Chapter Text
Part 1
CHAPTER 1 OF THIS STORY IS FOUND HERE -
Fuck Ushijima Wakatoshi and other lies Oikawa Tooru tells himself
by @User_Shay_Wade
I highly recommend you GO READ IT because it is excellent and it explains the entire premise of the rest of this story much better than I can :)
But if TL:DR, here is the summary:
Oikawa Tooru has hated Ushijima Wakatoshi for years. He's also been sleeping with him for years, but he doesn't see why personal dislike is a reason not to get the Domming he deserves and appreciates. Besides, this might be the last time he's allowed to let Ushijima take care of him, if something the spiker has let slip in a recent media interview is to be believed.
Or, Oikawa gets jealous of himself, brats out, has his brains melted, comes clean, and ends the day with a new old boyfriend.
You can jump straight to >>> Chapter 2 here.
Chapter Text
Ushijima closes his eyes and focuses on regulating his breathing.
The banked fires in his chest burn low and strong, ready to be stoked to white heat again in an instant. But right now, just for a moment, he allows himself peace.
He soaks in the feeling of Tooru’s weight in his lap, his arms hanging heavy around that lithely muscled body. Snapshots the moment and stores it in his memory, to be recalled later at will.
When Ushijima opens his eyes once more, he sees the smug glint on Tooru’s face and knows he’s being challenged once again. Their eyes meet and the electricity between them thrums back to life.
He catches Tooru’s chin in his hand, enjoying the way his large hand spans all the way from one cheekbone to the other. “Give me fifteen minutes, Tooru, I’m going to fuck that smug look off your too-pretty face.” Then he leans in and kisses those smug lips aggressively, once again accepting the wordless challenge that is at the core of their relationship.
Tooru’s tongue tastes of Ushijima’s cum. The taste triggers a cascade of images from the last twenty minutes: Tooru’s beautiful mouth stretched impossibly far around Ushijima’s cock, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, breathing desperately through his nose as his throat gets fucked.
It sends a blast of pure oxygen into the furnace in his chest, reigniting the flames back to white hot heat.
Tooru is panting slightly when Ushijima releases him from the kiss, and his grin is downright wicked. “I look forward to your attempts, Wakatoshi, though ten years ago you wouldn’t have needed fifteen minutes,” he needles.
Ushijima Wakatoshi only hums equably, letting his hands run over the silky skin of Tooru’s back. He knows that the venom-tipped words sent to find a chink in his armour are a test. A test that Ushijima absolutely must pass.
Because, at its core, each of Tooru’s attacks carries a question, wrapped in fear and longing, and a kind of desperate hope:
Am I safe with you?
And the answer to that question is always, always:
Yes.
Over and over, in a hundred thousand big and small ways, over the course of ten years, Oikawa Tooru has asked him this question. Challenged him, pushed him to his limits. And each time, Ushijima Wakatoshi meets his challenge and wins.
Because that is what he does. He wins.
Ushijima drops their foreheads together, pinning Tooru’s eyes with his gaze. “Perhaps you’re losing your edge and aren’t quite as irritating as you used to be…”
“Maybe you just like that about me after all this time,” Tooru whispers back, grinning even wider.
“Maybe I do. Maybe I always did.”
In one swift movement, Ushijima lifts Tooru forward out of his lap and angles himself side on, kneeling on the bed with one leg bent while the other is still connected to the ground. He grips the back of Tooru’s neck with his left hand, forcing him to lean back over the bent knee and bringing their faces only inches apart. “Open your legs for me.”
Tooru makes a little sound at the back of his throat at being manhandled. “Don’t you know it’s polite to say ‘please’?” He waits for just a beat, holding Ushijima’s eyes, before opening his legs, revealing his hard, leaking cock.
Ushijima meets his eyes with a flat stare while he considers how to respond. An idea presents itself and a plan of attack forms in his mind. For now though, he only holds out his right hand and says, “Spit.”
He sees Tooru’s eyes widen for the fraction of a second before he leans forward and slowly spits in Ushijima’s waiting hand.
“Good.” He moves his fingers, coating them in the spit, then slides his hand down, ignoring his cock, to Tooru’s twitching hole. His index and middle finger slip in easily, eliciting a sharp exhale.
Tooru’s head falls forward into the crook of his shoulder, and Ushijima applies pressure to the back of his neck to keep him there while he works his fingers slowly in and out. Softly, he hums, “Mmh... Your hole is still stretched and soft from the plug you’ve been wearing for me all day. You’ll be ready to fuck in no time.”
A soft whimper emanates from the face buried in his shoulder. Ushijima angles his mouth to bite Tooru’s earlobe softly in response. “Wrap your hand around my cock,” he says, voice low, and feels Tooru’s hand scrabble blindly until it finds its target, fingers cool against his hot skin. Ushijima exhales softly, waiting to see if Tooru does anything more than he was asked to.
But Tooru is smart enough to not assume Ushijima’s commands. His hand stays still, only flexing ever so slightly as Ushijima’s fingers work him open.
Once he has judged that Tooru has passed the test, he whispers roughly, “Do you want me to fuck you now?”
The answering whimper is slightly louder.
Ushijima’s mouth curls up at the edges as he baits the trap. “Then say please.”
There’s no response, as expected.
Unperturbed, Ushijima slips in a third finger and flexes his hand, brushing against Tooru’s prostate.
Tooru’s body jolts in surprise and he whines loudly, hand on Ushijima’s cock tightening reflexively.
Ushijima increases his grip on the back of Tooru’s neck and holds him still, then flexes his fingers again. And again. And again.
“Oh, fuck!” Tooru’s muffled voice is full of desperate venom. “Fuck you!”
Ushijima deliberately pitches his voice to be its most steady and calm. “I will. As soon as you say please.”
His only response is a drawn-out, wordless moan. Ushijima glances down, noticing the precum dripping from Tooru’s cock and the way his hips are starting to cant into each flex. He’s close to coming.
Time to up the stakes.
Ushijima withdraws his fingers gently and then stands, swiftly stacking two pillows on top of each other. Before Tooru has a chance to orient himself, he grips him by the back of the neck again and pushes him face down so that his hips are propped up over the pillows, ass in the air, his cock and balls exposed.
He leans down and murmurs in Tooru’s ear. “Stay. Don’t move, or I will tie you up. Do you understand?”
Tooru doesn’t answer immediately, but he knows what is expected of him. Finally, he grates out, “Yes.”
“Give me your colour and remind me of your safeword.”
Another pause as Tooru battles against his pride. “Green. Crow.” The words are clipped with fury.
As a reward, Ushijima gently caresses his back and sides, making him shiver.
After a few strokes, Tooru’s patience snaps. “Are you going to fuck me now or what?”
“As soon as you say please,” Ushijima responds placidly. Then he kneels down between Tooru’s legs and places both his hands on his invitingly elevated ass cheeks, parting them to reveal Tooru’s soft, needy hole.
“Oh god, oh god, ohgodohgodnononofuck!!” Tooru cries out as soon as he realises what’s coming, but it doesn’t stop Ushijima from licking a broad stroke from his exposed balls all the way up his perineum and ending by softly brushing over his rim.
If there is one thing that Tooru absolutely loves to hate, it’s Ushijima Wakatoshi eating his ass. It makes him squirm and scream in frustration more than anything else. Its his ultimate shame, his deepest, most secret pleasure, and his kryptonite.
Ushijima hadn’t planned on deploying his most lethal weapon tonight. He had been content to set a gentle, mellow pace, revelling in finally having his boy back in his arms after months of time apart. That is, until Tooru’s confession in the bath revealed a truth that has shaken Ushijima far more than he cares to admit.
He was aggravated.
Still is.
And so he channels that aggravation into the long, broad strokes of his tongue, lapping up the soft skin of Tooru’s taint and ending deep inside his twitching hole.
“No no no, oh god! Nngh! Oh godddd! No!”
Ushijima pauses for a moment, admiring the wet, glistening mess before him. “If you want me to stop, use your safe word or say ‘please’.”
“Fuck, FUCK! I hate you! You fucking bastard!”
Patiently, Ushijima returns to his work, each stroke of his tongue unrelenting and precise like clockwork. Each time Tooru gets close to coming, he slows his pace or stops altogether, enjoying the ever-increasing pitch of whimpering and crying.
He is in no hurry. They have all night.
Finally, after the fourth almost-peak, Tooru breaks. “Fuck! Please! Oh god, Toshi, please, please! PLEASE!!”
Victory blooms in Ushijima’s chest, spreading golden and hot into his stomach and his cock.
“Mmmh... Good boy. Took you long enough.” He gets up and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, reaches for the bottle of silicone lube on the bedside table, dripping a sparing amount on his cock and spreading it. Then he kneels down again and positions his head at Tooru’s sopping wet entrance. “Ready?”
A broken, desperate moan and a wiggle of Tooru’s hips is all the response he gets. For once, he lets the lack of explicit verbal consent slide and pushes inside, slowly and carefully, listening for any sign of pain.
There is none, only a deep, satisfied groan.
Once he is all the way in, he allows himself a soft exhale of pure pleasure. “You’re so open for me, Tooru... So soft. So warm.” He rolls his hips gently, gripping Tooru’s hips with his hands to hold them still, then starts a steady rhythm.
“Mmmhhhhh—Toshiii—yess—please—” Tooru’s voice stutters each time Ushijima bottoms out.
After a few minutes of only the soft slap of skin on skin, Tooru’s quiet whimpers and Ushijima’s slightly elevated breathing, Tooru’s right hand reaches behind him, nails clawing at Ushijima’s hip, pleading for more depth.
Obligingly, Ushijima leans forward and uses his forearm across Tooru’s chest to lever him upright so they are parallel, pushing himself even deeper inside. Not yet satisfied, he wraps his left hand around Tooru’s throat to hold him still, while his right arm locks around the narrow waist, pushing Tooru’s ass down on to his cock with each stroke. His pace doesn’t falter.
Tooru cries out, hands locking around Ushijima’s wrist, hanging on. “Oh god, oh fuck Toshi, fuck! I’m going to cum, I’m going to—”
Ushijima tightens his grip on Tooru’s throat and speaks softly in his ear, his soft panting breath brushing warm air across the sensitive skin. “You may.”
He feels the body in his grip go rigid. Tooru’s head snaps back and he lets out a long, drawn-out cry as all the muscles in his abdomen contract and spasm together, milking Ushijima over and over, fingernails clawing deep into Ushijima’s arm.
The intensity of Tooru’s orgasm catches Ushijima off-guard and sweeps him up in its wake, pushes him to the edge with the incredible rolling tightness around his cock, the sound of Tooru’s voice and the pain of nails digging into his skin. Ushijima closes his eyes and flexes his arm around Tooru’s waist, thrusts up once, twice, and comes hard with a grunt.
For a long time afterwards, neither of them move, only pant raggedly.
Ushijima can feel the muscles around Tooru’s hole zing and fire with tiny involuntary spasms, still gripping his cock tightly. He gives himself a moment of grace, letting his own breathing slow down naturally instead of forcing it under control.
Tooru is dead weight in his arms, completely pliant and boneless.
Ushijima leans forward and says softly, “Good boy, Tooru. Well done. I’m so proud of you.”
Tooru’s whisper is hoarse, barely audible between breaths. “Fuck you... Ushijima... Wakatoshi...”
Chapter Text
Ushijima Wakatoshi always wins.
He had won that day, too—that day in third-year high school, when Ushijima, walking back from the bathrooms through the athletic centre’s empty corridors to rejoin his team, rounded a corner and collided with a lithely-muscled frame, only a little shorter than his own.
A frame that belonged to Oikawa Tooru, setter for Aoba Johsai, whom Shiratorizawa had just crushed in straight sets. Whose shoulders were now gripped in Ushijima’s large, powerful hands, keeping them both from overbalancing and falling over.
Tooru’s face, suddenly mere inches away from his own, was wet with tears, his expressive brown eyes rimmed red, lips swollen and glistening. His hair, still damp from the game and curling slightly at his temples, smelled faintly of vanilla and sweat.
The instant it took for the boy’s face to flash from heartbroken grief to into pure outrage felt like a lightning strike straight into Ushijima’s chest.
“You!” Oikawa Tooru spat, bringing up his arms in front of his chest and jerking his shoulders to free himself. “Fuck you, let me go!”
For reasons he could not have explained at the time, Ushijima’s hands refused to let go, but gripped even tighter instead. His instincts, the same instincts that told him how to kill a spike, made him bend down and brush a kiss over those swollen, glistening lips.
Luckily, the knee that connected with his groin shortly afterwards was badly aimed and only hit his inner thigh, though with enough force to make him flinch and release his grip. The slap that followed, however, hit its target with the same precision as one of Oikawa’s lethal jump serves, making Ushijima’s eyes water and his ears ring.
“Fuck you, Ushijima Wakatoshi!”
As he straightened
to watch the other boy walk away on unsteady feet, Ushijima Wakatoshi
knew three things:
1. He had lost control of himself;
2.
He would never lose control of himself again; and
3. He was in
love with Oikawa Tooru.
~*~
They hadn’t seen each other again for months after that.
Only late one evening in autumn, when the street lights had already clicked on and illuminated the chilly darkness with pockets of golden light, Ushijima stopped abruptly half-way through his evening run and turned to find Oikawa jogging a few hundred metres behind him.
The boy stopped just as suddenly and they stood, staring at each other for a full minute. Ushijima felt the pulse beat hard in his throat, just as he had before his last match on the U-19 national squad.
“What are you doing here, Oikawa?” he asked, elevating his voice slightly to carry over the distance between them.
“Just jogging.”
“Why are you following me?”
Oikawa snorted. “I’m not following you. These aren’t your private, personal streets, you arrogant asshole. I can be here just as much as you.”
“We’re nowhere near Aoba Johsai.”
“So? What are you going to do, Waka-chan? Chase me off your turf?” His taunting grin was illuminated in soft gold, the over-familiar endearment dripping with sticky sweetness.
Quickly scanning the silent, empty streets around them, Ushijima weighed up his options. Then he accepted the challenge and started walking slowly towards Oikawa.
As he got closer and closer, he saw the boy’s eyes widen slightly and his shoulders stiffen, but stand his ground. When Ushijima stopped less than an arm’s length away, Oikawa stared at him, still grinning defiantly.
“Why are you here, Oikawa?” Ushijima asked again, more quietly.
“Stupid as well as arrogant, I see. I told you, Ushibaka, I’m jogging.”
Ushijima had just stared back at him and waited.
“You owe me an apology for assaulting me like that at the Interhighs,” Oikawa finally grated through gritted teeth, grin fixed in place.
Ushijima blinked, then nodded. “You’re right, Oikawa. What I did was wrong and you were right to strike me. I apologise unreservedly. It won’t happen again.”
Oikawa’s expression went blank with surprise. He opened his mouth, closed it again. Said absolutely nothing a long moment, as a thunderous scowl etched itself on his face and his expressive, golden-brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re a real piece of shit, aren’t you, Ushijima Wakatoshi. Fuck you, how dare you make fun of me like that! I should have reported you!” he snarled.
Ushijima felt his brow crease as he tried to follow Oikawa’s corkscrewed train of thought. “I mean it. I am truly sorry. And yes, you should have reported me. I deserve to face the consequences of my actions. Why didn’t you?”
He had tried, in fact, to report it himself and been laughed out of the staff-room by his coach. ‘Just youthful high spirits. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill and get on with your life.’
The scowl on Oikawa’s face darkened, tinged with something else. He laughed bitterly. “Oh, please. Do you think I would make trouble for myself like that? Who would even believe me? That the prince of princes, Ushijima Japan, the Under-19’s super ace, would ever do something like that? No. Even I have my worthless pride, Wakatoshi,” he spat.
His own, arrogant words, served back to him with Oikawa’s trademark lethal accuracy, cut Ushijima deeply. He swallowed reflexively and crushed the impulse to reach out and touch the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said again softly, taking a few steps backwards out of Oikawa’s space.
The silence between them lengthened. Eventually, not knowing what else to say or do to make the situation any better, Ushijima turned and walked away, hoping removing his presence would help.
“Hey, don’t you dare just walk away from me like that!” Oikawa roared at him.
Ushijima heard several quick steps, then felt a fist in his sweaty t-shirt, jerking him back and around. Huffed a quiet breath of surprise when Oikawa’s lips covered his own, soft and hot and dry. Held himself utterly, completely still.
When Oikawa stepped away, his golden-illuminated face was flushed and filled with bitter rage. His voice shook with fury. “Now we’re even, you arrogant bastard. I hate you. Never forget that.” Then he turned and jogged away at an easy pace, leaving Ushijima standing, arms slack by his side, for the first time ever in his life taken completely by surprise.
After several heartbeats, Ushijima’s instincts kicked in, adrenaline spiking sharply in his gut. “Go out with me, Oikawa!” he shouted at the rapidly disappearing back.
Oikawa’s laughter is loud and mocking in the silent street. “Fuck you, Ushijima Wakatoshi!” he shouts back, middle finger raised over one shoulder.
~*~
“Go out with me, Oikawa,” Ushijima asked softly, his lips brushing over Oikawa’s ear, large left hand resting lightly on Oikawa’s slender neck.
“I’d rather die, you asshole,” Oikawa snarled back. “Now choke me properly or I’m leaving.” He placed his hand over Ushijima’s and pushed the fingers into his carotid arteries. “There, that’s it. Hold it just like that,” he breathed, his liquid brown eyes falling closed on their own accord.
Ushijima kept his grip firm. “When should I stop?” he asked, watching Oikawa’s face with laser focus, noticing every twitch of facial muscle and flutter of the boy’s eyelids.
Oikawa’s eyes flew open again, a sardonic smile on his dusk rose lips. “If you're going to hit it, hit it until it breaks,” he whispered, voice pressed tight by the slight constriction of Ushijima’s hand on his windpipe.
Ushijima frowned, displeased by the inherent risk of that statement. He immediately let go. “No. That’s too risky, Oikawa. You’re flying to Argentina next week, you can’t risk getting hurt.”
It earned him an angry growl from Oikawa. “Fuck, I never thought you’d become Mister Sensitive! What happened to the merciless killer of dreams? Gone soft, have you, Waka-chan?” His voice dripped sweet poison as he suddenly got up and paced the few small steps needed to cross Ushijima’s tiny dorm room, his whole frame vibrating with restlessness.
Something was driving him, Ushijima knew. Something rooted deep inside Oikawa’s brilliant, complicated corkscrew mind that kept it endlessly spinning, unable to settle and find peace. He wished he knew what it was.
Nervousness, perhaps. Moving to a whole different country all by yourself would make anyone a little nervous, even Ushijima himself. But it felt like more than that.
A loathing. A craving. A hunger that made Oikawa throw himself at Ushijima with desperate sensuality, even though he seemed to hate every second of it with every fibre of his being. Their sex was like their old rivalry on the court: fierce, all-consuming and unrelenting. It tested Ushijima’s self-control to its limits, every time, in the best possible way. It was exhilarating.
And yet, his questions remained unanswered.
“I don’t understand why you want me to do this to you, Oikawa.”
“Oh my god, you’re so naive, Ushiwaka! Don’t you know anything?” Oikawa’s tone was cutting, mocking. “It’s called BDSM, darling. Look it up some time.”
“Beedee esem?”
“An acronym, dummy. Stands for bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism.” Some tension seemed to go out of Tooru and he dropped himself down to sit on the floor, legs pulled into his chest, leaning back against the wall opposite the bed where Ushijima was still sitting.
“Masochism? You like pain?”
“Urgh, you’re so simplistic. Yes, Ushibaka, I like pain!” Oikawa aped his words. Then he frowned, unhappy, snagged on one of his own thoughts. “Actually, it’s... The pain is nice, yeah, but it’s... It’s more about not having control. Not being able to stop it, when it happens. It makes me feel...” He trailed off, staring at the opposite wall, still frowning. “Helpless, but also... Safe, somehow.” His eyes had gone unfocused, voice faint, as if talking only to himself.
Ushijima’s gaze narrowed, staring intensely at the boy sitting across from him. His mind raced like it did as soon as the ball was served, slotting together pieces of information and calculating trajectories, rapidly selecting the best angle of attack.
He realised in that moment that he didn’t have enough information yet. He was playing a game without knowing all the rules, and he hated that. He would have to learn the rules before he could play the game. And once he could play the game, he would master it.
And then, he would win.
Because Oikawa Tooru needed him to win.
In the meantime, though, he could still help.
“Come here, Tooru.”
Expressive brown eyes snapped up to meet Ushijima’s gaze, widening at the sound of his first name.
“What—” Tooru’s voice sounded a little hoarse.
“I said, come here, Tooru.”
A familiar, defensive scowl quickly displaced the surprise on Tooru’s face. “Urgh! Don’t call me that! I never said you could call me that, you arrogant bastard.”
Ushijima stood up. A small, distant part of him enjoyed the way Tooru’s head tilted all the way backwards to keep their eyes connected.
He dropped down to his haunches in front of the boy on the floor and wrapped his hand gently but firmly around his slender neck once more, noticing how close his thumb and middle finger came to touching at the back. He used his grip to guide Tooru up to standing in front of him, then leaned down slightly, looking intently into his eyes. “The next time you’re back in Japan, I’ll give you all the pain you need, Tooru.”
A surprised, delighted smile eclipsed the outrage on the flushed face before him. Ushijima had always thought Tooru was pretty, but he had been wrong. The boy was beautiful. His vivid, emotive brown eyes shone.
Then the sunrise smile turned into a grin. An utterly wicked grin. “I look forward to your attempts, Wakatoshi-chan.”
Ushijima leaned down and overpowered that grin with his mouth, his kiss rough and demanding. He tightened his grip on Tooru’s neck slightly, eliciting a small involuntary noise in response that pleased him.
When Ushijima allowed him back up for air, Tooru whispered hoarsely through his constricted throat, “So you do want to fuck me now? You’re not chickening out?”
Ushijima raised an eyebrow at the question. “I said that I wasn’t going to choke you until you pass out, Tooru. I never said that I wasn’t going to fuck you. Now, be quiet and take off your clothes.”
The wicked grin returned in full force. “Fuck you, Ushijima Wakatoshi. Make me.”
Chapter Text
Ushijima stares at the ceiling, watching the memories replay in his mind’s eye like an old, grainy videotape.
His right arm is folded up behind his head, left arm loosely draped over Tooru’s warm, sleepy body draped over his hip and chest. Tooru’s head rests in the dip of his shoulder joint where it belongs, his hair still a little damp from the shower.
There had been a lot of mess to clean up, not helped in the slightest by Tooru’s semi-conscious state. He’d been out of it for longer than usual afterwards, but Ushijima figured that was to be expected, given the intensity of his delayed orgasm and the emotional load he’s been carrying.
So Ushijima had washed him, dried him off and bundled them both into bed, content to soak in the quiet peace that he worked so hard to achieve for both of them.
But now, it seems that Tooru’s sharp, over-active brain has finally come back online, judging from the less-than-gentle poke of a finger in Ushijima’s ribs that makes him twitch slightly.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Tooru’s voice is still a little sleepy, though with a playful edge.
Ushijima hums and flicks his gaze sideways to eye the messy brown hair below his cheek. “Nothing. Just remembering the first time I choked you.”
There’s a small, amused snort. “Ha! You were terrible at it, too. So gentle, it was like getting choked by a cooked udon.”
“Mhm.” He refuses to justify his reasons once again, lets the serve whirl past him and out of bounds.
Silence seeps back in as they doze.
Tooru breaks it again a little while later, voice quieter. “You’re still pissed at me, aren’t you?”
This makes Ushijima sit up slightly and turn to his side, head resting on his folded arm so he can study the expressive face he knows so well. “You think I’m angry with you? Why? Did I hurt you?”
“No, but…” Tooru meets his gaze briefly, then frowns and looks away, covering the slight insecurity in his voice. “I can tell something’s wrong. Your vibe is… off. And you don’t edge me like that unless you’re really pissed off.”
Tooru’s words make guilt prick at Ushijima’s heart. He did edge Tooru within an inch of his life just now. His self-control was perhaps not as iron-clad as it should have been and some of his anger bled through, enough for Tooru to notice.
Despite his habitual impassivity, Ushijima has learned that hiding his emotional state from Tooru is almost impossible, whose sensitivity to the feelings of the people around him is, and always has been, exceptional. It’s his super-power, the core that powers his brilliance as a setter, although it took Ushijima a long time and a lot of maturity to finally acknowledge that.
Empathy is Tooru’s greatest weakness, and also his greatest strength. He is driven by the desire to please, to serve, to cater to those around him—his coaches, his team, and most of all, his beloved spikers.
Tooru cares, deeply. Too much, sometimes. And so he has learned to wrap himself in a protective shield of charm, saccharine mockery and petty nastiness. He has learned to tease, to needle and to deflect, so nobody will ever notice that the core of him is so very soft and vulnerable.
A winning strategy that has served him well, until he ran into the one person who was completely impervious to all of it. Ran into the iceberg that is Ushijima Wakatoshi, and all his defences came crashing down around him.
“I’m not angry with you, Tooru. Come here.” Ushijima gathers Tooru into his chest in a tight hug, tucking the untidy head of hair under his chin and stroking his back.
Tooru lets himself be petted. “…I’m the one that should be pissed with you, you know,” he says peevishly, voice slightly muffled by Ushijima’s shoulder. “I thought you were going to dump me, but I still came to see you! You don’t see me sulking and taking it out on you.”
Ushijima processes what he’s just been told. The implications dismay him and make something ache in his chest.
He uses his free hand to gently pull on Tooru’s shoulder to roll him out of his chest, on to his back so Ushijima can see his face. “So that’s why you were so stressed all day... You really thought I was going to sleep with you and then dump you? Is that how you think I’d treat you?”
Tooru’s eyes widen slightly at something in Ushijima’s voice. He opens his mouth to speak, then frowns and looks away again.
“Tooru...” Ushijima leans his head down and rests his forehead on Tooru’s soft temple, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of his skin. “You made up a whole story about this in your head, didn’t you? That’s why you’ve been so tense and needy.”
As soon as the word leaves his mouth, he knows he has fucked up. It’s the exact same feeling he gets when the touch on his serve is off by a fraction, making the ball veer straight into the net.
Tooru immediately pulls away. He sits up and glares at Ushijima, the frown on his face turned into real anger. “Needy? Fuck you! When have I ever been needy? I don’t need you, Ushijima Wakatoshi! I have never needed you and I never will!” He rolls off the bed and storms to the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him.
Shit.
Ushijima allows himself one brief flare of incandescent frustration at making such a basic mistake. Then he takes a deep breath and tamps it back down, just as he has a thousand times on the court.
He assesses the situation. The fact that Tooru slammed the bathroom door and not the hotel-room’s front door tells him that he’s open to Ushijima chasing after him.
Is counting on it, in fact.
So he gets up, puts on his bathrobe and slippers, and pads to the bathroom door, knocking on it softly. “Tooru? Are you okay?”
There’s no answer.
“Tooru, I need you to tell me if you are okay. Otherwise, I am opening this door and coming in.”
There’s a slight hiccuping cough from inside, followed by a shaky voice. “It’s locked, you asshole. What are you gonna do, break it down?”
Ushijima slides his eyes down to the colour indicator on the handle. It’s green. He decides not to press the issue. “If necessary.”
“Urgh, you’re such a colossal fucking pain in the ass! YES, I am just absolutely peachy fine, thank you very much! Now give me some privacy, for christ’s sake.”
“You have three minutes. I am going down the end of the corridor to get some snacks from the vending machine. When I get back, you’re coming out so I can apologise to you properly. Do not leave the hotel room. Understood?”
Once again, no answer.
“Answer me, Tooru.”
“Yeah fine, whatever. Please yourself.”
Ushijima swipes his wallet and his keycard from the side table and quietly leaves the room. He takes his time walking down the silent, plushly-carpeted corridor and locates the two vending machines near the bank of lifts. He selects a hot chocolate, a coffee and a peach ice tea from one machine, and an umeboshi onigiri, a fluffy milkbread and a pair of sweet red-bean tayaki from the other.
Then he walks slowly back to his room, with his spoils balanced carefully in his big hands, wincing a little at the heat from the hot chocolate and the coffee. More than three minutes should have passed by now.
When he gets to the door, he realises that he needs a third hand to use his key card and open the door. Just as he’s reorganising the snacks in his hands, Tooru opens the door looks down at him with acid mockery, eyes and nose slightly red.
“Struggling over there, big guy?”
One corner of Ushijima’s mouth curls up slightly in a surprised smile and he straightens. “I’m good now, thanks.”
Tooru stands in the door, blocking the way for a little longer, holding Ushijima’s eyes defiantly. Then he steps aside and opens it wider to let him through. As Ushijima steps through, he brushes past and climbs back on the bed, wrapping the quilt around his shoulders like a cocoon.
Ushijima dumps his haul on the little coffee table, then walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. He catches Tooru’s red-rimmed eyes and pitches his voice to its most calm, warm tone. “I’m sorry, Tooru. I shouldn’t have called you needy. It was the wrong choice of words for what I was trying to say. I apologise for hurting you.”
Tooru throws him a disgusted look. “Yeah well, I don’t forgive you. Sucks to be you.” His tone is nasal and pressed, accentuated by his still running nose. “If you want my forgiveness, you’re gonna need to get down on your knees and beg.”
“Is that really what you want me to do?”
“Yep. Off you go, on the floor and grovel like the good dog you are.” There’s a slight glint in Tooru’s eyes now, pressing his advantage. “Let me grab my phone, I’ll take a photo.”
“I don’t think that’s what you really want, Tooru.” Ushijima gets up and walks back to the couch, reaching for the remote and flicking through TV channels, picking a popular K-drama dubbed into Japanese. He settles himself down and stretched one arm along the back of the couch, coincidentally creating an inviting space under his shoulder.
“Your hot chocolate is getting cold,” he says after a minute.
“What makes you think I wanted hot chocolate?”
Ushijima doesn’t answer, focuses on the TV and waits.
After another minute, he hears the rustling of the quilt as Tooru drags it over with him and slots himself wordlessly into the space Ushijima has made for him. He reaches for the milk bread, tearing open the packet and picks at it delicately. “I still don’t forgive you,” he mumbles quietly.
The feeling of victory in Ushijima’s stomach is tinged with a quiet relief. “I know.”
They watch for a while, Ushijima struggling to follow the overly-dramatic story. There are too many unexplained details, plot holes and inconsistencies. He focuses on the warm, breathing body leaning on him instead.
“I thought this would be our last time together,” Tooru says quietly, only just loud enough to be heard over the TV. “You know... ‘One last hurrah’, before you ride off into the sunset to get married and play house.” He snorts to cover his constricted voice and leans forward again to grab the onigiri. “Or something unspeakably boring like that.”
Ushijima can’t quite prevent the small edge of concern creeping into his words. “Do you really think that I would do that to you? Did I do something to make you feel like I don’t care about you?”
Tooru shrugs, paying very close attention to unwrapping the onigiri and biting into it, taking his time chewing. Eventually, he swallows and says lightly, “I mean, no, but I figured you’d get bored of me eventually, seeing as I’m never around.”
He takes another bite, chewing just as slowly, then continues, “You’re a sports superstar, Ushiwaka. You’re so disgustingly good-looking that you have entire fashion magazine spreads dedicated to you. You get all this attention, everyone loves you. Surely that comes with perks? People must throw themselves at you all the time.”
Ushijima can hear the razor-sharp edge of insecurity wrapped up in Tooru’s words, despite the light tone. He turns so he’s facing Tooru on the couch and very deliberately, very carefully pitches his response to sound warm and curious, rather than accusatory. “Is that how you feel, Tooru? You’re easily the most skilled player at Club Atlético. You’re charismatic, beautiful and charming, and I know for a fact that you have a facebook group whole fan-club dedicated just to you. So… Don’t you get a lot of interest from other people, too? Do you get bored of me, while I’m not around?”
“No!” The response is too fast and slightly too loud to match Tooru’s feigned nonchalance. He realises and backpedals. “I mean, obviously yes, I’m wildly attractive and sexy, and everyone wants to bask in my glory!”
He grins winningly, but when Ushijima just watches him, the expression loses its shine. He frowns and looks down at his half-eaten onigiri. “But they don’t actually know me. The real me. All that attention, it’s fun but so... shallow.” He trails off for a moment, then smiles sardonically. “And if they knew what a shitty personality I have, they definitely wouldn’t like me.” He takes another big bite and finishes off the last of the rice ball, chewing like he’s taking revenge.
Ushijima is tempted to argue about the shitty personality, but knows if he interrupts he risks derailing the conversation. So he just waits for Tooru to stop chewing, giving space for him to finish his train of thought.
Finally, Tooru swallows and shrugs. “So, I mean, of course I get a lot of interest. But nobody really gets me. Like you do. That’s why I haven’t... I mean, that’s why there’s never been anybody else. Obviously. Or I wouldn’t be here.”
A feeling blooms in Ushijima’s chest that he cannot immediately name.
He remembers having the same feeling when he visited his father in the States some years ago and finally got the opportunity to thank him for protecting his left-handedness.
Gratitude.
That’s what it is.
Gratitude, for having someone believe in him. For having his hard work recognised. For being truly, deeply seen.
He leans forward and wraps his hand gently around the back of Tooru’s neck, bringing their foreheads together to touch. Holding his gaze intently, he says only, “Exactly, Tooru.” Watches Tooru’s golden-flecked brown eyes flick back and forth between his own, processing, slotting together the meaning of the words he has just spoken with Ushijima’s.
When the message finally hits home, his eyes widen.
There’s nobody else, because nobody else understands me like you do.
Ushijima nods a fraction in confirmation, then kisses him on the forehead. “Exactly,” he murmurs again, softly.
When he looks back down, Tooru’s his eyes are glassy and glistening once more. Abruptly, he jerks his head away, grimacing. “Okay, okay!” His voice is rough and pressed. “Jeez, don’t go all sappy on me like that, asshole. I get it.”
Ushijima obeys the unspoken demand for space and rotates both his body and his eyes back to the TV, ignoring the quiet sniffle. Giving Tooru the time he needs to rebuild his protective shields.
After a while, Ushijima leans forward, grabs the peach ice tea and hands it to Tooru wordlessly, then gets up and pads to the minibar to get a bottle of water. He cracks it open and empties most of it with a few gulps.
“Tell me your itinerary for the rest of the week,” he says calmly, redirecting the conversation to give Tooru more breathing room.
There’s a long pause while Tooru drinks some of the ice tea, followed by a slow exhale as his brain changes gears. “Tomorrow, Takeru asked me to coach him for a couple of hours in the morning to improve his jump serve, then I’ll probably take him out for lunch after. Day after, I’m catching the train up to Miyagi to visit my parents for a couple of days. Then back to Tokyo, probably catch up with Chibi-chan and some Seijoh people, if they ever decide to text me back. Fly out in the afternoon on the seventh.”
“Mmh,” Ushijima hums in acknowledgement.
“How about you?”
“I am on leave until training starts. I have optional engagements until then, but nothing pressing.” Ushijima has, in fact, deliberately kept his schedule completely free this week to maximise his time with Tooru, as a treat and motivation booster for himself before he has to run the gruelling gauntlet of the national men’s volleyball team’s Olympic training camp. But he thinks it unwise to admit that out loud.
Instead, he returns to the couch and drapes his arm around Tooru once more, gathering him close. “The last full day before you fly back is mine, don’t schedule anything. And I’m taking you to the airport the next day.”
“Tch. Bossy.” Tooru makes a small annoyed noise. “Fine. What’s the plan? You taking me out on a date or something?”
“Correct. Wear something nice.”
Ushijima feels a hand tug at his shirt, pulling him sideways and down, then arms sliding around his neck. Soft lips meet his, slow and sweet, tasting like peaches. “Fuck you, Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Tooru mumbles into his mouth. “I’m always better dressed than you are.”
Chapter Text
Saturday, 1 June 2024
Oikawa Tooru, 09:04AM
wakatoshi channnn
r u busy?
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 09:04AM
I am not, Tooru. When you left an hour ago, I told you I had no plans this morning.
Why?
Oikawa Tooru, 09:05AM
wonderful. come to nekoma gym
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 09:05AM
Why?
Oikawa Tooru, 09:06AM
takeru lied to me, the little weasel
it wasn’t just him wanting service coaching, it was the entire boys AND girls vb teams. even their coaches are here
i never thought i’d say this but there isn’t enough of me to go around
time for u to step up and earn ur keep, ace
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 09:07AM
I am terrible with children.
Are you sure you want me there?
Oikawa Tooru, 09:07AM
don’t worry i’ll make up for your complete lack of personality with my irresistible wit and charm
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 09:08AM
OK. Give me 30 minutes.
When Ushijima arrives and steps into the bright warmth of Nekoma High School gym shortly before 10AM, it is noisy and full of bodies. Balls are bouncing at random trajectories everywhere, gym shoes squeaking on the shining wooden floors.
He is assaulted by a violent sense of nostalgia, followed shortly after by a strong desire to leave again immediately, knowing that soon all those bodies will be crowded around him and expecting him to speak.
Instead, he walks in quietly, taking off his gloves and thick winter jacket, and sits down to change into his volleyball shoes, all while scanning the chaos for the architect of this surprise public speaking engagement.
Tooru is surrounded by a group of girls who staring at him with star-struck adoration as he explains something with a friendly but intent expression. He looks completely at ease, in his element.
“Ah, Ushijima-senshu! I am so terribly sorry for the inconvenience, thank you so much for coming at such short notice!” A woman in her mid-thirties approaches him and bows apologetically, looking embarrassed.
She introduces herself as the coach of the Nekoma girls’ team and smiles and nods politely when he introduces himself, somewhat unnecessarily, in turn. “I hope you’ll accept my deepest apologies for the terrible miscommunication, it’s all my fault, I take full responsibility! Takeru-kun mentioned his uncle was going to give a training session for the boys today so I asked if we might observe them, I didn’t realise Oikawa-san would call you in as well!”
Ushijima just nods and does his best to reassure her that he’s happy to be here, using his iron self-control to crush the uncomfortable feeling in his gut. Thankfully, time-pressure forces them to dispense with the rest of the pleasantries, and she blows her whistle loudly for everyone’s attention.
Tooru’s head snaps up, and the brief flash of relief and gratitude that crosses his face before it is replaced by a studied mask of nonchalant amusement is enough to make Ushijima glad he came.
Thereafter follows a predicable half-hour of awkward introductions, being ogled at by star-struck students and giving rote responses to questions he has answered thousands of times before. He does his best to deliberately pitch his voice warm and friendly so as not to appear too aloof.
“You really are terrible at this, aren’t you?” Tooru whispers warm in his ear as the coaches briefly turn away to organise their teams into groups. “Stiff as a board, and not in the fun way.” There’s a sharp elbow in his ribs, though Ushijima does not react in any way. The whisper returns, sultry. “I know... Let me loosen you up a bit, big guy.”
Before Ushijima can fully parse the words and formulate a fitting response, Tooru steps forward and addresses the coaches. “How about before we start drills, Ushijima-Nippon and I give everyone a demonstration of some jump serves and spikes?”
Shortly after, Ushijima finds himself serving ball after ball as Tooru commentates and points out the smallest details of his form. The familiar rhythm of throw, run, jump, smash calms him and gives him a focus outside the staring faces. Tooru’s gentle touches when he lifts Ushijima’s arm to demonstrate the correct angle for contact, or nudges his ankle to highlight the line positioning are oddly pleasant. Best of all, he doesn’t have to say anything. He can let his body do the talking for him.
Then comes the spiking drill, something his body can, and does, do in his sleep. Tooru sets the ball for him over and over and he accepts each pleasing, effortless toss gladly, alternating line shots and cut shots with varying placements across the opposing court. He stops only when Tooru pauses to point out aspects of his technique or asks him to repeat a particular movement, noticing the way Tooru’s honey-brown eyes glide over him, taking in every detail of his form.
Tooru’s sets feel... good. Easy. Sweet. Like the peach-flavoured kisses they shared on the too-hard hotel sofa last night, inhaling other’s breaths. Nothing at all like Kageyama’s cool, demanding precision.
Ushijima realises mid-flight that, in all their long years together, he and Tooru have never played like this together. They have played against each other, yes—many, many times, rivals and enemies, each driven by hunger and the will to dominate the other, to win at any cost.
But they have never played on the same team.
They have never cooperated like this.
Never synced up.
Ushijima blinks, startled out of his thoughts, when Tooru claps his hands and cheerfully declares the demonstration over. He’d forgotten where they were for a moment. A little over forty jersey-clad school students start to shuffle off to their designated groups, chattering excitedly.
In short order, he’s assigned to oversee the boys’ jump serve drills. He accepts his fate stoically, once again taking a firm grip of his iron self-control. Tooru’s nephew Takeru is enthusiastic, nearly vibrating out of his skin, even though he tries valiantly to listen to instructions and appear cool. He reminds Ushijima vaguely of a young Hinata Shoyo.
In a lull, when his group is running around collecting their balls for another round of drills, he looks over and watches Tooru talk the girls’ team through the correct arm swing. He is smiling, nodding and genuinely smiling with an honest enthusiasm for his student’s struggling attempts at hitting their serves. None of it is fake. There is no sign of his usual defensive saccharine-sweet teasing, sarcastic raised eyebrows or nasty undercutting comments. He listens intently to what each student has to say and then responds with calm, certain directions.
Ushijima has always known that Tooru is good at coaching. Had seen the way he captained his team at Aoba Johsai. But seeing him do it again now, close up, without the distance of years, it strikes him how much Tooru has matured, grown into himself both as a person and a leader. The contrast between this grounded, thoughtful, unguarded version of him and the volatile, prickly, vulnerable one that Ushijima is normally privy to is... notable.
It fills him with a complex mix of emotions that he doesn’t have the mental capacity or necessary quiet to untangle right now, inside this loud gym filled with too-bright fluorescent lights, shouting children and squeaking shoes. He files it away for later examination, wrenching his focus on to his crowd of students once more.
After two more hours of drills, in which he makes a concerted effort to speak to each one of the boys in his group individually and give them some pointers to address their weaknesses, he feels as mentally exhausted as after playing five sets of an Olympic final. All he can do is stand quietly, eyes on his shoes, and wait for the coaches to wrap up the session. He only nods at their effusive thanks, having completely run out of words.
Tooru walks in front of him as they walk back out into the cold January air and leave the school grounds, scarf slung around his neck and kit bag slung casually over one shoulder. He turns and looks Ushijima nonchalantly up and down as he walks backwards. “You look like shit, big guy.”
Ushijima only nods his head a fraction in response, too tired to spar.
“Want me to buy you lunch?”
The offer is surprising in its total lack of nicknames, teasing or swearing.
He blinks.
Processes.
Painstakingly assembles a response. “Didn’t you promise to have lunch with Takeru?”
“That little shi—weasel is currently doing a hundred push-ups as penance for the most egregious lack of communication since Chibi-chan and Tobio broke up for three days during the Rio Olympics.”
“Mmh.” The memory of that particular incident is vaguely amusing, even with the oil spill sludge of fatigue that is currently coating his brain. Hinata and Kageyama’s fight was a truly spectacular train-wreck, frustrating and yet oddly compelling to watch.
Ushijima notices that his thoughts have drifted off and forces himself to focus. Tooru must be hungry after all that teaching, so he digs deep into his reserves and says quietly, “We can go eat if you want. You must be hungry.”
Tooru studies him closely with his perceptive brown eyes, still walking backwards, idly swinging his kit bag. Then he shakes his head. “No, actually, I’ve changed my mind. You’re taking me back to your hotel-room and getting me room service.”
Gratitude.
That feeling again, unfolding in Ushijima’s stomach.
At being seen and understood. At having someone notice his needs and meet them, without requiring a long, torturous negotiation in the middle. “Alright.” His voice sounds a little rougher than normal.
Tooru nods and turns to walk forward again, leading the way to the train station. Again, the lack of cutting comment or name-calling is noticeable and odd.
As they wait on the platform of the JR line that will take them back to Asakusa where Ushijima’s hotel is, Tooru steps up and whispers in his ear, “If you’re very lucky, I’ll even lower myself enough to give you a massage.” His voice is warm and full of promise.
Ushijima blinks, takes a moment to play back the words to ensure he has heard correctly. A list of his usual responses becomes available, ready to spike the ball and win the point or call the serve out of bounds.
None of them fit.
The sentence that actually comes out of his mouth catches him completely off-guard, a sign of how truly mentally drained he is. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
All his red alerts fire at once, internal klaxons blaring. He grimaces involuntarily, wishing he could take the words back into his mouth. Adrenaline shoots through his veins in preparation for the verbal ballistic missile that his carelessness will surely provoke from Tooru. He tries to marshal enough resources to defend and deescalate.
Instead, there’s a snort of laughter. “You were one of my spikers today, so of course I’m going to take care of you.” Tooru bumps Ushijima with his shoulder, making him take a micro-step to keep his balance. “Call it my worthless pride as a setter.” It takes the sting out of the words, turns them from poison into medicine.
Ushijima can hear the pulse in his ears as the adrenaline peaks and then drains away. The familiar axis of his world has become tilted the wrong way. He’s too slow to react, brain too fatigued, like the muscles in his legs when he has jumped too high and too often.
The train arrives, giving him a reprieve. They file on and sit silently side by side, Tooru’s bag on the floor between his feet. Their knees are touching. After a few minutes, once the train is rumbling and rocking comfortably underneath them, Tooru lets his head fall on to Ushijima’s shoulder and says quietly, “Don’t look so worried, Ushiwaka. I still hate you, and we’re going back to being enemies tomorrow. Okay?”
After a long moment, Ushijima exhales and nods. “Okay.” As the train clatters its way through the dense urban landscape, he leans his head against Tooru’s and lets his eyes fall closed, only for a moment.
~*~
As soon as they get back to Ushijima’s hotel room, Tooru grabs the menu and orders, without any input from him. Ordinarily that kind-of overreach would have irked him, but in this moment he just feels relieved.
He stands under the piping hot shower for too long, wasting water, until his skin is flushed with heat and his brain is mushy. When the food arrives, he doesn’t even bother getting dressed, just sits down on the couch in his bathrobe and demolishes an enormous plate of katsu kare followed by a whole bowl of tempura udon.
It helps.
Tooru watches him, amused, over the rim of his own bowl of tonkotsu ramen. “Welcome back. What happened there? You were like one of the walking dead.”
Ushijima frowns slightly. It’s not something he likes to talk about, this thing that happens to him sometimes. It feels like a lack of willpower, a lack of self-discipline. It feels like weakness. He has worked hard to overcome it, and it doesn’t affect him as much as it used to.
He shrugs and deflects with a half-truth. “I’m not good with children.”
Sharp brown eyes study him intently, so he focuses on finishing off the last of the udon in his bowl.
Whatever Tooru wants to say, he surprisingly doesn’t. Only goes back to eating his ramen, though after a minute he puffs out his cheeks and pushes the bowl away. A mischievous grin crosses his face. “You want your massage now?”
“It’s alright, Tooru. You must be just as tired as I am. You don’t have to push yourself.”
“I’m not tired, actually. I really kind-of enjoyed myself today. It’s fun to see kids play like that, making mistakes and learning in their own way.” Tooru smiles, full of warmth and affection. “Reminded me of how much I used to enjoy coaching my kouhais. Well, until Tobio-chan came along and ruined everything, that is.” He makes an exaggerated grimace and stands up, walking to the bathroom and coming back with the spare towels and a bottle of body lotion. “Come on, lie down and let me show you my incredible skills. This is a once in a life-time opportunity, not to be repeated.”
Ushijima allows Tooru to bully and cajole him out of his bathrobe and into lying face down on the bed, towel modestly covering his lower half. He assumed briefly that Tooru would use this as an opportunity to just pounce on him, but is instead surprised to find that he’s being true to his word—his massage skills are very good indeed.
Ushijima has had sports massages all his life, but this is so much better. Forceful enough to work into stubborn knots, and yet still... Soft? Careful? Tender, attentive, indulgent? He gives up on trying to find the right adjectives and just focuses on the feeling of Tooru’s hands gliding over his skin instead.
He loses track of time.
Warm breath and murmured words in his ear pull him out of a doze. “Turn over on your back for me.”
His body complies automatically, not bothering to open his eyes. The towel is rearranged and modestly tucked around his hips again. A kiss brushes across his temple. Hands resume their patient work on his shoulders and neck, then migrate down his arms and legs, to finish on the pressure points on the soles of his feet. He twitches a little, but the touch is firm enough to be pleasant and doesn’t jolt him out of his relaxed twilight state.
Another murmur in his ear. “Do you want me to keep going? Or do you want to go to sleep now?” Fingers curl in his hair, pulling gently. “I want you, but it’s up to you.”
Ushijima’s thoughts resurface slowly through his torpor. It’s a tempting offer. Sleep would be so peaceful. He hasn’t been this relaxed in... months. But Tooru is here, now, physically in the country, within reach. A rare, precious opportunity. “Mmh,” he rumbles. “Keep going.”
There’s a soft laugh and an answering purr in his ear. “I was really hoping you would say that.”
Hands resume their kneading, massaging his pectorals, circling over the skin around his nipples, following the trail of soft hair down his abdomen, dipping close to the line of modesty the towel has imposed across his waist. Savouring, exploring. Teasing.
Kisses land on his neck and travel down to his collarbone, teeth nip playfully at his skin. Fingertips pinch his nipples, then circle slowly. Ushijima’s nipples are not sensitive by nature, but Tooru is a surprisingly patient and dedicated lover when he wants to be, willing to spend as much time as needed licking, sucking and rolling, to wake up the sleeping nerve endings until they spark and hum with pleasure.
Ushijima exhales audibly as one of those sparks travels straight down to his groin. His cock is half-hard, still covered by the towel. A small part of him wishes Tooru’s mouth would make its way there with more haste. Another, larger part of him wants to draw this soft, teasing pleasure out forever.
The mouth agrees with the larger part of him and stays put for a while longer, lavishing his chest with attention, sucking, licking and biting. “Mmmh... I never get to appreciate you properly like this... You really are quite something, you know that? Seeing you in action like that today, I just wanted to keep touching you...” Tooru’s voice is velvety with pleasure.
Ushijima is too relaxed to find words for a reply, so he just reaches out in the direction of Tooru’s voice and brushes the back of his hand across the soft skin he finds there. It earns him a kiss, mouth barely brushing his own, before it returns to worshipping his chest. More electricity sparks down his abdomen to his groin, making his abdominal muscles tense and his head tilt backwards slightly with anticipation.
Fingers return to the edge of the towel, brushing along it, dipping just underneath it. He shifts a little, impatient for more. Tooru grants his wish and slides the towel away slowly, dragging it along the sensitive skin of his semi-hard erection. Ushijima makes a small noise in the back of his throat when an open-mouth kiss lands directly and maddeningly next to the head of his cock, a tongue licking slowly up the skin stretching over his hip bone, rather than his shaft.
“So impatient...” Tooru’s breath brushes across the little patch of moisture his tongue has just left, making Ushijima twitch again. The kisses and licks resume, always around or next to his rapidly hardening cock, but never on it.
After long minutes, Tooru’s broad, warm tongue strokes along the tender skin of Ushijima’s balls, making him jump and groan. Once, twice, then again and again the tongue laves him, making his hands clench in the sheets beneath him.
“Tooru...!” His growl is part plea, part order.
There’s an answering chuckle and finally, finally the soft mouth envelopes his cock, tongue swirling over his head. It’s luscious and velvety and oh-so-sweet, making Ushijima moan softly under his breath. His hands come up involuntarily, fingers in search of hair to curl into. They find their target and hold on, making Tooru moan in response. That boy loves having his head held while sucking cock.
Ushijima does him the favour, guiding Tooru up and down into a gentle, slow, self-indulgent tempo. His mouth is hot and wet, pliant and welcoming, and Ushijima takes his time using it. His relaxed body is soaking up the pleasure. For once, he doesn’t have to be on his guard, doesn’t have to play mind-games, doesn’t have to always keep the upper hand. He can just let go and receive.
After several long minutes, he gives Tooru’s mouth and jaw a break, opening his eyes to take in the sight. Tooru’s eyes are glassy, pupils dilated, his lips swollen and glistening with saliva. There’s some dripping down his chin. His hair is wild from Ushijima’s fingers curling into it. He looks so filthy like that, unashamedly horny and lethally sexy.
Tooru’s honey-brown eyes are lambent as their gazes meet, and his voice is soaked with desire as he speaks. “Can I top you, Wakatoshi?”
Ushijima stares back into those eyes and finds to his surprise that he’s not averse to the idea. Surprised, yes, but tempted. He doesn’t often bottom, preferring to stay in control for both his and Tooru’s sake. Keeping Tooru safe. But it seems that something new has been unlocked in his boy’s restless corkscrew brain. And Ushijima very much wants to explore what it is.
His unplanned lapse into weakness after this morning’s training session has had the opposite effect of what he expected. Instead of making Tooru attack and press his advantage, it has handed Ushijima an unexpected and total victory.
He’s never seen Tooru so besotted with him, so willing, so subservient. The most surprising thing is that it’s freely given. Unlike their normal play sessions, Ushijima hasn’t had to fight tooth and nail to put Tooru in this state, to break him down by force first so he can put him back together again.
Call it my worthless pride as a setter…
Who would have thought Tooru’s pride could make him want to draw closer, not only fight to get away? That the carrot would work just as well as the stick? And all Ushijima had to do to uncover that new, powerful lever in Tooru’s brain was to let himself be guided through a few drills in front of a gymnasium full of high-schoolers.
As he considers his answer to Tooru’s question, he can’t help himself. He wants to take just a little more advantage of this delightful state of affairs, just because he can. Wants to give Tooru one final little test to see how far the boy is willing to go. To see the true extent of his hold over him in this moment. “Say please, Tooru. Beg to have me.”
The expression that forms on Tooru’s face at his words is darkly seductive. His voice is rich, bitter chocolate and smokey whisky as he leans forward and whispers in Ushijima’s ear, “Please, Wakatoshi. I’ll take such good care of you. I’ll make you feel so good… Please let me fuck you. Please.”
A rush of victory floods golden through Ushijima’s gut, warm and satisfying. The corners of his mouth curl up in slight smile. “Good boy. You may.”
Tooru’s answering kiss is greedy and possessive. He shoves his tongue into Ushijima’s mouth and licks hungrily, their tongues intertwining. Ushijima meets the challenge and holds, not giving way too much. Earthing Tooru’s lightning strikes. He feels fingernails carve into his pectoral muscles, marking him, and huffs out a breath.
Then the mouth on his is gone and he can feel Tooru lift up his legs, folding them open. He lies down beside Ushijima, face pressed into his neck and trapping one open leg with his own. Fingers cup his balls and then slide down his perineum to his hole, circling it. Despite himself, Ushijima jumps at the unfamiliar touch. “It might take me a while. I’m not prepped,” he says, voice low.
“Don’t worry, I’ll go slow,” Tooru murmurs in his ear. “Tap twice or say ‘crow’ and I’ll stop.”
It’s slightly disorienting to hear his own familiar words whispered back to him, but also somehow touching. He lets himself be reassured, closing his eyes. He wants to enjoy this new, unexpected side of Tooru for however long it lasts.
There’s a rustling and a shifting of weight, then he jumps again as cold lotion is smoothed over his hole. His reaction elicits a little chuckle from Tooru’s mouth at his neck, turning into kisses and licks as a fingertip circles him and then presses softly inside. Ushijima exhales, willing himself to bear with the slight discomfort.
The fingertip glides in and out with ever increasing depth as Tooru distracts him with his mouth at his neck, his collarbone, and then on his nipple, suckling with greedy pressure. The bundle of nerves is still sensitive from his earlier attention and sends a jolt of pleasure shooting to Ushijima’s groin, making his cock twitch. He hums. “Mmh...”
“Yeah?” He can feel Tooru smile against his chest. “Just wait, I’m only getting started.” Teeth bite into his skin as a second fingertip slides into him alongside the first.
Long, slender fingers work in and out of his hole at an easy pace, curling slightly. Ushijima can feel a glimmer of pleasure each time they come close to brushing his prostate. He’s thankful that Tooru doesn’t immediately start pushing there, giving him time to adjust. Ushijima’s orgasms, especially like this, take a long time to build, and too much too soon can overstimulate him and ruin the moment. Tooru has learned this lesson from bitter experience and takes his time, kissing and suckling Ushijima’s neck and chest while working his fingers in and out in a sweet, unhurried rhythm.
Ushijima’s breath starts to speed up, his heart rate increasing like he has just completed a warm-up in the gym. His cock is leaking precum and twitching. Finally, he leans his head to the side and opens his eyes. “Tooru,” he breathes, voice low and gravelly. “Fuck me now.”
Golden-flecked brown eyes snap to his and there’s a quiet gasp of rewarded patience. Tooru’s fingers withdraw and the warmth of him draping over Ushijima’s body disappears as he scoots down and positions himself between Ushijima’s open legs. He takes a few more pumps of the lotion and coats his cock, stroking himself a few times. Ushijima watches, committing the view to his long-term memory. Tooru’s cock is beautiful, long and slender, and slightly bent, just like its owner. The next time he gets the opportunity, Ushijima decides he will take his time savouring its delicious taste in his mouth.
But right now, Tooru has other plans for him. He takes Ushijima’s right leg and leans it upright against his own chest, calf brushing against his cheek, blessing it with a kiss. Then he leans forward and positions himself, leaning on his hands either side of Ushijima’s head, cock pushing against Ushijima’s softened entrance. “Ready?” he whispers, voice seductive and soft.
“Mmh,” Ushijima hums and breathes out, his eyes falling closed again as Tooru pushes inside slowly, all the way down.
It’s almost too much. Almost.
“Tooru,” he moans softly. His hands dig into Tooru’s waist, enough to bruise. Holding him still.
“Toshi.” The answering moan in his ears is breathless, needy and hot. “Fuck, Toshi! You’re so tight, so hot, so mmh!”
The inarticulate strangled noise from Tooru’s throat fans the flames in Ushijima’s chest to white, searing heat. Something about Tooru always pushes him right to the edge of his endurance. Tests his control in the best ways, forcing him to learn, adapt and grow. Again and again, Tooru challenges him, and Ushijima is forced to transcend his own limitations to meet him. Evolve, become better and stronger.
To beat him. To win.
Like Tooru needs him to, and Ushijima has promised silently in his heart always to do. That is their sacred pact, the bond that has held them together over the incredible distances separating them for years.
Ushijima breathes deeply, eyes closed and unresisting, letting the sensations flood through him: Tooru fully inside him, stretching him, filling him up, Tooru’s hot breath on his neck, the weight of Tooru’s body on top of him, pressing Ushijima’s cock between them.
Somehow, the sensory onslaught doesn’t drown him. Instead, he starts to float, pleasure slowly eclipsing overwhelm.
He flexes his hands on Tooru’s hips, moving him slowly, pushing the cock inside him deeper.
Tooru groans in answer and rolls his hips, once, then again, and again, slowly each time, finding a rhythm. Each out-breath is punctuated by mumbled words. “Oh god... mmh... oh god... fuck, Toshi…” He is trying, holding himself back and trying to be considerate, but Ushijima can tell from his voice that he’s already close to his peak.
He himself though isn’t yet. So he holds Tooru’s hips still again. “Stop, Tooru. You’re building too fast. I want us to come together.”
The movement stops, but there is a small whine of protest that makes Ushijima smile. It’s so quintessentially Tooru. He caresses his boy’s back gently, whispering instructions. “Sit up and stroke my cock. Look at me while you do.”
Obediently, Tooru pushes back and sits on his heels, still buried deep. He’s flushed and there’s a thin sheen of sweat making his chest glisten, his hair curling damply at his temples. His liquid brown eyes are staring down at Ushijima with tender, possessive need.
Ushijima holds his gaze, taking in every detail of the sight and feels his body respond, pushing his pleasure higher. “Fuck, Tooru. You’re so beautiful.” He doesn’t swear often, but when he does, he means it.
Tooru’s answering smile is like a sunrise. He wraps his hand around Ushijima’s cock and strokes lightly, curling around the head with deft fingers, picking up the precum to make his movements glide more easily. He repeats the movement and rolls his hips a fraction, pushing himself in a little, accentuating the up-stroke of his hand.
Ushijima exhales sharply and tips back his head, clenching his eyes close involuntarily. “That’s it,” he groans softly. “Just like that.”
And Tooru does it, just like that. Over and over, with precision and care, giving Ushijima exactly what he wants. Catering to his need, watching him, learning him and taking care of him.
Setter’s pride, a part of Ushijima’s brain observes absently while his fingers clench in the sheets beneath him. He surrenders and allows himself to be led, gives himself over to the direction of another, pleasure building and building, until he’s finally there. “Tooru,” he gasps, voice pressed. “I’m close. Come with me,”
“Toshi...!” Tooru gasps and falls forwards, bracing himself with his hands on Ushijima’s chest, and his hips start moving, burying himself inside over and over, moaning and gasping, all control lost in favour of chasing his own peak.
Ushijima matches him, meets him, and falls first, coming hard with a bitten-off groan, cum splattering all over his abdomen and chest.
