

“Don't,” he begs. This is not the safe word, either. He knows this.

So does Yamaguchi. He pays it no mind, beginning to thrust his fingers in and out of his dripping hole, just as fast as the final pace had been.

He is hyper-sensitive, his skin tingling from the orgasm-high. Shudders wrack his whole body, the tears coming back, weaker in his exhaustion. “Please, I can't,” he manages, then a chain of whispered “no, no, no, no more,” into the pillow. He can feel his cock straining, too spent to get hard again, but he is so hot inside, so slick and wet and Yamaguchi finds that spot again with his fingers, rubbing over it even easier now. He doesn't want it to stop but doesn't know how long he can handle any more.

Yamaguchi's breathing is still so heavy, as if he has not recovered from coming yet. He is captivated, and Tsukishima understands the concept of being aroused by another person's pleasure, but this seems excessive.

Tsukishima's body gives a tell-tale shudder as all strength leaves him. He feels numb, cannot even support the weight of his own hips. Yamaguchi's hand stills for a moment before he draws his fingers out, finally allowing Tsukishima to collapse. It feels strange to land on his hands, still bound and stuck below him.

They are quiet, and this time he is allowed time to recover. His breathing evens out slowly. His skin cools off. They sit in the room, darker now than when they began, in comfortable silence.

Yamaguchi leans over Tsukishima, gently guiding him by the shoulder, to roll onto his back. Tsukishima isn't the biggest fan of needing help, but it's nice to have it when he's this spent and still bound.

Yamaguchi carefully unties his wrist bindings, then lays down beside him, holding Tsukishima's hand. “We can shower in a bit,” he says. His voice is soft now, tentative.

Tsukishima opens his mouth to reply, but words don't come out. He blinks. His throat does not hurt so badly. This is nothing to lose his voice over. He settles for nodding.

Yamaguchi looks at him, sidelong. After a moment's hesitation he ventures, “are you okay?”

Tsukishima takes the time to ponder this, wanting to give a sincere answer. Missteps in this sort of thing could have bad repercussions, from and for either of them. He feels pretty okay. Satisfied. Tired. A little hungry. He nods.

“Can you talk?” Yamaguchi asks.

Tsukishima opens his mouth again, tries to answer with words. He can't. After a moment of silence he settles for shaking his head.

Yamaguchi seems fairly unperturbed by it, but still ponders, “do you think that's normal?”

Tsukishima shrugs. Squeezes Yamaguchi's hand. In reply, Yamaguchi pulls his hand up to kiss his knuckles. Even with Yamaguchi lifting his limb, his whole body weighs a thousand pounds. When their entwined hands drop back to the bed between them, they land like a sack of bricks.

They doze off before long, sweaty and heavy.

They wake up briefly in the middle of the night. He can speak again, and does, at length. He complains and huffs about how sore he is, bossing Yamaguchi around as he makes them a midnight-snack.

And nothing changes. Nothing is broken.

***

There are a lot of games they play.

Work games, like predicting the affairs and how quickly they will destroy Yamaguchi's co-worker's relationships.

Bar games, like betting on how many times Kageyama and Oikawa will break up and get back together in a given month over things that do not matter, and seeing who can convince Kozume to visit and come out drinking first during Phone Swap.

And now there are the games they play at home, with each other. Games they both know the rules to, games based on trust over avoidance.

Games that are, if Tsukishima is honest, just competitions to see how long one of them can harass the other, in some way or another.

But he supposes that's what being a couple is.

Notes:

I wasn't even sure how to write a summary for something like this. Is it nostalgia for growing up? Is it nostalgia for the days I'm living now? Is it just more self indulgent fetish porn? I mean, yes, obviously, but... Is it worth all that just for one sex scene? Hm...

First apartments are so interesting. First jobs. Your friends growing up with and without you. Getting to drink for the first time, and not being supervised. Relationships you struggle so hard for that might not even be worth it.

But it's nice to have someone who knows your kinks, huh? It's scary to think of losing someone who already knows so much about you.