Tooru is only a split-second behind, driving in deep with a strangled cry, voice breaking. “Fuck! Oh god, fuck!” His fingernails dig deep into Ushijima’s skin while he rides his orgasm, eyes clenched shut, hips moving less and less with each receding wave, panting hard.
Finally he collapses down into the wet mess between them, boneless and unmoving.
Ushijima has just enough awareness left to wrap his arms around the still-panting shoulders, crushing them close. His mouth finds the soft skin behind Tooru’s ear by sheer lucky accident and he presses his lips into it, unable to find any words to say.
~*~
He wakes up to an empty bed, his arm extended across cold sheets. Late afternoon sun slants in golden through the white sheer curtains covering the window. He blinks, trying to kick his sleep-fogged brain into gear.
Where is Tooru?
His question is answered when water starts running in the shower in the bathroom, muffled by the closed door.
He sits up, still slightly groggy. Rolls out of bed, finds his discarded bathrobe, puts it on. Grabs a bottle of water from the minibar and gulps the whole thing down in one go.
Sits on the couch and waits.
After ten minutes, Tooru emerges from the bathroom, hair damp, towel slung around his waist. He sees Ushijima and starts slightly, then scowls.
Ah.
The normal laws of the universe have reasserted themselves. What goes up, must come down. Expansion is always followed by contraction. And Oikawa Tooru’s mind has returned to its habitual strategy of avoiding vulnerability and shame by wrapping himself in protective shields and running away.
Tomorrow we’ll go back to being enemies.
Whatever new impulse took hold of him this morning hasn’t even lasted until nightfall.
Ushijima knew it was coming. He was ready for it. And yet, the moment still feels heavy in his chest when he realises the brief respite is over.
He pushes down the emotion and marshals his strength once more. “You’re leaving.” It is not a question.
“Yeah.” Tooru walks around the room, finding his clothes and getting dressed, avoiding his gaze.
“Do you have commitments tonight?”
“No, but I’ve got to get back to my own hotel and pack, do laundry, that kind of shit. I’m catching the early train to Sendai tomorrow morning to see my parents, so—”
Ushijima reaches out and locks his hand around Tooru’s wrist, pulling him to a stop up mid-step. “Then you’re not leaving until we’ve talked about what just happened, and why.”
A complex series of emotions chase themselves across Tooru’s face: surprise, rage, embarrassment. Fear. “What the fuck? Let me go, you bastard!” He jerks his wrist, but half-heartedly, like he knows it’s already too late.
Like he does when he’s testing if the cuffs holding him are secure.
Am I safe with you?
Ushijima stares him down, calmly holding his wrist and his gaze. Unbending.
Yes. Always, yes.
Tooru clenches his teeth and then sighs loudly, pretending to be exasperated. “Fine, fine! Fucking brute. Can I at least sit down, or are you going to wrestle me to the floor and hold me in a headlock?”
Ushijima lets go and stands between him and the door, until Tooru lets himself fall on the couch. Then he sits down next to him, not touching, despite how much he wants to reach out and gather his boy close. But he knows that’s not possible right now, that Tooru needs space. So instead, he works to make his voice warm and curious. “You seemed… different, earlier. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Did something happen during the Nekoma practise?”
Tooru snorts contemptuously. “I should be asking you that question! What the fuck happened to you? It was like you just turned into a walking corpse!”
Successful block, a fair point won. Ushijima should’ve seen that coming.
He looks down and takes a breath. “You’re right,” he admits, forcing himself be honest. “I… got overwhelmed. It was so noisy and there were so many people, and I didn’t have any time to mentally prepare myself for public speaking, so I shut down there at the end. For a bit. Until you brought me back.” He opens and closes his hands a few times. “It hasn’t happened to me in a while. I’m sorry for scaring you.”
There’s a moment of silence as Tooru takes that in, looking a little taken aback. Eventually, he says quietly, “I wasn’t scared.” Another moment of silence, then a small sigh. “I guess I’m the one that should be sorry. It’s my fault for putting you in that situation at such short notice. Well, Takeru’s fault, really, but...” He reaches out and brushes it against Ushijima’s thigh, ever so briefly. “Thanks for coming to help out. You really saved my ass back there.”
Ushijima buries his surprise at the swift offer of ceasefire and just nods. “I’m glad you called me for help.”
Tooru fidgets a little. Finally, he says, “It was… kind of cute, actually.”
“Cute?”
“Seeing you like that. All… soft and helpless like that. You’re surprisingly sweet.”
“Oh?” Ushijima’s eyebrows rise up at the admission. “Is that why you were so… solicitous when we got home? Is that why you asked to top me?” He knows it’s a risk to ask so directly, but there’s really no other way to say it. He wants a straight answer.
Tooru scowls and looks away to the door, but not quickly enough to hide the red colour rising on his cheeks.
A blush?
Ushijima hasn’t seen Tooru blush in… years. Not since their earliest play sessions, when they were just figuring out each other’s kinks.
His instincts told him that some new powerful lever had been unlocked in Tooru’s complicated brain earlier this morning, and this confirms it.
Still not looking at him, Tooru mumbles, “I guess, yeah. That was part of it. I’ve never seen you like that before. It… kind of made me want to protect you. Take care of you, for a change.”
Ushijima nods. That makes sense. He waits for more information, but when Tooru doesn’t continue, he prompts, “And the other part?”
It takes a long time for Tooru to answer. Finally, he turns and looks at Ushijima, and there’s a mixture of frustration and sadness in his eyes. “You’re a loaded gun, Ushijima Wakatoshi.”
The words hit home like a punch to the gut. It takes every inch of Ushijima’s self-control not to flinch. He holds himself steady, eyes on Tooru. Listening intently.
Tooru sighs, looks away again. “On the volleyball court, at least. And so far, I’ve only ever had you pointed at my head.” He pauses, then laughs a little. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it just as much as I hate it. Each time we’re together, it’s a thrill I can’t resist.”
He falls silent again, stares at the golden rays of the sun pouring through the curtained window. Continues quietly, “But today, I got a taste of what it might be like to aim down your sights, instead of staring down your barrel. What it might be like to take a hold of you and aim you at my opponents, instead of at myself.”
There’s a slight catch in Tooru’s voice and he stops again. Draws a breath. “I thought about what it might be like if we were on the same team, instead of opponents. I found that I liked the thought of that. Maybe a little too much. It made me feel possessive and greedy.”
He laughs again, bitterly. “And it made me absolutely hate Kageyama Tobio, more than I already do. Because my dear kouhai gets to wield you every time you two stand on the court. Which is all kinds of fucked up, I know. I’m a total headcase. I should be able to be professional and get over it.” He gets up and walks back to the door. “And I will, just give me a few days.”
Surprise has frozen Ushijima to the spot, making him slow to react to Tooru’s escape. By the time he has regained his feet, Tooru is already half-way through the door and out into the corridor beyond.
There’s no time for calculation, only instinct. Ushijima grabs Tooru by the arm and pulls him into a crushing hug.
Tooru makes a small ‘oomph’ sound, but the expected venomous protest and push-back doesn’t come. He just stands still and lets himself be hugged, there in the doorway.
“I don’t want you to get over it, Tooru,” Ushijima murmurs softly into his hair, keeping his voice down. “Kageyama may get to wield me, but he will never get to have me. Not like you do.”
There’s a strangled half-laugh from somewhere below Ushijima's chin, muffled by his bathrobe. Tooru pushes him away with gentle hands and looks up at him with glistening eyes and a savage grin. “I guess that’s true. I’m the only one that gets to fuck you, Ushijima Wakatoshi.”
Then he turns around and walks away down the corridor, not looking back.
Chapter Text
Ushijima’s phone pings, distracting him from the story Bokuto is telling, gesticulating wildly, basking in the attention of the rest of the crowd around the table. Most of the usual suspects are here and the atmosphere in the Izakaya’s private room is loud and cheerful. Beers are being drunk. Food is being eaten.
Ushijima excuses himself and heads to the exit, reading the message on the way.
Wednesday, 5 June 2024
Oikawa Tooru, 06:47PM
yo
i won’t be able to make it tomorrow
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 06:50PM
Oh. Why?
Oikawa Tooru, 05:51PM
my mother’s sick
so i’m going to stay here for a bit longer
In the quiet street outside, Ushijima frowns, considering Tooru’s words. Their context. Tooru’s mental state the last time they saw each other. Stares at the rain-wet asphalt of the street, thinking, then taps out,
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 06:54PM
Are you avoiding me?
Oikawa Tooru, 06:54PM
what the fuck
NO
my mother is literally sick you asshole
the world doesn’t always revolve around you
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 06:55PM
I’m sorry, that was insensitive. I apologise.
I hope she feels better soon.
There’s no reply.
Ushijima goes back inside and rejoins the noisy group, ignoring a few inquisitive glances from around the table.
~*~
The following evening, a quiet knock on his hotel-room door makes Ushijima look up from his book, reading-glasses perched on his nose. He looks down at his phone and checks the time: 11:25PM.
Already sure of who it is, he gets up and pads to the door in his slippers, opening it wide without hesitation.
Tooru stands there with his luggage, an insolent smile on his face. “Hey, asshole.”
“Hey.” Ushijima eyes him for a moment, absorbing every detail. Tooru’s hair is less perfectly styled than normal, and his smile papered over a bright, brittle tiredness in his face. His clothes are rumpled. “Did you just get off the train?” Ushijima asks, stepping back to let him inside.
Dragging his suitcase behind him, Tooru steps inside and slips off his shoes. He dumps everything messily into a corner, then collapses on the couch with a sigh, eyes closed, his legs stretched out on the coffee table. “Yeah.”
Ushijima sits next to him, picks up his book again, opens it and starts reading.
After ten minutes, Tooru breaks the silence. “I lied. My mother isn’t sick.”
Ushijima looks up at him over the top of his glasses. “I know.”
The surprise on Tooru’s face is quickly covered by a scowl. “Oh, please excuse me, Ushijima-sensei for stating the obvious! I should’ve remembered that you’re the Omniscient Knower Of Everything.”
One side of Ushijima’s mouth curls up in a slight smile. “I just know you, Tooru. I guessed you were avoiding me. But I hoped you’d change your mind, so I’ve been waiting for you.” He sees Tooru inhale to make another attack, so he heads it off at the pass. “I’m glad you came. Have you had dinner?”
The frown on Tooru’s face lessens a fraction and he stares at his feet. “I had an ekiben on the train. Was okay.”
Ushijima nods, satisfied, and returns his attention to the open book in front of him.
This time, Tooru’s patience only lasts two minutes. “Are you just going to sit there and read? Aren’t you going to say anything else? Aren’t you angry with me? I ruined our last day together!”
Slipping the bookmark in to mark his place, Ushijima closes the book, puts it down and takes off his glasses. “Do you want me to be angry with you, Tooru?”
“Tch! Stop doing that! You know I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“That! Answering every question with another question! It’s unbelievably irritating.” Tooru gets up abruptly, stomps to the window and tries to look outside, then realises that its pitch-dark outside and the lights inside the room have turned the entire pane of glass into a big mirror.
Ushijima watches him look around the room in the reflection. Sees his shoulders hitch a little when he finally notices the implements laid out in a neat row on the smooth white sheet of the bed behind him: several lengths of neatly-coiled black rope, a blindfold, the curled plug he already knows intimately, the riding crop, and finally, two nipple clamps linked by a length of chain.
Tooru spins around, his eyes magnetically drawn to the items, staring. He opens and closes his mouth, frowns and swallows.
Ushijima gets up and walks to stand next to him, close but not touching, taking care to pitch his voice gentle and steady. “I’m not angry. But I do think you deserve some consequences for lying to me. Do you want me to do it this way, or another?”
Underneath his words is the unspoken question he has asked Tooru each time they play.
Do you want me to give you the pain you need?
He watches Tooru once again go to war against himself: on the one side, his pride, his deeply-buried self-loathing and his hatred of Ushijima’s power over him; on the other, his lust, his need to please, and his desperate longing to be held and cared for.
For a long moment, he is frozen with indecision.
Ushijima steps away again, removing himself from Tooru’s personal space, seeing if he will follow or if he wants distance.
Unconsciously, Tooru follows him, coming to stand in the middle of the room before he blinks, somewhat at a loss.
The balance of the battle tips and he loses, as he always must in a fight where the only opponent is himself.
“Fine,” he huffs. “I mean, looks like you already have your heart set on it, so who am I to disappoint you? Do what you must.”
Ushijima just looks silently at him, waiting for explicit consent.
Tooru stares back mulishly. Finally, he gives in. “Yes, you can tie me up and use those things on me. I consent.”
Victory is sweet on Ushijima’s tongue, but he knows this was just the first battle. He hasn’t yet won the war. He nods. “Very well. Go to the bathroom, then take off your clothes and kneel on the bed, please.”
Tooru opens his mouth to issue his usual rebuke for Ushijima not saying ‘please’, then realises that he did in fact say it this time, scowls instead and stomps off to the bathroom as instructed. When he returns, he strips off his clothes and, against his own natural inclinations, folds them neatly into a pile on the coffee table, having learned this particular lesson well.
While he does, Ushijima readies the ropes and neatly arranges everything within easy reach. Once Tooru is kneeling before him, he takes a moment to run his hands through his boy’s soft brown hair, savouring the feeling and locking it away into his memory, along with all the other precious moments stored there.
Then he picks up one of the ropes by its bight and begins the familiar sequence of a Takate Kote chest harness, beginning by tying Tooru’s arms behind his back, then laying the rope across his chest in two broad bands, locking the top band in place by cinching under the armpits, before securing everything in place with neat tie-offs between the shoulder-blades.
As he works, he can feel the tension ooze out of Tooru more and more with each passing minute. After ten minutes, when harness is complete, his breathing has slowed, his eyes are closed and his head is hanging forward, already sunken deep into the soft, liminal space his brain so craves.
He must have been utterly emotionally exhausted, fighting battle after battle against himself all day inside his brilliant, quicksilver corkscrew brain.
Ushijima pauses and reconsiders his initial plan for punishment, removing some of the more fiendish aspects. It seems that tonight, Tooru doesn’t need pain and predicament, but softness and security. And while he does indeed deserve consequences for lying and running away, he also deserves a reward for admitting it and coming back.
So instead of leaving him kneeling upright, he tips Tooru backwards to come to rest on his back and bends up his right leg. He starts on a Futomomo leg cinch, wrapping the rope in a spiral up the bent leg from the hip to the knee, before pulling it between calf and thigh to cinch each loop securely in place and tying off. The boy doesn’t even open his eyes, pliant and docile.
Once the leg tie is completed, locking his leg into a bent position, Ushijima lifts Tooru back upright to kneeling. “Give me your colour and remind me of your safeword,” he says, softly.
It takes a few heartbeats for the words to sink down into the depths where Tooru’s brain is currently floating. When he speaks, his tongue seems thick and slow. “Green... crows...”
Close enough.
Ushijima attaches another rope to the back of the harness and leaves it loose, then walks over and fetches the curled butt plug that drove Tooru to absolute distraction on their first day together. He coats the fingers of his left hand with lube and then places his right on Tooru’s shoulder, whispering softly in his ear. “Get ready.”
Despite the warning, Tooru still flinches a little when the cool wet fingers brush against his hole, but his head doesn’t lift and his eyes don’t open. Ushijima circles and probes his warmth, opening him up just enough, then slides in the lubed-up plug, making Tooru exhale with a moan. Ushijima rewards him with a kiss brushed against his temple. “Good boy.”
Tooru shifts, canting his hips slightly, chasing the feeling of the curved plug brush against his prostate.
Good. That’s exactly what Ushijima wants. He takes the double line of rope he attached to the back of the harness earlier and feeds it behind Tooru’s arms, down between his legs, twisting its two strands once and then feeding them either side of the plug’s flared base. Tooru makes a small mew, knowing where they are headed now, even if he’s floating too deep down to do anything more.
Ushijima twists the strands again to lock the hold on the plug, then threads them either side of Tooru’s balls and cock, coming up to attach to the ropes laying across Tooru’s chest. Not too lose, not too tight, with just enough tension that any movement of Tooru’s torso will translate to the plug.
That done, he considers the final element of his plan. Watches Tooru’s face and body language carefully, the way his eyes are still closed and his shoulders are loose, although his hips move unconsciously every now and then.
Finally, he comes to a decision.
He places his right hand on Tooru’s arm, stroking softly to give warning, then reaches with his left and pinches one of his nipples. It earns him a little whine. “Tooru, focus on me for a moment. Do you want me to put on the nipple clamps on your chest? Move your head clearly yes or no.” There’s a moment’s pause while Tooru’s brain reassembles itself enough to process his question and form a response, then he gives a clear nod.
Yes.
“Alright,” Ushijima murmurs and nuzzles a kiss into the soft skin behind his ear. He gets up and fetches the nipple clamps, checking that the pressure isn’t too strong on the tip of his little finger, before brushing Tooru’s arm again in warning. “Here we go,” he says soothingly, affixing one clamp and then the other.
Tooru exhales audibly, part gasp and part sigh. His mouth falls softly open, though his eyes are still closed and his head hanging loosely forward.
He looks so beautiful in that moment, completely surrendered and at peace. Ushijima hoards the sight away like treasure.
Checking the colour and temperature of Tooru’s hands and bound leg, he decides they have about twenty minutes before he has to remove the ropes again. So he shifts Tooru once more, bringing him to lie face down on his stomach, bound leg up and unbound leg long, as if he were sleeping. Tooru moans slightly as the movement makes the rope around the base of his plug shift.
Once satisfied with the boy’s position, Ushijima sits down with his back resting on the cushions piled up against the headboard and lifts Tooru’s head to rest in his lap. He strokes his fingers through the messy brown hair, watching as the boy’s abdomen and hips move slightly backwards and forwards as he chases the sensations of the rope shifting the base of the plug nestled inside him.
After several long, peaceful minutes, Tooru opens his mouth in a clear request, though his eyes remain closed.
Ushijima smiles slightly and gives him the index and middle fingers of his right hand to suck on. Tooru hums, satisfied, mouth working as he moves his hips more deliberately now, chasing more pleasure from the plug and from rubbing his erect cock against the sheets beneath him.
With his left hand, Ushijima reaches out and hooks a finger around the chain attached to the nipple clamps, tugging gently. Tooru whines and sucks harder. Ushijima repeats the movement, timing each soft tug with the motion of Tooru’s hips as he works the plug inside himself.
Soon, Tooru is mewling continuously around the fingers in his mouth, becoming more desperate as the gently shifting plug only gives him enough sensation to tantalise, but not to reach his peak.
Ordinarily, Ushijima would have liked to leave him there and enjoy watching his predicament for a lot longer, but the ropes will have to come off soon so he decides to be merciful.
He removes his fingers from Tooru’s mouth and switches hands, tugging at the chain between the nipple clamps with his right and reaching forward with his left to push the base of the plug deeper inside Tooru’s ass. “Come for me, Tooru,” he murmurs softly, giving permission.
The effect is immediate. Tooru moans and arches his back, pushing his hips back while Ushijima works both his hands in tandem, tugging at the clamps and fucking him with the plug at a steady pace.
It doesn’t take long. Tooru turns his head and buries face in Ushijima’s lap, his moan turning into a muffled, drawn-out wail as he comes, hips bucking wildly. His arms flex against the ropes holding them locked behind his back for a moment, then his whole body goes limp, every muscle letting go at once.
A golden sense of satisfaction floods Ushijima’s stomach and he smiles down at Tooru’s panting form for a long moment. Absently, he notes how hard his own cock is, but pushes the feeling away to the back of his mind. Tonight is not about him. Tonight is a farewell present for Tooru, strengthening the tether that will bind them together over the coming months of absence.
“That’s it, good boy... You did so well,” he murmurs, running his fingers over Tooru’s neck and shoulders, up into his hair. The boy gives no response, completely lost to the world.
Time to get him out of the ropes.
Ushijima carefully lifts Tooru’s head out of his lap so he can get up, then pulls him to sit semi-upright between his legs, leaning him back against his chest. Working slowly and carefully, he releases each rope, brushing kisses along the deepest rope marks, shifting Tooru back and forwards as needed. Finally, he lays him down on his side, one leg angled up and head resting on a pillow, and gently slides out the plug, removing its accompanying rope. Tooru doesn’t stir, breathing even and deep.
The next twenty minutes are spent coiling ropes, disinfecting and packing away toys, cleaning Tooru’s messy self and getting himself ready for sleep. The last thing he does is check the departure time of Tooru’s flight and setting two alarms, an hour apart. They will probably be awake before then, but better safe than sorry.
Then he pulls the blanket over them both and curls himself around the boy already fast asleep in his bed.
~*~
The intense scowl on Tooru’s face and his flared nostrils are a certain sign that he is working hard to fight back tears. As is the fact that he hasn’t stopped staring down into his iced coffee for almost two full minutes, barely blinking.
Ushijima badly wants to place his hand on the back of his neck and take him home, or at least guide him into a quiet, private corner and stroke or finger him to orgasm, to break down the spiked iron bands of his self-control until those tears spill into Ushijima’s waiting shirt.
Wants to wrap his arms around Tooru’s shuddering shoulders for as long as it takes for the storm to pass and calm to return.
But there is no more time, and nowhere in this too-bright, too-crowded airport terminal that is private and clean enough to allow for that right now. And even if there were, Ushijima hates the idea of leaving Tooru emotionally vulnerable in a public space, when he himself will soon be forced to leave and can no longer be his pillar of strength.
So, reluctantly, he falls back on his default strategy.
“Tooru, tell me the strengths and weaknesses of each of your wing spikers,” he says, voice even and low, with just an edge of command.
Sharp brown eyes snap up and lock on to his, narrowing. Tooru always knows when he is being deliberately distracted, resents the fact that Ushijima has noticed what he considers to be a moment of weakness.
But Tooru’s mind is Tooru’s mind, and when confronted with such a question, it is simply unable to hold on to any other thoughts for long. “Well, there’s plenty of weaknesses, that’s for sure. I mean, Conte can only land about sixty percent of his line cuts on a good day when all the stars and planets align, Gallo’s unforced error rate when he serves is frankly embarrassing, Vincentín can’t receive to save himself and...”
It is a telling sign of Tooru’s mental state that he focuses exclusively on his teammates’ weaknesses, when he is normally a much fairer and even-handed judge. But Ushijima doesn’t interrupt, just listens to his mind unspool, making appropriate noises when required, and memorises every detail of Tooru’s face.
Ushijima has never been accused of being sentimental. The opposite, in fact. Arrogant, cold, aloof, unfeeling, a robot—all labels he’s carried his whole life, many awarded and reinforced by Tooru himself.
And yet, in this moment, he finds himself swimming against a strong current of unfamiliar feelings.
It is unsettling.
Usually, their goodbyes are unceremonious affairs, a brief wave and ‘ja, mata ne’, each walking away without looking back. Back to their own lives, until their schedules align once more.
There’s nothing more to say.
So why is he so unwilling to let go this time?
Letting go has never been a problem before, never in all the many dozens of times they have previously said goodbye to each other over the past ten years.
Nothing is different.
Except, everything is.
The clock ticks on, counting down their last minutes together, until it is time. Tooru slides out of the booth at the café they’ve been waiting at and slings his small backpack over his shoulder, passport and boarding pass held casually between index and middle finger. He leaves his iced coffee behind, to melt alone.
Ushijima also stands and follows, walking one pace behind him, then stops where the queue for the security checks slowly snakes its way through the maze of temporary barriers.
This is as far as he can go.
“Send me a text message as soon as you get home.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tooru waves with affected laziness, not meeting Ushijima’s eyes, and walks towards the slowly shuffling line of people.
“Stop, Tooru.” Ushijima’s voice carries the full weight of command he uses only in the most serious of circumstances.
Tooru freezes on the spot.
“Turn around and come back. You forgot something.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Tooru turns around and walks back, eyes on the floor. “What?”
“Come here.” Ushijima holds open his arms. It is not a request.
Without a word, Tooru steps inside the cage of his arms and stands there mutely, letting himself be enfolded. Ushijima hugs him and kisses the top of his head. “See you in Paris,” he whispers, gently.
Tooru pushes Ushijima’s arms away and steps away, grimacing. It looks like he is about to say something, make some cutting remark or tell him to fuck off as he always does, but instead, he just turns away and joins the queue, quickly getting lost in the crowd.
Ushijima stands flat-footed, the serve he was expecting to receive just dissolved in mid-air. He feels robbed.
After a minute, he blinks and snaps himself out of it, turning to walk slowly back to the exit.
In the taxi back to his hotel, Ushijima unlocks his phone and checks the time in the Paris. It’s 9AM, too early to call. He finds the contact ‘Satori Tendou’ and taps out a text message.
Friday, 7 June 2024
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 04:06PM
Tendou, I need your help. Call me back when you have time.
Then he locks his phone again and stares out of the window, Tooru’s words from earlier in the week replaying over and over in his mind.
I thought about what it might be like if we were on the same team, instead of opponents.
I found that I liked the thought of that.
Chapter 7
Notes:
A note on time differences:
Ushijima is currently in Japan, which is 12 hours ahead of Argentina. For example, 9PM in Tokyo is 9AM in San Juan.
Chapter Text
The following evening, just as he’s coming back to his hotel room after dinner, Ushijima’s phone screen lights up with an incoming call from Satori.
Relieved, he slides his finger across to accept the call, slipping off his shoes and dumping his jacket on the sofa. “Tendou, thank you for calling me back.”
“Wakatoshi-kuuuun, long time no speak! What’s wrong, is the world ending?” Satori sounds cheerful, drawing out the kun in his familiar, sing-song voice.
Ushijima frowns as he bends down and grabs a can of green iced tea from the minibar. Something in his chest feels a little lighter at the sound of his best friend’s voice on the other end of the line. Calmer. “Why do you say that?”
Satori laughs in that demonically delighted way that used to get him bullied in elementary school. “Because you texted me first. You never text me first. So, ergo, something serious must have happened. Something so serious that you have no choice but to call your oldest, bestest best friend, that you so cruelly ignore for months at a time, and ask for his questionable advice.”
“Hm. I suppose you’re right. I do need your advice.”
“Well then. Good thing I have just had a delicious lunch, opened a good bottle of red wine, and have absolutely no plans this fine Saturday afternoon. So, let’s hear it. Is it Olympic prep? Trouble with team politics? Oh no, not an injury scare?”
Ushijima lets himself fall on the couch and opens his drink, taking a sip. He stretches out his legs, resisting the temptation to prop them up on the coffee table. “How did you know I was selected?”
“Oh please, it’s called social media. They announced the squad on all the channels. Congrats on being named team captain again! You really need to get a new publicity shot, your old one looks like you just overheard someone insult your father.”
“Mhm.” Ushijima grunts, dismissing the issue, but hesitates before speaking again.
Satori knows about his ongoing relationship with Tooru, has known about it since high school. His freakish intuition told him that his best friend had a crush on the Aoba Johsai setter, long before Ushijima ever admitted it to himself. And, despite his endless affectionate mocking, Satori gave him surprisingly sound advice even back then.
So, Ushijima decides to trust him once more now. “It’s nothing to do with the Olympics. I need relationship advice, Tendou.”
“Oh no!” Satori’s groan is exaggerated and theatrical. “Did Oikawa finally grow tired of you and dump you?”
“No. The opposite, actually.”
“What, he proposed? Congratulations, my dear! You’ll make a beautiful, blushing bride. Stay in France after the Olympics, I know the perfect place in the Provence for your honeymoon.”
“Tendou, be serious please.”
Satori laughs and for an instant, Ushijima can see his friend’s face as if they’re back in high school. “Gomen, gomen! So, what happened? What’s Oikawa done that’s got you so rattled?”
Ushijima hesitates again. He hates discussing his private life with anyone. Satori and his father are the only two people in the world he trusts enough to tell more than the most basic of details. But this disquiet that has taken root in his gut drives him to seek a new solution.
He knows he has weaknesses and skill gaps in maintaining interpersonal relationships. He needs coaching. Once he’s been pointed in the right direction, he can put his head down and work hard to eradicate the issue.
“Tendou, I’m going to tell you something now that will be very amusing to you. You will have exactly one minute to laugh as much as you want, then I need you to zero in and focus.”
“Oh, this is going to be good, I can tell.”
Ushijima tells him.
Satori laughs for two minutes and thirty-five seconds.
“Wakatoshi-kunnnnn! I mean, I knew you were bad at communicating, but this...” Satori’s laughter bubbles up once more, and he fights for control. “I mean, you were in a relationship with him, and he didn’t know? For ten years? That’s truly a new personal best, even for you!”
“Are you done?” Ushijima finishes his iced green tea as new gales of laughter sound from the other end of the line. Waits, tapping the now-empty can on the table.
Finally Satori gasps and says, “Okay, yep. I think I’m over it. Okay... Whew. I haven’t laughed like that in.... Oh, ages!” Several more deep breaths, then the clink of a wine glass. “So. Alright. And you want my advice for... what, exactly?”
“I need a new game plan for how to maintain a closer relationship with Tooru while he’s in Argentina and I’m here. Or in Poland.” He pauses, then forces himself to admit it. “I thought the strategy I had was working fine, but it obviously wasn’t. I want you to give me feedback on my ideas and help me come up with a new one.”
“Hmm... I mean, long-distance relationships are never easy, we both know that.” For the first time in their conversation, Satori sounds genuinely thoughtful. “Alright, I guess I can be a sounding-board. But, Wakatoshi-kun... Isn’t this a conversation you should be having with Oikawa, instead? He’s the one that’s going to be affected by this, not me.”
Ushijima pauses, choosing his next words very carefully. Even Satori doesn’t know about the exact nature of his and Tooru’s power exchange dynamic. That is something Ushijima will never disclose, to anyone. “These kinds of conversations are anathema to Tooru. He relies on me to take the lead with things like this.”
“Well...That at least explains how you both ended up in this situation.” Satori sighs and Ushijima hears him take another sip of wine. “Never-mind, you came to me for help so I will help. So tell me, how often do you normally communicate when you’re not in the same city?”
“Once a month, give or take.”
There’s a long, long silence on the other end of the line.
“Tendou?”
“Yep, I’m here. You’re getting me tickets to all your Olympic matches as payment for this, Wakatoshi-kun.”
“I will.”
There’s a sigh and another clink of the wine glass. “Okay. Once a month. And how exactly do you contact each other, once a month? Phone call, face-time?”
“Texting, mostly. A short call if we have to coordinate flights or other logistics.”
“Ah, putain...” Satori growls. “Is that the only reason you two communicate? Logistics?”
Ushijima frowns at the unfamiliar curse but chooses to ignore it. “Mostly logistics, yes, but sometimes we also talk about training, upcoming games, our teammates, competitions, league results, that sort of thing. Sometimes, I send him news articles I think are interesting, and he sends me pictures of cats that he thinks are funny.”
“Logistics, volleyball and cats. How romantic.”
The sarcasm in Satori’s tone makes Ushijima feel the need to defend himself. He tamps down the impulse, keeping his voice neutral. “I already told you that I want a new game plan, Tendou. I know this one’s not working.” He gets up and throws the empty iced green tea can in the bin, then returns to the couch. “What do you suggest I do instead?”
There’s an exasperated sound from the other end of the line. “Talk! Actually talk to each other, Wakatoshi-kun! I mean, you love this man, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then for the love of all that’s holy, talk to him!”
“What about?”
There’s another string of french expletives. “I don’t know, normal stuff! Ask him about how his week is going, how he’s feeling, what his plans are, what’s going well and what isn’t, if he has any problems you can help with, anything and everything! Demonstrate that you are actually interested and engaged in his life!”
Ushijima blinks, trying to remember all of the things Satori is reeling off so quickly, one after the other. He looks around for paper and a pen. “Hold on, give me a moment. I need to write this down.”
~*~
Ushijima checks his phone. No new messages.
He checks the time, then opens his laptop and checks the flight scanner website for Tooru’s flight number.
Frowns, picks up his phone again and types out a text message.
Sunday, 9 June 2024
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:14PM
Are you home yet?
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:29PM
Your flight should have landed at UAQ 90 minutes ago.
He puts his phone down and tries to focus on packing. He will need to check out shortly and move across town to the national training facility’s athlete lodgings, where he and his vice-captain Kageyama Tobio will once again be bunking together for two exhausting weeks.
Not that Kageyama is exhausting. He is by far the quietest of all of Ushijima’s teammates, so he is grateful that his vice-captain has once again agreed to bunk with him. But even with the quietest of roommates, living so closely on top of one another for two weeks will be very draining, and that’s not even taking into account the merciless training schedule they be following.
His phone pings a response. He picks it up and reads it immediately. Smiles a little.
Oikawa Tooru, 12:35PM
stop nagging, ur like a helicopter parent
just got out of the shower
so tired. i hate flying
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:36PM
You forgot to text me.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:40PM
Are you happy to be home?
Oikawa Tooru, 12:42PM
no.
leave me alone
what do u want? why are u texting me?
it’s after midnight
aren’t you supposed to be at training
Ushijima hesitates a moment, unsure if now is the best time to say this. But he knows that he should have said this two days ago when he was dropping Tooru off at the airport. Or even earlier that week, while they were tangled in each other’s arms.
He should have said it years ago, instead of assuming that everything was fine. So he gives himself a mental shove and taps out the necessary words.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:45PM
Training doesn’t start until tomorrow.
I am texting you because I want to make this abundantly clear, seeing as I was not explicit enough previously:
- We are in a relationship.
- I expect you to be faithful to me, as I am to you.
- I am taking a more active part in your life from now on, to accurately reflect our relationship status.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:46
If you understand and agree, respond with ‘Yes’.
If you do not agree, tell me what you wish to negotiate.
Oikawa Tooru, 12:47PM
urgh
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:47PM
That is not one of the available answers.
Once again, no response. Ushijima wonders if Tooru has maybe fallen asleep. But knowing him, there is an equal chance that he is also just being stubborn, so he decides to push a little.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 01:06PM
Do you not wish to be in a relationship with me any longer?
You may ask me to release you.
The response is instant.
Oikawa Tooru, 01:07PM
URGH
fuck you don’t threaten me like that
YES i agree to be in a relationship with you asshole
YES i agree to be "faithful"
not like I had anything interesting going on over here anyway
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 01:07PM
Good boy, thank you.
I am pleased we are finally on the same page, Tooru.
Smiling, he puts away his phone and zips up his suitcase, eyes doing one final sweep of the room as he heads to the door. On the way to the lobby to check out, his phone pings again.
Oikawa Tooru, 01:20PM
took you long enough
maybe in another ten years you’ll finally come visit me over here for once
The message surprises him. So much that he can’t immediately summon a response. He focuses on dealing with the receptionist to return his room key, settle the bill and make his way outside to the waiting rank of taxis.
Finally, in the back of a stately black sedan, surrounded by headrests covered by the white frilly doilies that are the hallmark of Tokyo taxis, he types out,
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 01:41PM
If you really want me to come visit you, Tooru, I will.
It will take some working out between our schedules. But maybe we can even incorporate some PR work for Club Atlético San Juan.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 01:42PM
Which reminds me. You will speak to your PR team about how they wish to proceed once our relationship goes public.
Report back to me when you have.
Oikawa Tooru, 01:43PM
🙄
i’m going to go to sleep now, stop bothering me
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 01:43PM
Good night, Tooru.
Sleep tight.
~*~
Sitting at the small desk in his and Kageyama’s shared room at the national training facility, Ushijima finishes reviewing a document on his laptop and takes off his reading glasses, rubbing his eyes. He’s been at this since 7AM, shortly after he and Kageyama got back from their habitual morning run.
When he got out his laptop so early in the morning, Kageyama raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any questions. He left shortly after to go out for breakfast with Hinata and Bokuto, the latter insisting that they need a change from the nutritionally balanced but bland cafeteria-style food of the training facility.
Ushijima was invited too, but politely declined. This is their first rest day after a brutal week of training, and he’s been anxious to finish this particular task, especially since the time difference between Tokyo and San Juan limits the available hours he can communicate with Tooru.
He runs his eyes over the finalised document, highlights one section and adds it to a note which he can access on his phone, then composes a text to Tooru.
Saturday, 15 June 2024
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 08:47AM
Tooru, I am expanding the communication protocols in our contract to include a new clause.
Please read it carefully:
- I will call you once a week for a relationship check-in at a time we’ve negotiated and mutually agreed.
- If either of us is not available at that time for whatever reason, we will notify the other as soon as possible.
- If rescheduled, the call will take place at another mutually agreed time within the following 24 hours. It cannot be missed or cancelled.
- We will discuss our current status, upcoming plans, and any unmet needs.
- If necessary, I will give you directions and expectations for how to address any issues raised. The following week, you will report back to me with your actions and receive appropriate rewards or consequences.
A little under fifteen minutes later, in which he fidgets with his glasses and contemplates checking the document just one last time, he finally gets a reply.
Oikawa Tooru, 09:03AM
contract? what contract
we have a contract?
Ushijima blinks, completely nonplussed.
Maybe Tooru is teasing him? But surely he wouldn’t joke about this. Frowning, he taps out a reply.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 09:4AM
If that was meant to be a joke, it’s not funny.
Yes, we have a contract.
You read and signed it in Rio on 10 August 2016.
I watched you do it.
The response is instant this time.
Oikawa Tooru, 09:05AM
you honestly expect me to remember something i read 8 years ago
there was a lot going on
it was my first olympics for christs sake and you want me to remember paperwork?
Ushijima stares at the message for a long time, trying to comprehend what he is reading.
How could Tooru not have remembered signing their contract? Yes, there had been a lot going on, but it was their contract. The thing that governed their entire power exchange dynamic, the core of their relationship.
To Ushijima, that is like forgetting that you’ve signed your own marriage certificate.
His brain keeps getting stuck in a feedback loop between disbelief and... something. An aching in his chest.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know?
The reality of it hits him hard.
Of course, Tooru told him, that night in the hotel bathtub. And although Ushijima’s brain received and stored the information at the time, he realises now that he hadn’t fully allowed himself to emotionally engage with and process the consequences of that confession.
Until now.
He really didn’t now?
All this time?
He remembers Tooru’s words: ‘You don’t need to be in a relationship with someone to hook up for sex.’
The ache in his chest grows stronger. As does the anger in his gut.
His phone pings again, jolting his brain out of its feedback loop.
Oikawa Tooru, 09:15AM
have u been following it all this time
He clenches his teeth hard and taps out,
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 10:35AM
Obviously.
No response.
Ushijima finds himself pacing the minuscule length of the twin-share room, his body trying to move while his brain is in distress. Three steps to the door, turn. Four steps to the desk. Turn.
Another message, seven minutes later.
Oikawa Tooru, 10:42AM
i mean, this isn’t all my fault
shouldn’t we have reviewed it before now?
why didn’t you mention it again
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 10:43AM
There were no breaches, and you did not ask to renegotiate.
I assumed you were happy with it.
As soon as he hits ‘send’ on the response, the word he has just typed slaps him in the face.
Assumed.
That is really the crux of the issue.
Tooru is completely right. This isn’t only his fault.
Or at all, actually.
Ushijima made an assumption, and he was wrong. He’d simply assumed that they were in a relationship for the past ten years, but hadn’t confirmed the facts and or communicated clearly.
Such a basic oversight, and it could have cost them everything.
As the Dominant partner in the exchange, it is Ushijima’s responsibility to keep their contract up to date and ensure it is enforced. And he has failed to do so. He hasn’t been diligent enough.
He takes a deep breath, working to push down the smouldering anger at himself. There’s nothing to be gained in continuing this argument. He doesn’t want Tooru to get any more defensive and risk derailing the entire conversion.
So he makes himself sit down at the desk again and focuses on the original reason why he contacted Tooru this morning.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 10:46AM
What’s done is done. Let’s move forward.
I am emailing you a PDF copy of the contract, including the updated clause I sent through earlier.
You will read the whole thing carefully, then send it back to me properly signed and dated, with every page initialled.
Again, no response. The read-receipt he has requested from the email has not been returned.
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
Just as he is about to give up and close his laptop to try and focus on something else, his phone pings again.
Oikawa Tooru, 11:04AM
boring boring boring
so dry. did you actually write this?
and u wanna talk EVERY week? srsly??
sounds too much like hard work. i don’t need u to micromanage me
At least Tooru was reading the document now and not just ignoring the email. The questions are also a step in the right direction. Ushijima takes the small victory and replies,
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 11:05AM
I have neither the time nor the inclination to micro-manage you.
I only wish to ensure your well-being and the health of our relationship.
And you know that your hard work will be rewarded, Tooru. As always.
Just as your disobedience will have consequences.
Oikawa Tooru, 11:06AM
oho
don’t threaten me with a good time 😏
don’t u have better things to do with your time than babysit me
how will u keep tabs on me from ten thousand miles away anyway
i could do whatever i damn well like and you wouldn’t be any wiser
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 11:07PM
I always know, Tooru.
You always tell me, one way or another.
Oikawa Tooru, 11:07M
🤮🖕
Ushijima waits for another response, but none comes. He wonders if he has pushed too hard, too fast. It’s hard to gauge Tooru’s state of mind when he can’t see or hear him.
Maybe they should have had this conversation over the phone, instead.
Concerned, he types out,
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 11:10PM
Do you really hate the idea of this that much?
I just want to talk to you, Tooru.
A minute later, the response makes him smile a little with relief.
Oikawa Tooru, 11:11PM
fine
call me if you must
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 11:11PM
Good. I will.
Oikawa Tooru, 11:12PM
i can always just block u
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 11:55AM
But you won’t.
Oikawa Tooru, 12:05M
fuck you ushijima wakatoshi
now leave me alone, i need to sleep
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:06PM
Good night, Tooru. Sleep well.
Don’t forget to send me the signed contract tomorrow.
No more reply comes.
However, fifteen minutes later, his laptop chimes with a notification that an email has been received from Tooru. The contract is attached, properly signed, dated and initialled.
Chapter Text
They’re seated on fashionably uncomfortable sofas in the brightly lit, well-appointed lobby of the national volleyball training facility, recording device on the coffee table between them. Saichi-san, a reporter from Monthly Volleyball magazine, perches daintily on the couch opposite them, leaning forward with a shining smile. “Ushijima-senshu and Kageyama-senshu, thank you so much for taking time out of your busy training schedule to speak with us today!”
She pauses slightly, as if waiting for one of them to speak.
Neither he nor Kageyama do, only waiting for her to ask her first question.
Her smile flickers a little as she hesitates, then it returns even more brightly. “On behalf of our readers, let me extend our congratulations on once again being selected to represent Japan at the Paris 2024 Olympic Games as captain and vice-captain!”
Forewarned this time that she is expecting a response to what is a statement, not a question, Ushijima nods calmly and engages what Hoshiumi once called his ‘press auto-pilot mode’. “Thank you, Saichi-san. I’m sure I speak for the entire team when I say that we are deeply grateful for the ongoing support of your readers.”
He pauses and Kageyama smoothly picks up his pass, adding, “We will work hard to be worthy of the faith the national selectors have placed in us, as well as that of your readers and the volleyball fans across Japan.”
Saichi-san beams at them and nods enthusiastically. Then she turns serious. “These will both be your third Games, after Rio in 2016 and Tokyo in 2020. As official veterans, are you still just as exited to participate now as you were at your first Games, or has it become somewhat routine?”
Ushijima hopes that Kageyama is able to control his facial expression at the asinine question. To forestall any less-than-polished response, he gently returns her weak serve before Kageyama can draw breath. “I am sure that Kageyama agrees with me that representing our country on the world stage will never become routine. It will always be the highest honour possible for me to achieve in my career, and I am grateful that we will once again be given the chance to fight.”
Kageyama only nods, keeping his mouth shut.
Saichi-san’s smile brightens even more, if that was even possible. “Of course! We’re all looking forward to watching this exceptional crop of talent on our television screens once again. Ushijima-san, if I may direct a question to you: You’re currently living in Poland, playing for Orzel Warszawa. Has it been a difficult adjustment for you to travel back in Tokyo for two weeks to participate in this Olympic training camp, only to then fly back to Poland until the Games begin? I imagine it would be quite—”
Ushijima’s phone screen lights up with the receipt of a text message. He glances down out of reflex.
It’s from Tooru.
Tooru, who never messages or calls outside their designated check-in times.
Ushijima can feel his shoulders go tense. “Please excuse me a moment, Saichi-san. This may be important.” He picks up the phone and unlocks it, careful to angle it away from the reporter’s view. He only half-hears her startled laugh and assurance that it’s quite alright and to take his time, because all his focus is immediately locked in on the contents of the message.
Saturday, 22 June 2024
Oikawa Tooru, 10:36AM
toshi
Tooru only calls him that after he has called him a lot of other things first.
Only after Ushijima has carefully, lovingly stripped away the last of his many barriers and defences.
Only when he is completely undone and vulnerable.
Ushijima is out of his seat and striding across the lobby towards the exits before he’s fully aware he has decided to do so. Realising his faux-pas, he pauses, turns back towards the startled reporter and offers her a deeper-than-necessary bow. “My apologies for being so rude, Saichi-san. Please give me ten minutes, there is an emergency I have to deal with.” As he speaks the words, he meets Kageyama’s razor-sharp gaze, an unspoken communication passing between them. He receives an imperceptible nod in return. “I am sure Kageyama will be able to answer any questions on my behalf until I return.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turns back and strides through the revolving automatic doors into the cool air of an overcast morning, tapping the ‘call’ button on Tooru’s contact as he looks for a private corner, away from passers-by.
The call rings out.
Twice.
Three times.
As it rings, Ushijima rapidly calculates the time difference. 10:30AM in Tokyo, that makes it 10:30PM the previous evening in San Juan. Tooru’s team had a Liga match scheduled that afternoon. Routine, he hadn’t seemed bothered about it at all when they had spoken a few days ago.
By the sixth ring, Ushijima finally hears the call connect. “Tooru? Are you alright?”
There’s no answer from the other end of the line, but Ushijima can hear fast, uneven breathing. Something clenches in his stomach. “Tooru, is that you? Answer me.”
“Toshi.” It’s barely a whisper, pushed out between whistling, high-pitched breaths.
Hyperventilating.
Shit.
“Hey, hey! It’s alright, I’ve got you now. Everything will be alright. Are you in physical danger?”
More gasped breaths, but no response.
“I can’t see you, little one. You have to respond verbally. Say ‘yes’ if you’re in a safe place, and ‘no’ if you’re not.”
“Yes.” The word is accompanied by the sound of chattering teeth, immediately cut off.
Ushijima closes his eyes briefly in gratitude. “Alright, that’s good. You’re hyperventilating, so we’re going to get your breathing back under control now. Take a deep breath in with me.”
He takes a deep breath and hears several hiccuping inward gasps match him on the other end of the line.
“Good, now breathe out, long and slow through your mouth.” He exhales out through his mouth and hears a matching exhale, accompanied by a breathy whine and chattering teeth.
“Good boy, Tooru. Well done. And again, breathe in.... and out...”
He repeats the instructions doggedly, over and over, interspersed with reassurance and praise, until the inhales and exhales on the other end of the line are steadier. There’s still the occasional chattering of teeth.
“That’s it. I’m so proud of you, Tooru. I’m right here, I’ve got you. Are you at home right now?”
“Yeah.” His voice sounds exhausted. Miserable. Small.
In that instant, Ushijima has to clench his teeth against the overwhelming urge to storm to the airport and get right on the next flight to Argentina, Olympic training camp be damned.
Time for that later today, if necessary.
“Good. Go put on a hoodie and find a blanket to wrap yourself up warm. Can you do that for me?”
“Mhm.”
“Okay, go do that then, off you go. While you do, I am going to stay on the line with you, but I have to go and speak with someone for five minutes and reschedule some things.”
He considers briefly, knowing that right about now is when Tooru’s poisonous self-critical shame will be kicking in, making him want to run away and hide. “And don’t hang up, or I’ll just call you back over and over until you answer. Understood?”
A longer silence, then another noncommittal hum. “Mhm.”
“Alright. Go get warm now,” he says as he strides back into the lobby, holding the phone in his hand but clicking the screen lock button so that the display goes dark.
When he returns to Kageyama and Saichi-san, he bows another low apology. “I’m sorry, my partner has had a medical emergency, so I won’t be able to complete the interview. Would we be able to reschedule to this afternoon or tomorrow?”
An expression of curiosity crosses Saichi-san’s face, quickly replaced by an excess of compassionate concern. She is effusive in her reassurance that, of course, that is completely fine, she would be perfectly fine to reschedule any time in the next few days.
Kageyama shifts slightly in his seat, then says, “I’d be happy to continue the interview on Ushijima-san’s behalf, if my answers have been acceptable to you so far?” He doesn’t look at Ushijima while he speaks, but he doesn’t need to.
Saichi-san accepts the proffered olive-branch graciously, and a small part of him is grateful for her tact and Kageyama’s self-sacrifice, though the larger part of him is focused on the phone held in his hand, its call still active.
Ushijima bows again, less deep this time, and excuses himself, heading back to their room in the athletes’ accommodation wing. When the door falls into its lock behind him, he brings the phone back to his ear. “You still there, Tooru? Are you warm enough now?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” comes the waspish reply. “Wrapped in a blanket like an obaasan.”
Ushijima feels his shoulders lose a little of their stiffness at the tone. If Tooru is annoyed, he must be feeling slightly better.
Before he can reply, Tooru says more quietly, “You shouldn’t have done that, you know. Don’t lie to reporters, they only find out.”
Ushijima blinks in confusion. “Lie? When did I lie?”
“Medical emergency? You’d think I’d been in a car crash or something.”
“You were having a panic attack, Tooru. That counts as a medical emergency.”
“Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous. Honestly, you’re massively overreacting, it’s embarrassing. I could’ve waited an hour for you to finish that interview, seriously.”
Ushijima lets himself fall on to the too-small, too-hard bed and closes his eyes. “You could have, maybe, but I couldn’t. Besides, Kageyama can answer all the questions, I don’t really have to be there.”
He realises he’s made a mistake as soon as Kageyama's name leaves his lips, but there’s no way to claw it back.
“Wonderful, just leave it to him then.” Tooru’s voice is cold as ice. “I’m sure he’ll be just perfect at it.”
Ushijima can’t suppress a small, frustrated sigh. “He’s my vice-captain, Tooru. That’s his job.”
“Your vice-captain?! He’s—”
Abruptly, Ushijima’s patience snaps. It has been a long, gruelling two weeks, mentally and physically, and he is at the limit of his endurance.
“Tooru.” His voice is not loud, but it carries all the weight of command he is capable of.
Silence.
Immediately, he feels a twinge of guilt for losing control of his temper. For hurting Tooru when he is already in pain. He exhales, rubs his free hand over his face. Digs deep into his reserves. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
More silence.
Shit.
His heart aches. If only there was some way of gathering Tooru into his arms and holding him close, letting actions speak for him, instead of this endless, torturous volley of words.
He redirects the conversation, deliberately pitching his voice calm and warm. “Is that the first time you’ve ever had a panic attack?”
Another long silence on the other end of the line.
“Answer me, Tooru.”
“No.” The word is whispered almost too quiet to hear.
Ushijima brings his head back up and opens his eyes, focusing intensely.
This is important information he should have had access to a long, long time ago. Information he needed to know to perform his function safely.
He can feel a slow tide of anger rising, but shields it from his voice with the iron grip of his self-control. “Since when have you been having panic attacks? How frequent are they?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, I told you, you’re overreacting! You’re not my mother.”
Ushijima’s silence tells Tooru in no uncertain terms that this question requires an answer.
“Tch! Once or twice a year, that’s all. Nothing special, just your standard, garden-variety anxiety. Had it since middle-school. Happy now?”
No. Not at all.
You should have told me this much, much sooner.
Why didn’t you?
And why haven’t you called me for help before this?
Why have you been suffering alone all these years?
“I see. Thank you for telling me.” He suppresses a sigh, anger rising further, but this time directed at himself.
Because he didn’t realise he could call you for help, Wakatoshi.
Or that he should.
He has always known that communication isn’t his strongest skill. He prefers to let his actions speak for him instead, irritated by the unnecessary verbiage that other people find necessary to constantly drape over everything and everyone around them.
It would never, ever have occurred to Ushijima in all these years that Tooru hadn’t realised that he considered them to be in a formal relationship. He had simply assumed that signing a contract codifying their power exchange dynamic was formal enough to qualify.
They have lived their own lives and have had their own careers over the past decade, yes, but surely their regular visits every six months, give-or-take depending on schedule clashes and global locations, should have been enough to demonstrate his commitment to their ongoing relationship to Tooru?
Nevertheless. The fact remains that he made an assumption.
And he was wrong.
Ushijima Wakatoshi hates being wrong almost as much as he hates losing.
“Are you... angry with me?” Tooru’s voice pierces through his thoughts, uncharacteristically quiet. He sounds tired, and something more. Defeated?
Ushijima immediately packs his anger tightly down and shelves all the other questions he needs to ask about Tooru’s anxiety to the back of his mind, to be addressed at another time. He does his best to pour all the warmth he can into his voice. “No, I am not angry with you, little one. I am just glad you’re okay, and I’m grateful you asked for my help.”
“Mhm.” A soft sound. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that it’s coming from Tooru’s face buried in his chest.
“What set you off today, do you think?” He takes care to pitch his voice to be as gentle as he can.
On the other end of the line, there’s a rusting, as if layers of fabric are being rearranged. “Nothing. Just had a shit day...”
“Oh?”
“It’s so dumb, honestly. You’ll laugh at me.”
“When have I ever, ever laughed at you?”
A soft chuckle. “You’re right, I don’t think you’re even capable of laughter. You’re such a robot.”
The sound of Tooru’s laugh soothes something aching in Ushijima’s heart, making the corners of his mouth curve slightly upwards in response. But he ignores the proffered bait and waits him out, letting the silence stretch on the line.
Finally, Tooru caves. “Just... stuff just kept going wrong today, all day. Little things. Stupid things. I forgot my kneepads and had to borrow spares from Gallo. The lid on my water bottle came off and completely drenched me five minutes before the game, so I had to run around and get changed. My sets were off the whole game. Everyone said it was fine, everything was okay, but I knew and they knew. Them being nice about it just made it worse. I served badly, only got one ace...” His voice trails off, and Ushijima can hear him holding his breath. Finally he exhales. His voice sounds small and fragile. “I don’t know... everything felt off today, and I don’t know why.”
While Tooru was talking, Ushijima has switched to headphones and looked up the official match results on the Liga website on his phone. Club Atlético San Juan won their game handily, as expected.
“Hmmm...” He hums thoughtfully to signal that he has been listening.
It is normal and natural that even elite athletes such as themselves have off-days. But Ushijima knows from long experience that Tooru is a highly resilient player, mentally strong even under the toughest conditions. Each small irritation he described is something he could easily have laughed off, or even used as fuel for his sly, self-deprecating sense of humour. Would have, if something had not already shaken his foundation.
“None of that sounds like it helped your mental state before the game, Tooru, and I’m sorry you had a shit day. But there’s something else. Something you’re not telling me.”
There’s a long, drawn-out silence on the other end of the line that tells him his suspicion is one hundred percent correct.
“I really hate you, you know that right?”
“I know.” Ushijima lets the barb clatter off his armour, giving Tooru no purchase. No way to pick a fight and distract from the issue. He waits.
“I don’t know if I’ll be selected for the Olympic team again,” Tooru finally says. “You got selected again, and it’s pissing me off that I still don’t know.”
Plausible. But unlikely, seeing as Tooru is the best setter in the Liga’s most dominant team. His selection for the Argentinian national team is pretty much a foregone conclusion when it is announced next week.
Another decoy, then. Ushijima doesn’t jump to block and keeps waiting for the real spike.
“Hey, say something, you asshole! Don’t just sit there and go silent on me. I hate it when you do that, and you know it!”
No return, volley over. Tooru has chosen to drop the ball. Though for some reason, Ushijima feels his own shoulders drop as if he has lost the point.
He exhales silently, regroups. “It’s fine if you can’t tell me yet. Take your time until you’re ready. But, Tooru... Just know that you will tell me eventually. You could make it so much easier on yourself by just telling me now, instead of torturing yourself with it for days.”
Ushijima says the words because he has to, because he hates knowing Tooru is suffering needlessly. But he knows they’re pointless. If there is one thing that Tooru is very good at, it’s torturing himself. Usually for no adequately explained reason. Maybe that’s why he loves (adores, needs, craves) it when Ushijima does it for him. Just sometimes. Just so he can stay sane, despite his big, sensitive, vulnerable heart and his brilliant, devious, corkscrew mind.
Because Ushijima is a much kinder torturer than Tooru is himself.
“Tch! Shut your face, Ushibaka! Only you could be this galactically irritating from literally ten thousand miles away!” There’s a slight hitch in Tooru’s breath, then he mumbles, “Fuck this. I’m going to bed.”
The call ends.
Ushijima doesn’t sigh, but he wants to, very briefly. Tooru must still be feeling very low and vulnerable to fall back on his most childish insult.
It’s almost nostalgic.
He switches to text messaging and types out,
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 11:57AM
Good night, Tooru. Try to get some rest.
I fly back to Europe tomorrow but I’ll text you from the airport and call you as soon as I get home.
We’ll speak more then.
There’s no response.
~*~
“Alright that’s it, everyone. Good work. Go home, rest your bodies and restore your minds. We have just over a month to go until show-time, so avoid injuries and take care of yourselves. Dismissed.”
There’s a sharp chorus of ‘Otsukaresama deshita’ from the assembled players, then clattering of chairs and muted voices as everyone troops out of the room.
“Ushijima-san, a word before you go, please.” Hibarida-kantoku catches him on the way to the door. “I just need to go over some paperwork with you.”
Fifteen minutes later, when he’s finally allowed to go, Ushijima finds Kageyama and Hinata standing just outside the meeting room, talking quietly. Assuming it’s some team-related issue, he says only, “Yes? What do you need?”
Hinata looks a little surprised and guilty for some reason, but then brightens. “Oh no, it’s nothing like that. I just wanted to ask if Oikawa-san is okay. Kageyama said that he called you earlier this morning with an emergency?”
Ushijima can’t help the slight frown that creeps on to his face, his eyes flicking to Kageyama. His vice-captain returns the gaze coolly, giving nothing away.
“Don’t be annoyed with him, I made him tell me,” Hinata grins, then his expression becomes a touch more serious. “Look, I’m not trying to butt into your private life or anything, but Oikawa-san is my friend too and I want to help if I can. Is he okay?”
Ushijima hesitates. His first impulse is to simply say ‘yes’ and walk away from the conversation.
But he has known Hinata and Kageyama for years. They have trained together, played together, stood beside each other in both victory and defeat, fought together for their country on the world stage. They are the closest thing he has to brothers in arms.
Something in him decides to take a leap of faith. He takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly. “He’s… physically okay. It was a panic attack.”
“Ah.” Hinata nods. “Yeah, okay. He gets those. Used to have them in Brazil, too.”
Ushijima frowns slightly, annoyed by the knowledge that even Hinata knew about Tooru’s anxiety all along, when he himself didn’t. The smouldering anger he holds for himself stirs, but he pushes it down ruthlessly.
Hinata sees his frown and misinterprets the cause. “Don’t worry too much, he’s usually pretty resilient and recovers quickly. I’ll call him later and check in with him. Cheer him up a little.”
Ushijima stares at his shoes for a moment, then back up at Hinata. “Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say.
Silence falls.
Hinata’s eyes flick between Kageyama and Ushijima a couple of times, looking thoughtful. Then he says, a touch too cheerfully, “Well then, I’d best be going! Bokuto-san and I have lots of packing and tidying up to do before check-out tomorrow morning.” He reaches out and squeezes Kageyama’s arm briefly, before turning away with a jaunty wave and walking off towards the lifts.
Kageyama and Ushijima stand there for another few moments, neither of them speaking.
Ushijima realises he’s forgotten something important. “Thank you for covering for me this morning, Tobio-kun. I appreciate it.”
Kageyama just raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Don’t thank me, I was just doing my job.”
Ushijima acknowledges that with a nod, and they fall into silence once again.
Just as Ushijima wonders if he should go, Kageyama says, “You’re off-balance, Wakatoshi-san.”
Ushijima’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. His vice-captain almost never addresses him formally by name. But he’s used to this kind of blunt critique from him, so he just says evenly, “Oh?”
Kageyama nods. “You have been, ever since you got here two weeks ago. It’s barely noticeable, I doubt Hibarida or the other coaches even saw it. But I know you, and I can see it. And I need to know why.”
Need to know. Not want to know.
Kageyama and Ushijima have worked together for years as the two halves of a well-oiled machine, first with the Adlers, then in international competitions and over the course of two Olympic campaigns.
If Kageyama is asking him for information, it’s because this information is essential to keep that machine running smoothly.
So Ushijima doesn’t take offence. But he doesn’t like being questioned about it, either, so he says nothing, his jaw and shoulders going tense.
Kageyama sees his reaction, and doesn’t allow himself to be deterred. “You went white as a sheet when you saw Oikawa-san’s text message this morning. You reacted before you even realised what you were doing.” He pauses and considers his next words, then says carefully, “Is there a problem between you and Oikawa-san?”
“I…” Ushijima hesitates, caught between his need for privacy and his responsibility to his team, more specifically, to his vice-captain.
Kageyama watches him, cool blue eyes reading him like he reads all his spikers. After a moment, he nods, as if reaching a decision. “Let’s go for a walk.” Without waiting for Ushijima’s agreement, he simply leads the way.
The air outside the training centre is humid and hot. Big puddles pooling on the concrete footpath tell them they’ve just missed a shower of summer rain.
Without hesitating, Kageyama picks a direction and starts walking, setting a good pace.
They walk in silence for ten minutes before Ushijima says, “Thanks for bunking with me during the training camp, I appreciate it. I would have understood if you had wanted to share a room with Hinata-kun instead.”
Kageyama snorts. “Oh please, have you seen how messy he is? If I had to live with him I’d have to kill him. There’s a reason we have separate apartments.”
“Not just because you play for different teams in different cities?”
“Well yes, obviously. But not just because of that.”
Comfortable silence returns. They walk through narrow Tokyo streets, sweating in the humid air despite just walking.
Ushijima picks up the thread of conversation again, asking a question that’s been on his mind for a long time. “How did you and Hinata-kun manage while he was away in Brazil?”
“We didn’t, you know that.” Kageyama throws him a sceptical sideways glance. “It was an unmitigated disaster. We broke up during the Olympics, for christ’s sake!”
Ushijima almost smiles, remembering Tooru saying the exact same thing. “But you maintained your relationship despite that. How?”
Kageyama shrugs, waiting for a pedestrian crossing to turn green before setting off again. “More by good luck than by good management.”
Ushijima follows and stays quiet, letting Kageyama understand that he wants a more detailed answer.
They walk for another few dozen metres. Finally, Kageyama sighs. “I’m a shit communicator. Well, when it’s not about volleyball, that is.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “And as outgoing as Shoyo is, he’s not much better than me. For different reasons.” He falls silent again, weighing his words. “But we both realised after Rio that we wanted this to work, so we had to learn to sync up off the court, as well as on it.” He snorts humourlessly. “Just like a quick attack, but infinitely harder in every way.”
Ushijima considers this for a long moment, silently walking alongside. After some time, he asks, “How do you stay synced while you’re living apart?”
“With effort.” Kageyama shrugs. “It got easier with time, but it was hard at first. Awkward. I hated talking on the phone. Texting was worse. But Shoyo was persistent, the little bastard. He wouldn’t let me avoid it. And now it’s just part of our routine, like having a shower or going for a run.”
By unspoken agreement, they circle around and start heading back towards the training centre. After another five minutes of walking, Kageyama says, “I thought you and Oikawa-san had figured this out long ago. You’ve been together longer than Shoyo and I.”
Ushijima looks across at him, surprised. “How did you—?”
“Oh please,” Kageyama throws him a scowl. “It’s not by accident that your schedules miraculously align so you’re both in Tokyo at the same time, every time, year after year. You never needed to say anything, it was obvious.”
“Who else knows?”
“Everyone with half a brain. Given how few of our friends have even that much, not that many.”
They cross a busy street, separated by a crowd of office workers for a moment. When Ushijima falls back into step with him, Kageyama prompts him again. “So, what happened? Oikawa-san has been living in San Juan for ten years, and your relationship has lasted that long, so you have at least some sort of idea of what you’re doing. I’m guessing something went wrong last time he was here?”
“I…” Ushijima trails off, unwilling to reveal too much. He opts for the bare minimum truth. “There was a misunderstanding. We cleared it up before he flew back two weeks ago, but it’s had… more of an impact on both of us than I anticipated.”
“Ah.” Kageyama nods, as if that explains everything. He’s silent for another long moment, then nods again. “And that’s why you’re out of balance on the court.”
“Yeah.” Ushijima nods. “But I’ve changed strategies, and I’m working on it. Just give me a bit more time to get everything back on under control.”
Kageyama makes a thoughtful noise. Throws a glance sideways at Ushijima, appraising him. “This is just like that time you changed your spiking technique to a circular swing.”
Ushijima looks back at him in surprise. The comparison hadn’t occurred to him, but as soon as he hears it, he knows it fits perfectly. Breaking something that had served him for a long time, but was no longer fit for purpose. Reforging it from the ground up into something even more powerful. “Yes. Exactly like that.”
“Alright,” Kageyama nods again, more definite this time. “Shoyo and I will cover for you until you get it sorted.”
Quiet gratitude blooms in Ushijima’s chest. “Thank you, Tobio-kun.”
“Just try to work it out before we get to Paris. The team needs its anchor. We can be your lieutenants, but you’re our captain, Wakatoshi-san.”
“I will have it under control by then. I give you my word.” He pours every ounce of sincerity he has into his words.
Kageyama hears it and accepts his oath. “Good.”
Five minutes later, they re-enter the blessed air-conditioned coolness of the training centre. As they wait for the lift back to the athletes’ accommodation block, Kageyama asks suddenly, “Do you want some advice?”
Ushijima considers this and finds that he does. Kageyama is not one to give advice without careful thought and experience backing up his words. “Yes.”
The lift pings and the doors open. They step inside.
In the mirrored cube, Kageyama meets Ushijima’s gaze in their reflection. His face is serious, his eyes intent. “Always say the quiet part out loud.”
Ushijima frowns slightly. “Explain.”
Kageyama breaks eye-contact and looks up to the ceiling, trying to find the right way to explain. “Shoyo is the most oblivious person in the whole world, sometimes. Actually, most of the time. If there’s something he’s hyper-focusing on, his hair could literally be on fire and he’d not notice. So, as ridiculous as it is, I have to tell him that his hair is on fire.”
The lift arrives at their floor and they step out. Kageyama snorts. “…Or mine, for that matter. Otherwise it will just keep burning and we both get hurt.”
“Ah.” Ushijima nods. When they get to the door of their shared room, he grabs the keycard on his lanyard and swipes it across the reader, unlocking it.
Kageyama steps in first, slipping off his shoes. “It’s tempting to think we can just read each other’s minds, because we do it on the court all the time. It’s second nature to us. But in relationships, that’s a trap.” He sits on his bed and shakes his head, looking grave. “It’s almost cost us everything, more than once.”
Slipping off his own shoes, Ushijima stifles his surprise at Kageyama’s words. He wonders briefly if his vice-captain has guessed the exact nature of Tooru’s and his misunderstanding. But then realises that this kind of advice is probably applicable in almost any relationship context. “I understand.”
Kageyama fixes him with a piercing stare, the kind he reserves for the most serious moments on the court, when the entire match is at stake. “Whatever you do, don’t assume that you know what the other person is thinking, and don’t assume they know what you’re thinking. Ask. Listen. Say the quiet part out loud so they can hear you.”
“Yes. I intend to from now on.”
His vice-captain holds his gaze for another heartbeat, then nods and gets up, grabbing his toiletries and towel. “I’m gonna hit the showers.”
“Okay.”
Conversation over, they slip back into silent, comfortable routine.
~*~
That evening, just as he and Kageyama are getting ready to go down for dinner, he receives a text from Tooru.
Oikawa Tooru, 06:25 PM
thank u
for calling me yesterday
Ushijima exhales audibly in surprise. Some of the unsettled feeling that has been lingering in his stomach since this morning melts away.
Kageyama shoots him a glance but says nothing.
Ushijima nods to the door. “You go on ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.”
His vice-captain only nods, expressionless, and leaves the room, door falling softly into its lock behind him.
Ushijima taps out the words ‘You’re welcome’, frowns and immediately deletes them again.
His support isn’t something he wants Tooru to be grateful for. It’s something he wants Tooru to expect, to never doubt its immediate and unquestioning presence when he calls for it.
He pauses and tries to nail down the concept into slippery words. Finally, he types,
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 06:30 PM
Thank you for reaching out, Tooru.
Thank you for letting me help you.
There’s no response, so he decides to send one last message, Kageyama’s advice still ringing in his ears:
Say the silent part out loud.
He knows Tooru will absolutely hate him for it, but he is willing to take the beating.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 06:35 PM
I’m always here for you.
The response is almost immediate.
Oikawa Tooru, 06:35 PM
🤮🖕
Ushijima smiles slightly and follows Kageyama down to the dining hall.
Chapter 9
Notes:
A note on time differences:
Ushijima is currently in Poland, which is 5 hours ahead of Argentina.
For example, 7PM in Warsaw is 2PM in San Juan.
Chapter Text
Ushijima blinks in surprise when his phone pings loudly with a message from Tooru. Their call isn’t scheduled for another twenty minutes, and he’s always more likely to be late than early.
He unlocks his phone and reads the message, frowning.
Saturday, 20 July 2024
Oikawa Tooru, 06:37PM
hurry up, my lunch is getting cold
it’s not polite to keep the birthday boy waiting
Ushijima’s mouth quirks up in a slight smile and he walks into the living room of his apartment, setting his tablet on its stand on the coffee table and connects his headphones. Then he starts the video call.
The line connects after only two rings.
“Finally! I was wondering if I’d been stood up!” A close-up of the bottom half of Tooru’s face fills the screen, his voice a little tinny. “Hang on, let me connect my headphones.”
“You asked me to call you at 2PM your time, it is now only 1:38PM. I am early, not late.”
“What?” There’s a series of odd noises and the angle of his face changes, moving chaotically for a moment. “Shit, dropped my phone! Can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can hear you.” The smile on Ushijima’s face widens ever so slightly and he suppresses a sigh. “I told you to get a stand for your phone, Tooru. That would make this a lot easier for you.”
“Yeah yeah, shut up. Okay, got it now.” The picture steadies and all of Tooru’s torso is properly in frame now. He’s sitting at his kitchen bench, wearing a black hoodie and in-ear headphones, parts of his messy brown hair sticking out at odd angles. A bowl of pasta and a glass of wine sit in front of him. “I bet my food’s gone all cold now. This is all your fault.” He pouts dramatically.
“I’m sorry. Douzo,” Ushijima says, gesturing at the screen for Tooru to dig in and picks up his glass of iced green tea to take a sip as Tooru starts twirling spaghetti on to his fork and takes an enthusiastic bite.
As odd as it first seemed to him, watching Tooru eat has become a strange kind of comfort in his life over the past six weeks. Ever since his return to Warsaw, they have kept up their weekly calls, usually scheduled while one of them is having a meal as that seems to be the time their schedules match up most often.
“What did you cook today?”
“Pasta al Tonno,” Tooru says, between mouthfuls. He notices Ushijima’s blank expression and snorts. “That’s Italian for pasta with tuna and olives in a tomato sauce, you uncultured hack.”
Apparently, Ushijima’s expression doesn’t improve sufficiently, because Tooru frowns and wags his fork at him. “Don’t give me that look, it’s part of our nutritionist-approved meal plan. Not everyone can eat the same thing over and over every day like you. Some of us have this thing called taste-buds.”
“Eating the same thing every day has the benefit of predictability. I always know exactly what it will taste like and what my macros are.”
Tooru makes a disgusted face. “That’s not a benefit, that’s a curse leading to insanity. You’re such a robot.”
Ushijima smirks a little but doesn’t argue. A little comfortable silence stretches between them.
Outside his apartment window, the sun is setting, the long drawn-out twilight of European summer painting the sky orange, then red, then purple, then deep blue. There’s muted traffic noise of people moving through the busy inner city.
“So, are you going to wish me happy birthday or not?” Tooru asks abruptly with a little pout while sipping his wine, plate now almost empty. “Or did you forget?”
“I did not forget, I was waiting for you to finish eating. Happy thirtieth birthday, Tooru.” He deliberately pitches his voice to be as warm and loving as he can, hoping to convey just how much he means it.
Tooru nods once, satisfied, and smiles. “Thank you! Did you get me a present?”
“I did, but you’ll have to wait a while until you get it. It’s being custom-made for you in Germany.”
“Ooh!” The grin that replaces the smile on Tooru’s face is childishly greedy. “What is it?”
Ushijima stifles an answering grin and schools his expression to neutral. “I’m obviously not going to tell you, Tooru. It’s a surprise.”
“Not fair, why do I have to wait? You messed up the ordering, didn’t you,” Tooru complains, pushing his plate away and sipping at his wine again.
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I should’ve ordered it for you a long time ago,” he nods earnestly. “It’s my mistake. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Tooru seems a little taken aback for a moment by his sincere apology, but then catches himself and puts on a haughty expression. “See that you do, otherwise I will not forgive you.”
I promise, Ushijima repeats to himself, but does not say so out loud.
Silence stretches between them again. Tooru swirls the wine in his glass, looking a little sad.
Ushijima redirects the conversation. “Did you do anything to celebrate your birthday? Go out with your friends?”
The slight sadness in Tooru’s expression doesn’t shift as he shrugs. “Just a couple of quiet drinks with a few teammates yesterday.” He shrugs. “Everyone is too busy with last-minute preparation and packing, including me. No time for sentimental drunken evenings when there are medals to be won.”
Ushijima nods. “Makes sense. When do you fly out?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Coach wants us in Paris getting rid of jetlag and acclimatising for a few days before prelims, especially since we’re flying from winter into summer. You?”
“Next week. One more league game here before that.” He sips his iced green tea again, condensation dripping wet from the glass on to his shirt. He looks down, faintly annoyed.
On the screen, Tooru rolls his eyes. “Lucky bastard, such a short commute. Guess living in the same time zone as the host country comes with perks. I’d trade a thirty-six-hour flight for a two-hour one any day.”
Brushing at the wet stain on his shirt, Ushijima says absently, “If you wanted to make that trade, you’d actually have to live in Europe.”
“Yeah, I guess.” An odd, sad quietness flattens Tooru’s voice.
Instantly forgetting his wet shirt, Ushijima looks up to see what caused it. “Hm? What’s wrong.”
An unreadable emotion crosses Tooru’s face for a moment before he shakes his head and pastes on a blood-thirsty grin. “Nothing. I hope you’re ready for me to crush you in the preliminaries. Argentina will dominate Group C.”
Ushijima studies Tooru’s face for a moment, unconvinced, knowing he’s being redirected. But the grin on Tooru’s face has an edge, so he nods and accepts the challenge. “I won’t lose to you.”
Tooru laughs gleefully, having found a stick to beat him with. “Big talk from the guy who bombed out in the Tokyo Games! Last time I checked, I’m the only Olympic medallist between the two of us.”
Ushijima doesn’t flinch, but it’s a close call. Coming a lowly seventh at their home games in Tokyo, in front of all their friends and family, left a livid scar on the hearts of the entire team that will take decades to fade. Argentina’s bronze medal win added another layer of complicated feelings on top of that for Ushijima.
But the cutting comment has confirmed something to him that he had already begun to suspect: something is upsetting Tooru. Because, normally, he would never reach for such deadly weapons so early in the conversation, especially without clear provocation.
Time to find out what it is.
“Fair point,” Ushijima concedes, letting the barbed words glance off his armour. “It will be nice to see you in Paris. Even if we’ll be busy and can’t spend much time together.” As he says the words, Kageyama’s advice echoes in his ears.
Say the quiet part out loud.
So he adds, “I’ve missed you, Tooru.”
Tooru looks surprised but covers it quickly. “Oh. Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Ushijima can’t stop the faint smile curling up one corner of his mouth at having caught him off-guard. “Is that your only response?”
Abruptly, Tooru slides off the bar stool he’s been sitting on at his kitchen bench and starts clearing away his plate, disappearing out of the view of his phone’s camera for a moment. There’s a clattering of dishes in the sink.
Ushijima waits patiently.
After a moment, the camera angle pivots crazily, showing a terracotta tiled floor, sweatpants-clad legs and slippered, moving feet. “Hang on a sec. Urgh, why is it always so cold in this place!” There’s the beep of an air conditioning unit, then the phone’s viewpoint stabilises as it is propped up on Tooru’s coffee table. “Can you see me okay?”
“Yes, I can,” Ushijima confirms. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes? No!” There’s an exasperated sigh as Tooru throws himself back into the cushions of his sofa and scowls. “What was the question again?”
“Do you miss me too?”
The scowl deepens. “I guess. Although you torture me with these endless phone calls every week, so I don’t see why.”
Definitely upset. Warning bells are ringing loudly in Ushijima’s head. His focus zeroes in on possible angles of attack, weighing efficiency against risk of angering Tooru too much more and ending the call early. On balance, he decides on a pipe attack straight down the centre of the court.
“Have you had any more panic attacks since last month? You still haven’t told me what set you off last time.”
“Tch! No, obviously! Are you still hung up about that?” Tooru grabs a pillow and squeezes it angrily in front of his chest. “Just forget it, alright? It was nothing. Don’t be such a mother hen.” He pauses, smirks nastily. “Although now that I think about it, your brain is about the size of a chicken’s, so that checks out.”
“Tooru...” Ushijima’s voice is patient, although it does carry an edge of warning.
“Ooh, sensitive!” Tooru’s smirk deepens, pleased he has hit a nerve. Baiting, challenging.
Am I safe with you?
Ushijima stays silent and holds his gaze steadily, not rising to the bait. Waiting for an answer to his question.
Always, yes.
The smirk fades and Tooru sighs again, sounding tired, pulling the pillow closer. “I already told you what set it off. I just had a shit day, that’s all. Forgot my knee-pads. Got drenched.”
“That was the trigger, but I doubt it was the root cause, Tooru. You’re much too resilient for something so small to unbalance you like that.”
Tooru frowns and looks down, squeezing the pillow. Says nothing.
In that moment, Ushijima knows he has won. The defences are crumbling. All he needs is one final little push. “Remember, I said you were going to tell me what it was, eventually. And now is that time. I’m not letting you avoid it again.” He lets his words be like rope, binding Tooru tightly so he can’t escape, but offering comfort and safety in return.
Silence. The video image of Tooru appears frozen for a good long minute as he wars with himself. Finally, voice low, he says, “I think I’m broken. There’s been something wrong with me ever since I got home.”
Victory.
Ushijima leans forward towards his tablet’s screen, close enough to touch Tooru if only they were in the same hemisphere. Carefully, pitching his voice to a balance between curious and calm, he asks, “And what makes you say that?”
Once more, Tooru takes a long time to answer. Ushijima can see him fight his own mouth to speak.
“It’s... I...” Tooru shakes his head in frustration, and finally the words spill out. “I miss you. So much. I miss you so much that it physically hurts. And I don’t know why. I mean, I’ve never missed you before. This much, anyway. All these years, everything’s always been fine. I get home, I get back into my routine and put my head down and focus on volleyball, and I don’t think about you until its time to book the next flight, and then it’s like a pleasant surprise when we catch up again.” He squeezes the pillow in front of his chest hard, looking down. “But this time...”
Tooru’s stream of words strikes an echo in Ushijima’s chest, resonating with familiarity. His experience has been the same, although he would never have been able to put it into words like that. He exhales, nods. “Yeah. I understand.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Tooru scowls, his tone acid.
Ushijima nods again, pitching his voice to be soft and understanding. “You’re overwhelmed.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Tooru explodes. “Yes, I’m fucking overwhelmed, you moron! I’m a mess! It’s been a lot to process, this whole ‘being in a relationship’ thing. Sure, I mean for you it’s already been ten years, but for me it’s only a month, you know, and it’s… It’s just been a lot! The phone calls, the texting, you’re always on my mind, I can’t sleep and I’m constantly horny! I can’t focus on anything, no matter how hard I try. Even Coach noticed, told me to get my head together before we fly out tomorrow!”
Shit. Not good.
If it’s affecting Tooru’s performance to the point where his Coach orders him to take action, they have a serious problem. Especially this close to the Games. Ushijima feels a fierce stab of guilt. He should have anticipated this and planned for it. Once again, he has failed in his responsibility to take care of Tooru.
His brain spins up into problem-solving mode. “Have you talked to any of your friends about this?”
“No.” Tooru scowls, hands picking at the pillow in his lap. “I haven’t really talked to anyone since I got home. My teammates just think I got a girlfriend and that’s why I’ve missed all the team social events. And I just let them assume that, because I don’t know what else to tell them.”
A slight frown creases Ushijima’s eyebrows. “You’re isolating yourself? Why?”
“Because what do I even fucking say?!” Tooru yells and throws the pillow across the room. He’s properly angry now. “Oh hey, yes, lovely trip home, by the way I have a boyfriend now, except he lives in fucking Poland, and he ties me up and fucks me stupid every six months when we happen to be in the same city for once, and we’ve just been casually screwing for ten years, except he wasn’t, turns out he was serious the whole time and I was just too stupid to realise what was going on, and now we’re in a relationship but we live ten thousand miles apart and how the fuck do I explain any of this, Wakatoshi?” His voice wobbles and breaks at the last words, tears constricting his throat.
Ushijima realises he’s made a mistake and pushed too hard. He immediately backpedals. “I’m sorry, Tooru. I didn’t mean for that to sound like an accusation. That was insensitive of me and I’m sorry.”
Tooru doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around his legs, curled up to his chest and buries his face in his knees. Ushijima can’t tell if he’s crying, but he probably is. He wishes with every fibre of his being that he could gather his boy into his arms right now and hold him.
Instead, he forces himself to be still and give Tooru the time he needs to collect himself.
After several long minutes, Tooru mumbles, “You’re such an asshole, you know that?”
The familiar insult makes something warm bloom in Ushijma’s heart and he smiles faintly. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”
“Just as long as you’re aware.” Tooru unfolds his legs and gets up, wiping his sleeve across his face, the video wobbling as he bumps into the coffee table on the way. When he comes back into the frame, he’s holding the pillow again, hugging it to his chest like a soft shield when he lets himself fall back on the couch.
Gently, Ushijima tries to pick up the thread of conversation again. Thinking of his own conversation with Satori, he says, “If you can’t talk to your friends there, then what about Iwaizumi? He knows about us already.”
“Iwa-chan...” There’s a hitch in Tooru’s voice at the familiar endearment. Then he shakes his head. “He’s busy. He and Naoko-chan are expecting their second child, and he just got a new job with the Suntory Sunbirds, so they’re moving to Osaka. He’s got enough on his plate without me crying on his shoulder.”
Ushijima smothers a frown. “Hmm... I don’t think he’d agree with you. In fact, I think he’d be pretty annoyed if he knew you thought that way about him.”
Tooru says nothing, so he decides not to press the point. “But it’s your choice. What about Hinata-kun? You guys seem close. Or maybe even your team’s psychologist?”
“Oh fuck no, I’d rather eat broken glass than talk to that homophobic old skin bag,” Tooru snorts bitterly. “He’s a million years old, he’d probably tell me to suck it up and not be such a pansy.” He goes quiet and stares down at his hands for a moment. “But maybe Chibi-chan... He called me the other day and it helped. He knows what it’s like to feel lonely, he felt plenty of that in Brazil.” A very faint almost-smile ghosts across his face. “And he has this knack of cheering me up. It’s very annoying.”
Lonely.
The word trips a dozen alarms in Ushijima’s brain, sending him back to a state of full alert. Softly, he asks, “Do you feel lonely, Tooru? Beyond just missing me, I mean?”
Tooru scowls. “What? No! I have tonnes of friends and everyone loves me.”
“Tell me the truth, Tooru. You just said that you haven’t seen much of your friends in the past month and that you don’t feel like you can talk to them.”
“Tch. Fuck, I hate you so much sometimes. Why can’t you ever just give me a break?”
Ushijima just waits, silently. His instincts tell him that this is the real heart of the issue, and he has to get to the bottom of it.
Finally, Tooru exhales and caves. Squeezes the pillow more tightly to his chest. “It... It just reminded me of when I first got here from Japan. I felt so far from home. I missed my family and my friends so much. I didn’t know anyone. Even though I was the one that left, I still felt... abandoned. Like life was carrying on somewhere else without me, and I was stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. Unwanted and forgotten.” His voice wobbles again and fresh tears run down his cheeks. He doesn’t wipe them away.
It takes every ounce of Ushijima’s self-control to not clench his jaw and screw his face up at the pain piercing his chest.
All that time, Tooru was suffering.
Yes, it had been a busy time in Ushijima’s life. Graduating, starting with the Adlers, new skills, new teammates, new city, new life. So much to learn. But he would still have dropped everything to help Tooru if he had asked for help. Would have helped even if he hadn’t asked, if only he’d known! If only he had paid attention and thought a little bit more deeply about what Tooru might be going through.
If only Ushijima had just asked, instead of assumed!
If only.
But no. He only made Tooru sign his precious contract and then just left it at that. Taken no further responsibility for his well-being, thinking everything was taken care of. Been lazy and complacent. Rested on his laurels.
Familiar rage at himself boils over from the pit of his stomach, acid and scalding.
On the other end of the line, Tooru picks at the corner of the pillow in his lap, not looking at the video on his phone, and so luckily doesn’t notice Ushijima’s suddenly rigid expression. His voice sounds small and tired. “Ever since I got home a month ago, I’ve been feeling like that again. That time when you had to talk me down from the anxiety attack, I’d just got back my apartment and it was so cold and empty, and I just... panicked.” His voice falls to a whisper, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again, Toshi. I don’t want to be alone like that, ever again.”
The miserable fear in those words instantly flash-freezes the rage in Ushijima’s stomach into guilt.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry, Tooru.
He swallows hard, fighting to reapply the shackles of self-control on the feelings threatening to overwhelm him.
He feels paralysed.
Kageyama’s voice snaps at him, an order from his setter across the court:
Say the quiet part out loud!
Say it!
He takes a deep breath, runs in and leaps, trusting the ball will be there. “I’m sorry, Tooru. I’m sorry you feel so alone.”
Tooru’s face crumples and suddenly, all the pain he has been fighting so hard to hide from Ushijima and the world is there, visible on his face. His shoulders start shaking and he holds his breath, desperately trying to hold in the tears. He fails and buries his face in his pillow, sobbing hard.
Ushijima watches it happen and feels utterly helpless. He wants to keep apologising but stays silent, knowing it would be too much. Besides, it’s his guilt and his pain to bear, not Tooru’s. He can’t ask for forgiveness yet. He has to take responsibility first and fix it.
He tightens the iron bands on his self-control and forces himself to sit and face the consequences of his failure. He watches Tooru cry.
After a time, the storm calms and the sobs fade. Tooru wipes his nose on his sleeve and rubs his face with his palms. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Don’t be,” Ushijima says softly. He can’t find any other words to say after that.
Tooru takes a breath, tries to laugh. “God, I’m such a mess.” He squints at the camera, trying to make out Ushijima’s image on his phone’s screen. “Sorry you had to witness that. I try to keep it rated PG most of the time.”
Ushijima shakes his head, gripping his self-control even tighter and does his best to sound reassuring. “It’s really okay, Tooru. I don’t mind. I’ve seen you cry before.”
“Yeah, but not in full-snot mode like that,” Tooru tries to laugh, but fails. Wipes his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. Falls quiet. After a moment, he asks softly, “What about you? You said you missed me. Do you feel like this too?”
“I feel it, yeah,” Ushijima does his best to sound sincere without letting go of too much of his control. He pitches his voice carefully neutral. “It’s just a… a constant ache, like a bad shoulder or a knee injury. But I’m used to it, so I just push through.”
“Used to what?”
He realises he’s made a mistake and admitted too much. Mentioned a truth that he would never have considered ever speaking out loud to anyone. Except, here, in this moment, Tooru is watching him, his golden-brown, teary eyes so soft.
Listening.
Hearing him.
Ushijima exhales. “Yeah. I’m used to it. I mean, I’m used to having someone be very far away, always out of reach. I used to talk to my father like this on the phone growing up, every month or so. We’d talk for hours about school, volleyball, his work, stuff like that. And so, over time, I just got used to missing people I love. I feel the pain, but I can push through.”
He looks at the screen and notices fresh tears streaming down Tooru’s face. Dismayed, he asks, “Why you crying again?”
Tooru tries to smile but it turns into another sob. “Because that’s unbelievably sad, Toshi.” His voice wobbles, barely controlled. “It’s awful that you had to grow up missing him like that.” He crushes the pillow he is holding to himself, burying his face in it again for a moment, shoulders shaking. Muffled, he sobs, “I wish I could go back in time and hug that lonely little boy right now.”
The words strike Ushijima like lightning. His eyes go wide and his whole body feels cold.
Of all possible responses in the world, this was the one that he least expected.
Awkward silence, yes. Scolding. Shame. Guilt. Being told to stop making his mother worry and stop being difficult.
But never that someone would cry for him. That their heart would ache on his behalf, or that they would want to hug him and give him comfort.
White noise roars in his ears.
On the other end of the line, Tooru regains control of himself. He sniffles loudly and wipes his nose on his sleeve again, then looks down and grimaces. “Ew. Shit, I really need some tissues. One sec.” Crawling slowly off the couch, he disappears from view, coming back a minute later with a box of tissues and blowing his nose noisily. Throws the used one away out of view, then pulls out another one and offers it to the camera. “Here, want one?” There’s a small, tear-stained smile on his face and he giggles wetly at his own joke.
The silly gesture breaks Ushijima out of his shock. He feels a heavy, stinging heat rise up in his nose and behind his eyes. He clenches his jaw, hard and digs his fingernails into his palms. Shakes his head, unable to speak through his constricted throat.
Tooru pulls the tissue away and uses it to blow his nose again demonstratively. “Fine, use your own fancy Polish tissues then. See what I care.” He wipes his eyes on his remaining dry sleeve and exhales loudly. “Oh man. I need a coffee.”
The angle of the video changes once again as the phone migrates back to the kitchen. Ushijima’s view shifts to sitting on the window shelf over the sink, where he watches Tooru bustle around, filling up the kettle, spooning some instant coffee into a massively oversized mug and adding far too much sugar. He throws a glance at the camera and smiles a little. “Want one? Or tea, instead?”
Ushijima blinks, shakes his head again. Finally, his voice returns to him, if gravelly and slightly shaky. “I’ll make it myself, thanks.”
Tooru snorts and crosses his arms in mock-offence, leaning back against his kitchen counter while he waits for the kettle to boil. “Suit yourself.”
Looking up and around his living room for the first time in a while, Ushijima realises that it has grown dark. His apartment sits silent, no light anywhere. He sighs and levers himself off the couch, picking up the tablet with its stand and walks to his kitchen. Unlike Tooru’s cheerfully multicoloured old laminate cabinets, his kitchen is sleek, white and modern, renovated just before he moved in. It feels cold.
He sets down the tablet on the countertop so that Tooru can watch him, then realises he left the now-empty carafe of green iced tea in the living room and goes to fetch it. Rinses it in the sink, then puts it in the dish rack to dry. Fills up the kettle and sets it to boil. Opens a cupboard and picks one of ten identical white mugs, fishes out a box of peppermint tea and throws the tea bag into the mug.
The familiar motions, together with Tooru’s silent, comforting presence help him find his emotional equilibrium again. He takes a deep breath and exhales.
Once both their hot drinks are ready, they migrate back to their respective couches. On the way, Ushijima lights a few lamps, banishing the darkness with pockets of golden glow that reflect in the big windows of his living room and turns them into mirrors. Something about the warm light reminds him of Tooru.
“Mmh, that’s so good. God, I love coffee.” Tooru’s voice coming through Ushijima’s headphones sounds calmer and more relaxed now. Soothed. “What did you make?”
“Peppermint tea.” Ushijima sinks back into the cushions and puts down the tablet, careful not to spill the hot liquid.
“Pfft, you’re such an ascetic. No alcohol, no coffee... Do you ever have any fun?”
The teasing feels comforting. Ushijima smiles softly. “I do have fun. Mostly with you, though.”
“Hey, don’t get all sappy on me! I just finished crying, I don’t want to start all over again.”
Ushijima raises a hand in silent apology.
A comfortable silence falls as they both sip their too-hot drinks.
Finally, Ushijima says quietly, “I’m sorry you’re suffering so much, Tooru.”
Tooru snorts. “Don’t apologise, it’s not like it’s your fault.” He pauses, reconsiders that. “Actually, on second thought, it totally is your fault. I blame you entirely. You make me completely miserable, giving me all this care and attention. I hope you feel ashamed of yourself.” Tooru’s frown is dramatically thunderous as he wags a finger. “You’re a terrible person!”
Another small smile lifts one corner of Ushijima’s mouth, although the pain still aches in his chest. “I am, and I’m sorry. I take full responsibility for my actions. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
There’s a pause as Tooru hesitates for a second, looking as if he’s making up his mind about something. Then he pastes on a pout. “Well, I mean, it is my birthday today and you didn’t get me a present, so that means I get a wish.”
“I did get you a present, Tooru. It’s just taking a while to get made, that’s all. But yes, you get a wish. What would you like?”
Tooru hesitates again. Looks down into his coffee mug, avoiding the camera. “Well, um... You know how you called me that time, when I was having that panic attack. And you... talked to me? That... was kind-of nice. Really nice. I... liked it. I think about it all the time.”
Ushijima frowns, not following. “You want me to talk to you? But, isn’t that what I’m doing?”
“No! I mean, yes, I want you to talk to me, but... I want you to do it like that time, when you were telling me how to breathe and what to do.” He ducks lower over his mug, and mumbles the last words, almost inaudible. “I want you to do that while I... make myself come.”
Ushijima finds his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.
He’s not good with words, especially not with what Tooru would call ‘dirty talk’. Of course, when Tooru is there, in front of him, or on top of him or beneath him, or enveloping him with his soft heat, there’s never any hesitation. In those moments, Ushijima knows instinctively what to say to drive him higher, reign him in, or unleash him completely.
But here, now, Tooru is ten thousand miles away. There’s only the grainy image of him on the tablet’s screen, and his flattened voice coming over headphones. Ushijima’s instincts are becalmed by the lack of visceral sensory input and sense of immediacy. It’s like standing on the court with burning legs, sweating and breathing hard, versus watching a game on television.
Tooru is watching him, honey-brown eyes still red from crying, hair messy and sticking up in all directions. After a moment, he smiles awkwardly. “What, cat’s got your tongue, big guy? Forget it, it was a joke. Don’t look so worried.” He turns away slightly, reaching to put his empty mug on the coffee table. “I should let you go, anyway. It’s getting late and you probably have stuff to do tomorrow.”
As Tooru turns away and presents the side of his face to the camera’s view, Ushijima notices something deeply unusual.
Tooru is blushing.
The sight stokes the banked fires in his chest into a roaring bonfire, flooding him with the familiar feeling of fierce, tender possessiveness that takes hold of him every time Tooru submits himself into his care.
He accepts the challenge.
He might not be the best with words, but he knows how to ask questions.
And how to give orders.
“Stop, Tooru.”
Tooru’s body freezes mid-turn, hand still outstretched. He turns his head slightly, looking at Ushijima’s video on his phone out of the corner of his eye. “What—?”
“You said earlier that your Coach ordered you to get your head together before you fly out, correct?”
“Yeah?”
“I think an orgasm might help with that. So now, I’m going to talk to you while you make yourself come for me.”
Tooru stares at him, still frozen, face aflame. “But—!”
Ushijima cuts him off gently. “Don’t argue. Just obey.”
Tooru blinks, then exhales. “Okay.”
“Where are you most comfortable? In your bedroom?”
“Yeah.”
“Then take your phone and go there now. Take your clothes off and go to the bathroom, then make yourself warm and comfortable.”
“Okay.” Tooru’s voice sounds shaky.
The camera’s viewpoint wheels then goes black, probably covered by Tooru’s hand as he carries it with him. There’s the sound of a door closing and a thunk as the phone is propped up on the bedside table, then silence for a minute, while Tooru is in the bathroom presumably. When he returns, he is naked from the waist up, but still wearing his briefs. He shivers and runs his hands over his arms.
“Turn on the heater, Tooru. It’s winter over there, I don’t want you getting sick right before your departure.”
“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute.” There’s a beep as the air conditioner switches into heating mode. “It’s on.”
“Do you have any favourite toys you like to play with?”
There’s a beat of silence as Tooru frowns at Ushijima’s video on his phone. “Um. How did you…?” Then he shakes his head as if realising the answer himself. “Never mind. Yeah.”
“Good. Get them, and some lotion or lube as well, then show me.”
A moment of quiet, the camera’s view showing Tooru walking around his room fetching things from his wardrobe and bedside table and laying them out on his bed, before crawling up to sit next to them.
“You’re still blushing, Tooru.” Ushijima smiles. “I never thought this kind of thing would embarrass you.”
“Shut up. It feels weird, okay? I feel like I’m some kind of cheap cam boy.”
“Never cheap, Tooru. You’re too precious and beautiful for that.”
Tooru’s scowl deepens, as does his blush. “I said, shut up! Sappy bastard.”
Ushijima can’t help but smile a little more. “Show me each toy and tell me what you like about it.”
Tooru picks up each toy in turn and presents it to the camera, mumbling a few words for each one so quietly that the microphone in his headphones has trouble picking up them up.
Ushijima squints at the video, trying to make out details. A plug with a wide, flared head. Another plug, slimmer and longer. A reasonably-sized dildo, made out of what looks like black silicone. Another dildo, long and straight and... clear?
“What’s that last one made out of, Tooru?”
“Um. Glass. It’s made from shatterproof glass. Like... you know, those casserole dishes.”
How intriguing. If it’s shatterproof then it must be heat-resistant. The beginnings of a plan start to coalesce in Ushijima’s mind, and he likes the idea of it.
“Before you settle into bed, I want you to go get a towel and a mug of warm water from the kitchen. Make sure it’s just warm, not hot. No warmer than a bath.”
Tooru frowns, a little confused by the instruction. “What? Why?”
“Just do it, Tooru.”
The frown deepens, but the camera shows him roll off the bed and pad barefoot out of his bedroom, coming back two minutes later with a tea towel and a large mug. “There, happy now?” He puts it down on the bedside table behind the phone.
“Yes, thank you. Now, put the glass dildo in the warm water. I want it to be nice and warm before you use it.”
“Oh...” Tooru’s eyes widen for a moment and his eyebrows rise to the top of his head in surprise. He hesitates slightly, then reaches and there’s a clink of glass against ceramic.
“Good. Now get comfortable and relax.” Ushijima turns sideways and leans back against the armrest of his own couch, long legs stretched along its length, angling the tablet so that he can still see if he turns his head slightly.
On the screen, Tooru is trying to make himself comfortable while also staying in view of his phone’s camera. It’s a struggle and he’s frowning, trying to find a solid surface with the right angle, but the phone keeps falling over.
“Don’t worry about the camera. Just keep your headphones in, you’ll have your eyes closed anyway.” Ushijima leans forward and taps a button on the tablet’s screen, disabling video and returning to voice only.
There’s a frustrated exhale and more rustling, then stillness.
“Comfortable now?”
“Urgh. Yes.”
Tooru’s peevish tone makes Ushijima smile again. It’s so him. “Good. Close your eyes and focus on your breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” He walks him through several cycles of breath, listening to them get deeper and slower as Tooru relaxes.
“Good, that’s it,” he praises warmly. “Now trace your hands slowly over your skin. Focus on the sensation, pay attention to what it feels like.”
Silence, which he takes to mean that his instructions are being obeyed.
“Keep moving your hands slowly. Take your time, feel every movement on your skin. Trace them over your neck and your chest, your shoulders and your stomach. Imagine it’s me touching you, and I’m taking my time.”
There’s a slight out-breath from Tooru in his headphones. “Mmh.”
“Do you like it when I touch you?” Ushijima asks, softly.
“Yess...” Tooru’s response is hushed and drawn out.
Ushijima waits a long moment, allowing space for Tooru to enjoy the sensation. Then he whispers, “Tell me how you like to be touched. Describe it to me.”
There’s another exhale. “Slow and... soft... But also, when you... grip my hips hard, or my neck.” The words cease, so do the soft exhales, as if Tooru has just wrapped his own hand around his throat and squeezed. After a few heartbeats, there’s a pleased exhale. “Ah... Like that. And...”
“And?” Ushijima prompts him, gently.
“I... like it when you play with my nipples.”
“Do you? How do I play with them?”
“You roll them and... pinch them... and lick them, and... suck them, and bite them...” Tooru’s words are broken up by little pauses, barely more than a hitch in his voice, until a little gasp at the end.
“That’s right.” Ushijima can’t help but smile a little, memories flooding back from their last night together. “You like it when it hurts, don’t you? That’s why you loved it when I put the nipple clamps on you the last time we were together, didn’t you?”
“Mmh. Yeah...”
“You came so hard, all from a plug in your ass and the pinch of the clamps. Do you remember?”
“Ah...!” There’s a little gasp. “Yeah, god that was so good... I was such a little shit to you and you still took such good care of me.” Tooru’s voice is tingled with a little smile.
“Always, Tooru. No matter what, I’ll take care of you from now on.”
“Mmh... Sappy bastard...” There’s a trace of real warmth and affection in the insult.
Ushijima stifles a grin. “It seems you’re warmed up enough, Tooru. Let’s see how you enjoy a little more heat. Pick up the glass dildo from the warm water and dry it off.”
There’s an exhale, a little like a put upon sigh, in Ushijima’s earphones, then the clink of glass and silence as his instructions are followed. “Once you’ve done that, grab some lube and make it nice and slippery. I want you to enjoy this.”
There’s a little breathy laugh from Tooru. “I doubt I’m the only one enjoying this, from the sounds of it.” There’s rustling and sounds of movement.
“Do you not want me to be enjoying myself?”
“Tch, that’s not what I meant and you—” Tooru’s sentence is cut off mid-word by a long, sultry groan. “Oh god, it’s so WARM...!” There’s a hiss, and another sensuous moan. “Fuck...”
This time, Ushijima can’t contain the grin that spreads over his face. He loves it when a plan comes together. Golden victory floods his chest, flowing down into his gut and his groin. Absently, he realises that he’s rock hard. “Good boy,” he praises warmly. “I thought you might like that. Now slide it around and across your hole, let the heat relax your muscles and open you up. Focus on the sensations.”
“It’s so...!” Tooru gasps. “It almost hurts, but not quite, it’s... Nngh...”
There are more incoherent noises and whimpers as Tooru edges himself open with the head of the warmed up glass dildo, sighing and moaning in response to Ushijima’s murmured encouragement and praise.
After a few minutes, there’s a sharp exhale. “It’s in... Oh god, Toshi, it feels so good. So warm and big and full...”
“That’s it, good boy,” Ushijima sighs, his own heart-rate and breath rising slowly. “You’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you. Stay still, don’t move. Just focus on the feeling of being filled. Give your muscles time to adjust.”
“Mmh...” The sound is part moan, part whine. Being told to go slow is not one of Tooru’s favourite things.
Which is the more reason Ushijima gives him the order. After a few long moments, he relents. “You may start to move now, Tooru. But slowly, let yourself get used to the feeling. We’ve got all the time in the world, so don’t rush.”
Ushijima can hear Tooru’s breathing speed up as he starts to fuck himself with the dildo. “Ah... I wish you were here to fuck me right now, Toshi...”
There’s one thing they can both agree on. But instead of letting disappointment tarnish this sweet moment, Ushijima redirects him. “And what does it feel like when I fuck you, Tooru?”
Tooru hums, each part of his response punctuated by a breathy little exhale. “Mmh… Slow and… deep and… steady…”
“That’s right,” Ushijima smiles, hand caressing himself through his sweatpants. He repeats each word deliberately, just to edge Tooru a little closer. “I fuck you slow, and deep, and steady. And you love it every time, don’t you?”
“Yeah...” The word is a needy little whine, and it makes something in Ushijima’s gut twist in the best way. He so wishes he could see Tooru right now, but that requires logistics that are too cumbersome in this moment.
Instead, he closes his eyes and summons the precious images of Tooru he has stored away in his memory: Tooru’s mouth stretched wide around his cock, eyes glazed as his throat is being fucked; Tooru’s body, a boneless weight in his arms after coming long and hard; Tooru kneeling between his legs, smiling seductively and stroking himself before pushing slowly inside; Tooru, kneeling obediently in front of him, waiting for the kiss of ropes on his skin.
The images cascade and intermingle, each giving lustre to the other, making his skin heat up and his pulse thump faster in his chest. He exhales a little louder, his hand palming absentmindedly at the hard-on in his pants.
“Are you touching yourself, Toshi?” Tooru’s voice is breathy in his headphones. He’s panting.
Ushijima smiles at being found out. He never could hide much from Tooru. “Would you like me to?”
“Yess...” The response is a hiss, a plea.
“Then ask me nicely.”
Tooru doesn’t even hesitate. “Please, Toshi. Please stroke yourself for me. I want to hear you, please. I love hearing the sounds you make when you feel good.”
In that moment, Ushijima can’t stop himself from teasing Tooru a little. “Mmh... Who thought you could be so good at saying please? That’s not like you...” Tooru’s only answer is a strangled whine, so he relents immediately. “Alright, I will.”
He slips down the waistband of his sweatpants along with his underwear, freeing himself, then pulls up his shirt. Lightly, he strokes his left hand up and down the length of his shaft, then rolling his palm around the head, picking up the pre-cum beading there and using it to make the glide of his hand easier. He closes his eyes and sighs, enjoying the sensation. Tooru’s rapid breathing whispers through the headphones in his ears, interspersed with little needy moans.
As he strokes himself at a leisurely pace, Ushijima has an evil little idea and decides to act on it, just because he can. “Have you touched your cock yet, Tooru?”
“Mmh-mh,” comes the whimpered denial.
He grins. “Good boy, so obedient. Because I didn’t give you permission yet, did I?”
“Mmh.” The little noise is both confirmation and a plea.
“And I’m not going to. You’re going to make yourself come just by fucking your ass for me, Tooru.”
“Why?!” The cry of protest is sharp and desperate. “No fair!”
“No, it’s not fair,” he agrees, exhaling a little louder as he increases the pace of his hand stroking his cock, Tooru’s desperation starting to stoke his own pleasure higher. “But I know you can do it. I’ve watched you do it many times.
“Nngh... You’re such an asshole...”
“I know. Just keep hitting that sweet spot inside you. Can you feel it? Does it feel good?”
“Yes, so good. So good…!” Tooru’s is panting hard now, his voice small and whimpering every word.
“That’s it, good boy. Speed up the pace a little, I want you to start building now.” He does the same with his own hand, rolling his wrist every time he gets to the top.
“Tooshii...!” His name becomes a long, drawn out moan in Tooru’s mouth, pleading for release.
“I’m here, Tooru,” Ushijima pants between breaths. “That’s it, keep saying my name.”
“Toshi… Toshi!” Tooru repeats his name over and over, chanting it like a mantra. Finally, he gasps, “Oh fuck, I’m… I’m so close…!”
“Do you want my permission to come?”
“Yes…! Yes, please, please! Oh god, please!”
“Such a good boy. I love how you beg,” Ushijima growls, voice growing strained as he feels his own groin tighten. He strokes himself faster and harder. “You have permission, Tooru. Make yourself come for me.”
Tooru’s unrestrained wail makes Ushijima’s headphones peak, clipping the sound and making it dissolve into crackling static for a moment. The intensity of it pushes Ushijima over his own edge, his mind flooding with images of the countless times he has seen Tooru’s face flushed and contorted in the throws of orgasm. He grunts and bucks his hips once, shooting hot cum into the palm of his hand, breathing hard.
On the other end of the line, he hears ragged panting, interspersed here and there with little hoarse whimpers. Then the breathing abruptly stops, as if Tooru is holding his breath. There’s a little hiccuping noise, almost like a sob.
Ushijima works hard to regain control of his breathing. “Tooru, are you crying?”
There’s no answer, only the silence of more held breaths, then a broken little moan and a sob.
Shit.
“Hey? Talk to me, little one.” Ushijima pitches his voice soft and gentle, trying to hide the panic rising in him. “Are you okay?”
Is Tooru hurt? Did something upset him? Something must have gone badly wrong, but he has no idea what it is and he can’t see anything and he’s nowhere near close enough to fix it.
There’s a few more sobs, followed by a few deliberate inhales and exhales. Then Tooru’s voice, mumbling quietly, “Yea... ‘m okay.”
Relief floods through Ushijima and he barely manages to stifle a loud exhale. “Are you sure? You’re not hurt?”
Tooru takes a couple more deep breaths. “No. I’m okay, Toshi. Really.” His voice still sounds sniffly and teary, but a little more composed now. “Sorry to scare you. That was amazing, I don’t know why I cried. I must just be really messed up right now.”
“That’s okay, I’m just glad you’re okay.” Ushijima smiles with relief. He sits up, realises his hand is still sticky with cum and makes a face, reaching for a box of tissues. “That sounded like a really intense orgasm, maybe that’s all it was.”
“Mhm...” Tooru’s voice in his headphones sounds drained. Then there’s an exclamation of disgust. “Urgh. Such a mess.”
“You are very messy.”
“Well, and whose fault is that?” Tooru snaps.
“Mine,” Ushijima says, equably.
“Exactly. You should be here to clean this up, it’s your job.” There’s a pained hiss, probably of Tooru extracting the toy from himself, the sound of tissues being pulled out of a box, then the creak of a bed, footsteps and running water.
“You’re right. It is.” An unexpected pang of sadness blooms in Ushijima’s chest. Cleaning up Tooru’s mess and tucking him safely into whatever hotel bed they are staying at that night is one of his favourite duties, a quiet mindful ritual he uses to centre himself after the intensity of play.
To distract himself from the upwelling sadness, he gets up and walks to his own bathroom, washes his hands with soap, then splashes a little water on his face. Dries off. “Why don’t you go to sleep for a little while? You said you weren’t sleeping that well, maybe you’ll feel better after a nap.”
On the other end of the line, there’s another creak of the bed, rustling of covers, then a sleepy sigh. “Hm. What time is it...?”
“One sec, I’ll check.” Ushijima walks back to the living room and taps his tablet. The display lights up, showing 10:40PM. He calculates quickly. “It’s 5:40PM in San Juan.”
“Too early. Should have dinner...”
“You can have dinner when you wake up in a couple of hours.”
“Mhm.” The little sound is more sleepy than before.
“Go to sleep now, Tooru. That’s an order.”
“Fuck you... Toshi...” The words are mumbled. “Don’t... tell me what to do...”
Ushijima smiles. “Go to sleep.”
His only answer is a rustling of blankets and another sigh.
“Good night, Tooru. Sleep tight.”
“Don’t go.” It’s a whisper, almost inaudible.
Something in Ushijima’s heart twists. “Okay. Just go to sleep now. I’ll stay.”
There’s no reply.
Stifling a sigh, he tidies up the pile of tissues and the empty mug of peppermint tea from his coffee table, then walks around his apartment and turns off all the lights. Picking up the tablet, he places it on the nightstand next to his bed and switches on the reading light, gets changed into a t-shirt and shorts, then goes back to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
Finally, he opens the window to let in the summer evening’s cool breeze, sets an alarm for two hours from now, and settles down on his bed to read his book.
When he closes his eyes and listens carefully, he can still hear Tooru’s quiet, regular breathing through his headphones.
Chapter Text
Sunday 21 July, 2024
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 05:36AM
Don’t forget to send me your flight numbers before you leave today.
Oikawa Tooru, 05:58AM
why
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 06:02AM
So I can monitor your flights, of course.
I want to know when you arrive in Paris.
Oikawa Tooru, 06:08AM
creep 👀🤮
i’ll just text u when i get there
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 06:08AM
No you won’t.
Oikawa Tooru, 7:17AM
🖕
AR1445 AR1246 AF459
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 07:18AM
Thank you, Tooru. Fly safe.
I’ll come find you at the Opening Ceremony.
~*~
The Group C preliminaries get underway at the South Paris Arena on the 27th July, and both Ushijima and Tooru have matches on the first day—Japan versus Germany, and Argentina versus the United States.
Both lose.
The German team is fierce and tenacious, fighting back against a two-set disadvantage to win the last three sets, earning Ushijima’s respect. The United States crush Argentina in three straight sets, as more-or-less expected. Their strength in the past few years is well-known and feared, a clear gold-medal contender this time around.
Ushijima doesn’t call or text Tooru to commiserate or comfort him. He knows it will not be welcome. Since exchanging a hug and a few words at the opening ceremony, they haven’t spoken at all.
Four days later, on the 31st July, Japan and Argentina square up against each other.
Tooru plays like a demon. His serves are lightning strikes, scoring six service aces alone. In volleys, he is everywhere, all at once. His on-field situational awareness is all-encompassing, and he directs his team’s attack with unrelenting precision and tenacity. He is their anchor and their lighthouse. His voice is a constant presence throughout the ninety-four minutes of the match, bolstering flagging spirits and firing up his teammates to a white hot heat.
And yet, it is not enough. Even as brilliant a player as Tooru cannot win a match alone. Though his sets are as accurate and perfectly-catered to his hitters as always, they struggle to break through Japan’s wall of defence. Ushijima personally blocks several kills that seem to break Argentina’s morale, and his serves and spikes pound their receivers into submission. Unforced errors and missed opportunities snowball into a defeat.
When the final whistle sounds, Tooru doesn’t even look in his direction. Ushijima doesn’t resent him for it. And, although he has kept his silent promise to Tooru, to always win, no matter what, a promise he has worked so hard for so long to keep, he cannot find any real pleasure in the victory. He has done his duty, nothing more, nothing less.
That night, he falls into bed and is asleep by 7PM. Kageyama does not comment.
August 2nd, both Japan and Argentina face the last match of preliminary finals, Tooru in the morning against Germany and Ushijima in the evening against the United States.
Seemingly still wounded from their defeat two days ago, Argentina go down to Germany in three sets. Ushijima doesn’t watch the match along with Bokuto, Hinata and Kageyama in their dorm’s common room, but from his bedroom next door he can hear Tooru’s voice progressively get hoarser and hoarser over the course of the match.
That evening, the United States force them down two sets before Kageyama and Hinata form the spear-head of a counter-attack in the third set to prevent a straight defeat. Ushijima gains an even greater respect for Hinata’s sheer unbreakable resilience. His driving hunger and pure joy at playing volleyball are a perfect counterweight to Ushijima’s own stoic, grounding presence.
Nonetheless, they lose the fourth set, their spear blunted by an impenetrable wall of blockers and a Libero who seems to bend the laws of physics.
The defeat tastes bitter in Ushijima’s mouth. All the more so because, despite of it, Japan has reached the quarter-finals, but only thanks to Argentina having lost all three games of the preliminaries and so are out of the tournament. Tooru’s loss has paved Japan’s way to the finals, four points to zero.
In the two days after their defeat, most of the team is quiet, not falling into the trap of celebrating their finals berth. They are focused and serious. The losses against Germany and the United States have had a sobering effect on many players, and everyone doubles down on their training and pregame mindset rituals.
That evening, a small group of them is once again gathered in the common room of their captain and vice-captain’s dorm, watching the swimming finals and chatting quietly.
Ushijima, however, is lying on his too-short cardboard bed, reading a book with the door closed. He knows he should go out and socialise, be the captain they need him to be. But something inside him cannot stomach the idea of mindless chatter right now. He craves silence. So he gives himself an evening’s grace, pledging to himself that he will speak with each member of the squad tomorrow to check in with them.
The sound of a door slamming makes him look up from his book.
Hinata’s astonished exclamation of “Ehh? Dai Ousama?! What are you—” is cut off by the door to Kageyama and Ushijima’s shared room flying open with a bang.
Tooru stands in the doorway like a vengeful demigod.
“Alright, EVERYBODY OUT!” Kageyama’s voice cracks like a whip through the surprised chatter of the few remaining visitors, and within seconds he has shepherded everyone none too gently out of the dorm, dragging Hinata behind him by scruff of the neck and slamming the front door closed.
Tooru still stands in the doorway, two angry red splotches on his cheeks, his molten brown eyes spitting sparks. There’s a bandage covering the knuckles of his right hand and blue-green bruising on his left hand.
Ushijima sits up quickly, frowning in concern. “Tooru, are you—”
The movement snaps Tooru back into motion. “Shut.” He advances on Ushijima with three quick, menacing steps. “The. Fuck...” His bandaged hand grabs the front of Ushijima’s shirt, yanking him forward roughly, snarling the last word directly in his face. “...UP.”
Then Tooru assaults him with a kiss, lips and teeth clashing, his tongue forcing its way brutally into Ushijima’s mouth.
Ushijima grunts in surprise, his hands grasping Tooru’s lean, muscled upper arms and holding on as his mouth is reamed. Each kiss is a wave, crashing over him and holding him underwater, forcing him to hold his breath and hang on until he’s allowed to resurface. Too fast and too violent for him to regain his bearings between each one, so he just grips harder and holds on.
When Tooru finally allows him mercy, he’s panting, his heart hammering, head spinning, pupils blown, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. He stares up at Tooru, completely undone.
Tooru’s eyes flicker over his face, admiring his work. “You really can’t get enough of me, can you?” he grins, wolfishly. “Mmh, that’s too bad for you. Tonight, I’m taking from you exactly what I want, and you’ll just have to make do.”
He reaches down and roughly squeezes Ushijima’s cock inside his sweatpants. “So, are you going to be my obedient puppy?”
Ushijima’s stomach flips and he swallows. They haven’t played this particular game in years. It’s not often that Tooru is in the right mood to unleash his own cruelly seductive brand of Dominance. That’s what makes these rare occasions all the more intense.
He nods wordlessly.
Tooru taps an admonishing finger on his nose. “Ah-ah, verbal agreement only. Speak up, little puppy.”
“Yes. I’ll obey.” Ushijima’s voice is scratchy and shaky.
“Good dog.” Tooru’s grin turns predatory. “Up. Turn around.”
Ushijima rises off the bed stiffly and turns, awaiting his fate.
Tooru leans across to rummage around in the open medkit in Ushijima’s bag, extracting a roll of self-gripping sports bandage. “Perfect,” he grins.
He steps behind Ushijima and grips his arms, roughly stacking them together behind his back, wrist to opposite elbow. Holding them together tightly, he wraps the sports bandage around Ushijima’s forearms several times until it’s used up, locking them in place.
“There, that’s better. Now you’re ready to use, little puppy,” Tooru murmurs in his ear, silky and menacing. “Sit.”
Ushijima sits obediently on the edge of his bed.
Tooru takes off the lanyard with his ID and pushes it into Ushijima’s left hand behind his back. “Drop this if you want me to stop. Now, open your mouth.”
Ushijima opens his mouth.
“Mmh... What a sight.” Tooru cards his fingers through Ushijima’s hair, gripping it roughly for a moment and tipping his head back, then lets go and hooks one finger into Ushijima’s jaw, pulling down lightly, holding it open. “Who would have thought that the Emperor himself, the great destroyer of dreams, would be such an obedient dog for me...”
Tooru stares at him for a moment longer, drinking in the sight, then unhooks his fingers from Ushijima’s jaw and slides down the waistband of his dark blue Team Argentina uniform sweatpants. His long, slender and very hard cock springs free. “Do you want it?”
Ushijima’s eyes are drawn to the sight, taking in every detail.
He nods. He wants it. Badly.
The smile on Tooru’s face is pure, vindictive triumph. “Then be a good dog and beg for it.”
Ushijima’s brain is full of static, his voice is uneven. “Please, Tooru.”
“Please what, darling?”
“Please let me taste you. Please let me suck your cock.”
“Ahh, that’s it,” Tooru sighs with delight and uses his right hand to guide himself into Ushijima’s welcoming mouth, his left gripped loosely in Ushijima’s hair.
Tooru’s cock is so smooth and warm on his tongue, velvety and soft. Ushijima moans under his breath, eyes falling closed as he savours the taste. He has missed this, dreamed of this, wished for this, for months.
He pours all his devotion into worshipping Tooru’s cock with his mouth, casting himself adrift in the repetitive motions until his whole world shrinks into this single, blessed, peaceful moment in time.
Above him, Tooru sighs and gasps, using his grip in Ushijima’s hair to lightly control the pace and depth of his penetration while mumbling a steady stream of praise. “Oh god, you’re so good at this... Fuck, Toshi...! How are you so good at sucking cock... Mmh, this is only for me, you’re only ever doing this for me... Nobody else gets to see you like this... Nobody...” He gasps again, his grip tightening in Ushijima’s hair. “Fuck! I’m so close. I’m going to come in your mouth now, darling... Here I come...!”
Ushijima moans a little louder, pushing himself against the grip that is holding him, taking Tooru’s cock as deep into his throat as he can and swallowing hard again and again as he feels Tooru shudder and come. He holds still, feeling the twitching aftershocks on his tongue, breathing hard through his nose, jaw aching.
“Mmh...” Tooru purrs indulgently and caresses his face with gentle fingers, then pulls out and leans down to capture Ushijima’s mouth in a kiss. He licks the taste of himself from Ushijima’s lips and tongue, savouring it, then looks down at him with a wicked, adoring smile. “Such a good puppy...”
Ushijima just stares back at him dazedly, jaw muscles slack, lips tingling and pulse roaring in his ears. His cock is straining painfully in his pants. The tiny part of himself that is still sane wonders absently if this is all he gets, if this sublime, vengeful god will abandon him now, as punishment for all his wrongdoings. His hips move unconsciously, trying to find some friction.
Tooru notices the motion and chuckles. “Poor thing... You’re so hard, aren’t you? Still so eager to be used.” In one motion, he slides down his uniform pants all the way, kicking them off along with his shoes.
Then he crawls on top of Ushijima, forcing him to scrabble backwards awkwardly on his ass until his back hits the wall and he is sitting with Tooru in his lap, bound arms pressing into the small of his back.
“Colour and safeword, now,” Tooru whispers sharply into his ear. “Tell me if you want more.”
Ushijima blinks, trying to reassemble enough of his brain to form speech. “Green,” he chokes out. “Crow.” He blinks again. “More. Please.”
“Good dog.” Tooru’s hands go to Ushijima’s waist, pulling down his sweats and underwear, freeing his cock.
Looking around briefly, he leans sideways to reach the little shelf at the head of the bed, finding the unscented hand cream that Ushijima uses each night before bed. “This will do.” He squeezes a generous amount into his hand and slathers unceremoniously it over Ushijima’s hard-on, making him flinch and hiss at the sudden cold contact.
Tooru grins fiendishly. “Suck it up, buttercup. You’re in no position to be picky tonight. You’ll take what you’re given and enjoy it. Won’t you, puppy?” With his left hand, he squeezes Ushijima’s cheeks, while he reaches around with his right and starts fingering himself open. “Ah... Oh yeah, fuck, I’m going to enjoy this...” He leans down and kisses Ushijima roughly, fingers making slippery wet noises as he pumps them in and out.
When he breaks the kiss, he murmurs teasingly, “Such a shame your hands are bound behind your back, little puppy. You’d love to be doing this for me, wouldn’t you?”
Ushijima makes a small, strangled noise at the back of his throat. His hips buck involuntarily, but they are held down by Tooru’s muscled thighs. Immobilised, all he can do is stare up at Tooru silently, taken prisoner by those golden-brown tiger’s eyes and that vicious, velvet voice.
After less than a minute, Tooru loses patience with his fingers. He lifts himself up and captures Ushijima’s cock in his hand, aligning himself and sinking down slowly.
It’s tight. Too tight. So tight that it borders on painful.
Ushijima’s head knocks back into the wall behind him as he squeezes his eyes shut, his low groan mingling with Tooru’s sharp hiss. He tries to assemble the right words to frame his concern, brain and tongue sluggish. “Tooru, don’t hurt yours—”
“Be silent,” Tooru snaps, voice a sharp slap. “‘Crow’ is the only word you have permission to speak.”
Reprimanded, Ushijima keeps his mouth shut and endures, trusting and hoping fervently that Tooru will know his own limits, just this once, even without Ushijima’s guidance.
Tooru keeps pushing himself down slowly, nails digging painfully into Ushijima’s shoulders, head hanging down, eyes screwed tightly shut. When he is finally all the way down in Ushijima’s lap, he groans. “Oh god... Yes... Fuck, I love how good you hurt me, Toshi...”
The words stoke the furnace in Ushijima’s chest to white-hot heat, setting his entire world on fire. “Tooru... Nngh...” His hips buck upwards involuntarily, earning a sharp hiss.
A hand is instantly at his throat, holding him in a vice-grip, a snarl in his ear. “Don’t. Move.”
Ushijima freezes, only his chest rising and falling as he pants.
Several tense seconds pass. Tooru’s hand around his neck releases, turning into a caress along his collarbone and up his neck to his jaw. “Good puppy.” His lips are captured in a sweet, lingering kiss. The muscles enveloping his cock twitch and clench, making him moan into Tooru’s mouth.
Slowly, sensuously, Tooru starts to move.
He only rocks a little back and forth at first, testing his limits, humming and sighing softly to himself. Gradually, he builds up the speed, muscular thighs lifting and lowering himself, nails digging into Ushijima’s shoulders. He sets an easy pace, a steady rhythm that is maddening because it is too slow to build Ushijima’s peak but too fast for him to ignore. It is the best kind of torture.
There is nothing for Ushijima to hold on to. He desperately wants to grip Tooru’s waist, dig his fingers into soft flesh and control the depth and speed, but he can’t. All he can do is submit himself to this sublime, wicked god in the hope that he will be rewarded. He carves his nails into the skin of his bound forearms and grinds his teeth, willing his iron self-control to hold him still.
Tooru’s continuous murmurs are in his voice, soft and low and hot. “Mmh... That’s it, such a good puppy... So obedient and still, just letting yourself be used... Ah, fuck you feel so good, Toshi... I love fucking myself on you. Do you love being inside me...? Do you?”
The words trigger a cascade of images in his mind, so many different times and places when he has been inside Tooru, stacking and layering on top of the sensations in his body right now, the heat, the sweat, the scent of him, and that voice, always goading him on.
“Oh god…” In that moment, Ushijima knows exactly what god he is calling out to. The peak that was not building is suddenly there, right there, unbearably close and—
“Fuck! Tooru, I’m going to—!”
“No.” The rhythm stops instantly and a hand closes around the base of his cock, squeezing hard.
His headlong rush is arrested just centimetres before the edge. He strangles a frustrated groan.
“Not yet. I’m not done using you. Breathe.”
He nods frantically, breathing hard, clawing himself back.
After a few moments grace, Tooru brushes his hair out of his face and kisses his cheek. “Good dog,” he murmurs.
Then he starts fucking himself again, relentless.
Twice more, Tooru brings him to the edge and then yanks him back. His velvet voice is sweet, tender and cruel in Ushijima’s ear, always teasing, taunting and whispering praise.
By the third time, Ushijima has given up all hope and surrendered himself to his fate.
Tooru is fucking himself fast now, sweating and panting, one hand holding on to Ushijima’s shoulder and his other stroking his own cock as he builds towards his orgasm. “Toshi, do you want to come?” he pants, breath hot on Ushijima’s ear. “Do you want to come inside me? Because this time, I might let you. Can you say please?”
Ushijima moans, hope searing back to life. “Please,” he grates out. “Please, oh god, Tooru. Please!”
“You may,” Tooru gasps urgently. “Come for me, Toshi.” He sinks his teeth into Ushijima’s shoulder and bites down, grinding himself down hard on Ushijima’s cock at the same time.
The sudden pain mixed with the deep, clenching heat around him as Tooru grinds down makes everything in Ushijima’s brain short-circuit. He lets out a strangled roar and comes hard, just as Tooru’s teeth release and he wails, cum splattering all over Ushijma’s chest and abdomen.
His vision dissolves into sharp, fizzing sparkles and black spots. Nerves fire from his groin all the way down the inside of his legs, sharp little lightning strikes that make his feet twitch and jerk. His breathing is ragged and uneven, worse than after any endurance drill. “Fuck, Tooru,” he gasps out between breaths. “Fuck…”
Tooru slings his arms around Ushijima’s head and crushes his face into the Argentinian flag on his uniform polo shirt. They stay like that for several long minutes, eyes closed and panting.
Finally, Ushijima feels a hand brush through his hair as a ripple of muscles squeeze his cock so tight it makes him moan quietly from the over-stimulation.
Tooru’s voice murmurs in his ear, low and satisfied. “And now, we’re even.” His gentle hands reach behind and unwrap the bandage from Ushijima’s forearms, freeing his hands. Then he’s gone, lifting himself up and away, getting off the bed, putting his pants and shoes back on.
The sudden absence of his heat makes Ushijima shiver violently. He sits, head hanging forward, trying to reassemble himself.
By the time he does, Tooru is almost at the door. Ushijima catches him by the wrist just as he’s about to slip out, having managed to roll off the bed and pull his own pants back up.
“Tooru. Your hands. Are you okay?” He brings Tooru’s bandaged right hand to his lips, kissing it gently.
Tooru snorts and tries to pull it away, but fails against Ushijima’s grip. “I met the women’s judo silver medallist in the gym this morning. She said I looked like I needed to blow off some steam, so she showed me a few moves.”
“You punched a silver medallist?”
“A sandbag, you idiot! I’m not suicidal.”
“Okay.” Relief floods through Ushijima, and he kisses Tooru’s knuckles again fervently. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“No,” Tooru growls. “We have to be out of the village by 10AM or our keycards will get locked. The team has booked a hotel nearby until the Closing Ceremony.”
“Will you stay until then? Or are you flying home early?”
“Thought about it, but now I’m here I might as well make the most of it.” Tooru shrugs.
“Okay. I’ll text you.”
Tooru nods and pulls Ushijima roughly down by his shirt, kissing his cheek. “Don’t disappoint me tomorrow.”
“I’ll win for you.”
A savage, feral grin spreads over Tooru’s face. “Fuck you, Ushijima Wakatoshi. Win for yourself. I win my own battles.”
With that, he is gone, door slamming behind him.
Thirty minutes later, when Ushijima returns to their dorm from the communal showers down the hall, towel slung around his waist, Kageyama is sitting on the uncomfortable sectional in the common room, flicking through TV channels. There’s no sign of Hinata and Bokuto, their shared room next door still empty.
He raises an eyebrow and scowls at Ushijima. “Wipe that dumb grin off your face before the others see it. It’s creepy.”
Ushijima says nothing but ducks his head and tries to school his expression as he walks past into their room to get dressed.
He also opens the window, because their entire room still smells like Tooru.
~*~
The loss to Italy cuts deep.
Once again, the chance at an Olympic medal has slipped through their fingers.
Another opportunity missed.
He leads his team off the court and back to the arena’s locker room, letting his strength stand for those who, in that moment, cannot hold themselves. Bokuto sobs quietly, though nobody openly acknowledges it.
Eyes gravitate naturally towards him, their captain, their anchor, their centre of gravity, and he knows he must say something.
He stands silently, waiting until he has everyone’s attention.
“We fought.” He lets the simple truth stand in the room, looking directly into the eyes of each and every one of his players in turn. Acknowledging their hard work, their determination, the sheer endless hours of gruelling training that they have collectively poured into this campaign. The bond they have built. He sees Hinata nod with glistening, overflowing eyes.
“We lost.” Again, he pronounces the truth, simple and brutal. There is no escaping it. They were not good enough. It is fact and needs to be said. They all need to take responsibility for their failings, collectively and as individuals. Kageyama nods tiredly, drops his gaze.
“We will come back stronger.” Here, he briefly lifts the shields that hide the roaring furnace of fury and determination in his chest. Allows them all to feel the molten, white-glowing heat of it, blasting their skin red in answer. Loss and victory both are fuel. He will use it to push himself to even greater heights. They will all do the same.
Then he lets the shields slam back down, shuttering the flames from view once again. Turns away without another word and starts to get changed. No more needs to be said. Each player has their own rituals to salve their heart and bind their wounds, and all he can give them is the space and quiet to do so. There is quiet shuffling and rustling around him as everyone follows his lead.
Late that night, after the drudgery of post-match press conferences, postmortem with coaches, and logistics planning for the next week with support staff, Ushijima falls into bed, completely mentally and physically exhausted.
Kageyama is already fast asleep in the bed opposite, headphones in and a sleep mask over his eyes.
Ushijima desperately wants to sleep as well, but he is restless, despite the cool-down session in the gym and the light twenty-minute run he went on just before getting ready for bed.
Something in his chest aches, badly. The absence that is there, always at the centre of him, pulses with pain at every heartbeat.
He knows Tooru will not contact him. The intensity of their clash yesterday guarantees that there will be complete silence at least for the next few days, likely longer.
What goes up must come down. Expansion is always followed by contraction. The deeper the intimacy they share, the faster and stronger Tooru’s walls slam back down afterwards, and the more venom will be hurled at Ushijima when he reaches out to break through again.
No matter how well they connect, the volley will always end with the ball crashing back down to the floor.
Those are the rules of the game they play.
Ushijima knows them. Has accepted and obeyed them to the letter for all their years together.
That doesn’t make it hurt any less.
So he falls back on the well-worn strategy of his childhood, when he missed his father more than his six-year old heart could bear without crying. To avoid his mother’s silent, guilty glances and his grandmother’s slaps and scolding, he learned how to numb the pain.
He lets himself sink into the still, dark depths of his mind. The icy silent cold surrounds him, seeps into him, counteracting the ache in his chest. The pain which threatened to overwhelm his self-control finally becomes muted and dulled. If sleep is not possible, at least this twilight state brings some relief.
He drifts.
Hours, or perhaps minutes, later, his phone screen lights up.
Tuesday, 6 August 2024
Oikawa Tooru, 02:08AM
❤️🩹
Ushijima stares at the single character in the darkness.
A heart?
A heart with a bandage.
A bandage. For a wounded heart.
Lighting up the darkness of his room. Breaking through the silent, icy cold.
The iron bands of self-control shackling his emotions snap without warning. His throat constricts violently and the inside of his nose stings. He holds his breath, eyes screwed shut and jaws clenched tight, holding back the flood with all his might.
He feels Tooru’s imaginary fingers brush softly through his hair. Feels the pain in his chest as it burns and burns, cauterising, cleansing. Healing. Wills himself to bear it silently, to not make a single sound that might wake Kageyama.
Eventually, the flood recedes and lets him breathe again. He lies there, wrung out, body tired and heavy, nose blocked, eyes stinging. Reaches out one hand and finds a tissue, blows his nose as quietly as he can.
Closes his eyes, phone still gripped tightly in his other hand.
Falls asleep.
Finally.
~*~
Packing, logistics and his team’s administrative duties govern the following days, busy but soulless. As customary, the team must vacate their berths in the Olympic village once their campaign is over, so as not to distract those who are still facing their most important battles. It is respectful, it is polite, is it expected. And yet, it is also an ignominious reality that adds insult to injury, rubbing salt in the open wound of their lost medal hopes.
Kageyama, Ushijima and the team’s management shepherd their group of weary warriors to their new home, a hotel further out in the sprawling banlieues of Paris, although still connected to the city’s heart by the metro.
When the move is finally complete and everyone is settled, he allows himself a moment of grace to enjoy a bed that is not made from cardboard, and a mattress long enough to accommodate a body of his height. He is once again sharing a room with Kageyama, the two of them slotting neatly back into their well-established routine of cohabitation.
Satori calls and threatens to kidnap Ushijima unless he agrees to meet for dinner. Seeing his best friend in person for the first time in years is soothing. Their well-rehearsed banter, familiar jokes and mutual teasing feels like slipping into his favourite comfortable sweater.
Blessedly, Satori only asks after Tooru once. When Ushijima is vaguely positive but not overly forthcoming, he drops the subject and moves on, well used to his friend’s need for privacy. Despite that, Ushijima pays for the meal and several excellent (as Satori enthusiastically pronounces them) bottles of wine as a quiet token of gratitude for his best friend’s advice on the matter.
The rest of the team embraces the opportunity to be tourists in one of the most famous cities in the world, Bokuto and Hinata the gleeful ringleaders plotting what to explore the next day every evening at dinner. Their simple joy infects the others, a glowing golden antidote against the gloom of their defeat. Ushijima is quietly grateful for their leadership in an area where he knows he is lacking.
He makes an effort to join in as many of their daily expeditions as he can stomach, although he often heads back to the hotel early in the afternoon before everyone else, so he can focus on his next goal.
Because, while his Olympic campaign may be over for another four years, he has another campaign just entering its critical phase which requires careful planning and his full attention.
Chapter Text
Friday, 9 August 2024
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 04:17PM
Tooru, tell me your commitments tomorrow evening.
Oikawa Tooru, 04:18PM
oh, he lives!
have you finally stopped sulking
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 04:18PM
?
I don’t sulk.
Oikawa Tooru, 04:19PM
you looked pretty sulky after Italy handed you your ass
ne, ushijima-nippon?? 🩷
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 04:20PM
You watched the game?
It’s true, it was a difficult loss. The team took it hard.
We will rebuild and come back stronger.
Oikawa Tooru, 04:22PM
there there, sad puppy
pat pat 🐶🫲
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 04:25PM
You didn’t tell me if you have any commitments tomorrow night.
Oikawa Tooru, 04:26PM
dunno, probably melting in the heat
fucking french architects, too proud for airconditioning
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 04:26PM
Is that it?
Oikawa Tooru, 04:28PM
guess so, why
u want to take me on a date or something
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 04:28PM
Correct.
I am taking you out to dinner for our anniversary.
Oikawa Tooru, 04:30PM
we have an anniversary??
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 04:31PM
I’ve chosen one for us.
August 10, the date you signed our first contract in Rio.
I thought it would be appropriate.
Oikawa Tooru, 04:32PM
that is... weirdly passive aggressive
but also sweet
are you sure you’re not just using me to cheer yourself up after your defeat?😏
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 04:33PM
I’d like to spend some time with you before we have to fly out again.
You can dress up as much as you like.
Oikawa Tooru, 04:34PM
i left my ball gown and glass slippers at home
but i guess i’ll just have to see what i can do
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 04:34PM
I’ll pick you up at 7PM, reservation is at 8PM.
Oikawa Tooru, 04:35PM
oh waka-channn you’re making me all giddy
its like i’m living in a romcom 👸
u better find a pumpkin and some mice to come pick me up
~*~
At 7PM sharp the following evening, Ushijima walks into the lobby of the hotel that the Argentinian volleyball team has migrated to after losing their own Olympic village berths.
He checks the time on his watch, although he knows exactly what time it is, then takes a seat in one of the plush settees scattered about the lobby and settles in to wait, expecting Tooru to be his usual fifteen minutes late.
He is both right and wrong: Tooru is late by twenty minutes, not fifteen, but it is worth every single second because he looks like he has just walked straight off a Paris Fashion Week runway.
He is wearing a shirt made out of a translucent black material which makes him look both fully clothed and absurdly naked, tucked into tailored black slacks that hug his slim hips sensuously. A designer sports-jacket in cream linen is slung loosely over his shoulders and a slim, expensive golden watch glints on his wrist. His hair is sleeked back loosely with some kind of soft wax, his cheekbones are perfectly contoured and his jawline so sharp it could cut glass.
But, most of all...
Most of all, Ushijima sees Tooru’s eyes. And they make his heart stutter in his chest.
Tooru is wearing black kohl eyeliner. And it suits him. His eyelids are dusted with a shimmering silver-golden powder that glows and glimmers every time he blinks. Beneath, his lambent honey-brown eyes pour their razor-sharp attention over everything around him.
When that gaze lands on Ushijima, he can feel it leave a trail of molten heat where it rakes all over his body, top to toe.
“Mmh... You look positively dashing,” Tooru purrs, a seductive smile on his exquisite face. “I do love you in a black suit. It makes you look... edible.”
Ushijima just stares back at him, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Tooru notices and chuckles softly, enjoying his service ace.
The sound snaps Ushijima out of the static in his brain. “I’m... I’m glad you like it,” is all he can manage to say, voice gone gravelly.
He is not the best with fashion, so he always keeps it classic—starched white dress shirt, black suit pants and jacket, though he has opted for an open collar rather than a tie, seeing as it’s summer. He fidgets with the french cuff on his right arm, making sure that the cuff-link is still there. Blessedly, he just manages resists the overwhelming urge to slip his hand into the inner left breast pocket of his jacket and touch the slender, elongated black box resting there against his chest.
Tooru walks up to him and takes his arm, naturally graceful and charming as they fall into step together, walking out of the lobby into the warm August evening. “Mmh, and you smell edible, too! What is that?”
“It’s a square bottle. Dark blue.”
Tooru snorts. “What are you, in kindergarten? Well done Wakatoshi-chan, you’ve learned your colours and shapes!”
Ushijima shrugs. “You gave it to me three years ago for my birthday.”
“Oh, Bleu de Chanel! You still have that? You haven’t used it all up by now?”
“Of course not. I only wear it when I’m with you.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Ushijima feels Tooru’s hand squeeze his forearm where they’re comfortably linked. “You’re such a simpleton.” The insult is filled with affection instead of the usual venom. After a few more steps, he asks, “So, where are you taking me tonight, big guy?”
Ushijima pauses before he answers, unwilling to give away too much about his meticulously researched plan. “Follow me and find out.”
“Ooh, so mysterious,” Tooru laughs. “Don’t get my hopes up, or I might be disappointed!”
Ushijima smiles slightly but ignores the bait. He waves down a taxi, opening the door for Tooru and then walks to the other side to get in himself, handing the driver his phone with the destination address instead of trusting his less-than-perfect English or his non-existent French.
They sit in comfortable silence while the driver navigates them through chaotic Paris inner-city traffic.
The restaurant they walk into thirty minutes later is not at all what one would imagine a temple of french haute-cuisine to be like. Instead of the golden Louis XV furniture and chandeliers of a Palais, the underground interior is low-ceilinged, moodily lit and furnished in sleek, modern style. Soft, unobtrusive lounge music plays in the background and the silent wait-staff in their black shirts are both stern and efficient.
There are no menus. This is not a place that lowers itself to à la carte service. Here, the head chef decides what his audience enjoys, and they will love him for it. Even Tooru looks faintly impressed when the degustation commences, admiring the intricately constructed dishes and closing his golden-shimmering eyes to savour each wine pairing.
He doesn’t comment on the fact that Ushijima takes only a single sip from each new wine glass that is presented. He’s well-used to the fact that Ushijima doesn’t drink alcohol unless socially necessary, and then only in amounts that are easily counteracted by his high body-mass and metabolism.
It’s always been this way. Ushijima hates the loss of control inherent in overindulging in anything, alcohol included. He is well-aware that he is considered intimidating, his mere physical presence often seen as a threat. He has worked all his life to forge his body into a weapon. Even Tooru described him as a loaded gun, cutting Ushijima deeper than he will ever realise. He cannot, will not, countenance any loss of control which might unleash that weapon anywhere except its intended arena: the volleyball court.
So he tastes each wine only once, and focuses instead on the sensual delight of watching Tooru enjoy himself.
Conversation flows easily. Neither of them mentions volleyball. Instead, they talk about sight-seeing in Paris, and about the differences in life between Europe, South America and Japan. Tooru tells him stories about living in San Juan and coaxes Ushijima to share some of his culture-shock moments since moving to Warsaw, laughing and teasing him for his inability to go with the flow.
Oddly, the teasing lacks its usual venom. It is gentle and affectionate, inviting him to laugh at himself a little rather than attacking him to find weaknesses in his armour. They spar with words and score points off each other, of course—how could they not. But each of them silently declines to spike a kill or serve too hard.
It feels nice. It feels like tossing a ball around with a friendly teammate, instead of having a match with an opponent.
After the dessert course is cleared away and the last sweet muscat is drunk, Ushijima gives himself a moment to study Tooru closely.
His boy is radiating happiness. Not overtly, but it’s there in the way his body leans, relaxed, on the armrest of his chair, chin resting in his hand, kohl-lined eyes soft and gleaming in the low lighting. His slow blinks and the faint smile on his lips are all signs that both the alcohol in his blood has taken effect and he is having a wonderful time.
Good.
Ushijima reaches into the left breast pocket of his suit jacket and extracts the rectangular black box.
Tooru’s eyes light up with delight. “Oh, what’s this? Did you get me a present, Wakatoshi-chan?”
Ushijima shakes his head. “Yes. But it’s only a loan, only for tonight. You have to give it back to me tomorrow. That is, unless you want to keep it, and then we have to have a longer conversation.”
He can see that his answer has surprised Tooru. Eyes that were soft and mellow just a second ago are now narrowed and fully focused.
Ushijima hands over the box.
Tooru takes it and examines it, even shaking it and listening dubiously. He throws a quick look around at their surroundings, checking if anyone is close-by enough to see the contents if he opens it.
Ushijima smiles faintly. “You can open it. It’s safe, I promise.”
Well... safe for a given measure of safe. It might be safe. Or it might cause the entire evening to come crashing back to earth in a flaming wreck by wounding Tooru’s pride and enraging him beyond all reason. Ushijima is ready to roll the dice and face the consequences.
One cannot advance if one is unwilling to take risks.
“I’m sorry it took so long. I commissioned it for you from a well-known German artisan, and it only just came in time before I had to fly out. Happy birthday, Tooru.”
Tooru throws him a curious look, then levers open the box.
Frowns.
Stares.
Inside, nestled in black velvet, is a hand-crafted leather collar, two finger-widths wide. Its design is simple and elegant: two black leather bands stitched on top of each other, a wider band with a padded interior and a narrower band on top with a single round, polished-steel ring at the front. The buckle at the back has an eye on the tine, to which is locked a small silver padlock.
Ushijima watches Tooru go on high alert, brain instantly spinning up to its formidable peak capacity. His eyes narrow as he analyses all possible meanings of the object in the box. “You... want me to wear a collar?” His voice is flat.
Before he can jump to the wrong conclusion, Ushijima intervenes. “No. I’m offering you my collar, Tooru. If you want to wear it.”
“And what exactly would that mean? If I were to wear it?” Tooru’s voice is still forcibly even.
“If you choose to accept my collar, you will belong to me for as long as you are wearing it. As I said, it will be time limited until tomorrow, until you go back to your hotel.”
Tooru’s eyes narrow, intense and focused. His tone becomes sharp and wary. “What do you mean, ‘belong to you’?”
Ushijima holds his gaze, trying to put as much steady reassurance into his voice as he can. “For tonight, it will not change our existing dynamic a great deal. All the existing rights and responsibilities in our contract will remain in force. I will still ask you for explicit consent and you can withdraw it at any time for any reason.” He pauses, trying to find the most concise, truthful words for what he wants to say next. “The only thing that will change is that you will defer to me and I will take direct responsibility for your care.”
Tooru frowns deeply, eyes moving away to stare into the middle distance, processing Ushijima’s words. “Defer to you...” he mumbles, then goes quiet again. Eventually, he looks up and says, “So, like a... guardian?” His voice still has its razor-sharp edge.
Ushijima nods, emphatically, just once, pleased by the accuracy of the analogy. “Yes. Exactly.”
A note of suspicion creeps into Tooru’s tone. “You’ve never put a collar on me before, all these years. Why not? And why have you changed your mind now?”
Two valid and important questions. Ushijima is glad that he mentally prepared the answers to them ahead of time, alongside all the other details of this plan. He nods thoughtfully, showing Tooru that he is pleased to be asked. “To answer the first question: A collar means something very specific and very personal to me. It is something I take very seriously and would never put on you without a great deal of intention and forethought.”
He pauses, giving Tooru time to process that, then continues. “As for your second question: I thought offering you my collar would insult your pride. I thought that you would run away. I thought you’d hate the idea of being chained to me, even more than you already are.” He pauses, smiles briefly. “And, I think until two months ago, that was probably true. You would probably have thrown this back in my face as soon as I suggested it, for valid reasons. But things have changed a lot since then, so I thought it was worth taking the risk tonight. To see if you might... want it.”
Ushijima expects Tooru to argue at this point, to tell him how wrong he is and rebuke him for being presumptuous.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t. Instead, he stares down at the collar in its box, deep in thought. “Why do you think I’ll want it?”
This is the most important question of all, and he absolutely has to get the answer right. He exhales softly, readying himself as if about to serve for a match point. Keeping his voice light, he catches Tooru’s gaze and smiles slightly. “For tonight, because it will be a fun new experience for you that I think will turn you on.”
He pauses, allows himself to become serious again. “But, in the future... You might want it because it is a physical representation of our relationship. Of your safety and belonging with me. You told me on your birthday that you were feeling lonely, and that being far away from your family and friends, and from me, made you feel abandoned. You said that you never wanted to feel that way, ever again.” He nods at the box in Tooru’s hands. “This is something that you could use as an anchor against those feelings.”
Ushijima’s words seem to hit Tooru hard and he blinks a little, looking away. After a minute of silence, he asks softly, “And do you want it?”
This catches Ushijima off-guard. Of all the questions he anticipated and prepared responses for, this was not one of them. Nevertheless, his answer is instant. “Very much, yes.”
Tooru’s eyes widen ever so slightly at that. He holds Ushijima’s gaze for a heartbeat, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. “And why only until tomorrow?”
“Because you’re drunk, Tooru, and you shouldn’t make far-reaching life decisions when you’re drunk. That, and I doubt you fully understand the extent of what this means, and what I’m actually offering you. So there will be a lot more to discuss, if you want to keep it.”
At that, Tooru’s looks back up at him and scowls, opening his mouth to argue. But the angry rebuke never comes and he closes his mouth again, eyes returning to the collar in its box.
Ushijima watches intently, wondering if his gamble has paid off. The anticipated explosion hasn’t happened yet, so perhaps there is hope.
He can only wait and stand ready.
After several long minutes, Tooru says, “Alright.” His voice sounds firm, and he looks up and nods. “Let’s do it.”
Ushijima’s focus locks in completely as he meets his gaze. “Do what, Tooru? Be specific.” He needs to be absolutely, one hundred percent certain.
“I’ll wear your collar tonight, Wakatoshi.”
~*~
“So... When are you putting this thing on me, then?” Tooru whispers quietly into his ear as they sit in the back of the taxi taking them to their next destination. “You can’t just get me all worked up like that and then leave me hanging, you know.” Although Tooru is doing his best to hide it, there is a slight edge of excitement in his voice.
Good. That means he’s thinking about it. Getting used to the idea. Starting to actually want it.
Just because he can, Ushijima decides to bait the hook a little more. “Be patient. I will put it on you when we get there. If you still want to go ahead, that is. You’re always welcome to change your mind.”
Tooru snorts. “As if I would back out now. What do you take me for, a coward?”
Ushijima hides a smile and just shrugs equably. “Never say never.”
Fifteen minutes later, the taxi pulls up outside an elegant, multi-storied fin-de-siècle building, ostentatiously lit up with flood lights highlighting its architectural details.
There is a line. It snakes from the brightly lit entrance all the way down the street, rounding a corner at the end. People dressed in what passes for this season’s clubbing fashion stand in groups, shifting from foot to foot, talking quietly or loudly depending on their corresponding state of inebriation.
As he gets out of the taxi, Tooru makes a face. “You’re not honestly suggesting we stand in line now for an hour? As much as I love clubbing, I don’t love it that much.”
Ushijima looks up from closing the car door behind him, sees the line and shakes his head. “No, I am not. Follow me.” He leads the way a little down the street towards a subtly-lit side door marked by a polished bronze plaque inscribed Réservations. There’s no door handle, only a black button. He presses it.
Five seconds later, there is a quiet ‘click’ and the door swings silently open. Tooru looks mildly impressed, but doesn’t say anything. Ushijima ushers him inside.
An elegantly dressed woman with black hair stands behind a wide reception desk, smiling politely. “Bon soir Messieurs, bienvenue au Palais de Maquis de Sade. Vous avez une réservation?”
Ushijima only nods, handing her his phone with their booking confirmation.
“Ah.” The woman shifts to fluent Japanese and gives a perfectly calculated bow to both of them. “Irasshaimase, Ushijima-san and honoured guest. Welcome to the Palais.”
“Thank you,” Ushijima responds and formally returns the bow.
The host taps on her keyboard for a few moments, then reaches forward to place two key cards on the counter. “You have a private suite booked until 3PM tomorrow, number 503. You may use the tablet in your room to access more information about our facilities and events, as well as order additional equipment and services. If you have any questions or other requirements, the telephone in your suite connects directly to our concierge service.”
Ushijima nods in acknowledgement.
“The lifts are to your right. You may wish to head directly to your suite on level five, or visit the cocktail lounge, dance floors and dungeons on levels one, two and three.” She glances at her wrist watch. “In forty minutes, there will be a special Shibari performance by Kinoko-sensei in the tatami room, restricted to guests only. Please present your key cards to the usher if you wish to attend. Enjoy your stay.”
Ushijima bows again in thanks, then walks over to the lifts.
After a moment of standing frozen on the spot, Tooru bows as well and hurries to catch up. While they stand and wait for the lift, he leans in and whispers in Ushijima’s ear, “Did she just say ‘dance floors’? Plural?”
“Yes.”
“And dungeons?”
“Yes.”
The lifts pings softly and they step in. Ushijima swipes his key card across the reader, then presses the button to the fifth floor. The doors close silently.
“Kinoko-sensei... Is that the same Kinoko-sensei we did that shibari workshop with two years ago in Tokyo?”
“Yes.”
“What on earth is he doing here in Paris?”
“You’d have to ask him that.”
“Hm,” Tooru hums, dissatisfied.
The lift doors open and Ushijima leads the way, finding the door labelled 503 and swiping his key card again to unlock it. He holds it open for Tooru, who throws him an unreadable look but steps inside.
The central room is high-ceilinged, well lit and spacious, dominated on one end by a large, very large, bed on a raised dais, clothed in crisp white sheets. Throughout the rest of the room stand expensive-looking chaises and couches, a coffee table and a large, sturdy desk that looks antique. Tasteful but subtly erotic art hangs on the walls, and plush Turkish rugs are scattered across the white marble floor.
There are three doors leading off the main room, and Tooru inspects them all, stopping dead at the third one. “Ushijima Wakatoshi...” he growls. “Come here.”
His tone makes Ushijima turn instantly on his heel and walk to where Tooru is standing in the doorway. He looks inside. This room is just as tastefully appointed as the main room: beige wallpaper with golden trim, marble floors, high ceilings.
Except there is also a gilded rail attached to the wall at shoulder height on which hang a myriad of different kinds of implements in a neat rows: paddles of all shapes, weights and sizes; floggers made of leather, suede, rope and satin; riding crops and canes of all lengths and materials; straps, belts and many other implements for the sophisticated enjoyment of pain. In each corner of the room are glass cabinets full of further kink equipment and paraphernalia. And pride of place, a large St Andrew’s cross made of dark, polished wood stands proudly in the centre of the room, dominating the space.
Tooru fixes him with a stern look. “Explain. Now.”
Ushijima meets his gaze and smiles slightly. “Do you like it?”
“Like...? Do I like—?” Tooru’s expression shifts from astonished to angry in the space of a heart-beat. “What the fuck, Wakatoshi! What is going on? Are you dying or something?”
Warning bells ring loudly in Ushijima’s head and adrenaline shoots through his veins. It seems that the explosion he anticipated during dinner at the restaurant was postponed, not cancelled. He let his guard down too soon. Stupid mistake.
All his focus locks in on Tooru and he pitches his voice to be calm and reassuring. “Nothing is going on, Tooru. I am fine. Everything is alright. Why are you upset?”
“Why—?” Tooru’s expression gets even more angry, if that is even possible. “Because I thought you were just taking me out for a nice meal and dancing, and now I am standing in a fucking sadomasochist’s wet dream! I’ve played along with your game until now, Wakatoshi, but now I want answers. Something is up, and you are going to tell me exactly what it is. Why are you doing this?!”
Ushijima blinks. If summarised like that, Tooru has a point. He realises he needs to go back several steps.
You forgot to say the quiet part out loud.
He exhales and turns away from the dungeon room, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it neatly over the back of one of the gilded couches, then takes a seat. He looks up at Tooru and pats his lap. “Come here, Tooru. Sit.”
Tooru stares at him, eyes narrowed, unmoving.
“I promise you, I will explain everything. Please, just... come here.”
Something Ushijima’s his voice must have reached him, because Tooru unfreezes and walks stiffly over to him. Before he can sink down on to the couch next to him, Ushijima catches him and gathers him into his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face in Tooru’s shoulder for a brief moment.
Tooru allows it, but his body is stiff and resistant, like an unfriendly cat.
After a moment of trying to order his thoughts and regaining control of his adrenaline-spiked heart rate, Ushijima says, “I’m sorry, Tooru. I thought you would enjoy this, but it seems I have upset you instead. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He tries to catch Tooru’s eyes but he is staring resolutely at the carpet. “Let me tell you why I’m doing this, and then you can ask me as many questions as you want.”
Tooru just nods, stiffly.
Counting his blessings that Tooru is at least willing to listen to him, Ushijima takes a breath and counts off on his fingers. “I am doing this for several reasons: one, because it is our anniversary; two, because we have both just competed at the Olympics and deserve a reward; three, because we usually don’t get the opportunity to play in a space that is fully equipped for our needs; four, you were so miserable the past month and I want to cheer you up before you fly home; and five, because I am giving you my collar for tonight and I want it to be something special you remember.”
Tooru is silent and completely still for a long moment, then he makes a little hiccuping noise at the back of his throat. He wraps his arms around Ushijima’s neck and buries his face in Ushijima’s hair. “Okay...” he whispers, voice gone high and pressed.
Tooru’s lean, muscled arms crush him hard, cutting off his air, but Ushijima doesn’t protest.
After a long minute, Tooru lets go and takes a deep breath, wipes his eyes carefully to avoid smudging his eyeliner, then laughs a little brokenly. “You know how I said on the phone the other day that I was overwhelmed? That’s it’s been hard for me because you’ve been doing this whole relationship thing for ten years and it’s only been a month for me?”
Ushijima nods. “Yes.”
“Well, you’re doing it again.” Tooru laughs tiredly. “I mean, I didn’t even know we had an anniversary until you told me about it yesterday. I didn’t even get a chance to get you anything.”
“Oh.” The information clicks into place and unlocks a new perspective in Ushijima’s head. He blinks, realising his mistake. He didn’t follow the rules to properly establish informed consent. “I’m sorry, Tooru. I’ve gone too far.”
Tooru runs a hand through his hair. “No, that’s not what— I mean… It’s just a lot, Toshi.”
“It’s alright if you want to go back to your hotel. Or we can just stay here and cuddle. We don’t have to do anything else.” Ushijima looks down at his shoes, crushing the urge to fidget. Disappointment and guilt sit heavy in his gut, but he reinforces the iron grip on his self-control so that absolutely none of it shows on his face.
“What…? No, that’s not—” Tooru’s hands catch his face, forcing Ushijima to meet his glimmering, kohl-lined brown eyes. “Hey! Listen to me, you big idiot. Don’t oversimplify everything! This isn’t all or nothing. So don’t just assume what I mean and hear me out, okay?”
Ushijima stares back, blinks, tries to nod. “Okay. What do you mean?”
“What I mean is…” Tooru sighs sharply and throws his eyes up to the ceiling, as if searching for the right words there. “This is a lot. But! I don’t hate it, okay?” He looks back down at Ushijima’s face and squeezes his cheeks. His eyes are soft, not narrowed like they were minutes before. “I… kind-of like it, actually.” He smiles, exasperated. “I just need a moment to get my head around all of it, okay?”
Relief floods through Ushijima, dissolving some of his guilt in his gut. “Okay.” He tightens his arms around Tooru’s waist slightly, hesitantly. “So you don’t hate it?”
“No, Toshi. I don’t hate it,” Tooru sighs and smiles, sounding tired. “It’s just… It’s been a hard few days.” He snorts. “Weeks. Months... Training has been brutal, our team was playing under form and I was trying to pull them up, but I’ve been struggling with my own mindset and it cost me. I got beaten by you, again, and I lost my last ever chance at another Olympic medal in the process...”
He sighs again, closes his eyes and shakes his head. “To be honest, these Olympics have felt a little like third-year Nationals all over again. So, I kind-of lost my shit with you the other night. I’m… I’m sorry I treated you like that. I can’t believe I called you a… dog.” He winces at the word, then leans his head down and touches his forehead against Ushijima’s. “I’ve felt so ashamed ever since. I’m sorry, Toshi.”
Tooru’s words loosen some kind of knot inside Ushijima’s chest that he hadn’t even known was there. Warmth floods through him. Not the molten heat of lust, or the fire of competition, or even the golden glow of victory. It’s softer than that. Gentler. Kinder. It steals in like the sunrise, catching him completely by surprise.
He recognises the feeling by now.
Gratitude.
Once again, by luck or by design, as he has done so many times in the last month, Tooru has managed to completely upend the carefully balanced forces of Ushijima’s inner world.
And Ushijima doesn’t even mind.
He tightens his arms reflexively around Tooru’s waist, crushing him into his chest with every ounce of strength he is capable of.
There’s a slight ‘oomph’ as air is pressed from Tooru’s lungs. “He... To...shi—!”
The strangled protest goes unheard. Only when Tooru taps frantically at Ushijima’s shoulder with his hands does Ushijima release him. “Sorry. Are you okay?”
Tooru laughs, breathless. “Yeah, but what the fuck, you almost broke me in half!”
Ushijima smiles back. “Sorry. And no, I didn’t mind, Tooru. I don’t mind, I’ve never minded. You can call me whatever names you want, and I don’t care, because—”
A flood of words threatens to spill over his lips, out into the open, escaped from his control.
I love you, I adore you, I am your dog and I know it.
But he manages to claw them back at the very last instant, instead saying, “—because your actions always speak louder than your words. And those actions tell me everything I need to know.”
Tooru looks down, meeting his gaze, golden eye-shadow shimmering in the soft light. “You’re being sappy again,” he whispers, then kisses him gently. It’s sweet and unhurried. There is no urgency, no duelling of tongues, no fight for dominance, only mutual tenderness and care.
When Tooru lets him go, he smiles hopefully. Almost shyly. “So... Can I have my birthday present now?”
“What?” Ushijima blinks. Then his brain reassembles itself enough to catch up. “Oh.” He looks up at Tooru, eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you sure you still want it? You’re not still upset?”
“Yeah. I want it, Toshi,” Tooru nods and brushes his lips over Ushijima’s once more, just briefly. “I really do. Please, can I have it?”
“Just for tonight. You have to give it back in tomorrow. We have to talk more.”
“I know,” Tooru smiles patiently, nods. “I get it.”
Ushijima looks back, hesitating, eyes searching Tooru’s face for something.
Why is he hesitating now, at this moment he has planned for months, dreamed of for years?
Why?
His self-control kicks in and crushes the hesitation, whatever it is.
Ushijima grips Tooru’s hips with his hands and lifts him out of his lap, setting him down on the couch beside him, then leavers himself up to fetch his suit jacket. He reaches into the left breast pocket and extracts the rectangular box, then comes to kneel before Tooru still sitting on the couch.
“Do you remember what I said to you in the restaurant about what this means tonight?”
Tooru looks at him, their faces level. “You said a lot of things at the restaurant, Toshi,” he says, grinning lopsidedly. When he sees that Ushijima isn’t smiling back, only watching him closely, his grin fades and he grows serious. He looks up and to the left, recalling the details of the conversation. “You said that for tonight, it won’t change our existing dynamic all that much. You will still ask for consent, and I can still withdraw it. But that while I wear it, you’ll be my... guardian, and I’ll defer to you.” Satisfied with his answer, he looks back at Ushijima expectantly to see if he got it right.
Ushijima nods. “Correct. You will belong to me, and I will take direct responsibility for your care. I’ll expect you to obey direct orders as always, but you still have the right to ask questions and withdraw consent if you need to. Usual traffic light colours and safewords apply.”
“Alright.” Tooru smiles, eyes on the box in Ushijima’s hands. “Sounds simple enough.”
Again, Ushijima hesitates.
It’s not simple. Not simple at all. You don’t understand.
He feels adrenaline flood his system, heartrate increasing as if he were about to step back on an Olympic volleyball court.
Focus.
Renewing his grip on his self-control, he levers open the box and takes out the black leather collar.
Tooru stares at it in his hands.
Willing his hands to be steady, Ushijima unlocks the little silver padlock attached to the eyelet in the buckle and opens the collar up along its length, revealing the creamy white padded leather of the inside lining. “Ready?” he asks softly.
Tooru nods wordlessly, transfixed.
“Lean forward and bring your head down.”
Tooru obeys, leaning forward from the waist, face towards the floor, neck extended.
Ushijima carefully lifts the collar below Tooru’s chin, then brings the ends together at the back of his neck, slipping the perforated end into the buckle and closing it. He tests the tightness by running a finger along the inside edge of the lining.
Tooru shivers violently.
“Too tight?” Ushijima asks softly.
“Mmh-mh,” Tooru hums and shakes his head, still bent forward.
That simple little noise shatters Ushijima’s fragile hold on his self-control. Before he realises what he is doing, his shaking hands are cradling Tooru’s head and he has buried his face in Tooru’s soft brown hair. The nape of his neck smells like well-oiled leather, and ever so faintly of vanilla and sweat. “Tooru...” he whispers hoarsely.
Tooru sighs, little more than a soft exhale. “Mmh...?” His head tilts slightly to one side, offering. Asking.
Say it.
Say it, say the quiet part out loud, this is my heart, I’m giving you my heart, it is yours, it is you.
Say it, I can’t say it, I can’t, I can’t, SAY IT!
He draws breath, but no words will come.
I can’t.
Struck mute, heart beating in his mouth, Ushijima presses a kiss into the soft skin behind Tooru’s ear, just above the top edge of the collar.
Then he forces his hands to let go and says gently, shakily, “Sit up.”
Tooru lifts his torso back upright slowly, eyes focused softly down, as if listening inside himself. He shakes his head in small yes/no motions, leans to the side down towards one shoulder and then the other. Feeling. Testing. Savouring. One of his hands comes up and traces the leather around his neck, brushing fingertips along the cushioned inner lining sitting against the skin of his neck. A finger hooks into the brushed steel ring hanging at the front and tugs experimentally.
Ushijima can’t tear his gaze away. He burns the image into his memory, hoarding every small motion and micro-expression away like the precious treasure it is.
Finally, Tooru looks up and smiles shyly at him. His golden-shimmering brown eyes are shining, pupils dilated. His lips are parted and his breathing a little elevated. He looks like he has just been very thoroughly kissed. “I like it,” he says softly. “It feels nice.”
Mouth gone dry, Ushijima swallows and blinks, trying to assemble words. “I’m glad.” His voice is rough. “Not too tight?”
Tooru shakes his head. “No. Just tight enough.”
He just nods, not trusting himself to say any more. Getting up off his knees, he stands before Tooru, looking down at him. With slow, deliberate care, he reaches out and hooks the index finger of his left hand into the ring at the front of the collar, pulling gently upwards.
Tooru’s body unfolds up off the couch, following the direction of the pull like a magnet. He comes to stand in front of Ushijima, stance loose and relaxed, arms by his side. “Oh. That’s...” Tooru exhales audibly, eyes falling slowly closed for a moment before blinking back open and focusing Ushijima’s face. “That’s really nice,” he hums. “Like rope, but... better.”
The corners of Ushijima’s mouth curve up in a slight smile. “Yeah.” He holds Tooru’s gaze for a moment longer, finger still looped into the ring of the collar. Then he holds out the silver padlock in the palm of his other hand. “May I lock it?”
“Yes.” Tooru mirrors his smile.
Taking a gentle hold of Tooru’s upper arm, Ushijima slowly directs him to turn around and places one hand on the back of Tooru’s head, letting its weight push it forward to expose the collar’s buckle with its eyelet. Carefully, with slightly shaking hands, he hooks the lock through the eye and pushes it closed, pulling out the two little keys on their ring and slipping them into his pocket. “There. Safe and sound,” he breathes, using his hands on Tooru’s hips to turn him back around.
Tooru shivers again. “Can I kiss you now?” he asks, still smiling.
Ushijima tightens his grip on Tooru’s waist and leans down. “You may.”
Their first kiss is barely more than a brush of the lips. Shy and a little bit afraid, as if they barely know each other.
Their second kiss is fuller and softer, Tooru bringing up his hand to gently cup Ushijima’s cheek. The taste of his lips is warm and sweet, reassuringly familiar.
Ushijima leans into it, tattered remnants of self-control washed away by a flood of emotions he does not have the mental capacity to name. He grips Tooru’s hips even harder with his shaking hands, clinging to him as the flood rises, deepening the kiss, pouring into it all the quiet parts he cannot yet say out loud.
Tooru breaks the kiss eventually, stroking his thumb softly along Ushijima’s cheek and bringing their foreheads together, his gaze soft. “Hey. It’s okay, big guy,” he whispers. “I’m scared too.” Then he wraps his arms around Ushijima’s shoulders and hugs him fiercely.
Ushijima blinks, so dazed that he doesn’t even return the hug.
Scared.
Is he scared?
His hands keep shaking and his heart is beating loud enough that he is sure Tooru can hear it. The adrenaline in his blood is on par with facing Italy in the quarter-finals. Higher, even.
He realises that Tooru must be right.
But why?
Tooru said yes. He accepted. He didn’t attack or run away.
So Ushijima should be feeling happy now, not scared.
And he does feel happy, more than he ever thought possible.
And yet, he is also terrified.
Why?
Tooru releases him from the hug and gives him a rough, noisy kiss on the temple.
“Alright, enough with the sappy bullshit! I need alcohol, and I need thumping beats. Let’s go dancing.”
Chapter 12
Notes:
This chapter has its own playlist, which you can enjoy here:
Tooru's LatAm Dance Anthems
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They spend twenty minutes in the suite taking care of bodily necessities, Tooru disappearing to the bathroom to check his makeup and Ushijima sitting quietly for a moment with his eyes closed, trying to stop the tremor in his hands and find his inner equilibrium again.
He feels wrung out and tired.
But this is important.
As important as the matches they just played in the South Paris Arena, if not more, for different reasons. So he pushes the turmoil and the unnamed, unexplained fear he is feeling down into the frozen, dark cargo hold at back of his mind, together with all the other unwanted feelings he has no use for.
By the time Tooru emerges from the bathroom, looking as perfect as he did when they left the hotel, Ushijima feels a little more centred and grounded.
The last thing he does before they leave the room is take one of the silver padlock keys off its little ring and locks it in the room’s safe, just in case. The other, he puts in his wallet and back in his pocket. Tooru watches him out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t comment.
On the way down the corridor to the lifts, Tooru unexpectedly reaches for Ushijima’s hand, linking their little fingers together. “So, you’re really not angry with me for jumping you like that at the Olympic village?”
Ushijima shakes his head, the edge of his mouth curling up in a slight smile. “Not at all, Tooru. I loved every second of it. It was like getting fucked by an angry god.”
Tooru snorts, then throws his head back and laughs. Loud, genuine laughter, surprised and delighted. “An angry god, huh?” he gasps, trying to regain control of himself. “Jeez Wakatoshi-chan, who would have thought that you have the heart of a poet.” When they come to a stop outside the bank of lifts, he looks up at Ushijima, still smiling wide, and leans in to give him a kiss. “Okay, I guess I’ll stop worrying about it then. But... I’ll still do better next time. That kind-of thing should really be negotiated in advance.”
“True,” Ushijima nods. “But I can handle whatever you throw at me, Tooru. I promise, I’m not easy to break.”
The lift doors ping open Tooru lets go of his hand as they step inside. He frowns at the engraved brass plaque beside the line of buttons, then confidently selects the level mysteriously labelled ‘Salon de Rèves, Bibliothèque & Oubliette de Plaisir’.
When the doors slide shut, he bumps his shoulder into Ushijima’s, making him step sideways a little, and says, “Yeah, so I’ve noticed, big guy. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve care and consideration, too.”
Luckily, Tooru doesn’t notice Ushijima’s face go impassive as his words hit him like a jump serve to the stomach. When the doors reopen, he simply takes Ushijima’s hand again and leads them through the crowds, carving a path with bright smiles, polite touches, charming apologies and the quiet strength of his Olympic athlete’s physique hidden beneath fashionable clothes.
Ushijima is glad that he is not required to navigate this crush right now, his mind fuzzing with static and blood rushing in his ears, Tooru’s words still echoing inside his mind.
While he is perfectly capable of carving a path through any crowd himself, his approach is that of a polar icebreaker, using his size and strength to push aside all in his path, which dramatically increases the risk of drunk people getting angry and yelling at him. And, although they usually stop yelling once they look up, and up again, to see his saturnine face and broad, muscular shoulders, the situation is still unpleasant, and he prefers to avoid it where possible.
So he is content to let Tooru guide him through the press of glittering, semi-naked bodies, distracting himself from the static in his brain and the sensory overwhelm of the surroundings by focusing on the warmth of Tooru’s hand in his and the way the silver padlock at the back of Tooru’s collar is just visible above the neckline of his shirt.
Their first port of call is a bar, although that simple term belies the beauty of its decor. It’s like stepping into the fairy garden from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, all hothouse flowers, greenery and glittering light refracting from shining crystals. Even Tooru looks mildly impressed.
When they join the crowd waiting for the fae-costumed barstaff’s attention, Ushijima pulls Tooru close and whispers in his ear, “You are permitted to have only one more alcoholic drink tonight, so choose with that in mind.”
Tooru’s face is all disappointed outrage. “What? You can’t be serious? You really expect me to dance while sober?”
“You had a lot of wine with dinner, Tooru, so you are probably still affected now, even if you don’t feel it.” Ushijima gives him a meaningful look. “I don’t want you to lose the ability to consent.”
The outrage on Tooru’s face lessens a little, although the disappointment remains. “God, you’re so cosmically irritating sometimes, you know that? You take me out to this dreamscape wonderland but then you don’t let me fully enjoy myself.” He pouts, but then the pout morphs into a wicked, challenging grin. “Fine. But you better make use of my consent to its fullest extent later, or I’ll be really pissed off.”
Smiling slightly, Ushijima meets the challenge and accepts it. “That depends entirely on how well you behave in the next few hours, Tooru. If you’re obedient, you will be rewarded.” To emphasise the point, he casually slides his index finger into the ring on Tooru’s collar and tugs slightly.
“Mmh,” Tooru hums under his breath. He doesn’t say anything else, but when he turns back towards the bar, he softly brushes the back of his hand against Ushijima’s crotch and winks.
Ten minutes later, Ushijima is holding some kind of unholy conjunction between alcohol and energy drink in one hand and a soda water with lime in the other, being led by Tooru through the crowd once more, towards one of the Palais’ three dance floors. This one is in what looks like it used to be a library, judging by the glazed, vaulted ceiling high above their heads and a gallery level running around the perimeter of the room, fenced in by an elegant wrought-iron balustrade.
The dance floor itself is sunken a metre or so below ground level, like an orchestra pit. Ushijima notes with satisfaction that it is easy to overlook the whole dance floor from his position by the door. The music is loud and full of driving, breathless rhythms. Sweet voices sing in Latin languages. Ethereal bridges lead to thumping drops. He hopes Tooru likes it and chooses to stay.
He does and they do. They pause near the entrance, sipping their drinks. Tooru stands very close, his hand sometimes absentmindedly caressing the collar around his neck or Ushijima’s arm.
It’s too loud for any conversation, but after a few minutes, Ushijima leans in and signals he wants Tooru’s attention. Projecting his voice above the music, he says, “The usual rules apply, Tooru. You are permitted to dance and flirt with whoever you like on the dance floor. You may touch them and even kiss them if they consent, but hands stay above clothes—theirs and yours. Do not drink from any glass other than the one I’m holding, and don’t accept anything from anyone else.”
“Hai hai, Wakatoshi-sama,” Tooru rolls his eyes and grins. “I know the rules. This isn’t our first rodeo, remember?” He hands him his half-drunk glass.
Ushijima accepts the glass and hesitates for a moment, considering correcting Tooru for the use of the honorific. Then he decides he actually quite likes it, so he just nods instead. “Alright. Enjoy yourself, I’ll be here watching you. Remember, tonight you belong to me and I expect you to behave that way. Find me when you want to go.”
Tooru blinks a little in surprise, then nods and gives him a peck on the cheek. “Ittekimasu,” he calls with a little wave and threads his way down into the loose crowd of jumping, grinding bodies.
“Itterasshai,” Ushijima murmurs under his breath, watching him go. He feels a pang of anxiety. Not as strong as he felt earlier in the suite, but noticeable. He clenches his hands briefly, preempting any shaking. He will have to get to the bottom of this later, before it affects his ability to function effectively, especially while Tooru is in his care.
To redirect his train of thought, Ushijima focuses on watching Tooru dance.
They discovered early on in the course of their ten years together that dancing was one of their shared mutual pleasures. Not that Ushijima can dance or wants to—nothing could be further from the truth. However, Tooru loves to dance, and Ushijima loves to watch him do it.
Tooru dances with consummate skill and sensual abandon. His body moves in sync with the beats, radiating uninhibited joy and raw sex appeal, a combination which makes him irresistible to all warm bodies within five metres of him on any dance floor.
The same warmth, tenacity and attentiveness that permeates his volleyball comes out in his dancing, too. He draws in his partners, falls fluidly into step with them, seduces and encourages them. Whether he is leading or following, he builds them up and makes them shine with him. Boys and girls both circle him like moths, attracted to his brilliant golden flame.
In the first few years of their partnership, Ushijima could not have adequately described why this does not bother him or make him jealous. But after hours of reflection, mostly as he watched Tooru dance while leaning against a wall or door frame in some fashionable nightclub in Shinjuku, Roppongi or Shibuya, he has come to the conclusion that it is the same as watching Tooru play volleyball. Why would he be jealous of Tooru’s skills and interactions with his teammates on the court? They present no threat to their relationship. The contexts are completely different.
In the same way, no passing caress or breathless kiss on the dance floor can rival the bond of intimacy and trust that he and Tooru share in the privacy of their power exchange relationship. As sensuous and seductive Tooru is with his dance partners, Ushijima knows that it is a mask. A mesmerising, erotic and desirable mask, but still a mask. And while those boys and girls are taken in, Ushijima knows the raw, honest beauty that Tooru fights so desperately to keep hidden underneath. That, most of all, is what Ushijima cherishes and protects.
So he watches Tooru dance, only his head and shoulders visible in the tightly packed throng of bodies.
At one point, Tooru lifts his head and looks straight at Ushijima, catching his gaze and mouthing along with the words of the current song. Then he laughs and looks away again, dipping low over one of his current dance partners.
Ushijima tries to make out the words of the song that Tooru sang. It is in Spanish and the syllables are hard to parse among the beats of the music, so he has difficulty making any sense of it. Yo te adoro? He makes a mental note to ask Tooru about it later.
For some reason, the uneasy feeling in Ushijima’s stomach lingers, no matter how hard he focuses and reinforces the grip on his self-control. A slow trickle of anxiety gnaws at him, and he finds himself becoming impatient. He has to fight down the impulse to wade into the crowd and pull Tooru out of the embrace of his admirers, bundle him into the lift and back into the safety of their suite.
Why? Tooru is no fragile flower. He is a powerful athlete, strong in mind and body.
So why is Ushijima’s heart hammering in his chest again? He feels exposed. Vulnerable. Like an incredibly private and fragile piece of himself is exposed for all to see and there is nothing he can do prevent it.
Impulsively, he tries to reach into his pocket and touch his wallet containing the key, but is prevented by the fact that he is holding both his own glass of soda water and Tooru’s half-drunk concoction of taurine and alcohol. Annoyed, he downs his soda and finds a free surface to leave the empty glass.
When he looks back up to find Tooru on the dance floor once more, he is gone. Frowning, Ushijima scans the crowd in expanding circles, taking in the whole floor, trying to make out Tooru’s profile in the jumping, moving mass of bodies.
He’s not there.
The anxiety becomes edged with panic. His body wants to move, walk, run, push aside bodies and shout, but he grips his self-control harder and remains rooted to the spot. Don’t panic. If Tooru is looking for him, he needs to stay in the same place so he can be found. He quickly scans the dance floor again, scanning every face he can make out.
A weight jumps on his back. Two lithe, muscular arms wrap around his neck and pull him backwards.
“Tadaimaaaa!” Tooru’s voice is in his ear, breathless and loud. “Did you miss me, Wakatoshi-chan?”
Ushijima grunts and rights himself, spinning around. He grips Tooru’s wrists hard and scowls. “Tooru! I told you never to leave my sight. Where were you?”
Tooru’s expression flips from playful to confused, then hurt. “Hey, chill! What’s with that tone? I circled back to you around the upper gallery instead of fighting my way across the dance floor. It was packed in there and I didn’t want to get caught up again.”
The gallery level. Of course.
Ushijima releases his grip on Tooru’s wrists and closes his eyes a moment, trying to still his racing heart.
Why didn’t he pay attention to the gallery level? How did he miss such a basic detail?
“Hey...” Tooru says again, stepping close and placing a hand softly on Ushijima’s upper arm, projecting his voice over the sound of the music. “What is up with you tonight? You’ve been on edge ever since we got here. What’s going on?” He frowns, then touches his collar. “Is it this thing? Is this what’s upsetting you? I followed all the rules like always, I promise you. I’m being good.” There’s a vulnerable edge in his voice. Pleading? Insecurity? Fear?
Ushijima frowns and shakes his head, trying to clear it, wishing the music would just STOP for one blessed moment so he can think straight and figure out what the fuck is going on with himself and he should have been paying better attention and he shouldn’t have lost control of his temper like that, now Tooru is upset and he has to fix it before it gets worse and he snaps or worse, runs away.
Ushijima blinks a few times, trying to marshal his fractured thoughts and make a decision for what to do next.
Tooru watches him, head tilted to one side. “Why don’t we go back to the suite now? I’m done with dancing anyway.”
The suite. Yes. A safe place. Quiet.
But it’s only just past 1AM, still plenty of time for Tooru to explore and enjoy himself. Will he be more upset if Ushijima cuts his evening short like this? He really doesn’t want to ruin this night. “You can keep dancing if you want, Tooru. I’m sorry for yelling at you just now. You’re welcome to keep having fun, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
Tooru frowns slightly, eyes narrowing as he studies Ushijima’s face. Then he shakes his head decisively. “No, let’s go. The vibe is off, anyway.” Without waiting for a reply, he takes his left-over drink from Ushijima’s hand and slams it back in one go, then grabs his wrist and leads him back through the crowds towards the lifts, depositing the empty glass on a convenient table on the way.
When the lift doors close and enfold them in silence, Ushijima exhales silently with relief and focuses on his breathing.
Tooru slips his keycard out of his pocket and swipes them up to the fifth floor, then leads them back into the suite. Inside, he lets himself fall on the couch, kicking off his shoes with a groan and massaging his feet. “Holy hell. Why am I so sore, that wasn’t even an hour! How did I used to dance for six hours straight?”
Ushijima takes off his own shoes, picks up Tooru’s and places them together neatly next to the front door. Then he walks to the minibar and takes out two bottles of cold water, sitting on the couch next to Tooru and passing him one, who accepts it wordlessly.
His own, he cracks open and drinks almost all of it one go. The cold water acts like a reset button for his brain, cutting through some of the mental fog. That, and suite’s soft lighting and blessed silence are allowing him to claw back some much needed clarity of thought.
“I’m sorry, Tooru,” he says, again. “I lost sight of you for a second and panicked, but I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He reaches his arm around Tooru’s shoulders and pulls him sideways, turning his head to press a kiss into Tooru’s sweat-damp hair.
“Mhm.” Tooru lets himself be kissed. “You need to lighten up, Ushiwaka. We’ve got a literal playroom full of fun ouchie-hurty things to explore, so get your head in the game, okay?” He pokes Ushijima playfully in the ribs and gives him an impish grin. “I seem to remember you promising me to use my consent to its fullest extent...”
For a moment, the words stick to the roof of Ushijima’s mouth.
He is tired. All he wants to do is crawl into bed and hold Tooru in his arms as they drift off to sleep.
But Tooru is right. There is a playroom next door, specifically provided by him for Tooru’s enjoyment tonight. So he digs deep into his reserves and summons the mental and physical stamina he has built over years of gruelling endurance training and five-set games. “I did not say that,” he says equably. “I said that it depends entirely on your obedience.”
Tooru’s grin widens. In one smooth movement, he spins and lifts himself up to sit in Ushijima’s lap, face to face. “And was I obedient enough, Wakatoshi-sama?” he whispers, voice gone low and velvety. “Was I good? Did you enjoy watching me?”
That voice.
It triggers a cascade of memories, flooding Ushijima’s brain with Tooru. Tooru storming into his dorm room at the Olympic village. Tooru binding his arms behind his back. Tooru whispering praise as he fucks Ushijima’s mouth. Tooru digging his nails into Ushijima’s shoulders as he rides him. Tooru edging him, again and again, then driving him to come, hard.
“Mmh...” His eyes fall closed and he runs his hands up and down Tooru’s waist, then wraps his hands around his hips, gripping tight. “You were so good, Tooru. And so beautiful. Would you like to ask me for a reward?”
Tooru answers him with a deep, slow, languid kiss. He tastes of taurine and alcohol, his mouth hot and sweet. Ushijima wraps his left hand around the back of Tooru’s head and slips the index finger of his right through the ring on Tooru’s collar, pulling him close, forcing his tongue between Tooru’s lips to lick the taste right out of his mouth.
Tooru’s fingers tighten in the front of Ushijima’s shirt and his hips grind down into Ushijima’s growing erection, moaning softly into his mouth. When he breaks the kiss, his pupils are dilated and his lips glistening and swollen. “I want you to hurt me, Toshi,” he whispers into Ushijima’s ear. “It hurts so good when you do it. Please.”
The words flip a switch in Ushijima’s brain, kicking him into a different gear. It’s like a blast of cold air in his face. All the nameless anxiety, the sensory overwhelm, the noisy thoughts in his mind are pushed into the background. He feels the familiar, weighty calm of of his Dominant headspace descend, giving him clarity.
He meets Tooru’s gaze, eyes focused and intense. Measuring. Assessing.
Tooru holds the gaze, knowing this is a test he must pass.
After a long moment, Ushijima nods, satisfied. “Stand up.”
Tooru steps back and comes to stand in front of him, body loose and relaxed, hands by his side.
Ushijima stands up too, enjoying the way that Tooru’s eyes follow and his head tilts slightly up to keep his face in view. He steps close, invading Tooru’s space, hooking a finger through the ring on Tooru’s collar and tugging, watching the immediate effect play out on Tooru’s face: his eyes close briefly, his lips parts in a soft exhale.
Suddenly, all the anxiety lingering in Ushijima’s gut melts away. The vulnerable, exposed feeling is gone, his sense of self restored. Something precious has slotted back into place in his chest where it belongs, and Ushijima feels whole again. He leans in and kisses Tooru, gently, because he is the most precious thing in the whole world.
Then he lifts his hands and starts undoing the buttons on Tooru’s shirt. He takes his time, careful with each one. Once done, he slides it off Tooru’s shoulders and folds it neatly, placing it on the couch behind him. Next, he undoes the buckle of the expensive looking belt on Tooru’s pants, and the button and zip below it. Each movement is precise, measured, deliberately calculated to stoke both Tooru’s arousal and his impatience until they make his jaw clench.
Hooking his fingers into the waistband of Tooru’s pants and underwear, he lets himself drop to his haunches, pulling them down together, brushing a kiss on the inside of Tooru’s naked thigh on the way but ignoring his already hard erection. Taps one ankle, then the other, sliding the fabric free of them as Tooru obediently lifts each foot, and slipping off his socks as well. Lifts himself back to standing, folds and puts away the pants, socks and underwear neatly beside the shirt.
Then he steps close again, admiring the naked body he has just unearthed: black collar locked around a slender neck; wide, sloping shoulders; lean muscled arms; narrow waist angling into sensuous hips; powerful thighs and long legs; slender, elegantly curved cock. He runs his hands over the soft skin, memorising everything with meticulous attention.
Tooru moans under his breath and shifts his weight from foot to foot, the only sign of impatience that is permitted to him. Ushijima feels the corner of his mouth twitch up in a slight smile, pleased that he can manipulate Tooru’s state of mind so easily.
Goal achieved, he grips Tooru’s wrist and leads him to the playroom. Inside the door, he looks at Tooru and says calmly, “Walk around and look at all the implements, then choose three. I have the right to veto and choose my own. Proceed.”
A delighted grin lights up Tooru’s face and he steps forward eagerly. Ushijima watches him as he walks slowly past the racks along the wall, brushing something gently with fingertips here and there. He stops in front of each glass case, examining everything with careful attention, sometimes grinning, sometimes looking impressed, and once just plain confused.
Eventually, he returns to the wall and chooses a bit gag, a leather strap, and his perennial favourite, a riding crop. He comes to stand back in front of Ushijima with a smile, offering his choices for inspection.
Ushijima smiles back faintly and takes them from his hands, inspecting each one for damage or signs of wear. Once satisfied, places the crop and the strap on a side-table very likely provided expressly for that purpose. The bit gag, he disinfects with a small amount of alcohol from a conveniently situated little spray bottle, wipes it down and then motions Tooru forwards. “Open,” he orders.
Tooru obediently opens his mouth.
Ushijima slides the rubber-coated bar into his mouth and holds it steady. “Close,” he orders again.
Tooru closes his mouth, gripping the bit with his teeth, grimacing slightly at the astringent taste of the rubbing alcohol.
“Good boy.” Ushijima steps behind and buckles the gag’s straps behind Tooru’s head, above the padlocked buckle of his collar. Then he steps back to face Tooru and inspects the straps, running his fingers underneath each one along his cheek and checking the corners of his mouth for pinch points. “Comfortable?”
Tooru nods silently, his black-outlined, luminous brown eyes shining.
Ushijima smiles softly. “Good. Come with me.” He leads Tooru to the large St Andrew’s cross standing in the centre of the room. It is imposing, made of dark wood polished to a smooth finish. There are attachment points at three different heights along both the top and bottom of the cross, a pair of cuffs loosely attached to the lowest point in each.
He unhooks the cuffs from the top and buckles them around Tooru’s wrists with economical, practised movements, checking they are tight but not constricting blood flow or pressing on nerve points. Then he gently pushes Tooru into position, facing against the wood. “Stand on your toes,” he murmurs into his ear. When Tooru obeys, he lifts each arm and clips its cuff into the highest attachment point.
The completed sight is... not something Ushijima immediately has the words to describe.
He steps back and simply stares for a long, long moment. Every muscle in Tooru’s body is on full display. Standing on his toes, his glutes, thighs and calves are working slightly to balance him. His arms are held high and far apart by their wrists, accentuating the muscles rippling across his shoulders and back. His head is turned slightly to one side, his profile altered by both the black collar around his neck and the bit gag in his mouth. His eyes have become unfocused, staring into the middle distance.
Ushijima exhales, long and slow, giving himself a moment to notice the effect the sight has on his body. His heart rate is elevated, his breathing quickened, his skin warm, and his erection is pressing hard against the confines of his underwear. Notices it, then lets all of it to fade into the background of his mind and refocuses his attention completely on Tooru. Attunes his instincts to every shiver of muscle, slight shifting of weight, every breath. Reads him like he reads every fast-twitch play on the volleyball court.
Turning to one of the cases along the wall, he takes out a little brass bell and walks over to Tooru, slipping it into his right hand. “This is your safeword. Drop it if you want to stop or change something. Nod if you understand.”
Tooru nods. Drool drips down his chin from where the gag holds his mouth open.
“Good boy.” Ushijima runs a gentle thumb over the line of spittle, wiping it away, savouring the way Tooru blinks slowly in response. “Then let’s begin.”
Returning to the side-table, he picks up the riding crop Tooru chose for himself. It is long, longer than his own back in Japan, and instead of a leather tab at the end, it has a soft tail of fabric. Interesting. He reaches out and drags the end of the crop over the inside of Tooru’s thigh, soft fabric trailing along in its wake, caressing.
Tooru flinches in surprise and his legs twitches.
Ushijima can’t suppress a slight smile. He does it again, tracing up the inside of the other leg. Less of a flinch this time, but instead Tooru shifts his weight on the balls of his feet. Ushijima continues tracing the tip of the crop over sensitive parts of Tooru’s body—ankles, back of knees, inside thighs, sidebody, underarms, spine. Tooru twitches and squirms, muscles flexing as he tries to weather the slightly ticklish caresses while held up by wrists and balancing on his toes.
The first little bite of the crop’s tip between his shoulder blades catches him by surprise. It is only a flick of Ushijima’s wrist, barely any force at all, but it makes him jump and all the muscles in his back flex as he instinctively pulls down against the cuffs. He makes a little grunt. The bell in his hand tinkles slightly.
Ushijima steps close and runs a hand soothingly down his spine in silent apology. Tooru exhales and relaxes slightly under his touch.
Then he steps back and returns to his task, the tip of the crop making its slow journey across Tooru’s skin, caressing and biting, force increasing ever so slightly every time. After five minutes, there are a dozen of faint little red marks peppered cross his back and legs like kisses. Tooru is sweating, his body rarely still, rocking on the balls of his feet, shoulder muscles tensing and re-tensing, biceps flexing against the cuffs around his wrists.
Ushijima pauses and watches him thoughtfully.
Something is not quite right. In their previous impact sessions, this kind of play would have sunk Tooru deep into his inner world, the unpredictability of the impacts forcing him to surrender himself and simply accept what comes. But tonight, he seems to be fighting back. The lines of his body are stubborn. His breathing is elevated as expected, but it’s shallow with a sharp edge to each inhale.
Walking around to the back of the cross, he is surprised to find Tooru’s eyes still open, immediately flicking to meet his own. There is something intense and sharp in his gaze, not at all the unfocused, glazed look Ushijima was expecting. Tooru’s chin is wet with drool, dripping down on to his chest, and the muscles of his jaw are tensed, working the bit in his mouth. His jaw must be aching badly by now.
“Tooru, I’m taking the gag off you now,” Ushijima says, pitching his voice steady and calm.
Tooru scowls and moves his head slightly, as if to jerk it away out of his reach. But there is not far he can go, and Ushijima catches his chin in a firm grip. “Be good, Tooru. Don’t argue.”
Mulishly, Tooru hangs his head forward, allowing Ushijima to undo the gag’s buckle, but when he goes to pull it free, Tooru bites down hard, holding on to the bit with his teeth. Ushijima raises an eyebrow and waits, holding his gaze levelly.
After a few heartbeats, Tooru caves and lets go. “Come on, that wasn’t even that long!” He sounds irritated, although his speech is slightly slurred. He stretches his jaw muscles a few times, working it backwards and forwards. “Don’t be so boring.”
Ushijima doesn’t comment, only takes the gag over to the side table and puts it down, to be cleaned and returned in its proper place later. Then he pulls a folded handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wipes the drool from Tooru’s chin and chest with gentle, efficient motions, ignoring Tooru’s glare. “Your breathing was restricted, Tooru. Maybe now you will be able to relax more.”
Tooru makes a disgruntled noise but knows better than to push his luck in a situation like this.
“Give me your colour and remind me of your safeword,” Ushijima orders, meeting his gaze.
“Green. Safeword is crow. Come on, let’s go!” Tooru stares back, frowning. He rocks backwards and forward on the balls of his feet, biceps flexing slightly against the cuffs holding his wrists.
“You know very well that we go at my pace, Tooru. Not yours.” Ushijima hooks a finger into the ring on Tooru’s collar and pulls his head up into kiss, just because he can. Then he steps back into position at Tooru’s back and picks up the riding crop again.
The next two strikes come in quick succession, one-two across the back of Tooru’s shoulders. These leave red stripes, no longer the little love-bites from earlier.
Tooru hisses and his whole back convulses, momentarily lifting himself all the way off his feet. “Hah!” he exhales sharply. “That’s it, finally!” There’s something raw and rough in his voice.
Once again, Tooru’s reaction is much more violent than Ushijima was expecting. He steps close and runs his hand in circular motions over the impact sites, soothing, giving himself a moment to think, then walks around to face Tooru and takes a gentle hold of his chin. “Colour?” he asks again.
Tooru’s smile is taunting, all teeth. “Green. Come on, Ushiwaka, don’t go soft on me now. We’re not in kindergarten anymore.”
Ushijima holds his gaze for a long moment. Measuring. Assessing.
It’s not unusual for Tooru to be brattish. But this feels... edged.
Or maybe he’s just imagining things. Maybe the nameless anxiety from earlier is clouding his judgement, making him more cautious than usual.
And Tooru wants this. He’s asking for more.
Ushijima decides to trust him and give him what he needs.
He puts down the riding crop and picks up the leather strap, weighing it in his hand. He swings and lets it come down hard on his own upper thigh, judging the resulting pain against the force used, adjusting for the mitigating presence of his pants.
Satisfied, he steps close to Tooru and delivers a strike right across both his ass cheeks.
Tooru gasps loudly and whimpers, one of his legs kicking out involuntarily. “Yess!” he gasps, squirming.
Ushijima takes aim and lets fly again, landing the second stripe directly parallel and above the first.
“Fuck!” Tooru cries out, loud and high. His back spasms and he lifts himself off his feet again, holding himself off the floor by sheer upper body strength alone, his breathing gone rapid and shallow.
Wrong.
Something is wrong.
Before he even realises he has made the decision, Ushijima is already half-way through unhooking Tooru’s left wrist from the attachment point. He immediately moves around and unhooks the right as well.
Tooru is breathing hard in sharp gasps, head hanging forward, barely standing on his own.
Shit.
His breathing gets faster, big gasping inhales and almost no exhales. He stumbles, fingers trying to hook on to the wood of the cross in an attempt to hold himself up.
Shit shit shit.
“Tooru, breathe!”
Tooru staggers.
Just in time, Ushijima manages to wrap both his arms around Tooru’s waist and hold him upright as his knees buckle underneath him.
FUCK.
“Tooru!” His own voice sounds harsh and foreign, cutting through the pounding of blood in his ears. His skin has become ice-cold, stomach cramping into knots with panic. He looks around wildly. There’s nowhere to sit, nowhere to lie down in this room.
Bed.
In one movement, Ushijima wraps one arm around Tooru’s shoulders and scoops the other underneath his knees, pulling him up to cradle him in his arms. Tooru makes a weak noise, almost swallowed by his shallow, gasping breath. He feels light in Ushijima’s arms. Impossibly light. Fragile. Breakable.
Get to the bed.
With rapid strides, Ushijima carries him out the door and into the main room of the suite beyond, setting him down gently on the bed. Kneeling down beside him, he cradles Tooru’s face in his hands. “Hey! Hey, little one, it’s okay, it’s alright now,” he rasps, voice gone hoarse. “Breathe for me, please.”
Tooru’s eyes are wide open, the whites of his eyes contrasting starkly with the kohl black of his eyeliner. He tries to gasp words between each whistling, high-pitched breath. “I’— I’m s— I’m sor— y—”
“It’s alright, everything is alright, don’t be sorry. Just breathe with me, okay?” Ushijima takes a deep inhale, then exhales slowly. “Just like before, remember? You can do it. Breathe in...” He inhales again. “...and out.” He exhales.
Tooru stares at him wide-eyed and tries to copy him, hiccuping several in-breaths.
“Good, that’s it. Good boy.” Ushijima pulls his face close and kisses his forehead hard, then captures his eyes again. “Again. Keep going, little one, you can do it. Breathe in... and out...”
He keeps up the rhythm of breathing for Tooru, who manages to follow him a little bit more each time. Eventually after several minutes, they are breathing in sync, eyes locked together, Ushijima’s hands still clinging to either side of Tooru’s face.
“I’m so— I’m sorry, Toshi...” Tooru whispers, his teeth chattering before he clamps his mouth shut again.
“Don’t be sorry, it’s alright. Everything is alright now, Tooru.” Ushijima wraps his arms around him and pulls him into a crushing hug, willing himself to believe his own words.
Tooru starts shivering, and his teeth chattering quietly against Ushijima’s chest.
“Shh...” Ushijima hushes him, hugging him harder. “It’s okay. It’s okay now...” He keeps mumbling the words over and over.
It gets worse. Tooru’s skin goes hot to the touch and he can’t stop his teeth from chattering, his arms, legs and abdominal muscles shivering and spasming. Wrapping him in a blanket doesn’t seem to help, and Ushijima looks around desperately for some other idea of what to do.
The bath.
The enormous bathtub in the bathroom, large enough for both of them. That will calm him and warm him up, surely. He kisses Tooru’s temple and murmurs some reassurances, then goes and starts the water running. His hands are shaking so badly that he drops the entire bottle of the complimentary lavender body wash into the water. The herbaceous, earthy scent floods the room, grounding and reassuring.
The scent gives him another idea. He walks back out into the suite, presses another kiss on Tooru’s forehead, then goes to the sideboard where the makings for tea and coffee are laid out neatly. He carefully fills the kettle, controlling his hands as much as he can, then sets it to boil, dropping a chamomile teabag in a mug for Tooru and a peppermint one for himself.
Tasks done and no other ideas forthcoming, he goes and wraps his arms around Tooru again, holding his shoulders still against the violent shivers that rock him.
Five, maybe ten minutes pass, he has no idea. But the lavender smell has drifted out into the main suite now, reminding him that the bath is still running. He gets up to check, and there is enough now that Tooru can get in, so he returns to the main room and helps him walk to the bathroom, still wrapped in his blanket.
When Ushijima unwraps the blanket from Tooru’s shoulders and drops it to the floor, his entire body goes ice-cold.
The welts on Tooru’s back and ass have swollen up visibly and gone bright red, standing out starkly against the rest of Tooru’s pale, clammy skin.
He feels his stomach turn, bile shooting up to his mouth. He clamps his hand over his mouth just in time to stop himself from vomiting. He can feel the world tilt dangerously, vision constricting and going grey at the edges. Gripping the edge of the bathtub, he just manages to sink down to lie flat on the floor, eyes closed and breathing hard.
“Toshi...?” Tooru’s voice sounds shaky, still interrupted by chattering teeth. “Are you o— okay? Don’t faint, p— please.”
The static buzzing in his ears is loud. His pulse is hammering in his chest and he’s struggling to control his breathing.
But... he’s seen Tooru’s back in much worse states, bright red and bruised after a long session of impact play. Why is he reacting so violently to now?
Because he didn’t want it.
I did this to him and he didn’t want it.
I hurt him and he didn’t want it.
It’s all my fault.
I did this.
Ushijima feels gentle fingers on the side of his head, lifting it up and holding it as soft legs slide underneath, pillowing him. “It’s okay— it’s okay Toshi, please don’t p— pass out, please?” The fingers stroke through his hair, caress his cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’m— okay. It’s okay now, everything is— okay.”
Focus.
Tooru’s voice sounds scared. He has to focus and pull himself together. He forces his breathing to deepen and opens his eyes. The dark edges around his vision have receded and he’s no longer dizzy. Being horizontal on the floor must have helped. He focuses on Tooru’s face and tries to smile reassuringly. “Yeah, it’s okay Tooru, I’m not going to pass out.”
“You’re white as— a sheet,” Tooru frowns down at him. His shivers have almost all gone, the chattering of his teeth lessened.
“Sorry, I just felt dizzy. It alright now,” Ushijima says, trying to convince himself as much as Tooru.
I hurt him.
Tooru exhales in the ghost of a laugh, though his voice trembles a little. “Look at us... aren’t we a fine pair of fainting goats.” His fingers are still carding through Ushijima’s hair.
I did this. It’s my fault.
He has to focus. Now is not the time for self-recrimination. He has to make sure Tooru is taken care of before anything else. Slowly, he sits up, wary to see if his dizziness returns. It does not.
Tooru watches him, worried but trying to grin. “I’m serious, please don’t pass out. A fall from your height might kill you.”
Why is Tooru trying to make jokes at a time like this? It seems bizarre, but Ushijima doesn’t have time to analyse the meaning behind it right now. He reaches and turns off the running water, just in time to prevent the profusion of lavender foam from spilling over on to the floor. Then he steels himself and goes to examine Tooru’s back again.
The welts are swollen and angry red, but luckily no blood vessels seem to have broken under the skin and there’s no laceration. Not good, but it could have been a lot worse.
I hurt him.
My fault.
Keeping his voice completely level and gripping his self-control in an iron fist, he asks, “Tooru, how much pain are you in?”
Tooru shakes his head, not meeting Ushijima’s eyes. “It’s okay, just stings a bit. Nothing I’ve not had before. It will pass in an hour or so. Sorry for freaking out earlier.” His voice sounds tired and small.
Ushijima frowns. He didn’t think the bath all the way through. The heat from the water probably will sting the impact sites and make the swelling worse.
Stupid.
Not paying enough attention.
My fault.
Stop.
He has to stop.
Focus.
He shakes his head. “I don’t think the bath is a good idea, Tooru. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking clearly when I ran it, but it will probably make the swelling worse. Can you have a shower instead?”
Tooru looks sad and disappointed. “Oh, but...” He leans over and dips a hand into the water. “It’s only warm, not hot. It should be okay for ten minutes or so, surely? Please?”
There’s such an honest longing on his face that Ushijima can’t bring himself to say no, so he only sighs and nods. “Okay. Ten minutes, no more. And if it hurts too much, you’re coming out straight away, no arguments.”
Tooru nods and levers himself off the floor then steps into the tub. “See? It’s barely warm enough.” He sinks down, but when he reaches the level of his buttocks, he hisses. “Ooh okay, yep, that stings. But it’s okay,” he quickly reassures Ushijima, who has stepped immediately closer, ready to help him back up.
With a splash, Tooru lets himself sink all the way down, screwing up his face and gritting his teeth for a second. Then he sighs a long, drawn-out sigh. “There. Oh, that feels nice.” He goes to lean backwards, then starts upright again, hand coming to grip his neck, water sloshing over the edge of the tub. “Shit, the collar!”
Ushijima flinches. “Yes, shit, I’m sorry, I completely forgot. I’ll take it off now, just hang on.” He fumbles in the pocket of his pants for his wallet and the key to the padlock.
“No!” The word is out of Tooru’s mouth in an instant, too loud and high-pitched.
“What?” Ushijima looks up, startled.
“I mean, please... Please don’t take it off.” Tooru looks stricken. His hand grips into the leather at his neck, knuckles white. “Please.”
Ushijima blinks, confused. “But... don’t you want to have a proper soak? It’ll get wet.”
Tooru smiles, too brightly. “It’s okay, I’ll just sit up. It’s fine. Please just... leave it, okay?” He’s trying to sound calm, but there’s a tremor in his voice.
Suddenly, Ushijima feels too tired to fight him. Too tired to get to the bottom of why he looks so frightened just now. Too tired to do anything other than just nod. “Okay,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes to clear the grit from them. “Alright, Tooru. Just be careful.”
A sluggish thought crosses his brain. He turns and grabs a hand towel from the rack by the sink and hands it to Tooru. “Here. Protect it with that.”
Tooru looks relieved. “Thanks.” He takes the towel and wraps it around his neck, tucking it into the collar at the front, exhaling a little laugh. “I look like a boy scout... Hey, can you hand me another one, I want to get this makeup off my face.”
Wordlessly, Ushijima hands him a flannel.
“So, are you going to come in? Or will you have a shower instead?” Tooru throws him a sideways look as he soaks the flannel and carefully wrings it out so it’s no longer dripping, then wipes his face. “You’re just standing there like a lamp post, it’s disconcerting. You look tired.”
Tired.
Yes. So tired. He should shower and get himself clean so he can tuck Tooru into bed after his bath. Yes. But Tooru should also get out soon, and he might need help. Better be quick then.
Get moving.
He turns and strips his clothes, movements mechanical. Shirt, pants, socks, underwear, all folded neatly and placed on a convenient shelf nearby. Run water. Step in, get wet, soap up. Wash, rinse. Step out, find towel, dry.
“Wow. That was the fastest, most joyless shower I’ve ever seen. You really are a robot.” There’s splashing from the tub as Tooru levers himself up and looks around for a towel.
Ushijima hands it to him silently, then offers a hand to stabilise him as he steps out of the tub. Without the makeup, Tooru looks... exhausted? There are dark smudges under his eyes that could be leftover eyeliner, or something else.
Removing the towel around his collar, Tooru touches it gingerly with his fingertips. “All dry. See? Told you, it’s fine.” He starts drying himself off, arms and legs, then hisses when he tries to dry his back and buttocks. Looking annoyed, he drops the towel to the floor and pads through the door, back into the main room.
Ushijima ties his towel around his waist, picks Tooru’s off the floor and hangs it up, then uses one of the plastic-sealed tiny toothbrushes and even tinier toothpaste to brush his teeth. He avoids his own eyes in the mirror. That done, he pulls the plug on the bath and picks up a clean, dry towel, then switches off the light and follows Tooru out.
Tooru is laying on the bed on his belly, head resting on his arms. His skin is flushed, and the red welts on his back and ass aren’t as starkly noticeable now. There’s still swelling, though. Ushijima kneels on the bed and gently pats the clean, dry towel over Tooru’s back, careful not to agitate the injured skin.
“Mmph, stop fussing, I’m fine!” Tooru waves an arm at him to beat him off, but it’s slow and without heat. He sounds sleepy.
Ushijima ignores him and keeps working until all of him is dry. That done, he walks to the minibar and takes out three more cold bottles of water, walks back to the bed and hands one to Tooru. He just waves him away again eyes closed, so Ushijima leaves it on the bed next to his head, then cracks open his own and empties it completely, realising only now how dehydrated he must be.
Empty bottle placed in the bin, he picks up the third bottle and gently places it on the swollen skin of Tooru’s buttocks.
“Urgh, what the fuck?” The protest is loud and immediate, Tooru kicking his legs and half-rolling away, turning to glare at Ushijima. “Why are you fussing so much? Just go to sleep, you’re dead on your feet. I’m fine, don’t worry!”
Ushijima ignores the protest and pulls on Tooru’s ankle to bring him back into range. He leans his right forearm across the back of Tooru’s thighs, using his weight to immobilise his lower half, then softly places the cold bottle back over the swollen skin.
Tooru hisses and bucks his hips against Ushijima’s weight, but it’s half-hearted. Accepting defeat, he drops his head back down on his arms. His voice is muffled as he grumbles, “You’re so fucking annoying, you know that...”
I know.
I’m sorry.
It’s my fault.
The words stick to the roof of his mouth, his brain too foggy to push them out. He just sits silently, gently moving the cold bottle over each welt.
When the bottle is no longer cold, he stops and looks up to see Tooru has fallen asleep. His face has gone slack, mouth slightly open, red indent on his cheek from the weight of his head pressing into his hands. His hair sticks up wildly in different directions. The silver padlock dangles from the buckle at the nape of his neck.
The flood of emotions that he has been holding at bay with sheer, bloody-minded effort for the past few hours finally overwhelms the last of his iron self-control. A lump forms in his throat and his chest aches. A cacophony of thoughts rises up in his mind, so many different what-ifs and if-onlys and self-criticisms shouting over each other that all he can do is keep repeating only one thing, over and over, as the thoughts pummel him.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry, Tooru.
I’m so sorry.
Carefully, he pulls back the sheets of the bed and gets in, making himself comfortable and running his fingers through Tooru’s hair to wake him a little. He stirs slightly, making a sleepy noise.
With slow, gentle hands, Ushijima manoeuvres Tooru so that the boy is lying with his head on Ushijima’s chest, one leg angled up, still resting on his side and stomach so that nothing presses on his injuries. Ushijima pulls over a single sheet over his back, hoping it’s enough to keep him warm, but not too heavy to hurt his sensitive skin.
Then he wraps an arm around Tooru’s shoulders and hugs him close, listening to his regular breathing as he tries to weather the storm inside his head.
Notes:
I promise you, everything will be alright ❤️
Chapter Text
He lies awake for a long, long time.
Over and over and over, the whole evening replays in his head like a film, robbing him of sleep.
The same thing happens to him after important volleyball matches. His brain captures every little detail like a camera, replaying the captured footage over and over in his head, forcing him to analyse every mistake, every missed opportunity. The only way to escape is to numb himself by sinking down into the cold, dark depths of his brain, until everything is frozen over and he feels nothing.
But he can’t allow himself to do that now, with Tooru sleeping in his arms. If he goes numb now, Tooru will be upset. He needs to stay fully present to keep Tooru safe.
So he lets the film play over and over, analysing each and every single one of his mistakes, berating himself and planning how to avoid the same thing again in future.
However, the more he tallies his own failures, the more something else also becomes sickeningly obvious.
Tooru lied to him.
No matter how much he tries to rationalise it away, make excuses or find some kind of justification, it remains stubbornly true.
Back during the scene, Ushijima had realised something was wrong, so he’d checked in with Tooru. And Tooru lied. He’d said he was green, when now in hindsight it is clear that he wasn’t.
Why?
Why would Tooru lie to him?
He never has before.
…Has he?
About something as important as this?
Their trust is sacred. It has to be, for their contract to have any kind of meaning.
Everything rests on that trust. Everything.
Surely Tooru wouldn’t jeopardise their relationship like this.
So why did he lie?
The question circles endlessly around and around, wearing a groove into his exhausted mind while Tooru sleeps beside him, tossing and turning restlessly.
Finally, sometime around dawn, sleep finally overpowers Ushijima and pulls him under.
~*~
He wakes to an empty bed.
His head is aching, his eyes feel crusted and sticky with sleep.
Tooru is gone.
Ushijima sits up and scans the suite, listens for water running in the bathroom.
Nothing.
Of course.
Tooru is gone.
He rubs his hands tiredly over his face, trying to master the crushing feeling in his chest. Slowly, he rolls himself out of bed and pads around to look in each room, just to be certain.
Tooru’s clothes are gone. So are his shoes.
Tooru is gone.
He should have seen it coming.
What goes up must come down. Expansion is always followed by contraction. The closer he gets to Tooru, the more Tooru pulls away. Those are the laws of their relationship. Ushijima knows that. Accepted it a long, long time ago.
But here, now, in the cold, white marble morning of their suite, he cannot stop himself from sinking down to the floor next to the bed and burying his head in his hands.
How long he sits there, he doesn’t know.
Only when the electronic lock of the door beeps does he start out of his torpor.
Shit.
Cleaning staff.
He should have remembered to put a tag on the door. Aware that he is naked, he starts upright and desperately casts around for something to cover himself with.
“Yoohoo! Hey big guy, why are you sitting on the floor?” Tooru’s voice is cheerful and slightly too loud. “And, more importantly, do you want a coffee?”
Ushijima blinks. Stares, stunned, as Tooru walks in and kicks off his shoes with each foot, carrying a tray with two large lidded paper cups in one hand and a big, bulging paper bag in the other. The smell of bakery fills the whole room. He looks a little worse for wear, bruised-looking skin under his eyes and hair an unruly mess, but somehow the sunglasses on top of his head and the cream linen sports blazer pull it together into a designer look fit for the cover of Vogue. The black leather collar sits discretely at his neck, half-hidden by the neckline of the blazer.
Tooru surveys Ushijima’s silent, slack-jawed amazement with a sardonic raised eyebrow. “So... are you just going to stand there like a naked idiot and stare at me, or do you want breakfast?” He dumps the full-to-bursting paper bag on the coffee table next to the couch, then carefully places down the tray of paper cups. “I’ve got us two cafés-au-lait. I know you don’t really drink coffee, but I thought you might still want one because it smells amazing.”
“What...? How—?” Ushijima blinks again, trying to scrape enough speech together from his static-buzzing brain. “You... You went out in your collar?” That is not the question he had been meaning to ask, but it’s the first that comes out of his mouth.
“Obviously,” Tooru snorts. “I mean, I can’t exactly take it off, can I? Don’t worry, they probably just thought it was some trendy fashion accessory.”
Something about those words unfreezes Ushijima’s body.
Tooru could have taken it off. He knew where the key was, both keys—the one in Ushijima’s wallet, and the one in the room’s safe, unlocked by a combination Ushijima told him last night.
But he didn’t.
Before his brain can catch up and stop him, Ushijima strides across to the sofa and sweeps Tooru up in a crushing bear hug, burying his face in Tooru’s shoulder and deeply inhaling his scent: old sweat from his shirt, some expensive vanilla fragrance, and something uniquely him.
“Hey! Watch the coffee, you idiot!” Tooru squawks, holding his luckily tight-lidded cup out of reach just in time. “I almost spilled it all over you!”
Ushijima releases him only far enough to press a kiss on to his neck and whisper, “Okaeri, Tooru.”
The tension in Tooru’s shoulders eases a little and he lets himself be hugged. “Tadaima, Toshi-chan.” There’s a little smile in his voice. “Now get off me so we can eat, I’m starving. And go put some pants on, or a bathrobe or something.”
Obediently, Ushijima releases Tooru and pads off to the bathroom. On the way back out, he grabs one of the fluffy white bathrobes hanging ready on the door. It’s too short for him in several dimensions, but it’s enough to satisfy Tooru’s sensibilities, so he belts it closed and sits down next to Tooru, who has taken off his dangerously-vulnerable-to-stains cream jacket and is setting out the food.
The now-soggy paper bag is flattened out to become a platter, holding two lengths of baguette stuffed full with lettuce, meats, cheese and something that looks like sun-dried tomatoes, alongside two chocolate croissants and two custard-filled glazed pastries. Everything smells incredible and makes Ushijima realise how famished he is.
He demolishes his baguette, chocolate croissant and custard pastry before Tooru is even half-way through his own baguette. He can feel the glucose levels in his blood rise, breaking his brain out of its sluggish haze and bringing him back to full focus.
“Wow. That was... fast.” Tooru looks mildly impressed and grins. “I sometimes forget how much you can eat, Ushiwaka. Feel better now? Don’t forget your coffee.”
“Yeah. Thank you, Tooru. I needed that.” Ushijima picks up his coffee with his left hand and reaches out his right to squeeze Tooru’s thigh, restraining himself from leaning in for another kiss.
Instead, he drinks his coffee and watches Tooru finish his own baguette, studying him closely. He looks tired, his skin still a little pale. But the coffee and the food also seem to be reviving him a little, so Ushijima decides that there is no point in putting off the inevitable any longer. “How are your injuries this morning?”
“Yeah, fine. Had so much worse.” Tooru shrugs and takes another bite.
Now there’s really no avoiding it any longer. Ushijima takes a silent breath, readying himself. Deliberately pitching his voice calm and low, he asks, “So... What happened last night, Tooru?”
Tooru freezes, jaw stopping for a split second before continuing to chew. He doesn’t look at Ushijima, focusing instead on the pastries in front of him. After a moment, he swallows and shrugs again. “Nothing, it was just a normal panic attack. I told you, I get them sometimes.”
Deflection. Expected. Tooru’s favourite strategy. Ushijima blocks. “You’ve never, ever had a panic attack with me in that situation before, Tooru. Not in all these years, and we’ve done plenty more intense impact play together than this. Something went wrong, and I need to know what it is.”
“It’s no big deal. I wasn’t even hurt,” Tooru mumbles and takes another bite of his baguette.
Ushijima blinks, processing the words. “You weren’t…?” Images and sensations from last night flood his mind: Tooru’s high-pitched, wheezing breaths and his wide open panicked eyes; the ice-cold feeling of horror all over Ushijima’s body when he saw Tooru’s injured back and buttocks; the world tilting sideways as his balance failed and he found himself on the bathroom floor.
He shakes his head, trying to keep focused. “Tooru, you had a panic attack because you were hurt, and I’m the one who hurt you!”
No response. Tooru just stares down at the coffee table, chewing silently.
“Tooru, talk to me. I need to know what happened.”
Tooru swallows and glares at him. “Nothing, okay! Nothing! It’s fine! I just had an off-day and my pain tolerance was shit, so I freaked out a bit for no reason, okay?” He stares back down at the coffee table and scowls. “It’s fucking embarrassing, so can we drop it? I already said I was sorry.”
Ushijima studies him, eyes narrowed. A feint. Misdirecting the conversation to a different topic. He ignores the decoy and keeps his eye on the ball. “This isn’t about the panic attack. You know you don’t have to apologise for that. That wasn’t your fault.”
“Then why the fuck are we still talking about this?” Tooru explodes, throwing the remainder of his food down on the table and jumping off the couch, stalking away angrily. “Why are you giving me a hard time right now? Isn’t this supposed to be our anniversary?”
Adrenaline floods through Ushijima’s bloodstream, his heart-rate elevating. Muscles are twitching, ready to fight and defend. He tries to pitch his voice calm and level but fails. “It is our anniversary, Tooru. And that’s why I want to know why you lied to me! If your pain tolerance was low, why didn’t you tell me? You told me you were green, twice! Why didn’t you stop me?”
Tooru’s expression is stunned for a moment and he hesitates, reaching for words that will not come. Then he glares and snarls, “So what? What if I wanted it? It’s my right, I’m allowed to choose my status. If I say I’m green, then I am green! Who are you to tell me what to do with my body! Fuck you, you’re not inside my head!”
Ushijima blinks, playing back the words that just came out of Tooru’s mouth, parsing them carefully to make sure he heard correctly. It doesn’t make them any better. He feels anger well up from the pit of his stomach, hot and fast. “Because I’m the one that’s hurting you, Tooru! I’m the one that has to live with it!”
He knows he has to stop shouting but he can’t. Adrenaline and anger are burning in his gut, searing away all his control. “You let me hurt you so badly that you almost collapsed! How can I be responsible for your safety if you don’t tell me your limits? I can’t do this if you don’t tell me the truth!”
“But—”
Tooru draws breath to argue, but Ushijima cuts him off. “None of this is possible unless I can trust you, Tooru!” he roars.
Tooru goes completely still, face wide-eyed with shock. He stares at Ushijima in stunned silence.
Shit.
He’s lost control. He’s panting, heart hammering in his chest.
Shit!
Ushijima closes his eyes and gulps in big breaths of air, forcing it down into his lungs. Regulating his breathing by sheer, brutal force, like he does on the volleyball court. He clenches and unclenches his hands, focusing on the movement, giving himself something to anchor to.
Control.
Don’t hurt Tooru.
Get yourself under control!
He takes one last breath in and lets it out in a slow, controlled exhale. Then he opens his eyes.
Tooru is still staring at him from across the room, looking ready to bolt.
If Tooru runs away now, all is lost. Ushijima has to de-escalate. He closes his eyes again briefly, searching desperately for the right words to salvage the situation. “I’m sorry, Tooru. I’m sorry for yelling at you. What you said really upset me, but I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. I’m sorry.” He takes another slow breath, pushing down the adrenaline and the anger and the fear.
Focus.
“What happened last night is the most awful thing imaginable to me. I can’t bear it. I need to know what happened, so I can make sure I don’t hurt you like that ever again.” He captures Tooru’s gaze and pours all his sincerity into the words, voice shaking and uneven. “Please Tooru. Please tell me, why did you lie to me?”
Tooru looks stricken. He’s breathing fast, his body tense. “Because—” His voice quavers high and breaks. He swallows, tries again. “Because you spent so much money on this!”
Money?
This is about money?
“What?” The word is out of his mouth before he realises he has spoken.
Tooru grimaces, tries to laugh. “This must have cost so much money, Toshi! A six-course degustation with wine pairing? A private suite in a literal Parisian pleasure palace, with a private fucking dungeon? You must have spent an absolute fortune on making this happen, and I wasn’t going to ruin it by wimping out halfway through!”
Ushijima is caught completely flat-footed. Of all the possible reasons he imagined, this was not among them. “Tooru… That’s… This isn’t…” He fumbles desperately for words. “You forced yourself to endure pain you didn’t want because I spent money on this?”
“It’s our anniversary, Wakatoshi. In Paris!” Tooru cries, gesturing wildly. “The collar, the dinner, the suite... You went absolutely all out! I was just trying to make it worth your while. I was trying to make you happy!”
“You thought that suffering against your will, at my own hands, would make me happy? That’s... Did it look like I was happy when I passed out on the bathroom floor, Tooru?” Ushijima is floundering, grasping around for anything that will make Tooru see the insanity of what he is saying. “This... This is all for you, Tooru, not for me. If you’re not enjoying it, then it’s all worthless! None of this matters if it doesn’t serve you. How I feel isn’t important at all! I wouldn’t have minded if the only thing you wanted to do tonight is cuddle up and go to sleep. I would’ve been happy if you were happy.”
Tooru bridles, anger flashing across his face. “That’s a fucking lie and you know it! You looked absolutely crushed when I said that I was overwhelmed when we got here. You couldn’t even look at me when you said that I could go back to my hotel if I wanted to.” He runs his hands over his face and through his hair, clenching his jaw. “And what the fuck do you mean, it isn’t important how you feel? It would’ve broken your heart, Toshi! Do you think I’m some kind of monster, that I don’t care if I hurt you? You’ve invested so much of yourself into this! How could I possibly say No to any of it and hurt you so badly?
Slowly, Ushijima’s disbelief is being replaced by creeping horror. Tooru’s words make a certain kind of sense, and its making him feel sick to his stomach. “You can always say No to me, Tooru…” he whispers.
Tooru laughs, bitter and loud this time. “Maybe I can, but did you ever think that maybe I don’t want to? I want this! All of it!” He glares at Ushijima. “This is my wildest dream come true! I don’t want to miss out on an opportunity like this because I’m too fucking weak to take it! All that effort, all that time, all that money, wasted—” He throws an arm in the direction of the window, pointing outside. “—just like the fucking Olympics! I’ve already lost my last chance at ever winning another medal. I wasn’t even strong enough to beat you! So I’m sure as hell not going to fail here, too!” He’s shouting now, voice high and strained. “I’m not going to let you down now, as well!”
“But—!” Ushijima jerks his head, trying to deny everything Tooru is saying.
Tooru cuts him off harshly. “—We’re only here for one night, Toshi! If I say No, then all this is gone!” He throws a glare around the suite, gesturing angrily. Then he grips his collar and yanks on it, hard. “And this, too! One night, that’s what you said, isn’t it? I’m only allowed to have THIS for one night! Then you’re taking it away again, and I have to fly home alone and won’t see you for months. If I don’t say Yes now, I’ll have nothing! I’ll be all alone again!” Tooru’s voice breaks and he grimaces, holding his breath. Holding back tears.
Ushijima stares at him, utterly shaken. He feels light-headed and ill.
How could he not have considered how his actions might have looked from Tooru’s viewpoint?
How could he have been so utterly blind?
Tooru stares back, hand still gripping his collar, hurt and anger stark in his face. His jaw working hard to keep himself from crying.
My fault.
Tooru is hurt and it’s my fault.
Again.
The thoughts rise from where he banished them to at the back of his mind, louder and harsher than they were last night. He feels completely defeated. Everything he planned, everything he worked towards so diligently, everything was a failure.
Instead of making Tooru happy, it made him scared and miserable.
“I’m not taking it away from you, Tooru,” he whispers, hoarsely. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry that the time limit I set made you think that. I didn’t realise you’d see giving your collar back to me as a… punishment. Or a threat.” He shakes his head to deny the very idea. “I… I just don’t think you have any idea what giving it to you means to me and... I didn’t want to overwhelm even more than I already have. Like you said, for you it’s only been a month that we’ve... actually been in a relationship.” He rubs his hands over his face in frustration. “So I thought I’d just let you try it for one night, without any conditions or expectations, and then we’d discuss it and... you’d have some time to think about it...”
Tooru stares at him for a long moment. The anger on his face is gone, but the hurt is still there. Mixed with... something else. Quietly, he says, “No, you’re right... I don’t know what this means to you, Toshi.” He runs a hand along his collar, linking his finger through the ring at the front, then lets go. “Although I’m starting to suspect.” He walks slowly back to where Ushijima is slumped on the couch.
He sinks down to the carpet next to him and leans his head against Ushijima’s knee. “But you know why that is? It’s because you haven’t ever actually told me. You keep almost saying it and then… not.” He punches Ushijima’s ankle in gentle rebuke, before wrapping both arms around Ushijima’s calf and rubbing his face against the soft, fluffy cloth of the bathrobe covering his knee. “And, if I’m going to have to give it back to you, then I want… I need to know what I have to do to earn it back. Permanently. What do I have to do? I’ll work hard, I promise. You just have to tell me what I need to do.” He looks up and tries to smile. “Please. Otherwise, I’ll go insane.”
“Oh god, Tooru,” Ushijima moans quietly and lets himself fall from the couch on to the floor, wrapping his arms around Tooru and burying his face in his shoulder. “Tooru…! You don’t have to do anything! You don’t have to work hard, you don’t have to earn it, you don’t... I just wanted you to have some time to think about it first, that’s all. I didn’t want you to feel pressured. But that’s exactly what I ended up doing, and I’m so sorry.”
Careless.
Stupid.
His voice cracks and he swallows hard. “Fuck. I’m so stupid. I’ve messed everything up. I’m sorry.”
Tooru’s arms come up around his back, squeezing him tightly. “Hey…” Tooru’s voice murmurs in his ear. “Hey, big guy. Come here. It’s okay, don’t cry.” Hands gently rub his back, a nose nuzzles his hair and lips brush softly against his ear.
It just makes the awful, aching feeling in his chest worse. The lump in his throat gets larger, tears rising in his nose and eyes, stinging hot. “It’s yours, Tooru,” he croaks, arms squeezing even harder. “It’s always been yours. All you have to do is say yes.”
There’s a long silence, and the sound of Tooru’s throat clicking as he swallows. “Then ask me, Toshi,” he whispers hoarsely. “Tell me what it means to you, and ask me properly. I promise you, I will think about it.”
Ushijima sucks in a deep, rasping breath, trying to clear the lump from his throat. He lifts his head up from Tooru’s shoulder and looks into the glistening, honey-brown eyes he loves so much. “This is not how I wanted this to go. This is not how I wanted to ask you.”
Tooru meets his gaze and smiles back sadly. “I know. I’m sorry, Toshi-chan,” he whispers and kisses Ushijima’s nose. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”
“No, I…” He closes his eyes briefly and nods. “I want to.”
He feels Tooru’s hand slip into his and grip tightly. Draws comfort and strength from it. Takes a deep breath, finds the words he has rehearsed for weeks, memorised and practised over and over. They feel slippery, treacherous.
But he forces himself to run in and leap for the ball anyway.
“Do you remember what you said, after the Nekoma training?” he starts, softly. “You said that it made you wonder what it might be like for us to be on the same team.” He takes another deep breath, looking down at his hand intertwined in Tooru’s. “And that you liked the idea of it. When you said that, it made me realise that I’d made another incorrect assumption, just like I assumed you knew about our relationship all these years.”
He breathe slowly, inhale, exhale. “What I realised is that… I always assumed that you hated the idea of being on the same team as me. But I think I was wrong. When you told me how alone you’ve felt all these years, living so far away, it… broke me.” He has to pause for a moment, clench his teeth. Grip his self-control even more tightly before he can continue.
Tooru gently squeezes his fingers.
“I can’t believe I let you suffer like that, Tooru. I’m sorry. I wish I’d known. I wish I’d asked, so I could’ve done something to help you, even if you’d have absolutely hated me for it. I should’ve told you all this a long, long time ago. That way, you would have known all these years that you weren’t alone. That I’ve always been here, I will always be here, and you can lean on me as much as you want.” He smiles a little lopsided, looking up and meeting Tooru’s eyes. “As much as your pride will allow you to lean on someone you hate.”
The sight of tears rolling down Tooru’s cheeks makes his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. He looks down at their hands again, fighting for control of his voice. “I’m sorry for all my wrong assumptions. I’m sorry for not telling you this sooner…”
Say it.
Say the quiet part out loud.
“I… love you, Tooru. I want to be on the same team as you, for as long as you’ll have me. I want to protect you and care for you, and I want you to always call on me when you need help.” He squeezes Tooru’s hand, hard. “I want you to belong to me, as I already belong to you. Please… accept my collar.”
Tooru squeezes back, both their knuckles going white. He’s completely silent.
Ushijima find the courage to look up again and sees Tooru holding his breath, biting his lip hard, tears streaming down his cheeks. Without thinking, Ushijima wraps him in his arms, hand cradling the back of his head, slotting him into the curve of his shoulder that was made just for him.
Tooru sobs loudly. His whole body starts shaking, and he breaks down weeping. He holds nothing back. He cries loudly, and for a long, long time.
Ushijima holds on, silent traitor tears of his own running down his cheeks, the first he has shed since his grandmother slapped him for crying too much when he was six years old. He doesn’t wipe them away. He lets Tooru’s grief and relief speak for both of them, expressing what he cannot.
After a long time, the storm dies down. Tooru hiccups and wipes his hands over his red, swollen face. His nose is dripping and there’s a large patch of snot and tears on the chest of Ushijima’s bathrobe. “Shit,” he mumbles, looking around weakly.
Ushijima silently unfolds himself from the floor and goes to fetch the box of tissues from one of the bedside tables. He takes one for himself and wipes his face and nose, then lets himself sink back to the floor next to Tooru and gathers him back into his lap. “Here,” he says, pulling some tissues out and handing them to him.
Tooru blows his nose noisily, multiple times. “Shit...” he mumbles again. He looks at Ushijima and tries to smile, but it’s more of a lopsided grimace. “Fuck you, Ushijima Wakatoshi. I told myself that I wasn’t going to cry tonight, and then you go and say something like that, and now...” Another sob fights itself free and Tooru has to hold his breath for a long moment, fighting for control. He sucks in a big breath, then another, exhaling slowly. Laughs brokenly. “...And now look at the state of me.”
For some utterly inexplicable reason, that is the funniest thing Ushijima has heard in a long time. He smiles and presses a kiss on Tooru’s temple. “I’m sorry.”
Tooru snorts wetly and pushes at his shoulder. “You can stop saying that now. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”
“I’m... sorry?” Ushijima smiles a little wider.
Tooru giggles. Then laughs.
And then he can’t stop laughing.
~*~
At 2PM, an alarm on Ushijima’s phone goes off, warning them they have to check out soon.
Ushijima blinks awake, groggy.
Tooru starts up from dozing on his shoulder and groans. “Turn that off before I smash it.”
Reaching blindly, Ushijima gets a lucky hit on the Stop button, and the noise ceases.
They roll themselves out of bed and get dressed, saying little. The silence is comfortable and warm.
At one point, Tooru looks up and grimaces. “Shit, sorry Toshi-chan. I got makeup all over your shirt.”
Ushijima looks down and notices the brown and black smudges on his shirt’s collar and breast. He shrugs. “It’s fine.”
“Get it dry-cleaned, that should get the stains out.”
“No.”
“No?” Tooru’s frown deepens.
“No. I’m keeping it.”
Tooru snorts and shakes his head. “You’re such a freak. Fine, suit yourself.”
Ushijima just nods, then goes to inspect the playroom, cleaning the implements they touched and hanging them meticulously back in their places. He does the same in the bathroom, folding towels and hanging everything up neatly.
Tooru watches him with a raised eyebrow. “You know you paid a fortune for cleaning staff to do that for you, right?”
He probably has. But habits die hard, so he just shrugs.
The last thing he does is retrieve the key to Tooru’s collar from the safe and slides it back on to the ring of its twin in his wallet. Then he looks at Tooru, apology in his eyes.
Tooru droops visibly, but doesn’t argue. He steps forward and hangs his head, offering access to the back of his neck.
Ushijima kisses the side of his head softly and unlocks the silver padlock, sliding it out of the eyelet and clicking it closed again in his hand. He unfastens the buckle of the collar slowly, careful to avoid catching any stray hair, and gently slides it off.
Tooru stays standing with his head bowed, holding his breath.
Ushijima places a finger under his chin, pushes his head up and kisses him tenderly. “Good boy,” he murmurs. He brushes away the tears that escape from Tooru’s eyes with his thumb and gives him a fraction of a smile. “I’m so proud of you.”
Tooru bites his lips and doesn’t say anything.
The collar and lock slide back into their box. Ushijima snaps it closed, looks at it, then up at Tooru, hesitating.
“No,” Tooru croaks, shaking his head slightly. “I promised I’d think about it first, and I will. I’ll give you an answer soon. You keep it until then.”
Ushijima just nods and slides the box back inside the left breast pocket of his suit jacket. As Tooru turns away, he catches his wrist and pulls him back into his arms and holds him tightly. “Tooru... Please. Please don’t ever lie to me like that again.”
Tooru’s whole body flinches, like he’s been slapped. “I’m sorry.” His voice is almost inaudible.
Ushijima takes his face in both his hands and holds his gaze. “You can lie to me about little things. You can lie to me about big things, too, if you absolutely have to. But please. Please, never lie to me about your safewords or your colours. Ever again. Please.” His voice shakes but he manages to keep it from breaking.
Tooru nods silently against his hands, tears streaking down his cheeks.
Ushijima exhales with relief and kisses his forehead. “Thank you.”
They leave the suite and head back down to reception in silence. The elegant woman who greeted them is there once more, her perfect coiffure making Ushijima feel even more rumpled. He surrenders their keycards and settles the bill, then holds open the door for Tooru, following him out into the warm August afternoon.
For a moment, they both just stand there, blinking in the sunlight.
Everything feels slightly too real. Too colourful. The air is heavy with the smells of a large city—exhaust fumes, baking bread, rubbish, cigarette smoke, the smell of rain from a summer shower on warm pavement.
After several long moments, Ushijima blinks and recollects himself, pulls out his phone and orders a ride.
Once in the back of the car, wending through Paris traffic, Tooru reaches out and links their little fingers together.
Ushijima asks softly, “When are you flying out?”
Tooru sighs. “Tomorrow afternoon. You?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“On your birthday? That’s rough.”
Ushijima shrugs. “Had worse.”
Tooru is silent for a moment at that, but gives his pinkie finger a little squeeze. After a while, he asks, “Are you attending the Closing Ceremony tonight?”
“Yeah.” It’s Ushijima’s turn to sigh. He’s already dreading it, but duty is duty. “Kageyama and I have to represent the team.”
“You mean, you have to chaperone Bokuto-kun and Chibi-chan,” Tooru says with sardonic amusement. “Someone has to watch those two idiots so they don’t disgrace their country, otherwise Hibarida-kantoku will make them commit seppuku tomorrow morning.”
“More or less, yes.” The edges of Ushijima’s mouth curl up in a faint, tired smile. “Is the Argentinian team going?”
Tooru nods. “Probably. Gallo will be there, definitely. You have to make sure he and Bokuto don’t meet, otherwise they will cause some kind of extrovert meltdown and blow up the entire arena.”
Ushijima nods seriously. “I’ll try. And what about you?”
“No…” Tooru sounds hesitant. “I’m not going. I’ve got some other stuff to take care of.”
“Oh. Okay.” The words sit heavy in Ushijima’s stomach. “Will I get to see you before you fly out?”
Tooru squeezes his little finger again. “Yeah. I’ll try to figure something out. I’ll text you.”
“Okay.”
They’re quiet for the rest of the way, until they pull up outside of the Argentinian team’s hotel. Ushijima gets out and opens the door for Tooru.
Tooru kisses him lightly on the cheek. “Ja, mata ne?” he whispers.
Ushijima nods, squeezing Tooru’s arm in response.
Say it.
“I... love you, Tooru.” His voice sounds rough and uneven in his own ears. He makes himself release his grip on Tooru’s arm.
Tooru smiles at him, sad and happy at the same time. “I know.” Then he gives a little wave and walks through the lobby doors without looking back.
~*~
When he steps back into their room, Kageyama is sitting on his bed leaning back against the headboard, laptop balanced on his legs, screen showing a volleyball match. He surveys Ushijima with a critical eye. “You look like shit.”
Ushijima just grunts and sits at the edge of his bed, staring into space for a moment.
“Was it worth it?” Kageyama asks after a few minutes.
The question snaps him out of the blank space his brain has retreated to. “It... all went wrong.” He levers himself off the bed, slides out the rectangular box from the left breast pocket of his suit jacket and stares at it for a long moment, feeling its weight in his hands. Then he walks over to the room’s safe, unlocks it and carefully places the box inside, on top of their passports. “But yes. It was worth it.” He pushes the door closed with a click.
“That’s… good.” Kageyama sounds unconvinced.
Ushijima starts taking off his suit, putting it back into its garment bag. When he slides his shirt off his shoulders, he holds it up and looks at the makeup stains for a moment before putting it back on its hanger and buttoning it up.
Task done, he collapses into bed just in his underwear.
“You’ve got four hours until we leave for the ceremony. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”
“Thank you, Tobio,” Ushijima murmurs and closes his eyes.
Kageyama just nods and plugs in his headphones.
Chapter Text
The Olympic Closing Ceremony is a nightmarish conjunction of ceremonial pomp, tedious speeches, sentimental and flashy music performances, fireworks and an enormous street party. It is loud, hot and it doesn’t stop.
Ushijima takes his self-control in an iron grip and endures.
There are six of them representing the men’s volleyball team. They march amongst Japan’s other sporting representatives behind their beaming flag bearer Kitaguchi-san, newly-minted gold medallist in the Javelin event.
During the concert, the stage is invaded by a large group of jubilant athletes singing and dancing alongside the musicians, until they are ordered to stop and removed by security. Ushijima maintains a firm grip on Bokuto and Hinata’s arms at all times, much to their dismay.
When the IOC officials’ speeches begin, everyone in the centre of the arena takes that as a sign to start mingling. Hinata drags Kageyama off to go hunting for his idols on the French, Brazilian, US and Italian teams, with his most treasured possession, a black moleskine autograph journal, clutched in his hand. Kageyama grouses and complains bitterly at being forced to tag along, but Ushijima is certain that his vice-captain is just as excited to meet them as Hinata is, even if he’d rather die than to admit it.
Left alone to supervise, Ushijima stops Bokuto from getting into a friendly fist fight with the Ukrainian boxing gold medallist, signs several autographs and poses for at least two dozen photos, shakes hands with two of his Orzel Warszawa team mates on the Polish national squad, is handed an inadequately explained bouquet of flowers, politely declines three hugs and one kiss, refuses many offered hip flasks containing various high potency alcohols, and tries his best not to collapse under the weight of so much forced social interaction.
When they are let out into the Paris night after the fireworks, everyone around him is buzzing with a euphoric high. They end up in some kind of club, Bokuto leading a wild dance party, ably assisted by Hinata. Ushijima stands near the exit with Kageyama, both of them keeping silent watch.
By the time they make it back to their hotel at 2AM, Ushijima has completely run out of words.
Not just words. Everything. Every single one of his reserves is utterly depleted. He feels completely wrung dry.
Kageyama has taken charge. He shepherds the suspiciously jolly but definitely not drunk members of his team into the hotel lobby and to the lifts, nudging Ushijima subtly when he doesn’t react to the doors pinging open. On their level, he pushes him out again and in the direction of their room while whisper-yelling at Hinata and Bokuto to keep their voices down and not wake up the whole floor.
At some point after that, Ushijima must have gotten undressed, showered and fallen into bed, but he doesn’t remember when or how.
~*~
Both he and Kageyama miss breakfast the following morning. Ushijima stumbles out of bed close to midday, his head thumping and his tongue swollen and sour in his mouth. Kageyama is still fast asleep, and Ushijima doesn’t wake him.
First thing he does is check his phone. No message from Tooru. As expected. He’s probably packing and getting ready to head to the airport soon.
He types out a short text.
Monday, 12 August 2024
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 11:54AM
Tooru, please send me your flight numbers before you fly out.
Be safe. Text me when you arrive home.
After a moment, he sends another text.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 11:55AM
I love you.
No response. Of course.
That done, he drinks two litres of water, throws on a t-shirt, shorts and his running shoes, then leaves the hotel in search of something edible. He picks a random direction and starts jogging, trusting in fate and the French impulse to put a bakery on every city block.
Fate delivers, and he finds a bench in a small nearby park to sit and inhale his food. When he is almost finished, his phone pings.
Kageyama Tobio, 12:47PM
You need to get back to the hotel.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:47PM
OK
Why?
Kageyama Tobio, 12:47PM
Emergency
Run fast
Frowning, Ushijima dumps his leftovers in the nearest bin and sprints back in the direction of the hotel, dodging traffic and pedestrians to keep up his speed as best he can.
When he runs into the lobby, breathing hard and sweating from the heat outside, it’s empty. No team manager, no press conference, no media scrum, no fans waiting for photos. Only the reception staff and the concierge, ignoring him politely.
Maybe Kageyama is waiting for him in their room, to brief him first. He strides to the lift and summons it, suppressing the urge to fidget anxiously. On their floor, again no press, no management staff. All is quiet.
His anxiety spikes even higher. He unlocks the door to their room and pushes it open quickly. “Kageyama? Are you—”
Tooru is sitting on his bed.
Tooru.
In his hotel room.
Sitting on his bed.
Ushijima blinks.
Tooru gets up, grins and waves at him. “Okaeri, Toshi-chan! Jeez, you look like shit. Rough night?” He looks exactly as exhausted as Ushijima feels, the dark bruised circles under his red-rimmed eyes more pronounced than they were yesterday. His casual outfit of matching designer sweats and hoodie looks fashionable and put together, but there’s a slightly wrinkled air to the clothes that betrays their recent stay in a suitcase.
Static buzzes in Ushijima’s ears, the adrenaline making his stomach cramp. “Tooru? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“Me? Hurt? No, why would I be hurt?” Tooru frowns slightly, confused.
Ushijima eyes him carefully, trying to pick up any signs of distress or injury. “Kageyama said there was an emergency. He told me to run. Why...? How are you here?”
Tooru snorts and shakes his head. “Who would have thought Tobio-chan could be so dramatic.” He walks over and runs his hand gently against Ushijima’s unshaven cheek. “I’m okay, I promise. Chibi-chan told me where you’re staying, and when I got here, my dear kouhai was waiting for me in the lobby and frog-marched me up here. Is he always that grumpy?”
“He— What?” All the words make sense on the surface, but Ushijima has to shake his head and parse them again just to make sure he understands them all in the correct order. “Grumpy, yes. Why? Why aren’t you at the airport?”
Grin widening, Tooru wraps his arms around Ushijima’s waist, hugging him tightly, before making a face and taking a step back again.“Urgh, bad idea. You’re all sweaty.”
Ushijima can’t help the impatient edge that creeps into his voice. He’s trying to keep a grip on his self-control, but it is hard. “Tooru. What is the emergency?”
Tooru laughs. “It’s not an emergency. Or maybe it is.” He looks sheepish and drops his eyes to the ground for a moment, hesitating. “I… I wanted to ask you what you’re doing for your birthday tomorrow.”
Trying to keep his voice even, Ushijima says, “I am flying back to Poland tomorrow. As we discussed yesterday.”
“I know! I know, but I… wanted to ask if you wanted to maybe… not do that. And stay here, with me. Instead.”
Ushijima blinks again. “With you. Here.”
“Yeah.” Tooru nods and smiles uncertainly. “Because I’m not flying out this afternoon. I told the team manager that I’ll make my own way home.”
Static buzzes loudly in Ushijima’s ears. He feels like he has missed something very important, but his brain is too sluggish to figure it out. “You’re not flying out? But… Where will you stay?”
Tooru shrugs, his smile turning into a grin. “I don’t know. I was hoping that might be a problem we could solve together. If you also wanted to stay, that is. With me.”
Too many thoughts are screaming in Ushijima’s head, a cacophony of noise. Finally, his brain catches up and throws the most important detail up in big red letters. “You want me to stay here with you. For my birthday?”
Tooru nods. “Yes. And a bit longer than that. Maybe a week? Two, if you have time?”
He feels suddenly light-headed. The crushing heaviness that has been sitting on his shoulders and in his stomach since they parted yesterday evaporates. He swallows hard, breathes quietly for a moment. Nods, voice gone a little hoarse. “Okay. Yes. Yes, I’ll stay with you.”
The smile that blooms on Tooru’s face is more brilliant than any of the ones that came before it. He nods, then tips his face up and brushes Ushijima’s lips with a kiss. “Okay. Good. That… makes me a little bit less terrified for the next part.”
Ushijima frowns. Warning lights flash in his brain again at the words but he can’t pinpoint the threat. “Terrified? Why?”
“You’ll see. Can we... Can we sit down?” Without waiting for an answer, Tooru lets himself sink down on Ushijima’s bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling up his legs, wrapping his arms around them.
Warily, Ushijima follows suit, kicking off his own running shoes and sitting down as well.
Tooru reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing it, and takes a deep breath. “I… thought about waiting until your birthday tomorrow to do this, but to be honest I’ve been awake all night thinking about it over and over and I’m exhausted and if I have to go through all that for another night I’ll die. So…”
He takes another deep breath, exhales slowly. “I… I’ve thought a lot about what you asked me. And before I answer, I want you to know that I still hate you.” He throws Ushijima a serious look. “Passionately. You’re the most cosmically irritating person I know, by a long shot. You’re blunt, you have zero social charm, you’re presumptuous, and you go completely overboard with absolutely everything. And most of all, I hate that you can read me like a book. You always know what’s going on in my head and it pisses me off.”
Ushijima doesn’t know if he should apologise.
Before he can figure it out, Tooru continues. “But, I also realised last night that this whole ten-year, not-in-a-relationship misunderstanding thing is probably my fault, not yours.” He squeezes Ushijima’s hand again, staring down at his knees. “I think... I think I probably didn’t... want to know. I think that... when I read the contract in Rio, I probably got overwhelmed and just... ignored it. Ignored what it meant. Blanked it out. Because I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
Tooru pauses, takes another deep breath, then laughs a little bitterly. “Because that’s definitely something that I would do. And, so, when you say you’re sorry for leaving me alone all these years, that’s...” His voice goes shaky, and he stops.
Ushijima squeezes his hand gently, listening with all his attention.
Tooru squeezes back. Continues, “It’s my own fault, mostly. I chose to be alone. I mean, I didn’t really, and I wasn’t actually alone, I have so many friends in San Juan, a team, a home, but... That deep loneliness I felt... I think I... created that. Or maybe not created, but... Chose it. Because it was easier than facing... this.” He holds up their tightly-linked hands and looks at Ushijima, his red-rimmed brown eyes filled with tears. “Us. You. And... all the complicated shit that you represent. In how I see myself.”
He takes several more deep breaths, visibly steeling himself. “I have hated you my whole life, Ushijima Wakatoshi. Because you represent the worst of how I see myself. Too weak. Not good enough. Always second, never first. A failure, no matter how hard I try. You are the loaded gun that I have pointed at my own head my whole life, and I... I want to stop now. I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to be on your team too, Toshi.” His voice wobbles and breaks. He holds his breath, looking desperately up and away to the ceiling, fighting off tears.
Ushijima is completely, utterly still. His mind has gone silent, a great empty cavern, only Tooru’s words echoing inside it.
When he has regained control, Tooru unfolds his legs and sits up, facing Ushijima. “I know you wanted to talk about it and negotiate everything first, but I don’t want to wait anymore. We can work out all the details together later. You can write me the biggest, longest contract you want and I’ll read every line this time, I promise. Because, as much as I hate you, I... love you more.” Taking Ushijima’s face in both his hands and looking into his eyes, he carefully, deliberately pronounces every word. “Ushijima Wakatoshi, I accept your collar.”
The whole world stops.
Stutters.
Restarts.
Ushijima sucks a big breath into his airless lungs.
His brain fuzzes with static, frantically trying to process what he has just heard and come up with an appropriate response.
His body reacts by sheer instinct before his brain can deliver, placing his left hand over Tooru’s hand on his cheek and leaning in to kiss him, hard, on the mouth. His right arm comes around Tooru’s waist and pulls him close, closer, as close as he can get him.
Tooru kisses him back, desperate. Frantic. He’s vibrating with electricity, feverish and hot. His tongue forces inside Ushijima’s mouth while he pushes him backwards on to the bed aggressively, sitting on top of him, invading him, taking his air, clawing fingers into the front of his shirt.
Ushijima slides his hands under Tooru’s sweater to dig his fingers into his waist with all his strength, imprinting the skin with his fingerprints.
And then he’s had enough. In one movement, he flips Tooru over on to his back underneath him, digs his knee between Tooru’s legs to pin him, and fights back with his tongue. Counter-attacks and wins. Conquers him completely.
Tooru moans into Ushijima’s mouth, nails scraping at his back, pushing himself against Ushijima’s knee, frantically seeking friction.
When Ushijima releases him from the kiss, he wraps a hand around Tooru’s neck and stares down at him, drinking in his desperate expression, quicksilver brown eyes wild and glistening, his lips swollen and pink.
“Please,” Tooru mouths, soundlessly.
“Yes,” Ushijima growls and pulls down Tooru’s sweats and underwear in one movement, exposing Tooru’s hard cock. Without hesitation, he leans down and swallows him into his mouth. Tooru makes a strangled sound against the hand wrapped around his neck, his hips bucking into Ushijima’s mouth.
Not releasing his grip on Tooru’s throat, Ushijima places his other arm across Tooru’s thighs and applies his weight, holding Tooru down while he sucks and licks and devours his delicious cock in his mouth. He gives himself completely free reign, not trying at all to pace himself or draw out Tooru’s pleasure. He takes what’s his, and it is glorious.
Tooru comes hot in his mouth within a minute, hips bucking ineffectually against Ushijima’s weight pinning him, strangled little noise escaping from his choked throat.
Ushijima doesn’t let up, sucking and licking him until he is frantic with overstimulation. Only then does he lift his weight off Tooru’s legs and releases the grip on his throat, leaving him gasping and mewling. Ignoring his semi-coherent pleading, he walks quickly to his bag and retrieves the bottle of lube from its sealed pocket.
When he returns to the bed, he roughly manhandles Tooru on to his stomach, piling a pillow under his hips and pushing his face down into the mattress for a moment, just because he can and he wants to. When he is let up, Tooru gasps for air and moans when Ushijima pours a generous amount of lube directly onto his elevated and invitingly exposed hole.
He slips a finger inside without preamble, working it in and out to spread the lube. He adds a second finger, and then a third in quick succession, fucking Tooru fast and hard, listening to his increasingly desperate cries with a private, evil grin as he brushes against his prostate only once every other stroke.
When he judges Tooru sufficiently soft and open for him, he slides down his shorts and applies some more lube to his own cock, stroking himself a few times, savouring the anticipation. Then he kneels between Tooru’s open legs and positions himself, holding his boy’s hips steady with his hands. Tooru wails loudly when he pushes inside, but he doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in.
Tooru’s hips buck upwards and back onto the cock invading him, frantic. Ushijima stops the movement by gripping his hips tighter, but then changes his mind. Instead, he leans forward and sticks his thumb into Tooru’s mouth to still his constant stream of pleading. With his remaining free hand, he braces himself, and then he starts fucking Tooru in earnest.
He doesn’t hold back. He doesn’t slow down or adjust his pacing to Tooru’s reactions. He chases his own peak mercilessly, feeling Tooru’s mouth suck at his thumb with desperate force, then open in a long, drawn out wail as he comes again, shaking hard.
Ushijima doesn’t stop. He fucks him right through his orgasm, savouring the tightness of the muscles convulsing and milking his cock. He fucks him harder and faster, until Tooru goes to that quiet, peaceful place of total surrender he craves so badly.
Thumb released from Tooru’s slack mouth, he uses his now-free hand to grip Tooru’s hair and pull him upwards, arching his back, giving himself a new angle of attack. He concentrates, closing his eyes and feels the sensation of Tooru’s hot hole stroking his cock, gliding in and out, stimulating every nerve ending, over and over and over. Building up and up.
As he nears his own climax, Tooru moans his name, slurred and fuck-drunk. The sound tips him over the edge and he groans loudly. “Oh god, Tooru... Fuck!” He comes, hard, shooting his cum into Tooru, claiming him all for his own.
He rolls his hips a few more times, riding the wave of his orgasm, listening to Tooru’s little mewls as he breathes hard, drinking in the feeling. Memorising it and locking it away deep inside himself, where he keeps his life’s most treasured moments.
Finally, he lets go of Tooru’s hair and braces himself on his arms, focusing on getting his breathing back under control. Underneath him, Tooru is a loose sprawl of limbs. The frantic, feverish electricity that made him almost vibrate out of his skin earlier is completely gone, safely earthed away.
Smiling slightly, Ushijima slides out of him and pulls up his shorts, then goes to the bathroom to clean himself up. He returns with a warm cloth, wiping Tooru down tenderly, savouring the familiar ritual.
Tooru twitches, his eyes struggling to open.
Ushijima presses a kiss into his hair. “It’s okay, little one. Take your time.” He takes away the washcloth to rinse it, coming back once more with it fresh and warm again to repeat the process.
By that time, Tooru’s eyes are open and able to focus. “Hey,” he whispers when Ushijima steps into his field of view.
“Hey,” Ushijima whispers back, giving him another kiss as he wipes him down. “How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful.” Tooru’s voice is slightly slurred. He smiles a little wider. “I could die happy, right now.”
Ushijima smiles back. “Please don’t.” He walks back to the bathroom to rinse and hang up the washcloth.
Tooru giggles a little. He flexes his muscles, groans and manages to drag himself into an upright position. “Holy shit, you really made a mess of me. What got into you, we haven’t fucked like that for years.”
Ushijima returns from the bathroom and shrugs, still smiling slightly. “I think we both needed it.” He picks up the room’s phone and calls reception, summoning enough of his English to order a fresh set of sheets for his bed.
Tooru slides himself to the edge of the bed and manages to pull up his underwear and sweats. “Thank god Kageyama didn’t come back.”
“He’s far too smart for that.”
“Fucking smug bastard.”
Ushijima can’t immediately tell if Tooru means him or Kageyama, but only shrugs again, dismissing the topic. His brain has kicked into planning mode, thinking through logistics. “So. You’re staying?”
Tooru blinks, trying to get his still fuck-drunk brain to follow the rapid change of topic. “Yeah. I’m staying.”
“Okay,” Ushijima nods. “Then we need to find accommodation. For you, for tonight, and then for us for... how long?”
“Um. Two weeks?” Tooru looks up at him hopefully. “Is that too long? I think we need one week just to sleep.” He grins wickedly. “And the other to fuck.”
The smile on Ushijima’s face widens slightly. He nods again. “Two weeks.”
He hesitates, brain suddenly throwing up a snippet of a conversation he had many weeks ago. He narrows his eyes and rapidly thinks through the resulting options and risks.
Tooru frowns at him. “What? What’s with that face all of a sudden?”
Coming to a decision, Ushijima picks up his phone, finds the contact for ‘Satori Tendou’ and presses the call button. Then he sits down next to Tooru on the bed so he can hear the conversation.
Satori answers on the third ring. He sounds sardonically delighted. “Well, well, well, Wakatoshi-kun. This isn’t a surprise... I’m guessing things went well with Oikawa-kun? That, or you’re sitting drunk and heartbroken in a ditch somewhere and need me to come rescue you.”
Ushijima blinks in surprise. “How did you—?” As he speaks, he realises who he’s talking to and dismisses the question. He should have long ago given up being surprised by his friend’s freakish ability to predict anything and everything. “Never mind. Yes, things went well with Tooru, so I need a favour. Remember when we spoke six weeks ago, you mentioned that you knew a place in the Provence where we could go to stay. Do you think that place might be available at short notice?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tooru’s eyebrows go all the way up.
Satori bursts out laughing. “I knew it, I knew it! You’re getting hitched!” His voice is a gleeful sing-song.
Tooru’s eyes go wide and he makes a strangled noise, clapping his hand to his mouth and looking horrified.
Ushijima gives him a reassuring shake of the head. In his ear, Satori says, “Let me make a phone call and I will get back to you. It’s a friend’s holiday cottage, I don’t think they are using it right now. It’s only a converted barn in the middle of a field, no heating and only an outdoor bath, but that shouldn’t be a problem since it’s summer. And for... other reasons.” He laughs again, sardonically.
“Thank you, Tendou. I owe you. We would need it for two weeks, starting tomorrow or the day after, if possible. Any price, I’ll pay. Also, Tooru needs a place to stay tonight, do you know any hotels that aren’t completely booked out for the Olympics?”
“Hmmm...” Satori sounds thoughtful. “Well, I mean, I have a spare bedroom he could have for the night. How about that?”
Ushijima throws a look to Tooru, who still looks completely shocked, eyes wide open. He blinks rapidly, then nods once, faintly. “Yeah, okay,” he whispers hoarsely.
“That would be very helpful and generous. Thank you. What time should we get there tonight? I’ll drop him off.”
“I get home from work at six. Why don’t we go out to dinner at seven? I’ll send you my address.”
“Sure, yes. Sounds good. We will see you at your address at seven. Thank you again, Tendou. I’m lucky to have a best friend like you.”
Satori laughs his delighted, demonic laugh. “And don’t you forget it! Ja, mata.” The call ends.
Ushijima lets the phone drop, satisfied. That went a lot better than he had expected. He feels a wave of gratitude towards his best friend. He will have to go and find a very expensive bottle of wine before seven o’clock tonight to give to him.
Beside him, Tooru makes a strangled noise. “Toshi...!”
Alarmed, Ushijima looks up. “What? Are you alright?”
“No!” Tooru looks completely horrified. “I forgot the most important thing!”
“What? What is it, Tooru?” He frowns, brains kicking through all the possible scenarios of what could have gone wrong. Did he miss his flight? No, he’s not taking the flight. Did he lose something? Did he—
Tooru stands up and frantically scrabbles around in the pocket of his sweats, producing a blue box the size of his palm. He’s gone bright red and looks utterly mortified. “I was going to— But then things happened and then I was so out of it, I just forgot, but then Satori-san said—”
Ushijima frowns, all his focus zeroing in. “Tooru, slow down. Take a deep breath. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Tooru sinks to his knees in front of Ushijima and holds out the box. He opens it to reveal two simple golden bands sitting next to each other in a white velvet cushion. “Please, will you marry me, Toshi?”
For the second time inside an hour, the whole world stutters.
Ushijima’s brain, which was spinning so fluidly in decision-making mode just seconds ago, comes crashing to a halt again. “What?” he asks, hoarsely.
“I know, it’s... unbelievably lame,” Tooru looks embarrassed. “I wanted to ask you earlier, when I accepted your collar, but then we... got distracted.”
Ushijima stares at him, caught utterly flat-footed. He tries to speak, but can’t find any words. Finally, he wraps his hands gently around Tooru’s, which are still holding the box. “Are you asking me to marry you?” he croaks.
Tooru winces but nods. “Yes. Please.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to give you something back, and this was the only thing I could think of with the same weight.” Tooru looks flustered and his tone is pleading. “It’s basically the same thing as my collar and our contract. You can wear yours, and I can wear mine, even when we’re not together, and—” He breaks off and flips the box, takes out the rings in their velvet and reveals two lengths of slender golden chain beneath it. “I even got us these so we can still wear them when we’re training or competing.”
Ushijima closes his eyes for a second, heart pounding in his chest, flooded with a complicated mix of desperate happiness and heartbreak. He searches for the right words. “I... Tooru, I want to say yes. But, you know that we can’t, right?”
Tooru’s face falls. He looks like he’s been slapped. “Why?”
“Because it’s not legal, little one,” Ushijima whispers dejectedly.
Tooru’s expression flickers from upset to surprised. “That’s it? That’s what you’re worried about, you big idiot?” He breaks into a huge grin. “It’s not legal in Japan, Toshi! But it is in Argentina.”
Argentina.
The heartbreak he felt a moment ago dissolves into a fizz of golden, sparkling bubbles in his chest.
It’s legal in Argentina.
Tooru is completely right. He’s an idiot.
He laughs.
Tooru’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and he grins even wider.
Ushijima grins back and grips his boy’s beautiful, shining face in both his hands. Deliberately, carefully pronouncing every word, he says, “Yes, Oikawa Tooru. Yes, I will marry you.”
~*~
His teammates are standing together in a far corner of the lobby in a huddle, talking in low but animated voices. Kageyama looks thunderous, Bokuto is wearing an enormous, almost manic, grin, and Hinata keeps gesticulating wildly and bouncing on the soles of his feet.
When the elevator doors ping open and Ushijima lets Tooru step out ahead of him, all three of their heads snap up.
Kageyama’s eyes narrow cautiously, assessing. Getting ready to step in and direct the play.
Bokuto’s grin grows impossibly wider. “Hey, hey, hey! It’s the lovebirds!” he booms.
Hinata bounces towards them, vibrating with excitement. “Did you do it, Oikawa-san? Did you ask him? Are you getting married?”
Ushijima’s misses a step and almost stumbles. Frowns, mortified and confused.
Next to him, Tooru bursts out laughing. “Chibi-chan, that is a very personal question! And how do you even know that’s what I was asking?”
“But!” Hinata looks like a chastened puppy. “You said that you had to ask him something very important, and you looked like you hadn’t slept a wink, and you went out to dinner together for your anniversary the night before, and—”
“Shut up, dumbass!” Kageyama snaps and elbows him sharply in the ribs. “It’s none of your business.”
Tooru laughs even louder. “You are a nosy little shit, Hinata Shoyo! That’s the last time I’m telling you anything, I swear.” He hesitates, throwing a sideways glance at Ushijima. “But…”
Ushijima closes his eyes briefly, crushes the humiliating embarrassment of his personal life being the subject of public discussion and nods, just once. “Yes. We’re getting married.” Carefully, he takes Tooru’s right hand and squeezes it.
Hinata and Bokuto yell loudly and slap each other’s hands like they’ve just scored simultaneous line shots. Kageyama yells at them to shut up. People around the lobby look up, startled by the noise.
Ushijima clenches his teeth and grips his self-control.
Tooru gives Ushijima’s hand a little reassuring squeeze, then lets go, holding his hand out for inspection, smiling radiantly. “Yeah. He said yes.” The slender gold band sits unobtrusively on his ring finger.
Hinata reaches out a fingertip to touch it, looking fascinated. “Won’t that really hurt when you play, though? What will you do then, take it off?”
Tooru grins triumphantly and reaches inside his sweater, pulling out the slim golden chain around his neck. “Thought of that! We can wear it on these during training and matches.”
“Smart!” Bokuto nods approvingly.
“Gyaaaa that’s so cool, I’m so unbelievably jealous!” Hinata fingers the chain, impressed. His eyes flick to Tooru’s neck and he frowns. “Why is there a bruise on—”
Kageyama steps on his foot and snaps, “Congratulations, both of you! It’s about time. Now, can we please stop making a fool of ourselves in public?”
Hinata blinks, confused. Then his eyebrows shoot up and he gives Kageyama an absolutely filthy grin.
Kageyama scowls at him, his ears going red.
Oblivious, Bokuto laughs loudly. “Not a chance! We have to go out and celebrate! Our captain’s getting hitched, and we as his team mates have a solemn duty to drink to his good health!”
Ushijima shakes his head, trying to forestall him. “Sorry, we already have plans tonight.”
Tooru pouts and bumps Ushijima with his shoulder. “Oh, come on, don’t be so boring. It’s their last night here in Paris, I’m sure Satori-san won’t mind if they come out to dinner with us. He knows them!”
“Eeeh? Satori-san?” Hinata’s eyes go wide in surprise. “Baki-baki-ni-ore Satori-san is in Paris?! Why? Did he come here to watch you play, Ushijima-san?”
“No, idiot, he lives here!” Kageyama scowls.
Hinata looks confused. “What? Since when? How did you know that?”
“How did you not?! He’s a famous pâtissier that makes chocolate sculptures, did you not see the documentary about him?”
“But how—”
“—Anyway,” Tooru interrupts quickly. “Tobio-chan is correct. He lives here, and I’m guessing he would be delighted to see you all again after all these years.” He turns to Ushijima and blesses him with a shining, brilliant smile. “Also, it’s your birthday tomorrow! So let’s call Satori-san and ask if he wants to help us celebrate a little early with your friends. Ne, Wakatoshi-chan?”
Ushijima doesn’t sigh. There is no point in arguing against the inevitable.
Also, he is too happy to care.
His boy finally belongs to him.
All he wants to do is keep on seeing Tooru smile at him like that. Like a sunrise.
Smiling back, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Sure. Let’s ask him.”
End of Part 1
Chapter 15: Part 2: Chapter 15
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Part 2
[One year later.]
Monday, 11 August 2025
The best setter in the whole world ever, 11:06AM
do you think we should have white roses or chrysanthemums?
i mean, i love chrysanthemums but roses are classic
can’t really go wrong with roses
Wakatoshi-chan ❤️, 11:10AM
Choose whichever makes you most happy.
The best setter in the whole world ever, 11:11AM
that is a shitty cop-out answer and you know it
Wakatoshi-chan ❤️, 11:11AM
I also know that whatever answer I give you will be wrong.
The best setter in the whole world ever, 11:12AM
that’s true. you’re always wrong about this stuff
Wakatoshi-chan ❤️, 11:15AM
I trust you with all the wedding planning, Tooru.
Unless you need me to make a decision for you?
The best setter in the whole world ever, 11:16AM
god no 🙄
fine. chrysanthemums it is
Wakatoshi-chan ❤️, 11:25AM
Good. I am about to leave for the airport.
My flight numbers are KL1316, KL701 and AR1446.
I will see you in 36 hours.
The best setter in the whole world ever, 11:25AM
holy fuck that’s a long flight
Wakatoshi-chan ❤️, 11:36AM
It will be tiring, but worth it.
The best setter in the whole world ever, 11:37AM
you can look forward to unwrapping your birthday present when you get here
😈🍆💦
Wakatoshi-chan ❤️, 11:37AM
Very much so. See you soon.
I love you.
The best setter in the whole world ever, 11:38AM
🖕💖
~*~
Toshi looks exhausted.
Instead of his usual precise purpose and quietly controlled force, his movements are sluggish and slow. His shoulders slope. There is stubble on his usually always meticulously-shaven face. His eagle’s eyes are hooded and heavy.
“Yoohoo, Wakatoshi-chan!” Tooru waves to catch his attention and strides over to him, grinning. “You look like shit! Bad flight?” He throws both arms around Toshi’s neck and hugs him tightly, forcing him to bend down slightly and make small ‘oomph’ noise.
“Yeah. But it’s over now,” he sighs quietly into Tooru’s shoulder, arms snaking around his waist and squeezing tightly back. “Tadaima, Tooru.”
“Okaeri, Toshi. And happy birthday,” Tooru whispers and kisses his temple. Then he releases his grip and grabs the handle of Toshi’s suitcase, striding towards the exit of the arrivals hall. “Let’s go, I hate airports.”
Toshi follows him without comment, his long legs keeping up easily.
Tooru keeps up a string of cheerful small talk to fill the newly-arrived silence between them, talking about the weather and complaining about airport parking fees. Toshi answers in grunts or single syllables, but more isn’t needed.
When they get to Tooru’s car, Toshi stops and stares, frowning slightly.
Tooru grins. “Do you like it?”
“It’s... What is it?”
“It’s a 1971 Plymouth GTX.” Tooru runs a loving hand along the silver chassis. “My baby, my beauty, my love. I bought her a year after I moved here.” He steps around the back, pops the boot and lifts Toshi’s suitcase inside.
Toshi is still staring. He blinks a couple of times. “Why?”
Tooru doesn’t laugh at him, but it’s a close call. He must be very tired. “Because I wanted it. There’s a huge classic car scene in Argentina and when I first got here, some of the guys from Atlético invited me to come along to a show. I saw her and fell in love, and that was it. Took me a year to save up and buy her.” He shrugs, walks to the passenger door and holds it open, unable to contain another wicked grin. “Let me take you for a ride. I promise, I’ll be gentle.”
Toshi unfreezes and folds himself into the low-slung passenger seat.
Tooru closes the door gently behind him, gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine with a roar. He tries to drive slowly and carefully, but the way Toshi tenses just a little in fast corners and flinches imperceptibly when the engine roars makes Tooru grin. Something about having his boyfriend (slash-fiancé-slash-soon-to-be-husband) in his car, in his home town, driving him back to his apartment, makes him want to show off. Just a little bit.
While it still is his home town.
The melancholy thought gives a small flavour of sadness and nostalgia to the drive through familiar streets.
~*~
Having Toshi in his apartment is weird. Very, very weird. It makes him all jittery and nervous. It feels like two very separate parts of his life are colliding together. It feels vulnerable.
Luckily, Toshi is so dead on his feet that he barely does more than drop his backpack and collapse on Tooru’s couch, failing to notice Tooru nervously running a finger along the already absolutely spotless bookshelves in his living room.
Tooru gives him a kiss on the head and disappears into the kitchen to check on the Pollo al Disco, which has been slowly simmering away especially for Toshi since this morning. While he is putting on the rice in the rice cooker, his phone rings.
It’s the caterers for the wedding.
Tooru sighs loudly and slides the button to answer.
A long, complex discussion follows, involving choosing alternatives for vegetarian, vegan and gluten free dishes, guesstimating how many of their guests will prefer fish over meat, and debating the merits of serving malbec or cabernet sauvignon with the asado.
At some point, Toshi emerges into the kitchen and wraps his arms around Tooru from behind, making him jump and swear, confusing the poor chef on the other end of the line. When Toshi steps back silently, hands held up in apology, Tooru gives him a playful kick at the ankle and a wink to reassure him.
Finally, options debated and decisions made, Tooru hangs up the phone and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “Fuck me, I hate all this wedding bullshit!” he groans. “Whose idea was this, anyway? I mean, why didn’t we just elope and be done with it? Why are we inviting two hundred people and feeding them dinner?”
Toshi steps close and folds him in his arms again, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “Because you wanted to, and it makes you happy, Tooru. Despite how much you complain.”
“Well, I still think that this is all your fault somehow. You must have melted my brain so much in Paris that I thought proposing to you was a good idea.” Tooru laughs a little and sighs again, letting himself relax in those big, enfolding arms for a moment. “You want something to drink? Tea, coffee, wine?” Shakes his head, remembering who he is asking. “Or I have green tea, peppermint tea and soda water, or just filtered.”
“Just water is fine, Tooru.”
Something in Toshi’s voice makes Tooru look at him closely. On the surface, he looks as impassive and calm as ever, but... there’s something. “What’s wrong?”
Toshi looks slightly surprised. “Nothing.”
Tooru scowls. “Don’t give me that. Something has upset you and I want to know what it is.”
“Mmh. I wonder sometimes how you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Notice... things. Like this. What I am feeling.”
Tooru’s scowl turns into a surprised frown. “Because I pay attention to you, Ushiwaka. I mean, you’re not quite the open book to me as I am to you, but I know you and I can feel it when you’re upset.” He gives him a little squeeze with his arms. “Especially when you’re standing right here, living and breathing in front of me.”
“Mhm.” Toshi hums again and squeezes back, but doesn’t say anything more.
Tooru steps out of the hug and crosses his arms, not willing to let this go. “So, come on, out with it. What is it?”
Toshi looks across at him, his eyes strangely sad. He hesitates a fraction. “You... were speaking Spanish.”
“Um... yes?” Tooru’s frown deepens. “That’s what we speak here in Argentina, Toshi.”
“I have never heard you speak Spanish before. Not once.”
Tooru opens his mouth to correct him and remind him of all the different times he has spoken Spanish when they’ve been together, and then closes it again because he can’t remember any. Has he really never spoken Spanish in front of Toshi? Surely there must have been a time, in all these years? But... Try as he might, he cannot remember a single one. Everywhere they’ve been before, they’ve either spoken Japanese or, if forced to, English.
All he can say is, “Oh.”
Toshi watches him realise, then looks out of the window. “That, and your car... I had no idea you liked classic cars, Tooru. That you owned a car at all, or even that you can drive.”
Tooru stares at him and shakes his head in disbelief. “What? Surely I’ve told you about that before? I must have!”
“No. I would have remembered if you did.”
Tooru stares at him, stricken, an ache starting in his chest.
Toshi slowly looks around his kitchen, taking everything in. The mismatched, colourful cupboard doors, the plants and trinkets on the sun-drenched windowsill, the comfortable jumble of crockery and plates on open shelves. “I’ve seen your apartment many times on video, but standing inside it... It’s not the same. There’s so much of you here, and it’s all new to me.”
His voice is so full of sadness.
“Oh, Toshi...” With three quick steps, Tooru closes the distance between them and slips his arms around Toshi’s waist and hugs him tightly once more. “I’m sorry. No, that’s not... That’s not the right words, but...”
He feels Toshi’s arms fold around him and feels him squeeze back. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault, Tooru. It’s mine. I should have visited you a lot sooner...” He’s silent a moment, then mumbles into Tooru’s hair, “I wonder what other parts of you I missed out on all these years.”
Tooru laughs a little bitterly. “If you’d visited any sooner, I would’ve kicked you out on your ass and thrown a frying pan at your head for good measure. So... Don’t blame yourself.” He leans back and looks into Toshi’s face, giving him a kiss and an encouraging smile. “It’s not your fault either. It’s just how things worked out. I promise, I’ll show you everything now. I’ll tell you all the stupid stories and random bullshit of my life, until you wish I’d just shut up and leave you alone. Okay?”
“Okay.” Toshi nods back, one corner of his mouth curling up in the faintest of smiles.
“But first, dinner. You must be absolutely famished. Airplane food is the worst, and there’s never enough of it.” Tooru lets him go and shoos him to one of the comfortable, mismatched bar stools at his kitchen counter. He checks the Pollo again, stirring it and tasting, adding some more herbs and salt, then checks the rice in the rice cooker. Almost ready.
Toshi observes everything quietly. After a while, he says, “You’re a really good cook.”
“I know!” Tooru grins happily, pours himself a glass of red wine and sits next to Toshi at the bench, waiting for the rice to finish steaming. “Gallo’s mum had us over for dinner at least once a week when I first got here, and she has made it her mission to teach me everything she knows, seeing as her own son is a total lost cause in the kitchen. This Pollo al Disco is her secret family recipe.”
He keeps up the constant stream of chatter, telling Toshi about Gallo and his mum, his other teammates at Atlético, and some of the chaos of his first years in San Juan. Some of the stories Toshi has already heard during one of their weekly video chats over the past year, but he doesn’t seem to mind hearing them again, head resting relaxed in his hand as he watches Tooru talk.
When dinner is ready, Toshi demolishes two huge bowls of the hearty, tomato-y chicken and potato stew with rice in the time it takes Tooru to finish two thirds of his own bowl. No matter how often he sees Toshi eat, he is always amazed at how much he can put away. His body must burn through fuel at a prodigious speed. No wonder, with all that lean muscle mass.
After dinner, Toshi tries to clear and wash the dishes, but Tooru shoos him away and shepherds him to the bathroom instead, handing him the biggest towel he owns and telling him to take his time. There’s nothing better after a marathon flight than a long, indulgent, piping hot shower.
In the meantime, he clears the dishes, loads the dishwasher, packs away leftovers and finishes his glass of wine. He realises with a flash of ironic self-amusement that he is nervous. Fuck, how does that man still make his hands tremble and butterflies flutter in his stomach, even after ten years?
But then again, they haven’t physically seen each other for over six months, and he’s at once desperate to fuck him and scared to touch him. To be touched. To be seen. To have all his defences stripped away, to be taken in hand and humbled, in the way that only Ushijima Wakatoshi can.
The two wolves inside him are snarling and biting at each other, making his stomach cramp.
He tries to take a deep breath. Walks himself into his bedroom and sits on his bed. Not some hotel bed somewhere in the world, but his bed. In his apartment. In his home town. With Toshi in his bathroom, about to come out and look at him with those all-seeing eagle eyes of his.
It’s still weird.
He starts, realising that he has forgotten the most important thing. He leans to reach the top drawer of his nightstand and retrieves the elegant rectangular box that contains his second-most treasured possession. Places it next to him on the bed, ready. Then goes back to waiting, heart beating too fast.
When Toshi finally emerges from the bathroom, hair damp and smelling like shampoo, towel slung around his waist, Tooru can only stare at him for a long moment. His bare chest is delicious, from the broad line of his shoulders all the way down to his abs. He’s all sleek, powerfully cut muscles, precise control and tightly leashed potential. It’s even more impressive because Tooru knows exactly how much dedication and effort it takes to maintain such a body.
Ushijima Wakatoshi is a finely crafted and honed weapon.
Tooru wants him, so so badly.
But he also knows that he will have to be patient. Thirty-six hours of travel are not conducive to feats of sexual stamina. He scales back his expectations and just sits, drinking in the sight, waiting to be acknowledged.
Toshi sees him waiting. The food and the shower must have replenished some of his reserves, because his eyes are sharp and focused once more. He comes to stand before Tooru without saying a word, just looking down at him in turn.
Tooru’s heart beats faster. He tries not to fidget with his slightly-shaking hands.
The slight curve of Toshi’s mouth tells him that his nervousness has been noticed.
Shit.
He hates it that Toshi can read him so easily. Hates it, hates it, hates it.
“Mmh. You look so beautiful, Tooru,” Toshi murmurs, brushing his thumb along Tooru’s bottom lip, making him shiver.
By reflex, Tooru snakes out his tongue and licks the thumb at his mouth.
Toshi’s smile widens a fraction, and he pushes it into Tooru’s mouth gently, giving permission.
Tooru hums slightly and his eyes fall closed on their own accord as he sucks at the thumb, savouring in the feeling of it in his mouth. He loves having his mouth full.
Toshi knows this. It is one of his favourite weaknesses to exploit. He pushes his thumb in and out of Tooru’s mouth, slowly, over and over, making Tooru moan and suck harder.
“It seems you are feeling very obedient today.”
Tooru opens his eyes and releases Toshi’s thumb with a wet smacking sound. “It’s your birthday, Wakatoshi-chan. I’m full of favours for you today.” He licks the tip of Toshi’s thumb playfully with his tongue and bats his eyelashes. “So... Would you like your birthday present now, or later?”
Toshi watches him, raising an amused eyebrow. “Both, Tooru. I will have you now, and later. But first...” His eyes flick towards the rectangular box next to Tooru on the bed. “Would you like me to put that on you?”
Tooru suppresses a shiver and nods.
Toshi stares at him, eyebrow still raised.
Tooru hesitates, nods again. “Yes.”
Toshi still stares at him.
Tooru closes his eyes briefly, fighting down his resistance. He wants this, so much. But to admit it out loud is hard. It feels icky and vulnerable. Finally, he says shakily, “Yes please, Wakatoshi. Please put your collar on me.”
“Mhm.” The pleased hum tells him his petition has been accepted. “Pick up the box and open it for me.”
Tooru fumbles for the box and bends the hinges open, presenting the black leather collar on its velvet bed. The silver padlock sits to one side, unused since the last time since they have been together. Tooru is allowed to wear the collar in private when he feels the need, but only Toshi is allowed to lock and unlock it.
Toshi picks up the collar and looks at him expectantly.
Tooru leans forward and bends his head, brushing his hair out of the way and presenting his neck.
The collar feels so soft against his skin as it slides into place around his neck. Tooru jumps slightly when Toshi fastens the buckle and runs his finger along the inside lining, checking the tightness. Then the lock clicks into its place in the eyelet of the buckle.
”There, safe and sound.” Toshi’s voice is a low, pleased rumble. “Good boy.”
Tooru shivers violently and his thighs clench together. His diaphragm contracts and he exhales softly.
Those words.
They light up his whole brain like a Christmas tree.
There’s a noise like a chuckle and he feels Toshi’s large hand combing softly through his hair, then take a gentle grip and guide his head upright again. The steel ring at his throat makes a soft ‘tink’ as it settles into its mounting.
Tooru’s eyes fly upwards, unbidden, to meet Toshi’s steady, incisive gaze. It is studying him. Measuring. Assessing.
He holds the gaze steadily, knowing he has to pass this test.
Fuck.
The edges of his world are already going a little blurry. He’s sinking fast, and he can’t even bring himself to fight back.
Fuck Ushijima Wakatoshi and his fucking collar. He blinks slowly, trying to focus his vision.
“Already so pliant. So ready for me.”
He clenches his teeth against the moan, but a little noise still escapes from the back of his throat. Oh god, he hates how needy he is, that just a few of this man’s words can already do this to him. He wants it, he wants it, he wants it, he doesn’t know what but oh god he wants it.
But he would rather die than beg.
Not yet, anyway.
Not yet.
The hand gripping his hair lifts up and his body follows, unfolds like a marionette and comes to standing, if a little unsteady. When the grip releases, Tooru has to remind his neck muscles to hold his head up by themselves.
“Strip.”
Tooru blinks slowly again, the command taking a moment longer than normal to register and trigger the appropriate response. His fingers start to fumble with the button of his jeans, managing to undo it after a moment and deal with the zipper too, so he can slide them off and his socks along with them. His favourite cashmere cardigan follows, then he comes against the obstacle of his button-down shirt. He frowns, concentrates. Eventually, his fingers remember how to accomplish the task and he manages to undo all the buttons, letting the shirt slip down his shoulders and arms.
There’s an amused chuckle. He frowns, confused as to what’s funny.
“Underwear too, little one.”
There’s a hand ruffling his hair and Tooru jerks his head aside a little, frown deepening. He hesitates.
His cock is very, very hard already.
Taking off his underwear will reveal that and make it obvious how much Toshi is affecting him. But on the other hand, being obedient might mean that Toshi will allow him to touch himself as a reward. Maybe. There’s no way to know.
He wants to touch himself. He needs to.
Fuck, he’s so horny. Fuck Ushijima Wakatoshi and his fucking collar!
He slides off his boxer briefs, his cock standing to attention, already leaking. He scowls and doesn’t meet Toshi’s eyes.
“Look at me, Tooru.”
Tooru’s slightly hazy gaze snaps up to meet those steady, all-seeing eagle’s eyes before his conscious brain can argue with the command.
Toshi is smiling subtly at him. He slips a finger into the ring of Tooru’s collar and uses it to pull him in and up into a kiss. It is a good kiss. Deep. Consuming. Warm. Soft. It makes him whine and he doesn’t quite know why. It goes on and on, tongues stroking and licking, teeth nibbling at each other. He can feel his breath come faster and his pulse hammer in his neck.
When he is released, he can barely focus his eyes. His lips are wet, and he is breathing through his open mouth.
“Oh god, Tooru... I’ve missed you so much...” Toshi’s voice is rough. His hands seem so much bigger than they should be, gently holding Tooru’s head still while his lips brush kisses over his eyelids and forehead.
“Mhm.” Tooru’s hand comes up to grip tightly into Toshi’s shirt, wanting to have, to hold, but finds that there is no shirt, only bare skin, so falls down to the towel at Toshi’s waist and pulls slightly.
“Do you want me in your mouth, Tooru?” The murmur is warm in his ear, and it triggers another all-over shiver down his body.
Goosebumps rise on his arms. He makes a noise. It is needy and filthy. A small part of him is ashamed of it. The greater part of him is beyond caring. Fuck Toshi and his delicious, suckable cock that he wants in his mouth so badly he can already taste it.
“Kneel.” He feels gentle pressure on his shoulders, guiding him down to the thick, shaggy rug on his bedroom floor. His bedroom. Where Toshi is. Where he is about to let Tooru worship his cock. There is a brief sensation of vertigo as he comes to rest on his knees.
Toshi is here. Thank god, Toshi is here. Everything will be alright now.
His hand reaches out and tangles in the fabric of the towel next to Toshi’s ankle, clinging on.
A hand comes to caress through his hair. “I’ll be right there. Let go for a second.”
Tooru frowns, unwilling.
“It’s alright, little one. I won’t be long.”
Tooru frowns deeper, but makes himself let go.
Toshi moves around him, picking up clothes from the floor, folding them neatly, placing them on the chair in the corner of the room. It doesn’t make any sense, but Tooru is beyond caring. He is sinking into a warm, soft space where reasons are no longer needed, only commands and obedience.
Toshi returns, comes to sit on the edge of the bed. “Come here.”
Tooru crawls over, coming to kneel between Toshi’s knees. The towel is in the way. Why is the towel in the way? He wants it gone. But some part of him knows he is not allowed to touch it until he is told to. So he doesn’t, and waits.
Bites his lip.
Waits.
“Tell me you colour and your safeword.”
He blinks, frowns. Words, he needs the words. He mustn’t lie. They are important words. He summons them from some place a long way off. “Cuervos verdes.”
There’s a chuckle. “Almost. Try again.”
His frown deepens. They were the right words, he’s sure. He says them again, slowly so Toshi can understand. “Crows. Green... crows.”
“That’s better. Well done.” Something is placed in his hand. It is smooth and cool. It tinkles like a bell.
Toshi lifts Tooru’s head up by his chin and gazes down into his eyes. “Let it fall if you want to stop. Do you understand?”
Tooru nods. Fall. Stop.
“Good. Now, fold your hands behind your back. Use your teeth to pull aside the towel.”
Finally.
Eagerly, he clasps one hand around his other wrist behind his back and leans forward, at the same time gripping the towel gently with his teeth, pulling at it. He has to repeat the process a few times, until he finds the right spot that makes the tuck at Toshi’s waist give way and the fluffy fabric falls away, revealing his reward.
It looks so good. He wants it. So much. So, so much. He can taste it. He makes a little eager noise, shifting his weight forward and opening his mouth and—
“—Ah! Stop, Tooru.”
He freezes, tongue out, half-way to Toshi’s cock. He wobbles a little, finding his balance, the hands he’d use to catch himself locked behind his back. His gaze shifts up cautiously, waiting to be released.
Toshi is staring down at him. His eyes are luminous, all-seeing, all encompassing. They pin him, hold him still.
A hand comes to cup his face. A thumb strokes over his lips, slips into his mouth. Pushes down slightly on his bottom teeth, opening his jaw up wider, brushing over his tongue.
“Say please.”
Tooru hesitates and frowns, confused and a little discomfited. His mouth is open. How is he supposed to speak?
“It’s alright, Tooru. Say please.”
It’s alright. Toshi said it’s alright. His eyes are there, watching over him, holding him safe. Everything will be alright.
“Please?” Tooru says. Or tries to say. What comes out is not the correct sound and it feels wrong. Embarrassing. Humiliating.
“That’s it. Good boy.” The smile on Toshi’s face is a balm, washing away the uncomfortable feeling. Tooru feels himself trying to smile back, though his mouth is still being held open by gentle fingers. Then the fingers are gone, releasing him.
“You may, Tooru. Suck it for me.”
Release. Hands clenching behind his back, Tooru leans forward and takes Toshi’s cock into his mouth, closing his eyes and humming with pleasure.
It tastes so good. Warm and smooth and comforting. So much him. Oh god, he has missed this. Wanted it, dreamed of it for six months, since the last time he was allowed this privilege.
He sets to work, using his tongue to explore the smooth head, gently running the tip along the ridge and the slit.
Exploring.
Tasting.
Revelling.
Toshi laces a hand through his hair and sighs quietly.
Tooru licks and sucks, softly. Works his way down the shaft and back up, returns to the head and lavishes it with attention, and then travels down again. Over and over. Slowly. Hypnotised. Immersed in his own little corner of heaven. There is no time, only his full mouth and the deep, peaceful emptiness in his head.
After a long time, or no time at all, the fingers laced in his hair tighten slightly and start to guide him. He follows willingly. Or rather, follows without any will of his own, because there is no longer any need to have one, because Toshi is there, and he will choose. Everything will be alright.
The pace increases slowly. Steadily. So does the depth. It feels so good. His mouth keeps getting fuller and fuller. His head is being held still and Toshi’s cock glides in and out of his mouth smoothly, going deep into his throat each time.
At some point, something catches and his breathing stutters. He coughs and tears leak out of his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.
Everything is alright.
The movement slows. Stills.
“Breathe through your nose, little one.”
He obeys. Inhales through his nose, once, twice. His throat unlocks and relaxes.
“Good boy. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”
A benediction.
A blessing.
A warm golden feeling floods from his stomach to his groin so abruptly that it makes him moan loudly, his hips jerk and his legs clenched together, leaving wetness over his thighs and abdomen.There’s a pause. “Tooru... You like it that much?” Fingers caress his hair and his jaw. “God, you’re so perfect for me.”
The cock in his mouth starts moving again, gliding smoothly in and out, shallow at first and then deeper and deeper. Warm hands cradle the sides of his head in an immovable grip. He is held, safe, contained, surrendered to the ineffable rhythm and will of him.
Everything is alright.
“Mmh... You feel so good...!”
The speed increases again. Abruptly, the back of his throat is stretched and filled, triggering him to swallow. And swallow, and swallow. He can’t breathe.
“Fuck!”
He can feel something pour down the back of his throat, and reflex makes him flinch his head away. The grip on his head tightens like a vice and holds him completely still. He still can’t breathe.
A tiny sliver of panic edges through the deep, warm emptiness in his head. Some impulse fires and the muscles in his neck jerk again. This time, the grip on his head releases and he breaks free, gasping in a reflexive breath. Then another, and another. It feels good.
He can’t find his hands. They are not where they should be to balance him, and so he tilts slowly sideways and down towards the soft rug. He doesn’t mind. Lying down would be nice.
Arms catch him, lift him like he weighs nothing. Probably because he is floating.
Kisses bloom on his cheeks, his temples, his neck, and in his hair. They tickle. Then there is softness. Pillows. A smooth, round thing that tinkles taken from his hand. Something warm wiping down his abdomen, thighs and crotch, making him squirm a little. A blanket thrown over him. Warmth.
His throat hurts, but it’s alright. Toshi is here and everything is alright.
“Here, sit up and have a sip, little one.”
An arm behind his back pushes him upright and there is liquid at his lips. He frowns and tries to see what it is, but his eyes won’t open.
“Swallow.”
He obeys. It is cool water, and it tastes amazing. At some point, he relocates his hands and grips the bottle of water, drinking greedily until it is all gone. The bottle disappears again.
“Well done. Do you need anything else? Bathroom?”
His eyes reopen unexpectedly and he blinks, trying to focus. Toshi is looking down at him.
He frowns. Shakes his head. No. Not right now. Right now, all he wants is to be where it’s warm and soft and where Toshi is and he doesn’t want to move.
“Alright. Tell me when, then.” The arm behind his back pulls him in and cradles him close into the familiar shoulder where he belongs. He shifts until he is settled in and closes his eyes again, inhaling the familiar scent and sighing deeply.
“I love you, Tooru.”
His hand curls briefly closed in response, fingertips brushing warm skin.
Notes:
Tooru's ownership of a classic car was inspired by this image (artist sadly unknown, I've searched and I cannot find the original) and also the genuinely large classic car scene in Argentina :)
Chapter 16
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tooru sleeps.
At some point, he wakes up, staggers half-conscious to the bathroom and back, then curls once more into the warm, solid mass of Toshi sleeping deeply under the covers.
Sleeps again.
Blinks awake, woken by sunlight filtering in through the windows. He forgot to draw the curtains.
There’s something soft but unyielding at his neck. His collar. He is still wearing his collar. Warmth floods through him and he smiles, looking across at the person who put it on him. Toshi is fast asleep, dead to the world. His thick, straight eyebrows make him look like he is scowling in his sleep.
Carefully, so as not to wake him, Tooru climbs out of bed and pulls the curtains, blocking out the light so that hopefully Toshi can stay asleep for another hour or so. He throws on some warm, comfy clothes against the morning chill, picks up his phone from the nightstand, then silently closes the bedroom door and pads to the kitchen.
His throat is sore, like he is about to get a cold. He smiles. God, he loves it when Ushijima Wakatoshi fucks his throat. Memories from last night filter through the haze and make him tingle all over. He makes himself a soothing chamomile tea with honey, still smiling.
While he sips carefully on the too-hot drink, he checks his emails on his phone. There are many. Wedding organisation is the worst.
Instead of struggling on with the small screen, he gets out his laptop and sets to work. He makes a quiet phone call to confirm an order, processes several credit card payments, and replies to texts and emails from guests confirming arrival dates and times. He double-checks hotel bookings and airport transfers. Seeing the names on the bookings feels surreal.
After more than an hour of this, he realises he is hungry.
While he is in the middle of cooking, Toshi shuffles in from the bedroom, stands behind him and enfolds him in a wordless hug. In his kitchen. Not some impersonal hotel room, somewhere in the world. His kitchen. In his apartment.
It’s still weird. But so, so nice.
“Hey you,” Tooru says, voice a little croaky. “Sleep alright?”
“Mhm.”
“Breakfast’s almost ready.”
“Mhm.” The arms tighten slightly.
“Get off me.” He laughs and gives a playful shove with his shoulder, reaching for plates and cutlery.
Toshi unfolds himself and shuffles back into the bedroom to get dressed.
When he reemerges, breakfast is ready and waiting: two fluffy omelettes, crusty bread with butter and dulce de leche, and of course, coffee. With extra sugar and milk for Toshi in case he wants to try it.
They start eating in comfortable silence.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Toshi asks, after a while.
“Fine.” Tooru throws him a happy grin. “Sore throat, but so worth it. It’s already fading.”
“Good.” Toshi nods, satisfied. Another silence. “You were incredible last night, Tooru. The perfect birthday present. Thank you.”
Tooru’s grin morphs into a genuine smile at the praise. “It felt incredible. My brain hasn’t melted that fast in such a long time. I thought it was going to come dripping out of my ears.”
Toshi chuckles a little under his breath. “Yeah. You went under almost as soon as I put the collar on you.”
Tugging absently at the steel ring at his throat, Tooru keeps smiling and shrugs. All the words he could say right now would be way too sappy, and he doesn’t want to spoil the light, comfy atmosphere.
They keep eating. Toshi’s omelette has already vanished, and he is on his second slice of thick toast.
“Why do you have a tattoo?” Toshi’s tone is even. Light. Curious.
Tooru freezes, mug of coffee half-way to his lips.
Oh shit.
He forgot. He totally and completely forgot.
Shit shit shit!
It feels like someone has dumped a bucket of icy water over him. He completely forgot about the small Argentinian flag sitting proudly on top of the five Olympic rings that now grace his left rib cage. The whole thing is no bigger than his thumb and he rarely notices it himself, but Toshi must have seen it last night.
“Oh… Um. That. I got it a couple of months ago.”
Toshi’s eyes flick up to his face, steady, incisive gaze piercing into him. “Why?”
Tooru’s tongue feels thick in his mouth. “It... was a spur-of-the moment thing, no big deal. I was feeling sentimental and wanted a... memento.”
“A memento?”
“Yeah, you know, to remember it all by.” He drops his eyes to his half-eaten omelette. Trying to change the subject, he asks, “Do you want to finish this? I’m full.” His appetite has evaporated.
“Mhm.”
Tooru doesn’t know if the hum is accepting his answer or the food. Hopefully both. He slides his plate over and Toshi starts eating again.
“You should have asked me for permission, Tooru.” It’s a statement. No anger, no accusation. Just fact.
Adrenaline shoots through his veins, warning sirens wail. Shields slam down, venomous words deploy themselves, missiles ready to be launched. It is instinctive, it is instant. “Oh, fuck off! It’s barely big enough to notice. I’m the one who has to live with it, not you. Don’t be an asshole about it!”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets them. The cosy atmosphere melts away like mist. The coffee in his mouth tastes sour. He desperately wants to reset time to three minutes ago.
Toshi just watches him impassively, completely impervious to his words. Infuriatingly calm.
It makes Tooru’s guilt and defensive rage burn even hotter. He wants to attack, to claw, to bite, to run away. Run away away away, anywhere but here, anywhere but where those calm, measuring eyes can see him. See into him. See the truth he’s so desperate to hide.
Abruptly, he stands up and grabs his plate and cutlery, taking them to the sink and slamming them down. He starts cleaning up the pan and utensils from cooking the omelettes, hands shaking. Why, why is he reacting like this? Everything was so perfect just a few minutes ago.
He knows he is in the wrong, but the adrenaline is driving him, demanding he attack, defend, fight, run. He desperately tries to claw back some calm.
Breathe.
He tries to summon the peaceful feeling from last night. The blessed emptiness in his head. The feeling of complete safety. Toshi, right there, making everything okay.
Toshi, who is sitting behind him now, in his kitchen, eating his food and watching him, making Tooru’s back crawl and shoulders curl into themselves with shame and self-loathing.
Why did he have to pick a fight? Why is he like this? He wants to cry. He won’t cry. He breathes instead. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
There’s a noise, the bar stool being pushed back and cutlery scraping against plate. Footsteps. The plate is deposited at his elbow on the bench, making him flinch, then warm arms slip around his waist. Toshi’s head comes to rest on his shoulder.
Oh god, it feels so good. Warm. Safe. The brew of chemicals still soaking his brain from last night send a tingle all the way down his spine, raising goosebumps on his arms. He won’t cry, he won’t cry!
“I’m not angry, Tooru. And I wouldn’t have said no, if you had asked me for permission and explained why you wanted it. It feels like this means a lot to you.”
Fucking understatement of the century. He laughs weakly. Or is it a sob. Shit, why does he always cry? Pathetic.
He fights down the hot, stinging tears rising in his eyes and nose and breathes through the constriction in his throat. Finally, he says, “I hate you, Ushijima Wakatoshi. Why did you have to go and ruin a perfectly nice breakfast? Everything was so cosy until you opened your big fat mouth.” He turns around, buries his face in Toshi’s jumper and inhales deeply.
The arms tighten around him. Toshi’s voice is a deep rumble in his chest that reverberates under his cheek. “I know. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
Tooru nods once, frowning into the fabric. Apology accepted. He pushes at Toshi’s waist, making him step backwards slightly. “Let me go, you big brute. Go sit on the couch, I’ll finish the dishes and make more coffee. Or do you want tea?”
“Mhm. Tea, please. Green.” Toshi brushes a kiss on his forehead and steps away, taking his warm arms with him. Their absence hurts so much that Tooru has to close his eyes for a second. Footsteps leave the kitchen and disappear into the living room.
Tooru turns back to the sink and focuses very hard on cleaning the pan, controlling his breathing. He lets his body run through the chores mindlessly, fighting to regain his equilibrium. He’s an adult, he has to be able to have adult conversations. He’s getting fucking married in less than five days, get it fucking together!
Focus.
Breathe.
He brews a pot of Genmaicha and carries it, along with two matching little mugs, into the living room.
Toshi isn’t sitting on the couch, he’s standing in front of the bookshelf, looking at the trophies and medals lined up on the top shelf: Several years’ worth of Liga Serie A1 gold trophies for CA San Juan, five seasons’ Most Valuable Player medals, and two framed, gold-stamped and embossed certificates from the Argentine Volleyball Federation awarding him Setter Of The Year for 2019 and 2020.
“Where is your medal?”
Tooru flinches. Luckily he has just placed the pot of tea down on the coffee table, so nothings pills.
Fuck Ushijima Wakatoshi and his freakish attention to detail.
Tooru decides to play dumb to play for time. He lets himself fall on the couch and takes a cushion into his lap, cradling it to his chest. “Which one?”
Toshi turns around and raises an eyebrow at him. “Your Olympic bronze medal, Tooru.”
Fuck him!
“I... had to get it cleaned.” It’s the lamest of lame lies and he doesn’t even know why he said it.
Toshi stares at him flatly, giving him the look he deserves. Then he walks to the couch and sits down next to Tooru, rotating him and draping his legs over his lap.
Toshi, on his couch. Not some hotel room couch. His couch. In his living room. It feels so comfortable. So safe. So home.
Tooru sighs, admitting defeat. “I put it away. I didn’t want to look at it anymore.”
“Why?”
And there it is.
The elephant in the room that he has been so desperately hiding for nearly a year.
How does he even begin to explain? Where to start? Can he even explain? It feels like such an overwhelming mountain of feelings, knotted and tangled and insurmountable.
He pulls his legs up and wraps his arms around them, pillow between his knees and his chest.
Toshi leans forward and pours them each a little mug of tea, hands one to Tooru. Sips his. Looks at Tooru, exhales softly. “Why did you get that tattoo, Tooru? And why is seeing your medal making you sad?
Tooru cradles the hot mug, inhaling the steam, and stares down at his socked feet. Trying to find the words to begin.
Silence stretches. Minutes pass.
Toshi places a large, warm hand on his ankle. “Try starting at the beginning, Tooru. When did it start?”
“Paris.” It’s out of his mouth before he can think better of it. “Since Paris.”
“Mhm. Because you lost out in the preliminaries?”
Tooru nods but can’t bring himself to say any more.
Toshi looks at him thoughtfully, then down at his tea. “That night, on our anniversary. You said that you had lost your last chance at ever winning another medal. I didn’t read too much into it at the time because you were very upset. But you meant it, didn’t you?” His voice is quiet. Sad.
Tooru closes his eyes and nods. “Yeah.”
“You’re not planning on competing in L.A.” It is a statement, not a question.
“Yeah.” Tooru says again. It comes out as barely a whisper.
“Why, Tooru?” There’s a trace of emotion in Toshi’s voice.
“We’ll be thirty-four in 2028, Toshi. Most athletes retire at thirty-five.” He looks out of the living room window, trying to reign in his emotions. Articulate the mess of thoughts roiling around in his head. “And they’re coming for us! The Kageyamas and Hinatas of this world. Well, not them, but young, brilliant players just like they were. Just starting out, hungry and desperate to prove themselves.”
Toshi looks at him levelly. “That means you still have three more years to work hard and beat them. I know you, Tooru. You never back down from a fight like this. So if you wanted to, I know you would get selected again. They will never overlook someone with your abilities and experience. You are your team’s backbone.”
Tooru sighs and closes his eyes, shaking his head in frustration. Why is this so hard to communicate? “Toshi... I could, yes. If I really had to. But...”
“But what?” Toshi’s voice is gentle but insistent.
He has to say it. There’s no way not to say it. He forces the words out of his mouth. “My contract with San Juan is up for renewal at the end of the year.”
“Oh.” Toshi’s face falls as the pieces click into place. “You’re... not going to renew?”
He shakes his head sadly. Whispers, “No.”
“You’re planning on going somewhere else.”
“I asked my agent to look around for opportunities in Europe for me.”
“Europe!” Toshi’s eyes light up with interest. “Where in Europe?”
“Germany.”
“That’s excellent, Tooru! I’m so proud of you.” Toshi nods admiringly, pleased. “The Bundesliga has some great teams, they’re very strong. Which one are you thinking of, Berlin?”
Tooru grits his teeth and forces himself to strike the blow. “I wouldn’t be... playing there, Toshi,” he says softly.
Toshi blinks. “Not... playing? Why? What else could you be doing there besides playing?”
“Teaching. The German Volleyball Federation has offered me a job as a Youth Development Coach at their main training facility in Frankfurt.” It comes out in a rush, as if he can’t wait to get rid of the words from his mouth.
Toshi blinks again. He looks completely wrong-footed. Eventually, he says, “But you don’t speak German.”
Tooru almost laughs. Almost. “I wouldn’t be the only international staff member there, Toshi. The language of instruction is English. And besides, I already speak three languages, one more isn’t going to kill me.”
“But.” Toshi frowns. His jaw tightens as his brain finally catches up with what Tooru is telling him. “You wouldn’t be playing volleyball anymore. You love playing volleyball. You live for it.” He pauses, searching Tooru’s face, trying to understand. “Why? Why not stay here? Why not renew with San Juan and keep playing?”
And there it is. The heart of the issue. The thing he has been wrestling with for the better part of a year. He closes his eyes and wills himself to finally say it. “Yeah, I love it. And I could easily renew and stay here. But... I.” He stumbles over the words, forces himself to breathe. “I want to live in the same timezone as you, Toshi. I’m so, so sick of only seeing you every six months. Of having to fly halfway across the world every time. If I take this job, then we’ll have a two-hour flight to see each other, not thirty-six.”
Toshi stares at him, face gone blank. He has completely stopped breathing.
A sick feeling floods the pit of Tooru’s stomach. His heart starts thumping wildly and cold sweat makes his skin feel clammy. This is awful. Why is this so awful? He just wants to curl up and cry. Instead, he forces himself to take a sip of his tea. Focuses on the sensation of the hot liquid in his mouth.
After several long moments, Toshi whispers, “You want to stop playing because of me? You want to give up on the Olympics and your pro volleyball career.... because of me?”
Give up.
The words explode in Tooru’s face like a grenade. The shrapnel shreds the tenderest, most vulnerable part of his heart, making his shoulders hunch forward and his jaw clench from the impact.
Give up!
The one thing he has never, ever allowed himself to do. All those years, all those desperate, lonely, hard years, working his way slowly up to the pinnacle of his sport. Fighting tooth and nail for survival, for recognition, for his place in the world. Working himself to the point of utter exhaustion. Never once giving himself any mercy. Never allowing himself to give up.
Suddenly, he feels ice-cold and totally calm. “Fuck you, Ushijima Wakatoshi.” His voice is totally level, every syllable precisely pronounced. “Fuck. You. How dare you say that to me.” His voice drops down to a snarl. “When have I ever given up?”
Abruptly, he can’t stand being in this room anymore. He gets off the couch and walks quietly, calmly towards the front door of his apartment. He has to get out of here before he loses his shit. Get out, go anywhere but here. Run, run away from this asshole who doesn’t understand anything at all.
As he stands up from putting on his running shoes, a hand grips his wrist like a vice. He stops but doesn’t look back.
“I’m sorry, Tooru. I didn’t mean it that way.”
He’s silent, too furious to say anything.
Something heavy and flat presses into his hand. “Take your phone. Please don’t go too far. I’ll wait for you here.” Then the hand releases his wrist, and two large, warm arms crush him tightly. There’s a whisper at his temple. “Itterasshai.”
Tooru closes his eyes briefly, but stays still and doesn’t move. Eventually, the arms withdraw.
Freed, he stalks to the front door, grabs his keys and walks out without looking back.
~*~
He steps outside into the street. The rays of the sun are warm, but the chill wind steals any heat as soon as he steps out of its light.
Slipping his keys in his pocket, Tooru falls into a light jog, heading down the street in his usual route, just because he has no idea what else to do and is too angry to work it out.
With each flowing step, there is a soft thunk-thunk of metal at his throat. The steel ring of his collar is thudding into breastbone.
Shit.
His collar.
He left the house with his fucking collar still on.
Damn it! How could he have forgotten such a basic thing?
Self-consciously, he zips up the jacket of his tracksuit all the way to the top, letting the fabric stand up around his neck to hide the leather underneath. Even so, he can’t go far. So much for going for a run.
Fuck!
He could go back to his apartment and ask to unlock it, but he can’t because then he would have to look at Ushijima fucking Wakatoshi and talk to him and he’d rather die.
How dare he say something so fucking insensitive! Tooru isn’t giving up! As if he would ever, ever give up. Not like that. Not now, not ever. He’s fighting for them! Why can’t Toshi see that this is the only way for them to be together? Yes, it fucking sucks, but he’s making this choice for them, for the good of their relationship.
Why isn’t Toshi grateful? He should be on his knees kissing Tooru’s feet in gratitude, not telling him he’s fucking giving up.
Fuming quietly, Tooru walks down the road, his feet automatically taking the path to his favourite café a few blocks towards down-town.
His phone rings. He almost ignores it. What if it’s Toshi? He doesn’t want to talk to him right now. Maybe not ever again. But a glance at the screen tells him it’s the wedding photographer.
Urgh. Great fucking timing!
He swipes and accepts the call. There are many questions about the locations, the lighting, the general style and theme of the photos. He tries his best to reign in the edge in his tone, but eventually he cuts the woman off mid-sentence as she waffles on about some minor detail about post-production editing he really doesn’t fucking care about and just tells her to use her own best judgement.
At the café, he sits at his favourite table and orders his favourite coffee, as well as a pastry because he fucking wants one and nobody can stop him. He swipes angrily through the dozens of emails from suppliers and the hotel’s venue manager, replies where needed. Why can’t these people just all be professional and do their jobs? Why does he have to decide everything?
He calls the florist and confirms the order of boutonnieres, table arrangements and bouquets. On a spur of the moment, he asks for camellias and hydrangeas alongside the chrysanthemums.
Just when he finishes his coffee, the PR rep of CA San Juan calls, asking if she can set up some media interviews for them. The dream wedding of two international Olympic volleyball stars is big news and the country’s premier newspaper is interested in running a full-page spread of photos alongside an interview.
Oh, Toshi will hate that. Tooru grins evilly and agrees to everything. After all, Toshi was the one that wanted to go public with their relationship and announce it to the world, so he can suck it up. When the confirmation email pings into his inbox, he adds the interviews into his diary for the coming days.
It’s going to be insanely busy, wall to wall with wedding cake tastings, meeting the celebrant to discuss the ceremony, venue inspections and rehearsals, as well as greeting and entertaining guests arriving from overseas. He’s tired just thinking about it.
He sighs. His coffee is finished, and so is his pastry. He checks the time. Early afternoon.
Hopefully Toshi has found the left-over Pollo al Disco in the fridge and had lunch. He should go back and—but he doesn’t want to go back. Not yet. Not when he doesn’t know what to say to make Toshi understand. He isn’t giving up. The opposite of that. He’s fighting for them! He’s giving it everything he has, sacrificing everything so they can have their best shot at happiness. How can Toshi not see that? This is the best thing for them. For their relationship. Surely he could see that if he just stopped being so colossally thick-headed for two seconds and used his brain.
He sighs again. Gets up, pays at the counter and wanders aimlessly through the streets for a while, not sure where else to go. That damn collar around his neck! If a paparazzo sees it, he is dead meat. Safest to go home, even though he doesn’t really want to. But Toshi is probably worried.
Guilt is creeping in, smothering the smouldering anger that has burned itself down to glowing embers in his gut. He’s an adult, and yet he just ran away from an argument like some immature child. Not good enough. He should’ve done better. He needs to do better. Otherwise this will all be for nothing.
Slowly, reluctantly, he heads back towards his apartment.
When he unlocks the front door and lets himself in, it’s dark and quiet. Odd. Maybe Toshi went out for a run himself?
He walks into the kitchen and sees a neatly washed plate and some cutlery in the drying rack. So Toshi did find the Pollo. Good.
In the living room, Toshi is asleep on the couch. On Tooru’s couch. In his living room. In his apartment. In his home town. For however much longer that is, before he has to give it all up and move away.
A knot of complicated feelings aches in Tooru’s chest.
Toshi’s reading glasses have gone slightly askew on his nose and a thick, boring-looking book is lying on the coffee table. His phone is resting on his stomach. He must have been looking at it when he fell asleep. Maybe waiting for a text.
Tooru walks over, picks up Toshi’s long, outstretched legs and lets himself fall down on the cushions, draping them back down over his lap. “Tadaima.”
Toshi starts awake, his eyes snapping to Tooru’s face. Something tense in him relaxes. Quietly, he says, “Okaeri.”
Neither of them speaks for several long moments.
“You had lunch.” Tooru nods towards the kitchen.
“Mhm.” Toshi nods. “You?”
“Just coffee. Wanted to go for a run, but forgot about this thing.” Grimacing with irritation, he unzips his jacket, revealing the collar around his neck. “So I couldn’t really go far.”
Toshi’s eyebrows rise all the way up his forehead in surprise. He laughs quietly, then bends abruptly forward and catches Tooru around his shoulders, pulling him down and forward until he is lying on top of him, held in place awkwardly by crushing arms.
“I’m so glad,” Toshi whispers into his hair. “I’m so, so glad you didn’t run far.”
The sheer relief in his voice makes Tooru’s heart stutter. The snarky protest at being manhandled and held in a vice-grip dies on his lips. Instead, he inhales deeply, soaking in Toshi’s scent.
“I’m sorry for upsetting you, Tooru,” Toshi says quietly after a moment. “That was the completely wrong thing to say, and I’m so sorry. Thank you for telling me what’s been on your mind all this time. I know that took a lot of courage to say.”
Tooru lets the apology float in the space between them for a little while, feeling it settle slowly. His anger, which was cooling on the walk back to apartment, sinks back to the bottom of his mind, cold and spent. “Hm,” he grumbles quietly, rearranging his limbs so that they slot together with Toshi’s a little less awkwardly.
Wordlessly, Toshi loops two of his fingers into the steel ring on Tooru’s collar and leaves them there.
They lie there for a while, just feeling each other breathe.
Eventually, Toshi asks, “Do you want to keep talking, or do you want to drop it for now? We will come back to it later if you want a break.”
It’s a tempting offer. Just let the whole thing blow over. It’s no big deal. Maybe Toshi will forget about it and then they won’t have to fight about it and everything will be fine.
But it won’t be. Because Toshi never lets anything drop. Not until it is resolved to his satisfaction. He’s doggedly relentless that way, just as he is in every other aspect of his life. He does not stop until the thing is done.
And also, today is the only day of peace they have left before the chaos of the wedding really descends on them. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the rest of the week is packed full with appointments and social engagements, culminating in The Day itself. The next time they will have to themselves is the first day of their honeymoon.
So, maybe it’s best if they deal with it now.
He really doesn’t want to. But maybe, just maybe, if Toshi keeps holding him like this, it won’t be so bad. Maybe they won’t have to fight. Maybe they can just... talk. He sighs softly. “No, it’s okay. I’m... okay now.”
“Mhm.” Toshi’s acknowledgement rumbles through his chest under Tooru’s cheek. He doesn’t say anything else, and they fall silent again.
“Sorry for running away,” Tooru mumbles very, very quietly, after a while.
A hand runs through his hair. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for running away, Tooru. You’re allowed to have space when you need it.”
“Hrm.” He doesn’t quite believe that. Guilt pricks at him. Softly, he asks, “But doesn’t it piss you off?” Pauses, considers. “It would piss me off.”
Toshi is quiet for a moment. “It’s hard, yes. But you always come back, Tooru. So I choose to trust you.”
If Toshi’s earlier words were a grenade, then these are one too, but in reverse. They are just as devastating, but instead of shredding Tooru’s heart to pieces, they pull it back together again, as if they were in some backwards quantum universe where shattered teacups jump back on to the table, fully formed and whole.
He has to hold his breath and grit his teeth to fight down the flood of tears stinging in his eyes and nose.
Breathe.
He breathes.
Toshi’s body underneath him is so warm.
“Can I ask you something, Tooru?” Toshi’s hand strokes up and down his back, unhurried, almost absent-mindedly.
“Mh?”
“Why have you been carrying this all alone for so long? We talk every week for hours, but you’ve never told me about any of this before. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Toshi’s voice is pitched quiet and low. Calm. Curious, not accusatory at all. But the question still makes Tooru’s hackles rise. He tries to keep his own voice even, but it’s a close thing. “Because you never tell me what’s going on with you either, Toshi. Getting you to tell me what you’re thinking and feeling is like getting blood from a stone. It’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes!”
Toshi doesn’t say anything. Only his arms tighten a fraction around Tooru’s shoulders.
The little movement makes Tooru feel the tiniest bit guilty for already getting defensive. All of a sudden, he feels tired and sad. “Do you know how hard it is to admit that I’m questioning my entire life and I don’t know what to do to someone who always has everything under control, who is never anxious, and who always knows exactly what they’re doing?”
Toshi exhales a long, slow breath. “Tooru… I’m not a brick wall. I feel things. I’m… I’m not perfect. I don’t always have everything under control. I get scared, I get anxious. Mostly about you.”
“Then why don’t you ever tell me that? Why am I the only one that has to bear their soul? It makes me feel like shit to dump all my stuff on to you, when you don’t ever tell me how you’re feeling. It’s unfair! This is supposed to be an equal relationship.”
There’s a long silence between them.
Eventually, Toshi sits up, shifting so that Tooru is sitting in his lap. Quietly, he says, “But it’s not an equal relationship, Tooru. By definition. The contract we both signed says explicitly that I hold power over you.” He looks down at him intently. “That collar around your neck means that you belong to me. I am responsible for you; for your well-being and your happiness. What kind of guardian would I be if I gave you my worries to carry? That would be an abuse of my power.”
“But...!” Tooru looks back at him, appalled. “That’s... That’s awful! Who’s going to be there for you, then? Am I just supposed to just rely on you the whole time, without ever pulling my own weight? That’s insane! I’m not okay with this at all. It didn’t say that in our contract, I’m sure of it. I read the whole fucking thing this time, and nowhere did it say that.”
“It doesn’t say that, Tooru,” Toshi shakes his head, looking uncomfortable. “But it’s my duty. That’s what is expected of me.”
“By who?” Tooru throws up his hands, glaring at him. “I don’t expect that from you! I hate it! I don’t want you to suffer like that. And I don’t need you to coddle me like that, either! Don’t you dare treat me like I’m fucking weak! Don’t you dare lecture me about telling you what’s on my mind, when you’re doing the exact same thing! You’re being a fucking hypocrite!”
Toshi stares at him, speechless and unhappy.
Tooru holds his gaze angrily, not backing down.
Eventually, Toshi drops his eyes and looks away out of the window, frowning deeply.
Something about the movement makes all the fight drain out of Tooru. He’s never seen Toshi back down like that.
A tiny part of him wants to apologise, to say sorry for yelling and calling him a brick wall and a hypocrite and just take it all back. But he can’t, and he won’t, because he’s right.
And also because, in being right about this, he has successfully deflected the conversation away from the real issue at the heart of all of this: making the decision to leave San Juan and moving to Germany so they can be closer together.
It’s still the right thing to do, Tooru is certain of it. Someone has to make the call, and it has to be him.
So why does he feel so brokenhearted?
He rubs his face with his hands, then checks the time: 3:30PM. Shit. The day’s almost over. Their last day of peace before the wedding mayhem kicks off in earnest.
He reaches out and pokes Toshi’s leg, offering a truce. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get out of here and get some food. I’m starving, and I bet you could eat again too, bottomless pit that you are.”
Toshi turns back from staring blankly out of the window to look at him, then nods once. “Mhm.”
The acceptance of his truce makes Tooru feel a little better. With a sigh, he gets up and heads to the bedroom to get changed, trying to decide which of his favourite local eateries Toshi would like most.
Notes:
On the meaning of ‘Itterasshai’:
More than just a goodbye, ‘itterasshai’ harks back to a time when words held magical power. In traditional Japanese belief, spoken words could influence fate, and so each word was chosen with care. This phrase, with its emphasis on returning, was imbued with the fervent hope that the departing loved one would find their way back safely. [...] Saying ‘itterasshai’ acknowledges the importance of the outgoing person's journey, wishing them well on their path. It's a way of saying, “I'll be here waiting for you, holding the space warm until you return.”
From: "Itterasshai": A Tiny Phrase with a Big Heart in Japanese Culture
Chapter Text
As expected, the next few days are too frantically busy to find any more time to talk.
Guests start flying in from Japan, among them many of Toshi’s former and current team mates from the Adlers and National teams: Bokuto and his partner Akaashi, Kageyama and Hinata, and Hoshiumi and his latest girlfriend. Satori arrives a day later, looking tired and grey after a marathon flight from Paris. Tooru’s parents, his sister and his nephew Takeru arrive on the same flight as Iwaizumi with his wife Naoko and their two kids. Finally, Toshi’s dad Utsui-san arrives close to midnight on the third day, and he is the only one that Tooru insists on picking up in person, rather than allowing the hotel to arrange an airport transfer.
Two days before the ceremony, they host a dinner at their hotel for all the international guests, to thank them for travelling tens of thousands of miles to be here and to give them time to catch up properly, because there will be no way to have an actual meaningful conversation during the wedding reception itself.
The dinner is loud, cheerful and rambunctious, with many hugs, laughs, and much small talk about volleyball and how much long-distance flights suck. Having Bokuto, Hinata and Hoshiumi sitting at one table together is like sitting next to a blaring radio with a broken volume knob, so after all the food is finished Akaashi and Kageyama shepherd them to the hotel’s bar, for which Tooru is quietly grateful.
Once the volume level has returned to normal and Nao-chan has taken the children upstairs to bed, Toshi, Iwa-chan and Satori sit together at one end of the table and talk quietly, while Tooru sits next to his sister and his beaming parents while they recount embarrassing childhood anecdotes about him to Utsui-san.
All in all, Tooru and Toshi put on a good show. They are professional athletes, after all. Performance in the public eye is what they are good at. To the unfamiliar eye they look perfectly happy as they chat, smile, banter, and joke with their guests. But the unresolved argument hangs heavily between them. Both know that more needs to be said, and it weighs on both their minds.
On the evening before the wedding, they come home to Tooru’s apartment, exhausted after a long day of meeting with the celebrant, giving several TV interviews and doing a magazine photo-shoot. Tooru orders a huge amount of take-out and they demolish most of it in silence, both too peopled-out to muster up any conversation.
When the empty containers are cleared away, Tooru lets himself collapse on his couch with a groan, rubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck me, I hate weddings! Why didn’t we just elope?”
Toshi sits down next to him and gathers him into his lap. “You keep asking me that, Tooru. And each time my answer is still the same.”
“Yeah, yeah...” Tooru sighs. “It’s my own damn fault, I know, I know.” He yawns and stretches. “God, those journalists today were so annoying though. How many different ways do they think we can answer the same questions over and over again?” He starts parroting questions in an annoying, overly excited sing-song voice. “‘Are you happy?’ “Yes, we are!’ ‘Are you excited?’ ‘Yes, we are!’ ‘Do you love each other?’ ‘Yes, we do!’”
“Mhm.” Toshi just grunts and one corner of his mouth curls up slightly in a smile.
Just as Tooru grins and is about to tease him about his boring interview answers, his phone pings with an incoming email. He groans. “Shit, what is it now?! Leave me alone, go away!”
When he doesn’t reach for it to check what it is, Toshi raises an eyebrow at him and leans forward, picks up his phone off the coffee table and hands it to him. “It’s 10 o’clock at night, Tooru. It might be urgent or important for tomorrow.”
Tooru sighs again loudly and accepts his phone with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Fine, give it here.” He swipes to unlock and his eyes fly over the email.
A leaden weight forms in the pit of his stomach. His skin goes cold and clammy.
“Tooru...?” Toshi’s voice is quiet and concerned. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“It’s...” Tooru shakes his head, speechless. Wordlessly hands over his phone.
Toshi reads the email. “That’s... Hm. You hadn’t told him?”
“I haven’t told anyone! How did he find out? I didn’t slip up during the interviews, did I?”
Toshi only shakes his head, unable to answer him.
Tooru groans. He wants to curl up and die. He wants to vomit. “He must have guessed somehow!”
Toshi hands him back his phone, still displaying the email from Argentinian National Team’s Head Coach, Jose Blanco, his idol, his mentor, his hero, asking him if it is his intention to leave San Juan and give up playing professional volleyball.
This is bad. This is so, so very bad. How is he going to handle this? Blanco will be at the wedding tomorrow. He will corner Tooru and grill him about it, for sure!
Fuck!
Toshi watches him carefully. Eventually, he asks quietly, “So… You still want to leave San Juan and go to Germany?”
Yes. No. Maybe! I don’t know! Don’t ask me that!
“I have to, Toshi! I don’t have a choice! Why won’t you understand that?!” Tooru can feel his voice rising along with his panic, but he can’t reign himself in.
Toshi’s eyes narrow and pin him with their merciless focus. His voice is completely even. “Why?”
“Because one of us has to! We can’t keep living on the other side of the planet from each other. It’s not sustainable! I hate that you have to fly thirty-six hours just to get here! I hate that I have to fly twenty-four hours just see you in Japan! I’m so, so tired of it! I want to live in at least the same timezone as you, Toshi, if not the same country.”
Toshi just keeps staring at him. Assessing. Measuring.
It makes Tooru feel naked and afraid. He grips the collar at his neck. “When you gave me this, you said that I didn’t fully understand what it means. But I don’t think that you fully understand, either!” He tugs at it, glaring at him. “This means that one of us was going to have to make this decision eventually. And it has to be me!”
“Tooru.” A deep frown appears on Toshi’s face. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe neither of us fully understands what this means yet.” He glances down at the collar around Tooru’s neck, then back at his eyes. “But I gave you that so you wouldn’t have to make these kinds of decisions alone. I gave it to you so that you could lean on me when you need help.” His voice is completely, utterly even and controlled. It’s even more terrifying than if he were shouting. “This decision. What you’re thinking about doing. The way you’ve handled this, all of it. You’re acting like you are still alone.”
Tooru stares at him, scared and upset and horrified. He shakes his head, trying to deny this entire situation. He wants to vomit. He wants to run away. How did this happen? How did Blanco find out? And now Toshi is angry with him.
Why are they fighting on the evening before their wedding?
Toshi’s expression softens a little. He reaches out a hand and grips Tooru’s arm. “How am I supposed to help you if you don’t tell me that you need help?”
“Because you can’t help me!” Tooru shouts, throwing up his hands. “What can you do? Pat me on the head and say ‘there, there’? It’s my life, my responsibility! My name is on the contract with San Juan. My name is on the title of this apartment! I’m the one that has to face up to it and make the call. You can’t make these decisions for me, as much as you might want to!”
“Tooru...” Toshi lets out a long, slow exhale and shakes his head. He looks... hurt and disappointed.
That look on his face tips Tooru over the edge. He can’t bear it. He turns on his heel and flees into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him and burying himself in the pillows and blankets on his bed.
His heart is hammering but he feels strangely numb. Everything feels surreal, like he’s in a bad television melodrama.
This is a nightmare. Why is this happening?
And why can’t he stop it?
After a few minutes, the door opens and Toshi steps in. Tooru can hear him walk around quietly, grabbing things from his suitcase and changing clothes. Then he walks to the bed and sits down, his warm hand gripping Tooru’s ankle. “Come on. Get changed into your gym gear and let’s go.”
“What?” The words are so unexpected that he’s not sure he heard correctly. He pushes away one of the pillows on his head and looks at Toshi, confused. “Why?”
“You’ll see. Get changed.”
Tooru frowns. “You want to go for a run? It’s 10 o’clock at night, it’s dark outside. And cold!”
“No. We’re going for a drive.”
“What? Why?!” None of this is making any sense. Not only are they fighting, now Toshi has also lost his mind.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
“Don’t argue, just obey.” Toshi’s voice is level and completely calm.
He stares at Toshi for another long moments, utterly bewildered. But he knows he has already lost. Those words, in that tone of voice, will bulldoze even his most stubborn resistance and Toshi knows it.
Slowly, scowling thunderously, he digs himself out of the blankets and stomps to his wardrobe to get changed. Jogging tracksuit, socks, hoodie against the cold. Toshi watches him silently. When Tooru is done, he unfolds himself from the bed and takes off the golden chain with its little key hanging around his neck.
“Come here,” he orders.
Tooru scowls and doesn’t move. “You’re taking it off?”
Toshi throws him a small, reassuring smile. “Only while we’re out of the house, Tooru. Don’t worry, I’ll put it back as soon as we get home.”
Stiffly, unwilling, Tooru steps forward and bends his head to give him access to the padlock at the back of his collar. It comes loose and slides off, leaving his neck feeling cold and empty. He hates it.
Toshi puts the collar back in its box on the nightstand, then leads the way to the front door and silently puts on his running shoes. Watches and waits for Tooru to do the same.
Scowling and pissed off, Tooru grabs his wallet and car keys then stomps down to the garage and unlocks the car, getting in without waiting for Toshi and slamming the door. When Toshi gets in beside him in the passenger seat, he guns the engine to life with a howl. “Okay then, asshole. Where the fuck am I driving you?”
Toshi raises an eyebrow at his tone but replies evenly, “To the Club Atlético training gym.”
“At this time of night?”
“Yes. You have access, don’t you?”
“I mean... Yeah. I do,” he grits out between clenched teeth. Thank god he brought his wallet with the keycard.
“Then go.”
Tooru throws up his hands in frustration. “Why?! Have you completely lost your mind? Do you really want to play fucking volleyball at this time of night?”
“Yes, Tooru. Because I need to teach you a lesson.”
Adrenaline shoots through Tooru’s veins, hot and sour. A laugh bubbles up from his stomach, nervous and loud. “Pfft, you sound like a cartoon villain! What are you going to do, tie me to the net post and whip me until I repent?”
Toshi frowns and looks offended. “No, of course not. I will never give you pain that you don’t want, Tooru. But I still have to make you understand somehow.”
Tooru’s stomach knots uncomfortably, but he doesn’t know what else to do. So he grips the steering wheel to stop his hands from shaking and throws the GTX into gear, pulling out on to the road and driving the familiar route to his workplace.
When they get there after fifteen minutes of loud engine revs and fast corners, Tooru using every opportunity to vent his displeasure, the gym is totally dark and deserted. He unlocks the door with the keycard and deactivates the alarm, then flips the bank of switches to turn on the overhead fluorescent lights. He throws Toshi an acid look. “Now what?”
“Net?”
Tooru sighs loudly and rolls his eyes. “This way.”
Together, they carry out the net and set it up in silence.
Then Toshi wheels out a bin of volleyballs, picks one up and bumps it high towards Tooru. “A5,” he calls.
Tooru’s muscles engage before his brain has a chance to react. He steps underneath the ball, sights through his hands and sends a perfect set high into the air to the far end of the net, right next to the left antenna.
The ball drops to the floor, bounces, then rolls away.
Tooru watches it, confused, then frowns back at Toshi. “What—?”
Toshi picks up another ball and tosses it high wards him. “Slide.”
Again, Tooru moves under it and sets, this time behind him towards the right antenna, low to the top of the net.
The ball drops, rolls away.
Three more times, Toshi throws him a ball and calls a set position. Each time, Tooru sets the ball, and the ball drops to the floor.
Scowling, Tooru glares at him. “Okay, what the fuck are you doing?”
Toshi meets his stare and pins him with his own piercing gaze. “What are you missing, Tooru?”
“What? Nothing! I’m doing it perfectly.” Tooru’s scowl deepens.
Toshi keeps staring at him for a moment, then breaks eye-contact and walks to the back right of the court, his own home position as Opposite Hitter. He turns, runs in towards the net, jumps, and swings his left hand in a powerful rotation through the air. Lands. Walks back to the back of the court. Runs in again to a different position at the net, jumps, swings and lands. Walks to the back row again.
Over and over, he runs in, jumps and swings, his well-trained muscles working to propel him high above the net and whistle his arm through the air.
Tooru watches him with mounting frustration, arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “What the fuck are you doing?” he shouts, when his patience finally snaps.
Toshi stops and turns to look at him, breathing a little faster. Locks eyes again. “What am I missing?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all, your technique is fine! I mean, your footwork is a bit sloppy and your arms are too low sometimes, but it’s fine! What are you worried about?”
Again, Toshi holds his gaze for a long moment.
Slowly, he turns and walks to the ball cart and picks up a ball. Holds it out in front of him, looking at Tooru. Then he bumps it high in the air in his direction and calls, “Slide!” In the same moment, he starts his run-in. At the net, he leaps.
Tooru sets.
The ball appears perfectly at Toshi’s hand and he smashes it over the net, straight down the inside right line of the court. The ball lands in the top right corner of the court with a meaty ‘thunk’ and ricochets away, bouncing against the far wall of the hall.
Toshi turns from where he landed and looks at Tooru. “What were we missing?”
Tooru stares at him, frowning. His brain is spinning its wheels, rotating through all the angles, testing all possible answers to that question.
Surely, it can’t be that fucking simple.
But it is. This is Toshi, after all.
He groans. Rubs his face fiercely with his hands in white hot frustration. “Fuck you, Ushijima Wakatoshi! Did you literally drag me all the fucking way out here, just for this bullshit metaphor?”
Toshi just stares at him impassively, then nods. “Yes.”
With a yell, Tooru launches himself forward, arm swinging. Toshi blinks in surprise and side-steps at the last moment, catching Tooru’s right hand by the wrist before it thumps into his right shoulder. Parries Tooru’s left swing and holds that, too.
Thwarted, Tooru roars at him in frustration.
Toshi only stares back. Then he leans forward and kisses Tooru full on the mouth.
Tooru bristles like an angry cat and tries to twist away, but is held fast by his wrists. He turns his face away, grimacing. “Fuck you! You absolute asshole, let me go!”
“No.” Toshi tightens his grip on Tooru’s wrists and pulls him forward until their faces are centimetres apart. “No! I am not letting you go until you listen to me, Tooru!” His command voice booms across the gym.
The sound makes Tooru’s eyes go wide and his muscles go slack. His arms drop, held only by Toshi’s grip on his wrists.
Toshi roars, “You are not alone anymore! I am on your team, so stop acting like you’re on your own!” Then his voice drops down to a growl. “I can’t live your life for you, but I can listen and help you assess your options. My name may not be on your San Juan contract, but I have control of my own Orzel contract and I can make decisions in own life to help you! I am entitled to be a part of this conversation! You think that you have to make this decision alone, for the good of our relationship, but you didn’t even ask me what I think, Tooru!”
Toshi’s eyes bore into him, intense and unavoidable. “You are not alone, Oikawa Tooru! I am on your team! I am your Opposite Hitter now. But you have to toss me the ball. We can’t do anything if you don’t toss me the ball! Do you understand?”
Tooru’s eyes have gone wide, his brain completely blank. There is only that voice, reverberating around inside it, over and over.
You are not alone.
I am on your team.
You have to toss me the ball.
I am on your team.
Toshi is on his team. Tooru accepted his collar. Tomorrow, they are getting married.
Tomorrow, they are getting married, and Tooru just spent an entire year keeping a secret from his future husband and taking away his right to give input into a huge decision that will affect their entire relationship.
Because he didn’t trust him enough to pass him the ball.
I’m the asshole, not him.
“Shit.” It comes out like a small, pitiful moan. His knees buckle, overcome by a sudden feeling of total exhaustion, mental, physical and emotional.
Toshi grunts in surprise and does his best to catch him and guide him down on the polished wooden floor. His voice, just moments ago powerful enough to fill the entire gym, now sounds shaky. “Tooru...! Tooru, hey! It’s okay. It’s okay, don’t cry!”
Tooru brings his legs up to his chest and curls his head between his knees, hands clenched over his neck. He can’t bring himself to meet Toshi’s eyes. He’s too ashamed. He closes his eyes and clenches his teeth, nostrils flaring. He won’t cry. He’s cried too much already this week. He will not do it again. No. He absolutely will not.
“Tooru, please look at me.” Toshi’s gentle hands pry away his arms covering his head and cup his face. They are shaking. “It’s okay! Everything is okay. I’m not angry. I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. I was just trying to get you to understand. I’m sorry. Hey, look at me.” His eyes are wide and fearful, searching Tooru’s face.
Tooru can’t bring himself to hold his gaze and closes his eyes again.
So tired.
“I’m so sorry, Toshi,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been such an asshole to you. I’ve ruined everything.” His small voice is lost in the echoing emptiness of the gym.
Arms gather him in and envelop him in a tight hug. Toshi’s voice has gone hoarse with emotion. “No, Tooru. You’ve ruined nothing. Nothing is past saving. We can work through this, and it will be okay, I promise.”
The words test the last remains of his composure to breaking. He can feel traitor tears break free from his eyes, even though he grits his teeth desperately to stop them. He holds his breath and tenses his shoulders, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Tooru. Everything will be okay now.” Toshi’s arms crush him tighter.
Tooru doesn’t resist. He’s too tired. All the fizzing, manic energy that has been keeping him moving non-stop for the past week, dealing with endless emails, phone-calls, venue viewings, orders, negotiations with vendors, clothes fittings, media interviews, taking care of guests, making a thousand little decisions and coordinating everything, has drained out of him, leaving him with nothing.
“I... I’m sorry... I’m sorry...” It’s the only words he can remember how to say, and he says them over and over.
The arms around his shoulders don’t let go.
They sit there together for an uncounted length of time. Eventually, Tooru shivers, the cold floor and the winter night’s chill leeching the heat from him, despite Toshi’s warmth. “Can we go home now?” he asks, voice flat and toneless.
Toshi kisses his temple. “Of course we can, little one. Let me just clean up and then I’ll call us a ride, okay?”
Tooru shakes his head tiredly, not looking at him. “No, I’ll drive. I’ll be okay, just give me a minute.” He unfolds himself from the floor and drags himself off to the change rooms to splash cold water in his face and slap his cheeks a few times. His reflection in the mirror looks pale and his eyes are red and bloodshot.
Fantastic. Just what you want for wedding photos.
He makes his body walk to the team’s drinks fridge and grabs an energy drink, pops it open and gulps most of it down in one go. That should give him at least enough of a boost to get them home.
By the time he emerges, Toshi has cleared away everything except the net posts, and Tooru helps him carry them back into the storeroom wordlessly. Then he switches off the gym’s lights and locks the doors behind them.
When they get to the car, Toshi grabs his hand and looks at him worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive, Tooru? I don’t mind calling us a cab.”
Tooru shakes his head again. “I’ll be fine. I had an energy drink, and it’s not far. I drive this way almost every day, I could probably do it in my asleep.”
Toshi looks at him for another second, then lets go. “Alright.”
They get in and Tooru starts the car. The burbling of the engine and the feeling of the steering wheel in his hand are familiar and soothing. He drives them home in silence, taking the turns slowly and carefully in the dark.
When he unlocks the front door of his apartment, he kicks off his shoes and heads straight to the bedroom, falling onto his bed and curling into a ball. He doesn’t even undress. His heart is racing from the taurine he sculled down at the gym, but his thoughts are sluggish with fatigue, and he can’t keep his eyes open.
Toshi follows him and Tooru can hear him moving around the room but can’t open his eyes. Then, gentle hands manoeuvre him to pull off his socks and joggers, turn him over and pull off his t-shirt and hoodie up over his head. There’s a clink of metal, then his collar slides under his neck and fastens back into its familiar place. The padlock clicks quietly shut.
Suddenly everything feels a tiny little bit less horrible.
“There, safe and sound,” Toshi murmurs and kisses his cheek, then slides into bed next to him. He slips his arm under Tooru’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “I’m sorry for dragging you all the way out there, Tooru. And I’m sorry for yelling at you. I should’ve kept myself better under control.” He sounds genuinely chagrined.
Tooru sighs and shakes his head. “It’s okay. I deserved it. I was being a complete idiot.” He rubs his gritty, stinging eyes with one hand. “I’m just. So tired, that’s all. It’s... been a lot, lately. With all the endless wedding bullshit. And this week has been non-stop. Since you got here.”
Toshi’s gentle hand strokes his back. “You don’t ever deserve to be mistreated, Tooru. And no wonder you’re tired. You’ve been carrying everything by yourself for a long time. I should have stepped up to help you a lot sooner. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, you couldn’t have helped anyway… You don’t speak Spanish.” Tooru sighs again, buries his head in Toshi’s chest and inhales his scent. “Everything that’s happened in the past year. It’s been so overwhelming. It just really. Shook me. You know.”
His thoughts feel fragmented and he can’t shape them into coherent sentences, but the words won’t stop pouring out of him now. “Total defeat in the prelims. And then you. Us. Actually being in a relationship. The collar. Getting engaged. Everything. It’s turned my whole life upside down. Made me question everything. My life, my choices. And I just. I’m so tired of being so far away from you. I miss you. All the time.”
His voice wobbles and breaks. He has to stop and focus on his breathing. When his throat unlocks again, he says, “I’m sorry for. Being such an idiot. And keeping secrets from you. For not telling you. What I was thinking.” He takes another breath. Forces himself to say the words. “I’m sorry for not. Trusting you.”
Toshi pulls him tighter into the warm embrace, looping two of his fingers through the ring on Tooru’s collar. “You’re not an idiot, Tooru. You just made a mistake. We’ll fix it together.”
It feels so nice. Calming. Reassuring. The bitter exhaustion and shame in his gut feel a little less awful because of it. He allows himself to drift, inhaling in Toshi’s scent and listening to his breathing.
A thought startles him back out of his twilight state. “God... What am I going to tell Coach tomorrow...?” he moans quietly.
There’s a pause, then a low chuckle. “That’s easy, Tooru. You will tell Blanco-kantoku that we’re still weighing up all our options, and once we’ve made a decision, you will let him know.”
Easy.
Tooru feels a wave of relief wash over him. “Okay,” he whispers. “Let’s... do that...”
Toshi kisses Tooru softly behind the ear. “Good night, Tooru. I love you.”
“Mhm.”
Chapter Text
“Bakayama! I told you, they allow everyone to marry here! You don’t even have to be an Argentinian citizen! So we can definitely just go and do it!
“Hinata boké! For once in your goddamned life, would you just think before you open your huge mouth? ‘We can just go and do it’? Is that really how you’re proposing to me?!”
“Well, someone has to take the initiative, seeing as you won’t! And what’s the big deal, we’ve been basically married for ten years anyway, it wouldn’t change anything!”
“If it doesn’t change anything, then why are you so hung up on it?! That doesn’t even make any sense! Besides, your parents would absolutely kill you if you got married without them, and Miwa and Natsu would skin me alive!”
“I’m not hung up on it, you’re just being—”
A door slams shut, muffling the yelling.
Tooru snorts, then laughs out loud, delighted. Still the same two volleyball idiots.
“It wouldn’t be a wedding without at least one shouting match.” Iwaizumi sinks down beside him on the couch and throws him an amused look. “I believe it was you and Hanamaki at mine.”
“Pfft, Taka-chan was being particularly touchy that day. There was no need to headbutt me for just making a simple observation!”
“You told him he looked like a snowman in his suit.”
Tooru laughs delightedly. “Well, I was right though, wasn’t I? White is not his colour.”
“Oh, but it is yours?”
“Obviously.”
Iwaizumi just shakes his head and rolls his eyes grinning, letting the subject drop.
They sit in companionable silence for a little while.
Before Iwa-chan can open his mouth again to ask the question Tooru knows is coming, he quickly jumps in and asks, “Have Naoko and the kids settled in okay? That flight must have been hell for them.”
Iwaizumi shoots him a look, then sighs and nods. “Yeah, it wasn’t easy, I’ll give you that. But they’re fine now, nothing a few solid nights’ sleep won’t fix. Thanks for booking the suite for us, it makes things so much easier for the kids to have their own room.”
Tooru nods and smiles magnanimously. “You’re very welcome. Thank you for coming all this way. I know two weeks is a long time to take off during the middle of the season.”
“How could I miss my best friend’s wedding, especially when you flew in for mine too? Besides, this was the perfect excuse to have our first holiday together as a family since Aki was born.”
“Mhm.” Tooru nods and grins. “You’ll love Buenos Aires, it’s a crazy fun place.”
Iwaizumi returns his grin. “Yeah, looking forward to it.” Then he turns thoughtful, as if weighing his next words carefully.
Tooru winces internally, knowing that he can’t jump in a second time to prevent him from speaking. He braces himself.
“Hey, so...” Iwaizumi takes a big breath, then looks down at his polished shoes. “Thanks for still asking me to be your best man, Oikawa. Even after... everything that happened between us. I know we never really spoke about it again, but I’ve been meaning to tell you this ever since that day: I’m sorry.”
The words make Tooru blink several times in confusion. This was not the question he was bracing for. “Sorry for what, Iwa-chan?”
“Hmm... I guess...” Iwaizumi studies his shoes carefully, choosing his words. “I’m... not sorry that it didn’t work out between us.”
The penny drops, and Tooru makes a silent ‘Oh’ face. But Iwa-chan doesn’t notice, still absorbed in the deep study of his shoelaces.
“In a way, it’s good that we didn’t end up together back then. Because... I mean, you have Ushijima, and I found Naoko. And the children... I couldn’t even imagine life without them.” He trails off, deep in thought.
Tooru watches him, listening intently.
“You know, it’s funny... Before Yuki and Aki came along, I didn’t know it was humanly possible to love anyone that much. It’s like a piece of my heart is walking around outside my chest, and sometimes it’s so terrifying that my hands start shaking and I can’t breathe.”
Tooru exhales sharply as if he’s been punched.
It’s so terrifying that my hands start shaking and I can’t breathe.
The words trigger a memory of Toshi’s hands, shaking as they held his face in the gym last night. His quiet, desperately sincere apologies and reassurances.
It’s like a piece of my heart is walking around outside my chest.
He remembers the tremor in Toshi’s voice when he said Tooru’s name, after he locked the collar closed around his neck for the first time; remembers his barely controlled panic when he lost sight of Tooru for a second on the dance floor; his naked horror at seeing the impact marks on Tooru’s back in the hotel bathroom.
Tooru feels his heart start pounding faster.
I’m not a brick wall. I get scared. I get anxious.
Mostly about you.
“Hey, Oikawa? Are you okay? Are you gonna vomit or something?” Iwa-chan’s voice sounds concerned. “Take a deep breath, I’ll get a bucket.”
Shit!
Toshi was scared.
Tooru called him perfect and said he always had everything under control, while all this time, Toshi has been quietly terrified.
Tooru screws his eyes shut and suppresses a groan.
Fuck, he’s been such an asshole!
Why does he always do this?
Toshi deserves so much better from him. Is he okay? Or is he terrified right now? Tooru wants to jump up and run, find him, hug him, hold him, protect him, tell him he loves him and he’s sorry and that everything will be okay.
His stomach cramps. His hands start shaking.
Iwaizumi comes back with an empty champagne ice bucket and dumps it in front of him, then starts rubbing his back in slow circles. “Hey, hey! Breathe, Oikawa. It’s just nerves, you’ll be okay. Breathe. Don’t throw up. Or at least if you do, do it in the bucket and not on your suit.”
That makes Tooru laughs weakly and jolts him out of his spiralling thoughts enough for him to focus on his breathing.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
It’s okay. Toshi is fine. Everything is okay. Get it together. This is not time, not now, of all times!
After a minute of slow, careful breathing, the flood of feelings passes. His hands stop shaking.
“That’s better.” Iwa-chan sounds relieved. “God, you haven’t changed at all. Still freak out at the worst possible times, just the same as in high school.” His tone is light and acerbic, trying to tease him, distract him.
Tooru appreciates it, though his brain is too wrung out to come up with a witty comeback right then. “Well, and you’re still an insensitive asshole, so I guess we both haven’t changed.”
Iwaizumi punches him solidly in the shoulder, which makes them both laugh. It feels good. Familiar. Calming. “Sorry, was I oversharing back there?”
“No, it’s okay,” Tooru shakes his head, taking another deep breath. “It wasn’t you. I just realised something important.”
Iwa-chan hums thoughtfully, looks back down at his shoes. “Anyway... I just wanted to say, I’m not sorry for how things turned out. But...” He draws a breath, exhales it slowly. “I am really sorry for how I handled things back then, Oikawa. I was angry and hurt and scared, and I said a lot of stupid things that I’ve deeply regretted ever since.” He looks up, catches Tooru’s eyes. “I’m sorry for calling you a freak.”
Tooru can’t stop the laughter bubbling up from his stomach. He giggles, then laughs out loud. If only Iwa-chan knew how right he was.
Iwaizumi laughs with him, a little unsure if he is being laughed at. The slightly confused look on his face just makes Tooru laugh even harder.
Fuck, he’s overreacting. Fucking anxiety again! Breathe. Calm.
He gets himself under control, wipes the tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Iwa-chan. I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It’s just nerves.” He gulps another breath, exhales slowly. “It’s okay, it really is. I’ve never been angry with you about what happened. I mean, some might even say that’s a reasonable reaction to your best friend and almost-maybe-but-not-quite-boyfriend asking you to slap and to choke him during sex.”
Iwaizumi looks slightly embarrassed and looks away.
Tooru giggles again, delighted to have found a way to tease him. Then he sobers. “Besides, if I remember correctly, I also said a lot of hurtful things back to you too, so there’s plenty of blame to go around.” He bumps Iwa-chan’s shoulder with his own. “So it’s okay, Iwa-chan. It’s okay that you were angry and scared. We were kids, barely eighteen. That’s not exactly the most emotionally mature age. We did the best we could. I don’t think you owe me an apology at all, but if you need me to say it, I will: I forgive you.”
Iwaizumi frowns down at his shoes. His hands clench in the fabric of his perfectly ironed black pants for a moment. He inhales deeply and sighs, long and loud. “Okay,” he said finally. His voice sounds a little wobbly. “Okay then.”
Tooru is absurdly glad in that moment that he is not the only one constantly having to fight back tears today.
They sit together in silence, each wrapped up in their thoughts.
God, he wishes he could go and see Toshi. He misses him. How pathetic.
“Hey, so,” Iwaizumi says abruptly. “Did you and Ushijima have a fight or something?”
Shit.
That fucking bastard, springing that question on him like that, out of the blue just when he thought he was in the clear.
Tooru tries to play dumb. “What makes you say that?”
Iwaizumi just gives him a look. “All throughout dinner the other night, you looked like you were walking on eggshells. You were so loud and so cheerful, but you couldn’t look at Ushijima for longer than a second. That’s exactly what it feels like when Naoko and I have a fight and we still have to look happy in front of the children.”
Tooru sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fuck you, how dare you read me like a book. It’s very rude, you know.”
Iwa-chan says nothing, just keeps giving him that look.
“We didn’t... fight. Not exactly. It’s more a... disagreement. About... what to do. About some choices that need making. I’m trying to make the right call for both of us, but To— I mean, Wakatoshi-chan doesn’t agree with me. He thinks I’m... making the wrong decision.”
A scowl creeps onto Iwaizumi’s face. He looks thunderous. “Omae...! Are you doing that shitty thing again where you’re trying to carry the whole team by yourself? Are you thinking about what you need to do to win? Are you trying to fight all by yourself again?!” He’s shouting now, and the tone of his voice gives Tooru a twisting, vertiginous sense of déja-vu.
“I...” He tries to rally some kind of defence, but the ball has already smashed down inside his court and ricochet away. Point lost. He doesn’t know what to say.
Iwaizumi stares at him furiously for a moment. “I knew it. You’re still acting like the same old self-centred Kusokawa, not trusting your teammates and thinking everything is your responsibility.” He throws up his hands in the air. “You’re about to get married, you piece of shit! You and Ushijima are a team now! Fucking wake up and act like it!”
Tooru blinks at him, stunned by the genuine fury in his friend’s voice. Then he laughs, a little bitterly. “You know, Wakatoshi-chan said pretty much the same thing to me last night.”
“And he’s fucking right.” Iwa-chan nods once emphatically, as if placing a full stop underneath the whole argument. “So pull your head out of your ass before I do it for you.”
Tooru looks away, trying to hide his embarrassed flush. After a while, he pokes Iwa-chan in the ribs. “Your foul mouth has become quite the feature, ne, Iwa-chan? Do you swear this much around Yuki and Aki?”
Iwaizumi flinches away and throws him a dirty look. “Obviously not. Naoko would kill me.”
“She’s perfect for you, then.”
They lapse back into silence. Tooru fidgets with his watch and his cufflinks.
“So... he’s good to you, then?” Iwa-chan asks quietly, adjusting his tie. “He makes you happy?”
Tooru goes to rub his face, then remembers the subtle powder and blush on his face and stops himself. “Yeah, he does...” he sighs, instead. “He really does. More than I ever thought possible for someone with a shitty personality like me.”
Iwa-chan snorts and throws him a look. Then he nods. “I’m glad. I can’t say I really know him that well, but from the few days we spent together at his dad’s place, he seems like a really decent human being.”
“You have no idea.” Tooru laughs quietly.
Iwaizumi is quiet, leaving space for Tooru if he wants to say more.
He’s surprised to find that he does. “He’s just... there. Always. Just... there.” He gropes around for the right words. “Shit, that sounds terrible. What I mean is, he’s always there for me. He’s always been there, even when I was too stupid to notice. All that time, while I was here in San Juan, and he was in Japan or in Poland or where ever the hell they sent him to, he was still there. Quietly. Without fuss. Doggedly relentless. He never once gave up on me, even though I ignored him or tried to push him away.”
“That certainly sounds like a... unique dynamic.” Iwa-chan makes a dubious face.
“Yeah,” Tooru snorts. “It certainly is. Not many people could love a piece of shit like me.” He grins wickedly at Iwa-chan. “Neither of us are normal, that’s for sure.”
Iwaizumi shakes his head and holds up his hands in protest. “Don’t say any more, I don’t want to know!” Then he sighs. “Well, us normies are still pleased to have you, I hope you know that. You and Ushijima will always be welcome at our place when you come back to visit.”
For a moment, Tooru’s breath catches in his throat and he has to swallow hard. When he can speak, his voice wobbles a little. “Arigatou, Iwa-chan.”
Thankfully, Iwa-chan pretends not to notice. After a pause, he says, “It’s been really good being able to catch-up with Ushijima’s father again after so many years. I owe Utsui-san a lot, he really helped me with my studies and my career path.
Tooru nods emphatically. “Mh! Yeah, I only met him when he got here a few days ago, but I really like him.” He fidgets with the folded piece of paper in his pocket, thinking. “He’s quite outgoing, which surprised me. Maybe Wakatoshi-chan takes more after his mother that way.”
“Are Ushijima’s mother and her family here too? I haven’t seen or met them yet.”
Shit.
He should have steered to conversation away from that awkward topic. “They... aren’t. No.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Did they say why?”
Tooru sighs, picks at his fingernails. “The official reason is that it’s too far to travel.”
“The ‘official reason’?” Iwa-chan shoots him a frown.
“Yeah.”
“So they... don’t approve?” Iwa-chan’s frown grows darker.
“I... don’t think they do, no,” Tooru sighs again and shakes his head. “They are very traditional. I mean, you know that they almost made Wakatoshi-chan give up his left-handedness, just because it’s not ‘normal’. So, imagine what they must think of him marrying another man in a foreign country.”
“Shit. That’s hard.” Iwa-chan shakes his head angrily. “So, they’re not involved in this at all?”
“No. They only sent a very awkwardly worded note declining the wedding invitation we sent them. Didn’t even offer to host a reception for us in Japan, like my parents did.” Just thinking about it makes the old anger come bubbling up again. He exhales, frustrated. “And it’s not like it’s even a money thing. They could afford it, they’re quite wealthy. They just don’t want to.”
“Hmmm...” Iwa-chan shakes his head, still frowning deeply. “What a shitty situation. Makes me feel sorry for Ushijima.”
Tooru grips his friend’s arm, hard. “Whatever you do, do not tell him I told you any of this, please! He would kill me. He hates having his private life discussed in public.”
Iwaizumi glares daggers at him. “Of course not, Kusokawa! What do you take me for, an idiot? Unlike you, I have decency and manners.”
Tooru snorts. “Oh, is that what you call it?”
Iwa-chan just rolls his eyes, then checks his watch. “We should get going. Your dad is probably looking for you.”
“Shit, yeah.” A shot of pure adrenaline rushes through his veins and makes his stomach cramp again. He takes a big breath, exhales long and slow through pursed lips.
“Ready to walk down the aisle, Oikawa?” Iwa-chan stands up and offers him his hand.
“I was born ready.” Tooru accepts the hand and lets himself be pulled up. Then he laughs shakily. “I mean, I’m so nervous I want to throw up, but. Yeah. Let’s do this. Let’s go.”
“It’s a bit like that.” Iwa-chan nods and grabs the empty champagne bucket from the floor, then leads the way out of the suite they’ve been waiting in. On the way down the corridor to the lifts, he turns back over his shoulder and grins. “You remember how nervous I was on my wedding day?”
Tooru grins back. “You did throw up. Thank god Taka-chan had a bucket, or you would’ve puked all over yourself!”
“Yeah.” They get in the lift and Iwaizumi presses the button to the lobby. “But that terror you’re feeling is only temporary. As soon as I saw Naoko, everything calmed down and I was fine. So you’ll be fine too, you’ll see.”
“Okay.”
After a few moments, the lift doors open. His mum and dad turn around and their anxious expressions dissolve into emotion. His mum bursts into tears.
“Fuck, this is really happening,” Tooru whispers hoarsely to no one in particular.
“Yep.” Iwa-chan grips Tooru’s arm in a vise-grip with his right hand and the empty ice bucket in his left, and marches them forward to the waiting car. “Let’s go.”
It turns out that Iwa-chan is both right and wrong.
Tooru’s nausea does go away as soon as he sees Toshi, standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for him next to a beaming Utsui-san.
But it’s not because he’s calmed down.
It’s because he is trying with every single fibre of his being not to cry with happiness.
~*~
The reception is utter, beautiful chaos.
There are hundreds of people, and every single one wants to talk to them.
This is Ushijima Wakatoshi’s worst nightmare, and Tooru has done this to him. Deliberately.
And Toshi let him do it, out of pure love.
Now is the time for Tooru to step up and pull attention to himself so his newly minted husband doesn’t drown in the sea of people.
So he lights himself up like a magnesium flare and shines.
He is everywhere, hugging, laughing, smiling, kissing cheeks and making jokes, backslapping his CA San Juan teammates and dodging their playful punches. He bear-hugs Gallo and swings him around in a big princess arc, kisses him on the mouth and then ducks Gallo’s punch and runs away laughing to hug Gallo’s mother in a more gentle but no-less fervent fashion.
He moves around the crowd like a pinball in a machine, greeting friends and a myriad of acquaintances whose names he often cannot even remember, smiling for photos, accepting hugs and kisses, and never standing still for long enough to be pulled into a conversation before moving on to the next group.
As he disengages from yet another group, he feels Toshi’s eyes on him and looks up to see him watching from across the enormous ballroom. He looks... entranced. Utterly mesmerised.
Tooru blesses him with his biggest, happiest smile and throws him a kiss, then spins away back into the crowd of their guests and well-wishers.
At some point, a five-course meal is served. There is wine. There are speeches. Tooru gives one of them, but for the life of him he cannot remember what he said, because he is flying high as a kite on adrenaline and champagne, and because Toshi keeps looking at him like that.
The speech must have been pretty good though because everyone laughs and cheers, and he has to wait several times for them to quiet down enough for him to continue.
After dinner, there is dancing.
The best part of the day, and the only thing in this glorious, nightmarish fever-dream that he has actually been looking forward to. He spent far more time than he is willing to admit putting together a playlist of ‘suggestions’ for the DJ, and he expects to hear every single song on it.
Hinata and Hoshiumi are just as indefatigable and enthusiastic dancers as he is, so he is never alone on the dance floor. They form the engine that drives everyone else, giving them permission to strip off suit jackets, ties and shoes and absolutely cut loose. Gallo and Bokuto try to keep up, but bounce around more like wild beach balls than actually dancing with any rhythm or style. It’s loud, it’s chaotic and it’s an insane amount of fun.
During a slow song, Tooru collapses onto a nearby chair and chugs a litre of water, as if he has just completed a fitness drill. He lets his gaze drift over the ballroom, smiling at all the happy faces of people he knows (and doesn’t) talking, eating, drinking, laughing and having an excellent time. At the other end of the room, in a quiet corner, he sees Toshi sitting with Satori, deep in conversation. Satori is frowning thunderously, gesticulating emphatically to make his point. Toshi sits there and nods seriously. At some point, he gets out his phone and starts typing.
Tooru frowns, a little confused by the odd scene, but then one of his absolute favourite songs starts playing and he jumps back to his feet and throws himself back in the fray just in time for the beat to drop.
A few hours later, the crowd has thinned considerably. Only about fifty or so die-hards are left, still dancing, talking and drinking. Mostly they are his compatriots from CA San Juan and the Argentinian National team with their partners, and of course the tight-knit group of usual suspects from Japan. They are getting on famously, which makes Tooru quietly relieved. Not that he was expecting anything else, but a tiny part of him is glad not to have to break up a brawl over some slighted national pride or other.
The music has changed gears into slower beats and ballads, subliminally signalling people to start winding down, and Tooru takes his queue to give his aching legs and feet a break. When he spots Toshi sitting by himself at one of the now-empty tables, smiling to himself, he staggers over and lets himself fall into the chair next to him with a satisfied groan.
“Excuse me, who are you and what have you done with my husband?”
Toshi throws him a confused look. “What do you mean?”
Tooru grins. “My husband doesn’t smile. Not like that, with all his teeth. I don’t think he even knows how to. So you’re clearly not him.”
Toshi smiles wider and raises an eyebrow. “Well, maybe your husband learned a new skill today.”
A firework of golden, fizzing happiness explodes silently in Tooru’s chest, forcing him to close his eyes for a moment. Before his brain can come up with something clever to say in response, his body swings itself over and sits down in Toshi’s lap, facing him, and kisses him on the mouth.
It’s not a chaste kiss. It’s full of tired energy, unspoken words and indescribable joy.
Toshi makes a quiet ‘hmph’ noise and his hands come to grip Tooru’s waist by instinct. When he fights himself free, he throws a worried glance around the room.
Tooru laughs at him. “What, are you worried someone will see us? I hate to break it to you, but I think they all know we’re together now. It was on the news and in this morning’s newspapers and everything.” Then, just because he can and he wants to, he kisses Toshi again.
“Tooru, be good,” Toshi mumbles when he is released. Is he blushing? He is.
Tooru grins. “Or what?” he murmurs seductively, leaning close.
Toshi blinks for a moment, then meets his challenge and grins back slowly. “Or I’ll teach you how.”
“Goodness, not so loud!” Tooru giggles, delighted. “There are children present!”
“We are speaking Japanese.”
“So can the children!”
“Tooru, those children went to bed at least five hours ago.” Toshi wraps his arms around Tooru’s waist and pulls him in for a hug.
“Oh good, at least they had some sense.” Tooru sighs and lets his head rest on Toshi’s shoulder, allowing himself to finally relax for a moment.
It’s a huge mistake. He shouldn’t have stopped moving. Now his body is shutting down. “Speaking of bed, I think if I don’t lie down in the next ten minutes, I might actually pass out.”
“Mhm. What about the rest of the crowd? Should we tell them we’re going to bed?”
“I overheard earlier that Bokuto and Gallo are leading the rest of the crew in a club crawl in twenty minutes anyway, so they won’t miss us.” He yawns, his jaw cracking, eyes falling closed. “Hopefully San Juan will still be standing tomorrow morning and isn’t annihilated in some kind of...” He yawns again hugely. “...Extroverted super-fusion event.”
Toshi huffs a quiet laugh under his breath. “Don’t worry. Kageyama and Akaashi have promised me to keep them in check.” He grips Tooru’s waist and gets up off the chair, lifting Tooru back to his feet. “Alright then, let’s head up back to the suite. It’s been a long day.”
“Yoroshiku—” Tooru yawns again. Now he’s started, he can’t stop. “—onegaishimasu, Wakatoshi-sama,” he mumbles, blinking and grinning sleep-drunk, staggering a little.
Toshi steadies him with an arm under his shoulders and guides him out of the ballroom, back to the lobby and into the lifts. He must have undressed and put him to bed as well, but the next morning, Tooru has no memory of that at all.
Chapter Text
Brunch the next morning in the hotel’s breakfast room is a quiet affair, but despite most people nursing hangovers, the atmosphere is still suffused with a quiet, contented happiness.
Hinata, Bokuto, Akaashi and Hoshiumi are conspicuous in their absence. Kageyama looks a lot worse for wear, but joins Tooru and Toshi at their table with a plate of food and a grunt of greeting.
After some prodding, Tooru manages to extract a few details of the group’s exploits last night, which includes such highlights as Hinata trying to prove how high he can jump and almost falling into a fountain, and Akaashi getting hit on by an enamoured stranger, causing Bokuto to challenge him to a duel. Luckily, Gallo managed to defuse the situation so no shots were actually fired, but it was a close thing.
Apparently, both Akaashi and Bokuto disappeared shortly after that, but no matter how much Tooru coaxes and cajoles him, Kageyama refuses steadfastly to be drawn into any speculation as to what they were doing together.
A few hours after brunch, a small crowd meets Tooru and Toshi in the lobby to see them off on their honeymoon. Both Tooru’s parents are there, his sister and his nephew Takeru, Toshi’s father Utsui-san, as well as Satori, Iwaizumi and his wife Naoko. There are a few tears from Utsui-san and Tooru’s mum, but the rest is relatively painless.
In the taxi on the way to the bus port, they hold hands but say nothing. Tooru navigates them to the right departure point and when the bus comes, they lug their heavy sportsbags into the luggage compartment, get on and settle into their seats, still in silence. An hour in, they both fall asleep, Toshi with his head cushioned by his jacket against the window, Tooru with his head on Toshi’s shoulder.
Six and a half hours later, they stumble off the bus at the Las Leñas ski resort, blinking blearily. It’s already dark and the little town is lit warmly by many little lights, welcoming them in. They hoist their bags and start walking.
Their chalet is dark and freezing. By the time they get there, Tooru is shivering, having severely underestimated the coldness of high-altitude winter nights with his clothing choices.
Toshi walks around the dark interior, turning on all the lights.
“Oh l— look, a firep—place!” Tooru grins, teeth chattering, his inner pyromaniac cackling with glee. He picks up the matches and looks around for kindling to start building a fire.
“No.” Toshi appears and takes the matches out of his hand. “Go have a hot shower to warm up. When you’re done, come back down here and kneel.” He kisses him softly on the cheek and pushes him off in the direction of the bathroom upstairs.
Tooru pouts but doesn’t argue. He’s too cold. A hot shower sounds like an excellent idea. Half an hour later, he comes back downstairs wearing a comfy sweater and sweats, skin pink and radiating heat, hair damp and sticking up at odd angles.
A fire is crackling merrily to itself in the grate and there is a spread of olives, cheeses, meats, hummus, fruit preserves and a loaf of crusty bread laid out on the low coffee table.
“You utter genius, you brought all this?” Tooru asks, incredulous and delighted, his stomach choosing that same instant to growl. “How? Where?”
Toshi walks in from the adjoining kitchen, smiling slightly and shaking his head. “No. I found a welcome hamper on the kitchen counter. Apparently, it’s included in your booking. There’s wine too, but we’ll save that for another night.”
“Oh! That’s right...” It’s been such a long time ago that he booked this, he’d forgotten. He frowns. “Why no wine?”
“Because I want you sober tonight. Now, kneel please.”
A fizz of adrenaline shoots through Tooru’s stomach and his frown deepens slightly. “Um... Okay?” Something about Toshi’s tone is making him nervous. He sounds so... determined.
As out of character as it is for him, Tooru feels so mentally drained from the last week that he can’t really summon any enthusiasm for anything sexual or kinky. He hopes whatever Toshi has planned for him tonight won’t be too... onerous.
Toshi steps to him and gives him a quick hug and a kiss. “Don’t worry, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do, my love.”
The term of endearment makes Tooru freeze for a moment and blink in surprise. He laughs a little under his breath. It sounds so formal and stilted, and yet also intimate and adoring.
It suits Toshi perfectly.
“What?” Toshi looks a little confused.
“Nothing, my love.” Tooru lets himself sink down onto his knees on the thankfully thick, soft rug and gives him his happiest, brightest smile.
Toshi looks surprised but smiles back at him, then sits on the couch next to him. “Good.” He pulls out the rectangular box from his pocket, opens it and takes out Tooru’s collar. “Lean forward.”
Wordlessly, Tooru leans his head forward, offering his neck. He shivers slightly when the leather slides around his neck and the lock clicks shut.
“There, safe and sound,” Toshi murmurs. “Sit up and look at me.”
Tooru obeys and meets Toshi’s eyes. Maybe it’s just the firelight, but his usually piercing gaze is soft and shining.
After a long moment, Tooru smiles a little awkwardly. “What? Are you just going to stare at me all night?”
Toshi flinches a little, as if caught doing something illicit. He looks away into the fire, frowning slightly, and doesn’t say anything for a while.
“Hey, big guy...” Tooru says softly, reaching out a hand and placing it on his ankle. “Are you okay? Cat’s got your tongue?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Toshi looks back at him with a slight smile and shakes his head slightly, his voice a little rough. “I’m just... I—” He shakes his head again, takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, as if steeling himself for something. “Sometimes I just can’t believe this is really happening. I keep expecting it all to... go wrong. To end.” He looks away again, as if embarrassed by the admission.
It’s like a piece of my heart is walking around outside my chest. Sometimes it’s so terrifying that my hands start shaking and I can’t breathe.
Iwa-chan’s words from before the ceremony echo around Tooru’s head, blending with Toshi’s own, back on the couch in his apartment.
I’m not a brick wall. I get scared. I get anxious. Mostly about you.
It makes Tooru’s heart clench and ache. He shuffles closer and wraps his arms around Toshi’s legs, leaning his head against Toshi’s knees. “Hey... It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” He pauses for a moment, then smiles lopsidedly. “Or, if I do, I always come back, remember?”
Toshi huffs a little laugh and runs a hand through Tooru’s hair. “Yeah. You do.” He looks away again, marshalling words, then captures Tooru’s gaze and holds it. “I spoke with Tendou yesterday and he... helped me understand something that you said.”
Tooru grins and raises a teasing eyebrow. “Yes, I saw you two off by yourselves in a corner. He looked like he was giving you such a lecture.”
“He... had a lot to say, yes,” Toshi smiles a little ruefully, then becomes serious again. “Tooru, you said that I was being a hypocrite for expecting you to tell me what you’re worried about and how you’re feeling, but then not... doing the same thing myself.”
Tooru flinches slightly but nods. “Yeah. I did say that.” He absolutely won’t apologise or take back what he said because he knows he’s right, no matter how rotten and guilty he feels. He won’t back down. He won’t.
“And you were completely right. So, I owe you an apology.”
“Oh.”
Toshi nods. “I’m sorry that I haven’t done a very good job of sharing my feelings with you. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you’re the only one in this relationship that has to communicate and be vulnerable. I realise now that if I want you to feel safe telling me what’s on your mind, I have to do a better job at being open with you, too.”
Tooru stares at him, for once at a complete loss for words.
“You were also right that I’ve been treating you like you are weak by believing that I have to shield you from my worries. That is not in our contract, and I have no justification for doing it. I got frustrated with you not trusting me and not passing me the ball, but it turns out that I was doing exactly the same thing, and I’m sorry.”
“Wow.” Reflexively, Tooru takes a deep breath in and sighs it out. “Okay. Did not see that coming.” He laughs a little awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair. “You don’t ever do anything by half-measures, do you?”
Toshi frowns, confused. “No?”
Tooru laughs again, a little louder, then lifts up on his knees and throws his arms around Toshi’s shoulders, pulling him into a kiss. “Thank you,” he whispers, touching their foreheads together. “Thank you so much for saying all of that. It... I...” He gropes around for the right words. “I’m sorry for calling you a brick wall.”
Toshi’s left hand cups the back of his head, tangling in his hair. He brushes another kiss on Tooru’s lips, then lets him go. “I’m not a brick wall, Tooru. And I’m not perfect, either. I don’t always have everything under control. Expressing what I feel is... not easy for me. I’m not like you, I don’t always even know what I’m feeling… And if I do, I sometimes can’t put it into words.”
He looks away into the flames again for a moment, then back at Tooru. “But that’s not an excuse. This is a skill I can learn, and I will learn it. I can’t expect you to do something that I don’t feel comfortable doing myself. I have to lead by example. I promise you, I’ll get better at sharing myself with you, so you can feel safe sharing yourself with me.”
Tooru smiles back at him, a little lopsidedly, and swallows down the lump in his throat. “Alright.”
Toshi nods back, then frowns and hesitates. After a moment, he seems to give himself a little push. “I... I worry that, when I tell you how I feel, I’ll say the wrong thing and it will hurt you or upset you.” He shakes his head sadly. “Like earlier this week about the tattoo, or what happened at the Atlético gym. I’m sorry I keep doing that. I... don’t like hurting you, Tooru. It makes me anxious.”
I get scared. I get anxious. Mostly about you.
Guilt knots heavily in Tooru’s gut. “Toshi, that’s...” He sighs. “Shit... I’m sorry. I know I’ve been such an asshole to you all week. The whole wedding thing had me really stretched thin and I kept snapping at you. But, me getting upset is not a reason you shouldn’t tell me how you feel! I know I need to do better at not being so defensive. That’s my problem, and I will work on it. Okay?”
“Okay.” Toshi nods, looking a little relieved.
“Okay,” Tooru says again and nods back, smiling. Then he laughs and looks around awkwardly, his eyes falling on the spread of delicious nibbles laid out on the coffee table. “Now that we’ve cleared all that up, can we eat? I’m starving.”
“Mhm.”
The food doesn’t last long. Neither of them has eaten since a dubious service station sandwich somewhere on the road between San Juan and Las Leñas.
Once it is all gone, except for a few olives and a last little rind of cheese, Tooru lets himself fall backwards on the carpet, arms outstretched, and sighs happily. “Oh god, I’m so glad all that wedding bullshit is over! If I ever have to talk to anyone about boutonnieres or catering ever again, it will be too soon.”
“You did so well, Tooru.” Toshi smiles down at him. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you for putting in all that effort for us.”
The praise blooms in his chest like a warm, golden firework. He smiles back, upside down from the floor.
Toshi gets up and clears away the empty platter and plates back to the kitchen and wipes down the table neatly. Then he sits back down and holds out his arms. “Tooru, come here.”
Tooru rolls himself up off the floor with a groan and pads over to sit in Toshi’s lap, draping himself over the broad shoulders. “Mhh... You’re so warm.”
Hands rub his back for a moment, then Toshi pushes him up and slightly away so he can look into his face. “There’s something else I want to discuss with you.”
Oh fuck...
Tooru can feel his heart speed up and an uneasy knot form in gut. Why now? Why now, of all times? Just when everything was feeling so perfect. Just when he was finally starting to relax again... “Does it... have to be now?” he asks quietly. “I’m not... I don’t want to fight with you right now.”
Toshi chuckles slightly under his breath. “It’s okay Tooru, it’s not what you think. Don’t look so worried. I just want to give you some consequences for breaking our contract and getting that tattoo.” He strokes a thumb along Tooru’s left rib cage gently, making him flinch slightly and squirm away from the ticklish touch.
Tooru’s frown deepens and he looks down and away. “So you... haven’t forgotten about that.”
“No, I did not forget about that.” Toshi sounds slightly amused. “And I have been thinking about what to do about it ever since.”
“You want to punish me? Now, on our honeymoon?” He can’t keep the slight whining edge out of his voice.
“No, Tooru. It’s not a punishment.” Toshi cups his cheek and gives him a reassuring look. “I’m not going to hurt you, or make you feel guilty and ashamed, I promise. I understand why you got the tattoo and I would have given you permission if you had asked. But I need to give you some consequences for breaking our contract, and I want you to understand why I’m disappointed that you didn’t ask me first.”
Tooru scowls and looks away towards the fire, not saying anything.
“Can you tell me why I might be disappointed?” Toshi asks, his tone gentle.
His pulse is pounding in his ears and he can feel himself wanting to deflect, defend, attack, run away. But he is bound by his promise to Toshi earlier to not be so defensive.
It’s my problem and I will work on it.
Come on, be an adult!
He clenches his teeth and closes his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath and then meets Toshi’s eyes. “Because I belong to you. And you’re responsible for me.”
“Correct.” Toshi nods. He runs his hands up and down the sides of Tooru’s body, over his hips and down his legs. “All this belongs to me. It’s mine, and I look after it. By getting a tattoo, you changed something that’s mine. Permanently. Without asking me.”
Tooru can feel himself blush with shame. He can’t bring himself to meet Toshi’s eyes, so he stares at the carpet instead, but nods once silently.
“So now, I am going to give you a lesson to help you remember that you belong to me, so that you don’t make the same mistake again.”
Tooru feels a hand under his chin, forcing his gaze gently back to look at Toshi.
“Choose a number between one and six.”
“Why? What are you going to do?” Tooru frowns, jerking his head away slightly.
“I will explain fully in a minute, and you will get the opportunity to change your decision afterwards. For now, just choose.”
One and six. Toshi could be taking something away, or giving him something he doesn’t want, so either end of the scale could be bad. Safest to pick in the middle. “Three.”
“Alright. Three.” Toshi sounds satisfied, as if he had predicted this outcome. “The consequence that I am giving you for breaking our contract is this: For the next three days, you will not be allowed to orgasm. Then, on the fourth day, I will give you three orgasms in a row, or at least as many as you’re conscious for.”
Tooru scowls. “What? You’re not letting me come? On our honeymoon?”
“No, Tooru. That’s not what I said. I said I will not let you come for three days, and then I will make you come three times in a row on the fourth day. And the timing is deliberate. Because it’s our honeymoon, I believe you will be more likely to remember this lesson.”
“But we’re only here for seven days!”
“Mhm. Good thing you didn’t pick six then, isn’t it? Although, six orgasms in one day would be quite the record, even for you.”
“But... Why?” Tooru hates how whiny he sounds, but in that moment he can’t help it.
“Because I can.” Toshi hooks two fingers of his left hand into the steel ring on Tooru’s collar and tugs gently. “You belong to me, Tooru. I am reminding you of what that means.”
Tooru’s heart is still hammering from the adrenaline, but the reason is slowly morphing into something else. While this whole situation is irritating as fuck, it’s also... a turn-on. Deny it as he might, he secretly loves it when Toshi takes control of him this way.
It’s a challenge, and Tooru wants to rise to it. Fuck Ushijima Wakatoshi, he’s going to beat him at his own game.
But he has to be cautious.
He fixes Toshi with a narrow-eyed stare. “What are the other rules? Where is the catch?”
Toshi smiles at him, seeming pleased by the questions. “No orgasm for three days, that is the only rule. If you do come, the timer resets back to three days. Everything else is on the table.”
“So we can still... fuck? I’m just... not allowed to come?” Tooru frowns. That sounds too good to be true.
“Correct. But it’s a two-edged sword, Tooru. If I fuck you, then it will be difficult for us to avoid coming. And we will have to stop before we do, which might be frustrating. So weigh your options carefully.”
Tooru’s attention zeroes in on the words. “Us? We? You’re not allowed to come either?”
Toshi nods. “Yes. I am including myself in the lesson.”
“Why?”
“Because I messed up just as much as you did, misinterpreting the contract to justify my reasons for not telling you how I feel. I deserve a lesson, too.” Toshi smiles a little sheepishly.
A devilish grin appears on Tooru’s face. If Toshi isn’t allowed to come either, then he will be able to torture him for three whole days straight. Edge him, tease him, make him absolutely crazy with lust and beat him at his own game. The possibilities are endless. “Oh, this is good. I like this.”
“Mmh, I know that look, Tooru,” Toshi murmurs, amused. “But you can’t beat me in this. If you make me come, the clock will reset for you as well. We’re on the same team, remember?” Toshi tugs on the ring again, bringing Tooru’s lips forward for a soft kiss. “So, do you want to stay at three days, or do you want to revise your original choice up or down?”
Tooru sits back and crosses his arms, staring into the fire, frowning. Three days is a long time, and three orgasms isn’t that much, even if they are all in a row, considering that in exchange he will be giving up on at least two a day. “Three orgasms isn’t a fair trade for three days. If you make it six, then I’ll agree.”
Toshi’s eyebrows rise up in surprise. “You think you’re in a position to negotiate?”
Tooru just meets his gaze, arms still crossed, not backing down.
“Fine.” Toshi laughs softly and shakes his head. He looks like he just got an unexpected and delightful present. “Three days, and as many orgasms as you can handle on the fourth day. I’ll only stop when you’re no longer able to consent.”
“Deal.” The word is out of Tooru’s mouth before he can weigh Toshi’s words carefully, but honestly, who cares? The game is afoot and he wants to play.
Only an hour ago, sex was the very last thing on his mind, drained and exhausted as he was from the stress of the last few weeks. But now it’s all he can think about, precisely because something has been denied to him.
Fuck Ushijima Wakatoshi and his devilish mind-fuckery.
Well, two can play that game.
He leans in and brushes his tongue over Toshi’s lips, then bumps their noses together and asks teasingly, “So... nothing is off the table?”
“Mhmm...” Toshi hums softly under his breath. “But remember, we’re on the same team. Whatever you do to me, you’ll have to endure yourself.
Tooru grins wickedly.
Challenge accepted.
~*~
They eventually get to sleep that night, despite Tooru’s best efforts to keep them both awake with teasing and touching. Their bodies are simply too tired after the exhaustion of the wedding and the uncomfortable bus ride.
The next morning, Toshi’s alarm goes off uncomfortably early.
Tooru groans. “Why the fuck did you set an alarm on your own fucking honeymoon? Are you some kind of masochist?”
Toshi rolls out of bed and pads to the bathroom, then around the room getting dressed in his snow gear. “It’s supposed to have snowed overnight. I don’t want to miss out on fresh powder, and we still have to hire our gear before we can hit the slopes. Get up and let’s go.”
“Urgh...” Tooru buries his head under his pillow for a minute, then throws back the covers and rolls out of bed as well. Fresh powder is worth getting up for.
An hour and a half later, they are fully equipped with helmets, goggles, boots, boards and lift passes, and are sitting on the first chairlift of the day. Toshi stacks it getting off the lift at the top and Tooru laughs at him so hard that he falls over too. They strap up their bindings and launch themselves down the first run of the day.
It’s rough and inelegant, but they make it down. They’re both out of practice, though Tooru would rather die than admit it. Toshi has been snowboarding a few times over the past few years in Nagano and Interlaken, but he is just as rusty as Tooru, whose last time was a three-week snowboarding safari with his CA San Juan team mates, four years ago. They both have a few spectacular wipe-outs, but thanks to the deep powder and a blessed absence of concealed rocks, neither are hurt.
But by the end of the second run, their bodies are remembering the required muscle memories and everything starts to go more smoothly. The the third run, they are challenging each other to jumps and stunts, whooping and laughing when the other loses their balance and face-plants. By the end of the fourth run, both have bright red, running noses, and are panting and grinning wildly.
They stop for lunch, both inhaling an incredible amount of food in an alarmingly short period of time, then collapse for a short nap in the sun loungers on the restaurant’s deck. Tooru makes them put on more sunscreen, which makes Toshi wrinkle his nose, hating the fake chemical smell and the slimy, oily feeling on his skin. Tooru makes a mental note to buy fragrance free sunscreen when they stop in at the general store.
Then they’re back to the lifts, heading up to a different part of the mountain this time with a more challenging black run. In the serene quiet, floating through the tree tops above the snow, Tooru leans his head against Toshi’s snow-jacketed shoulder, his helmet dangling from his hands between his knees.
You are not alone.
You have to toss me the ball.
“So...” he says contemplatively. “What do you think I should do about Germany?”
“Hmm...” Toshi leans his head on top of Tooru’s as he exhales thoughtfully. He speaks slowly, as if choosing each word with care. “I know you’re not ‘giving up’, but... Your career here in Argentina is incredible. And it feels like you’re walking away from it just because of me.”
He pauses, watching a passing tree-top. “I’m not going to forbid you from doing it, Tooru. I will stand by you and support you, whatever you choose. I’m just...” He hesitates. “I’m worried that you’re making the wrong decision. For me. It hurts me to have to watch you do this. And...” He stops again. Takes a breath. “I’m... afraid that you will come to regret it, and worse, resent me for it.”
Tooru sighs heavily. “Yeah... That makes sense. It’s not true, but it makes sense. For you to think that.” He contemplates for a while, staring at the thick steel cables running overhead. “But I’m not just thinking of doing this because of you, you know.” He bumps Toshi with his elbow. “I’ve been feeling... restless for a while now, even before the Olympics.”
He pauses again, then a thought pops into his head. “Hey, so. When you decided to leave Schweiden and move to Orzel Warszawa, what were your reasons?”
“They made me a really good offer.”
Tooru snorts. “Apart from that, you idiot!”
“Mhm.” Toshi is silent for a while. “I wanted a new challenge.”
“Yeah. Exactly.” Tooru nods emphatically, but before he can frame his next thought, the lift has reached the summit station and they have to scramble off. Tooru straps his helmet back on, fastens his bindings and flips down his goggles, then he pushes off over the lip of the black diamond run, not waiting for Toshi. He knows he will catch up.
At the bottom, they are both winded and covered in snow. It was a headlong run into the valley, narrow and flanked by trees, forcing them to go at speed by only giving a few spaces where they can push into parallel with the slope to slow down. It’s exhilarating. Tooru gets a new bruise on his hip from clipping a tree, and Toshi falls and flattens an entire sapling when the leading edge of his board gets caught in an unexpected snowdrift.
“Fuck me, that was insane,” Tooru gasps.
“Yeah.” Toshi lifts his goggles and unclips his helmet, lifting it off and running a gloved hand through his sweaty hair.
Tooru looks dubiously at the sun getting close to the mountain ridge. “Should we... call it a day? Sun’s coming down and I feel like if we go again, we might be too tired and get injured.” Bumps and bruises are fine, but an actual injury is the one thing neither of them can afford. Their bodies are their bread and butter and must be protected.
Toshi nods tiredly. “Mhm.”
They unfix their boots from their bindings, hoist their boards and start trudging slowly back to their chalet. After a little while, Toshi says thoughtfully, “You know, Tooru... I moved to Warszawa because I wanted a new challenge. I moved there to get stronger at volleyball, as the next step up in my career. But... you’re thinking of changing careers completely.”
Tooru sighs. “Yeah. You're right...” He’s too tired to form any more coherent reply than that right now.
But there’s time. They have plenty of time to talk more.
Toshi doesn’t say anything more, and they make it back to their front door just as the sun disappears behind the mountains.
Chapter Text
They strip off their gear in silence, hang everything up to dry in the airing cupboard and stand their boots in front of the fireplace.
Toshi builds and lights the fire, his movements precise and careful.
Tooru collapses on the couch and watches him enviously. “Do you want the first shower?”
“Mhm.”
Ten minutes after Toshi disappears into the bathroom, a delicious thought appears in Tooru’s pleasantly tired mind. He pads to the bathroom door and knocks. “Can I come in?”
“Yes? What’s wrong?”
Tooru grins and lets himself in, his eyes drinking in the broad shoulders and naked chest of his newly minted husband clad in nothing but underwear and the little gold chain around his neck with its ring and key. “Nothing’s wrong. I just want to watch. That okay?”
Toshi raises an eyebrow and there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “You may.” He strips off and starts running the water. When it’s hot and steaming, he steps in, closing his eyes and letting the water run over his face. Every line in his body relaxes.
Something about Toshi’s unguarded, uncomplicated enjoyment of the hot water makes a golden flood of feelings rise in Tooru’s stomach, reaching all the way to his chest and his throat. He looks so... human. And normal. Not the larger-than-life monster of Tooru’s school days, nor the dangerous weapon he’s had to defeat at all costs. He’s just... Toshi. Relaxed, completely at ease with himself and his surroundings.
It makes Tooru feel an aching, powerful want. To distract himself from the sudden onrush of tears welling in his eyes, he quickly strips off his own clothes and steps into the shower. “Move over, there’s enough room for two,” he grins.
“Is there?” Toshi looks a little dubious, but steps aside anyway. While Tooru drenches himself in the piping hot water, he grabs some bodywash and starts lathering up. The small, steamy space starts smelling like a field of lavender.
“Let me do that.” Tooru grabs the bottle from him and squirts out a generous amount. With a small, playful smile, he starts running his hands over Toshi’s chest, working in circles to build up a lather, then moving his hands up over his shoulders and arms.
“Mhmm...” Toshi hums and closes his eyes.
Taking that as permission, Tooru gives his roaming hands free reign, gliding, massaging and scratching lightly. Eventually, they find their way to Toshi’s cock, already hard and waiting, and glide up and down, then further down around his balls, and back again.
Toshi leans on arm on the wall and exhales softly, closing his eyes.
Tooru keeps his movements slow, meditative. Sensation is the aim, not building towards peak. He lets his right hand caress and cup and gentle Toshi’s cock and balls, slip down his perineum and circle his hole, then come back up, over and over, while his left keeps roaming and gliding over Toshi’s chest, pinching his nipples every now and then.
“Tooru...” Toshi’s voice is low, spoken in an exhale, his name part praise and part warning.
But Oikawa Tooru would not be where he is in life if he did not push limits. Gently, standing behind him, he pushes Toshi face forward into the hot stream of water and lets it sluice the soap away, using his hands to speed up the process. Then he bumps the faucet, cutting off the stream and gets on his knees.
“Oh god.” The sharp gasp of surprise is all the encouragement he needs when he uses his hands to part Toshi’s ass cheeks and licks a long stroke up from his taint to his hole. Grinning, he repeats the movement, once, twice, three times, each languid stroke slow and sensual and deliberate.
There’s something between a growl and moan, escaping from between clenched teeth. “Tooru...!”
Tooru doubles down, licking around Toshi’s hole and then hardening his tongue and pushing inside, fucking him with quick, devilish strokes.
He is pushing his luck, he knows. This is not something that Toshi allows him to do often. It is a sacred trust, the most intimate of intimate privileges, to see a weapon of a man like Ushijima Wakatoshi made vulnerable like this. And Tooru loves it. Lives for it.
“Ngh...!” Toshi’s moan is a protest and a lament. When his great hand comes around and grips the back of Tooru’s head, pushing his pointed tongue further inside, Tooru knows that time is almost up. The hand moves to grip a large handful of Tooru’s hair and lifting him away, up and up, back to his feet.
Toshi turns around, his glaring eagle’s eyes fixing Tooru and pinning him down. “You are...”
What he is isn’t explained further, because Toshi’s other hand closes around Tooru’s throat and holds him still while he bends down and plunders his mouth. Pushes inside roughly, invading, tasting, claiming. All Tooru can do is submit and surrender.
Then, abruptly, he finds himself with his face pressed up against the cold tile of the shower wall, his right arm twisted behind his back in an iron grip. Toshi’s leg is between his own, pinning them open, while a soapy hand glides between his own ass cheeks and slips into his hole. It glides in and in, making Tooru whimper, then cry out when it finds the sweet spot of his prostate and strokes it.
“You are so very lucky that I can’t fuck you right now, Tooru.” Toshi’s voice is flat and dangerous in his ear.
The sound of it makes Tooru’s stomach drops all the way to the floor. He gasps an involuntary moan, the finger inside him stroking mercilessly. It’s too much, too fast, he’s already hurtling towards the edge, and he doesn’t even care anymore, oh god he wants it, he wants to come so bad, please—
From one moment to the next, the fingers inside him is gone, and so is the hand pinning his arm behind his back. He is left gasping, face leaning against the cold tile, bereft.
Suddenly, a deluge of ice-cold water rushes down from above, soaking them both.
“Fuck!” Tooru’s flinch away out of the icy downpour is arrested by a vice-grip around his upper arm.
“Stay.” Toshi’s command is flat and even. He keeps them both in the stream for a few more seconds to wash off all the remaining soap, ignoring Tooru’s frantic protests. Then he shuts off the water and lets go, stepping out of the shower dripping.
Gasping and outraged, Tooru almost falls out behind him. He draws a breath to hurl a stream of abuse, but just as he opens his mouth, Toshi’s flat stare pins him once more. It makes Tooru’s mouth fall shut again immediately and his eyes drop to the floor.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
A towel is thrown in his face with such speed that it wraps all the way around his head.
The gesture is so utterly unexpected and so childish that it makes him snort, then giggle, then laugh. “I’m sorry!” He can’t stop laughing, trying to disentangle himself from the towel. “I’m sorry, Toshi! I’m sorry...” He totally loses it, doubles over and gasps for air between gales of laughter.
From the bedroom, there is a chuckle, then a quiet laugh. Toshi’s head appears around the edge of the bathroom door. He is smiling with all his teeth. “Hurry up and get dressed. I’m hungry.”
Tooru tries with all his might to put the lid back on his laughter, but it is a slow and torturous process. He hauls in deep breaths, eventually smothering the last few giggles that try to escape. “Oh god...” he groans, snorts, almost loses it again, breathes deeply. “I haven’t laughed like that in... forever.” Shuffling into the bedroom, he towels off and throws on some underwear, socks, jeans, and a sweater. His diaphragm hurts. “I’m sorry, Toshi. You can pay me back in full in two days, okay?”
Toshi raises an eyebrow at him, still grinning slightly. “Oh, I intend to.” He steps up and fastens the collar around Tooru’s neck with precise, practised movements. The padlock clicks into place with sweet familiarity. He leans in close, two fingers hooking into the steel ring, tugging slightly. “In two days, I will remind you exactly who this body of yours belongs to, over and over, and you will not forget it again for as long as you live.”
Tooru’s eyes fall closed and he exhales sharply, adrenaline shooting through his veins making his stomach clench. “Fuck, you have no idea how sexy you sound when you say shit like that.” He opens his eyes, captures Toshi’s shoulders with his arms and pulls him down for a deep kiss.
Toshi disentangles himself after a minute. “Enough, Tooru. We both need food.” He sounds disappointed but determined.
“Um...” Tooru hesitates, gesturing to his collar. “You want me to go out like this?”
“Wear a scarf,” Toshi says curtly.
Tooru grins. “Okay.”
The restaurant they choose is cheap and cheerful. Bright posters and multicoloured tacky plastic décor everywhere make it feel welcoming and friendly. The staff is loud, their smiles several megawatts too bright, but they are also fast and efficient. The food is plentiful and good.
Halfway through his enormous rib-eye steak with fries and salad, Toshi looks up unexpectedly and asks, “Why a Youth Development Coach?”
“Hm?” Tooru blinks, mouth full with a bite of his own chimichurri-marinated charcoal grilled chicken with rice, then catches up. “Mhm.” He chews thoughtfully, swallows. “Oh. That...” He stares off into the distance for a bit, organising his thoughts.
Toshi keeps his attention on his food, working at it diligently.
After another bite of food, trying hard not to drip the green sauce all over his scarf, Tooru smiles and says, “You remember those kids we coached at Nekoma gym?”
Toshi leans his head to one side and nods.
“I just keep... thinking about them and smiling.” He looks off into the distance again. “I... want to go back there, Toshi. I want to teach them some more. I want to see them fail and learn and grow. I want to help them.”
“Enough to stop playing volleyball yourself?” Toshi’s question is quiet, kid-gloves careful.
Tooru winces, then sighs. There are too many thoughts, all tangled up together, happy and sad and hopeful and heartbroken. It’s overwhelming. He’s not explaining it at all well.
He takes a breath and looks over at Toshi, who has put his cutlery down and is watching him, completely focused. That focused attention creates a rush of fear in his belly, making him swallow. But also trust, and determination.
This is about them, their relationship. Their life together. He has to communicate this.
He takes another deep breath, exhales slowly.
“I… I’m… not giving up, Toshi. Maybe leaving Atlético and Argentina looks like I’m giving up, to you. But I promise you, my worthless pride will never let me give up. Ever. I will never give up, not for me, not for you, not for anyone.”
Toshi frowns slightly and inhales, shifts his weight as if he was about to say something, then stills again, seeming to think better of it. He returns his attention to Tooru, listening.
Tooru looks down at his food, finding the right words, pushing down the emotions that are threatening to close his throat. “I love playing volleyball. I love it. It’s fun. I’ve built myself a home and a career from it. I built it with my own two hands, brick by bloody brick. All those hard, lonely, awful years in the beginning, I worked myself to the bone and never once allowed myself any mercy.”
He blinks rapidly, fighting back the tears. Swallows. “And I’m so proud of what I’ve achieved. I’ve grown grown into a man. I’ve played on the world stage and I’ve beaten the strongest opponents I could find, including you and Tobio-chan. I’ve faced down all my monsters. I even married the biggest one!” He laughs a little under his breath and reaches across the table for Toshi’s hand, squeezing it hard. “You’re my monster, Toshi. And I love you for it.”
Toshi squeezes back just as hard, smiling a little. His eyes are shining.
They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, before Tooru blinks and looks away again. Frowns, tries to find the next thread of the argument he is building. “But... in the past year or so, I’ve also realised that I’ve become very... comfortable with where I am. Too comfortable, maybe.”
He shrugs. “I’ve been playing in the Liga for almost ten years now, I know it inside out. I feel like I can predict every challenge, and it’s making me... complacent. Losing in Paris like that in the prelim finals was a wake-up call. I’m going through the motions and losing my edge. I’m not as focused as I used to be.” He winces, forces himself to speak the awful words out loud. “I think I’m... getting bored.”
“Hmm...” Toshi’s thoughtful rumble is reassuring. “That’s why you asked me about leaving Schweiden.”
Tooru’s eyes flick up to meet his focused gaze, and he nods emphatically. “Yes! You must have felt something like this, too, right? When you made the decision to move.”
Toshi hums again and nods, but doesn’t say any more. Only waits for Tooru to continue, refusing to derail the conversation with his own input.
It is both a blessing and a curse. Tooru sighs, groping for the next thread. “...You know how I said that they’re coming for us? The Kageyamas and Hinatas of the new generation? And you said that we still have three years to beat them, all we have to do is work hard and we’ll get selected again.”
“Mhm.”
“And, I agree. We can beat them. We’re older, more experienced, wiser and stronger. But...” He hesitates.
This is the biggest part of all of this and... it feels so vulnerable. Even though he isn’t giving up, will never, ever give up, this... feels close to something like that, and it makes him ache and fight against himself.
Toshi squeezes his hand again softly. It makes the next words a little easier to say.
“What if... I don’t want to beat them? What if I don’t want to fight them anymore?” He whispers the words, a confession. “I’ve done it once already. I defeated you and Kageyama and... I think I’m done with that battle. I don’t need to fight it all over again with a new generation, just to prove I can. I did it, and... I think that’s enough now.”
He goes quiet and looks away, looking back on the memories of the many battles he has fought. The adrenaline, the hunger, the despair of losing, the ecstasy of winning. They are all there, every single one of them, throughout all the years. It makes his heart ache with pride and grief.
Can he really walk away? Is he brave enough?
Can he really break his own heart like this?
Why is he doing this?
He only realises there are tears running down his face when Toshi silently hands him a clean napkin from the empty table next to them, and then quietly goes back to eating his food. Giving him space to gather himself, allowing him to pause the conversation and resume another time.
Tooru is impossibly grateful for the quiet gesture of mercy. He sobs, once, face buried in his napkin. He breathes in deeply through his nose, exhaling shakily through his mouth, getting himself back under control. Wipes away his tears and discretely blows his nose. Picks up his knife and fork and goes back to his chicken.
It’s a little cold now, but it still tastes good.
Below the table, Toshi’s foot brushes against his ankle and hooks in, linking them together.
Neither of them says anything else for the rest of the meal, wrapped up deep in their own thoughts.
On the walk back through the golden lamplit darkness to their chalet, Toshi catches Tooru around the waist and pulls him in for a silent hug. He kisses Tooru’s temple and whispers, “Thank you for telling me.”
Tooru hiccups a little laugh and lets himself feel enveloped by the big snow-jacketed shoulders. It feels so safe. So... home.
Toshi releases him and looks at him with a serious expression. “I should have said this a long time ago, Tooru. I don’t think your pride is worthless. I know I called it that once, a long time ago. But that was when I was young and stupid, and I didn’t know that strength could look like something other than myself.”
Tooru tries to come up with some kind of funny come-back or cutting remark about a young, stupid Ushibaka, but his heart aches too much and he wants to keep feeling safe and home. So he doesn’t, and just hums softly instead. “Mhm.”
Cupping his hand against Tooru’s cheek and looking deeply into his eyes, Toshi says each word slowly and deliberately. “Your. Pride. Isn’t. Worthless. It never was and it isn’t now. I’m so proud of you, of everything you’ve built. It’s incredible. You are incredible. I love your pride, Tooru. And I love you.”
Tooru doesn’t cry. He definitely doesn’t. He doesn’t heave in a big breath that turns into a sob and clenches his teeth and holds his breath and doesn’t utterly break to pieces, right there in the cold, snowy darkness, held in Toshi’s arms.
“Fuck you—Ushijima Wakatoshi,” he whimpers, in between the definitely-not-sobs. “Why do you always—have to say sappy—bullshit that makes—me cry?” Another not-storm of not-sobs shakes him, leaving him breathless and gasping. His fingers claw into the textured black fabric of Toshi’s snow jacket and do not let go.
“I’m sorry,” Toshi mumbles soothingly into his hair, rubbing his back. “I’m sorry, Tooru.”
Eventually, they make it back to their chalet. Tooru moves slowly, as if his whole body is bruised. The tears just won’t stop flowing, even though he has managed to stop sobbing. It feels like a dam has broken somewhere in his heart, and the flood will take a long time to pour itself into the valley below.
Toshi is a silent wall of comfort. He re-lights the fire, then strips Tooru out of his clothes, putting him into pyjamas and giving him his biggest, softest hoodie to wear. It’s so big on Tooru it’s almost comical, and it feels like wearing him. When Tooru is safely bundled up on the couch with a blanket, he disappears into the kitchen, reemerging with two mugs of hot chocolate, apparently part of their welcome hamper.
Tooru accepts his mug and sips, making a face when he scalds his tongue. Toshi takes the mug from him again and puts it down on the coffee table to cool down.
“I’m sorry for crying so much,” Tooru shakes his head and tries to laugh at himself, rubbing his red and swollen eyes. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”
Toshi shrugs and lets himself fold down on to the couch next to him. “You cry a lot, Tooru. And never once have I minded. It’s part of who you are.”
“Is not!” Tooru scowls at him.
Toshi smiles a little and shrugs again.
“Don’t just shrug at me like that!” Tooru scowls deeper and pushes against him with his socked foot to push him off the couch in retaliation. But it’s half-hearted and he eventually gives up, huffing grumpily and sinking down further into the enormous hoodie. “Asshole,” he murmurs.
“Mhm.” The smile on Toshi’s face grows a little wider for a moment.
They sit together in comfortable silence, watching the flames in the grate flicker.
“I don’t know why I’m crying so much...” Tooru whispers eventually, almost to himself. “I want this. I want to move forward.”
So why does he feel like someone has died?
Or maybe not someone, but something.
Or maybe not even that.
But something is passing. And it is mourned.
It makes him feel fragile and small and aching all over, craving connection and comfort.
Wordlessly, he scoots closer to Toshi with his blanket, until his head is resting on Toshi’s lap. Hands come to card through Tooru’s hair and he sighs and closes his eyes.
But it’s not enough, he still wants more. Without opening his eyes, he reaches for one of Toshi’s hands and pulls it close, slipping two of the fingers into his mouth and sucking gently.
There’s a long, slow exhale above him, and the remaining hand knots gently in his hair.
Tooru hums and lets his tongue trace slow circles around Toshi’s fingertips.
After a minute, Toshi shifts, lifting Tooru’s head off his lap and disengaging his fingers. “Wait,” he says softly, preempting Tooru’s disappointed look, then walks upstairs to the bedroom.
When he reappears, he is carrying his book and his reading glasses. He places them within close reach on the coffee table, then rearranges himself comfortably on the couch with a pillow at his back, legs stretched out along its length and parted slightly, making a space.
“Come here.”
Tooru slots himself contentedly back between Toshi’s legs, head resting on his abdomen and closes his eyes again.
“Take out my cock and put it in your mouth.”
Tooru frowns, lifts his head and looks at Toshi with round eyes, hardly daring to believe his ears.
Toshi smiles softly and nods at him, giving permission.
Tooru makes a small noise at the back of his throat and slides down Toshi’s sweats and underwear, revealing his semi-hard cock.
In one movement, he sucks it into his mouth and takes it deep. It is warm. It feels so good.
Toshi exhales a low groan. Takes a long, slow inhale, and exhales again. His right hand returns to his grip in Tooru’s hair. “Good boy. Now stay, and don’t move.” With his left, he reaches over to the coffee table, puts on his glasses, picks up his book and opens it. “Push at me when you want permission to stop.”
The command floods every single part of Tooru’s body with a golden warmth, right down to his fingertips. He moans, low and drawn out, with utter joy.
Scooting himself even further down between Toshi’s legs, he finds the perfect spot to rest his cheek against the warm skin of Toshi’s hip and closes his eyes dreamily, losing himself in the blissful sensation of his stuffed-full mouth and the gentle ache of his jaw.
~*~
The next two days are full of bright blue skies, sunshine and powder. They both get slight sunburn on their noses, despite being diligent with the sunscreen. Their cheeks are bright red from the cold air and their muscles ache from unfamiliar use.
They are both improving though, taking less tumbles and getting more confidence. Tooru insists on taking their boards back to the shop to get the edges sharpened and the bottoms rewaxed, and it makes a huge difference. They revisit the black diamond run and race each other to the bottom.
Tooru wins.
Still high from his victory, he corners Toshi in the bathroom of the restaurant where they have lunch. Slips his hands down Toshi’s pants, strokes him and kisses him breathless, until an iron grip on his wrist forces him to stop and he earns a warning look. Spins away grinning and tries to dash away, only to be dragged back and ordered to wash his hands again.
The evenings are quiet. Soft. They doze in front of the fire after dinner, tired from the day’s exertions, or kiss and caress each other languidly, seeking sensation rather than release. Then they curl up in bed, their arousal a warm, pleasant glow like the last embers of the fire in the grate.
Tooru still cries every now and then, but his grief is less of a flood now than a steady trickle. Eventually, it stops altogether, leaving him with an absence. It’s there and it aches, but it coexists with the uncomplicated joy and mischief of their days on the slopes.
On the morning of the fourth day, Toshi’s early morning alarm does not go off.
Tooru doesn’t notice. He is fast asleep until light is pouring through the bedroom window.
He only stirs faintly when a long arm slips under his shoulders from behind him, and another drapes over the curve of his naked waist.
The murmur in his ear is warm and soothing. “Tap twice if you want me to let go.”
Then one hand closes around his morning-hard cock, something cool and slick in its palm, while the other hand covers his mouth, leaving him to breathe only through his nose.
His eyes fly open. “Mmf!” Adrenaline shoots through his sleep-heavy body, making all his muscles tense, but his body is pinned between the two arms, the hand over his mouth holding his jaw tight. There’s nowhere for him to move to.
The hand on his cock starts stroking slowly. The sensation is smooth and silky oh so good.
“Mmhf...!” His eyes roll back in his head and his hips buck slightly in reflex.
“That’s it. Let it happen.”
The hand stroking him increases speed and pressure. The feeling is overwhelming and incredible and merciless, deprived as he has been of direct stimulation for the past three days.
“Mmmh!” he whines loudly, spine arching, hips tilting forward, and head pushing back into the shoulder behind him.
A thumb comes over his nose and pinches off his air.
His brain short-circuits. Silent fireworks explode right inside his ears.
The sensations of being pinned and held without air, together with the intense pleasure in his cock, all combine to hurtle him towards his edge at insane speed. He can feel the muscles in his abdomen and legs go rigid.
“Good boy. Come for me.”
He only manages the smallest whimper with his remaining air before his orgasm rips from him, making his hips buck wildly as he cums hard into the hand caged around the head of his cock. His fingers claw into the sheets and yank wildly in reflex.
The hand over his nose and mouth releases and he gasps in a breath, moans, gasps again.
“Mmh... Well done,” Toshi’s warm, pleased voice rumbles behind him and he presses a soft kiss on the bare skin of Tooru’s shoulder. “That’s number one.” His left hand comes up in front of Tooru’s mouth and opens. “Now, lick it clean.”
Tooru’s mind is so foggy that his tongue snakes out and licks the palm of Toshi’s hand before he has any conscious thought to object. His own cum is salty and tangy, mixed with the faint taste of some kind of lubricant. The skin of Toshi’s palm is warm and textured. He licks again and again with broader strokes, eyes falling closed as he loses himself in the sensation, floating brain drenched in devotion.
“Ahh...” Toshi sighs. “You’re such a good boy... I’m going to take my time with you today.”
Tooru gives a small hum, whether in response to the praise or in anticipation he doesn’t know.
Eventually, the hand withdraws, leaving his mouth with nothing to do. He lies still for a bit, trying to reassemble his brain. When he sits up and looks around for something else to fill his mouth with, Toshi has disappeared, so he just sits there, blinking in the light pouring in from the window.
Toshi appears in the bathroom doorway and sees him sitting up. The corner of his mouth curves up in a small smile. “Come here, Tooru.”
Tooru’s body obeys and he lifts himself off the bed, padding naked to where Toshi is standing. He manages a soft smile and blinks slowly. “Hey.”
Toshi runs his hands over Tooru’s naked body appreciatively, then leans down and kisses him softly. “Good morning, my love. Did you enjoy your first orgasm of the day?”
“Mmh.” Tooru’s smile grows wider. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Toshi nods, satisfied. “Are you ready for your second one?”
Chapter Text
Tooru’s eyebrows lift all the way up in surprise. “Already?”
“We have a lot to get through today. We made a deal, remember? As many orgasms as you can handle, I’ll stop when you’re no longer able to consent.” Toshi’s eyes grow piercing and his smile hungry. “Or do you want to renegotiate?”
That look in Toshi’s eyes sears away the last of the sleep and recent orgasm fog from his brain. His own smile turns into a wicked grin. “Fuck you, Ushijima Wakatoshi. When have I ever backed out?”
Toshi’s hungry smile grows wider. He loops two fingers through the ring on Tooru’s collar and tugs. “Who do you belong to?”
Tooru grins back insolently and keeps his mouth firmly shut.
The glint in Toshi’s eyes make him look almost... satisfied. His hand grips the hair at the back of Tooru’s head and pushes it forward, exposing the back of his neck. Toshi steps close, reaching for the key hanging next to the golden ring on the chain around his neck to unlock the padlock on the buckle, then slides off the collar and places it carefully on the bedside table.
Tooru watches, a little annoyed that leather isn’t water-proof. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on that thought though, because the next command comes, clipped and curt.
“Go to the bathroom and brush your teeth. Then kneel here and wait for me.”
Tooru rolls his eyes but complies, padding off to the toilet at the end of the hall and then brushing his teeth diligently, knowing that Toshi will make him do it again if he doesn’t.
Toshi starts the water running in the shower and strips off the t-shirt and shorts he wore to bed. His cock is already hard, standing proud against his abdomen.
Tooru stares at it longingly while he finishes brushing his teeth and wipes his mouth dry.
Toshi notices and smirks. “Don’t worry, your mouth will get its fill of this soon enough. Now, kneel.”
The words go right into Tooru’s knees and make them wobbly, forcing a little exhale from him as he sinks down on to the bathmat, sitting back on his heels and placing his hands in his lap.
Toshi watches him, lingering over the sight. Once the water is hot, he steps in and closes the glass door behind him. He turns around a few times, getting himself completely soaked, sighing at the sensation of the hot water on his skin, then lathers up some shower gel and washes himself thoroughly.
Tooru watches him, drinking the sight.
Just when he assumes that that is all he will be asked to do, the next command comes.
“Come here.”
Excitement makes him scramble up a little faster than is strictly decent. He walks to the shower and steps in, wincing a little at the hot water but too eager to care.
The way Toshi’s soapy hands grasp him and start running all over Tooru’s body as soon as he is in reach makes him realise just how much he must have been holding himself back these last three days. His touch feels demanding and possessive. It makes liquid heat pool in the pit of Tooru’s stomach, his already rapidly hardening cock standing back at full attention. Fuck, he loves it when Toshi gets rough with him.
When one soapy hand grips his neck and the other slips down in between his legs, stroking and circling his cock and balls, he lets out a small moan.
The soapy hand slips further down between his legs, slipping up his perineum and circling his hole. A fingertip dips inside his tight muscled ring, making him inhale sharply. But the expected invasion doesn’t come. The fingertip only circles and dips in and out to the first knuckle, teasing him for a while, then withdraws.
Toshi pushes him back under the hot water, sluicing away the soap with his big hands, running between his legs several times, making Tooru sigh with pleasure.
That’s why he is not prepared for the gentle but irresistible force that pushes him into the wall, forcing him to bring up his arms to prevent his face being pushed flat into the cold tile. Hands pull his hips slightly back, making him lean forward, and a knee comes between his legs and forces them apart into a wide stance.
“Give me your colour and remind me of your safeword.”
Oh fuck.
Oh no. No no no, not this. Not this! It’s so bad and so humiliating and so good and he wants it and craves it and hates it so much!
Shit!
How did he not see this coming?
He twists to stare at Toshi’s face right by his shoulder, eyes gone wide.
Toshi chuckles. “I’ll remind you that this was all your idea, Tooru. Now you reap the consequences.” His voice has a sardonic edge. “I won’t ask again. Colour and safeword.”
Tooru moans and screws up his eyes. He knows that tone, and he knows that he is absolutely screwed. If there is one thing that Ushijima Wakatoshi is good at, it is getting even. Not because he is nasty or vindictive, but the very opposite. He is calm, precise and absolutely merciless in his vengeance.
But there is no way around this. Tooru isn’t going to back down or safeword out now, before they even start, not after what he said before they got in the shower.
“Green. Safeword is crow,” he whispers hoarsely.
“Mhm. Thought so...” Toshi hums and sinks to his knees. His large hands part the cheeks of Tooru’s ass. “And who do you belong to?”
Tooru only shakes his head in despair.
The first long lick makes him gasp and whine loudly. “Oh, god! Oh god, fuck!”
“This only stops either when you tell me who your delicious ass belongs to, or use your safeword. Telling me No or Stop won’t work, do you understand, Tooru?”
“Mnggh...” He nods brokenly but can’t bring himself to say it.
“Use your words.”
“...Yes...!”
As soon as he says yes, Toshi’s hands on either side of his ass grip harder and the tongue resumes its devilish work. It moves in long, broad strokes all the way from behind his balls to his hole, over and over.
“Oh god, Toshi, oh god...! Fuuuck! Oh fuck I hate you, oh god, you absolute bastard, nngggh!”
There’s a small exhale from behind him that sounds like laughter, then the muscular tip of Toshi’s tongue slides inside the ring for the first time.
“No no no, please nooo....!” Tooru wails, his knees sagging a little before his quads re-engage to hold him upright. “Oh god, please no!”
“Who do you belong to, Tooru?”
“Fuck you!”
“Wrong answer.” Toshi’s voice sounds pleased and amused, and there’s the feeling of a kiss on the inside of his asscheek. Then the tongue pushes back inside his ass and starts fucking him in earnest.
“Nngggh Toshi, Toshi, Toshi please, oh god no, no no no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please...!” Tooru’s desperate babbling has no effect whatsoever. All he can feel is his hole twitching desperately around the merciless tongue that is licking and sucking and invading him.
The sensation is so raw and vulnerable and humiliating and arousing and it fucks up his mind in the worst possible way.
Over and over and over the tongue strokes up and dives into him, precise like clockwork, the predictable regularity of it its own kind of torture as Tooru starts pushing back unconsciously into each stroke, seeking more penetration that never comes. Only the warm, soft, unending teasing of Toshi’s tongue.
Tooru is already building, he’s getting close, but not close enough, the last few metres to his edge completely out of reach because he needs more, he hates it, he wants more but oh god not like this, fuck he wants it!
“Toshi, Toshi...! Please, please fuck me! Finger me, fuck me, whatever you want but please, I need to come, please, please make me come!”
The tongue ceases for a moment. “Who do you belong to, Tooru?”
The twisting, snarling fight against himself inside his head is torture. He won’t give in, he won’t, but oh god he wants to so bad, he needs to, he won’t give in but he has to and fuck— “You! You, Toshi! All you, only you, please, please fuck me!”
There’s a satisfied growl and swift movement behind him. Rough hands grip his arms and pull them behind his back.
“Hold yourself open for me. Do not let go, Tooru.”
Tooru whines but obeys, using his own hands to spread himself open, dying a little inside from the humiliation and sheer wanton need.
There’s a pause. It makes Tooru wiggle his hips, desperate and confused. He obeyed, he’s being good, so why isn’t Toshi sliding inside him?
“Oh, good boy...” Toshi’s breathy exhale sounds savagely delighted. “Look at you, so greedy to have your ass eaten.”
Tooru whimpers, his hands slacking just a little as he cringes.
There’s a smack on his left asscheek. “Don’t. Let. Go.”
The sting makes him hiss and flinch, but the steel of command in Toshi’s voice makes him flex his arms again and hold himself wide open.
“That’s it. Just like that.”
The tongue returns, returning to its long strokes up from his balls, dipping fully inside his hole each time it reaches the top of its arc. It is slow, it is maddening, it is unbelievably good, and it is still not enough.
“Ah! Toshi! Please GOD, why won’t you fuck me! Please! I need you!”
“Because you—belong to—me, Tooru.” Each part of the sentence is accentuated with another stroke of the tongue, diving deep inside.
“Nnggh, please Toshi please, mmh—FUCK!”
The sudden grip on his cock makes him lift all the way to the balls of his feet in shock.
“Shh, little one...” There’s a soothing kiss on the knuckles of his right hand, clawed into the meat of his ass. “It’s alright, just let it happen. I’ll give you what you need.”
The tongue starts its slow lapping again, and the hand on his cock starts to move. The two centres of sensation push against each other in his brain for a moment, then their rhythms synchronise and meld, pulsing together to push him higher and higher, faster and faster towards his edge.
He’s constantly moaning and crying and wailing now, and he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the tongue in his ass and the hand on his cock. He arches his back and pulls his arms apart wider, opening himself up further, seeking more, more depth, more sensation, more warmth, always more, while the hand around his cock strokes him with a steady, indefatigable rhythm, and he’s so close, so close now and almost there and oh god, yes—
“Yes! YES! AAHH! FUCK!” His peak hits him with violent force, making all the muscles in his legs go rigid and lifting him back up on his toes. He feels hot cum spurt from his cock and his hole clench hard, every muscle in his abdomen and pelvis tightening. Sparks of lightning shoot down the nerves in his legs from his groin to his feet.
His hips push forwards into the hand around his cock several more times, chasing the fading sensation of his orgasm as it recedes, his breathing harsh and loud in his own ears. The rigid muscles in his legs and abdomen relax all together, all at once, and his knees buckle, slumping him against cold tiled wall of the shower and sliding slowly down.
There’s a grunt behind him, and an arm tightens around his waist, arresting his descent. Another arm comes around his chest, holding him upright. A warm, soothing voice murmurs in his ear. “And that’s number two. Well done, little one. You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”
He can’t find a response, his brain floating too deep down to to form words.
There’s the sound of water running. A few splashes of cold touch his skin and he shivers. After a moment, they are replaced by hot steam. A stream of hot water is shifted on to him, drenching him, making him shiver even more violently as the heat floods through his pleasure saturated nerves.
He groans in pleasure, head hanging backwards against Toshi’s shoulder as he leans against him and lets himself be held, Toshi’s hard cock pressing into the small of his back. After a minute, he is rotated, now cradled into Toshi’s chest as deliciously hot water runs over his shoulders and back, down his ass and legs.
After another minute, the water cuts off.
“Can you stand by yourself?”
Tooru blinks open his eyes and does his best to focus. His brain sends signals to his legs and gets them to work more or less in tandem to stand him back upright, although one of his hands comes up to balance himself against the shower wall.
“Good boy. Wait, I’ll get a towel.”
Toshi steps out and grabs a towel, wraps it around Tooru and guides him out of the shower, steadying when he wobbles on shaky legs. He takes him directly into the bedroom, takes the towel from him and rubs him dry, and then gives him a gentle push to make him collapse on to the bed.
“Lift your head.”
Tooru lifts his head up off the pillow and the collar slides home around his neck, making goosebumps rise on his arms and legs. The padlock clicks shut.
“There, safe and sound,” Toshi murmurs to himself, under his breath. He brushes a kiss on Tooru’s temple and covers him with the blanket. “Be right back.”
“Mhm.”
Tooru drifts in a pleasant haze, all the muscles in his body gone soft and pliant.
Toshi reemerges from the bathroom, still naked and hard but dry now, and slips into bed beside Tooru, gathering him into an embrace. “How are you feeling?”
“Mmhm,” Tooru sighs softly, then chuckles. “You are a fucking bastard, you know that, right?”
“Yes.” Toshi smiles slightly. “I love it when you break for me like that. I’ve been wanting to make you come with my tongue in your ass for the longest time. Did you enjoy it?”
Despite himself, Tooru shivers a little as his stomach knots at the words, and at the memory. “Hated it.” His grin is weak but defiant.
Toshi makes a little amused growl in the back of his throat. “You love to hate it.” He rolls towards him and slips two fingers into the ring of his collar, tugging on it as he kisses the soft skin just above it, licking and nibbling. “Are you ready for orgasm number three?”
Tooru laughs, a little helplessly. “I thought you said you wanted to take your time?”
“Oh? Are you done already? You were the one just begging me to fuck you, Tooru.” Toshi’s voice is teasing and sardonic. He bites gently into the skin of Tooru’s neck, just above his collarbone, followed my gentle, insistent suction at one spot, sensation slowly building until it aches.
“Aah—!” He gasps involuntarily and digs his fingernails into Toshi’s back
The suction increases, as does the little burst of pain. Then it ceases as Toshi lets go with a ‘pop’. “And I am going to take my time with you. I am going to take my time fucking you into this mattress, until you remember exactly who you belong to and never forget it again.”
Holy shit.
The words make Tooru’s stomach swoop low and his heart rate shoot up, the words calibrated to press every single button in his brain with inhuman precision, as only Ushijima Wakatoshi can. “Is this... Is this still about the fucking tattoo?”
“Yes and no,” Toshi murmurs, still licking and sucking at Tooru’s neck, then flips him over on to his back and straddles his hips. He gathers up Tooru’s wrists and pins them above his head with his right hand, while his left comes up to capture Tooru’s face, forcing their eyes to meet. “I told you when we got here. This is a lesson about you trusting me. To teach you that you’re not alone.” His eyes are filled with a low, banked flame, seeing him. Seeing into him. “That you belong to me. Do you understand?”
Tooru can’t look away. He exhales a faint breath, giving a tiny nod of acceptance against Toshi’s hand holding his head fixed. “Mhm.”
“Good.” Toshi’s lips curves slightly with a smile. He leans in and brushes his lips over Tooru’s mouth, barely a touch, then releases his hold. “Tell me what you need. Do you want a break? Or do you want me to keep going?”
The question catches Tooru slightly off-guard. He hadn’t expected to be given a choice.
What does he want?
He wants...
He wants to be held down.
He wants to feel like he can’t escape.
Like running away isn’t an option, will never be an option again.
He wants to feel like he doesn’t have a choice, but chooses to surrender anyway.
To give himself over to a power other than himself.
To throw himself over the edge and be caught.
But how? They don’t have any of their gear, no rope, no shackles. There’s probably no riding crop within a hundred kilometres of this place.
The sting of Toshi’s hand on his ass just now in the shower resurfaces in his mind, triggering a long cascade of memories. He hesitates, oddly embarrassed. Why is he embarrassed? This is so tame compared to other stuff they have done in the past.
He takes a breath, wills himself to speak. “Can you… What you did in the shower, can you… do that again?”
Toshi looks surprised. “Eat your ass again?”
“No!” Tooru scowls thunderously. “I mean… spank me some more.” Now he is actually blushing. Fuck! What is wrong with him lately? Why is he becoming so weak?
“You want me to give you pain?” Toshi’s eyes narrow, staring down at him. Measuring. Assessing.
Tooru nods and holds the gaze steadily, knowing he must pass this test.
“And you will be truthful with your limits?”
“Yes!” Tooru’s frowns again, offended.
Toshi only looks down at him. Underneath the piercing gaze, there’s something vulnerable in his eyes.
Shit...
That awful feeling of guilt and self-loathing Tooru felt on the bathroom floor in Paris roils around in his gut. He won’t ever do that again. He will never lie like that, ever again. He swallows hard and gives a tiny nod. Whispers, “Yes. I promise.”
Toshi looks back at him, hesitates for another moment, and finally nods. “Okay.” Lifting himself off Tooru’s waist, he sits down in the middle of the bed, propped up against the headboard with a pillow comfortably in the small of his back, legs extended out in front of him. He pats his lap. “Come here.”
Tooru’s eyes are drawn by his cock again, a little softer now, but still thick and delicious looking. He remembers the blissful feeling of dozing in Toshi’s lap with it in his mouth, just there, warm and full, filling his mind with fuzzy emptiness. Maybe, instead, he should just...
But no. Plenty of time for that later. Right now, he wants a different kind of fuzzy emptiness. One that comes after the pain.
Tooru levers himself up and crawls across, draping himself across Toshi’s lap. He wiggles his ass invitingly with a little grin. “This takes me back... We haven’t done this for such a long time.”
“Mhm.” Toshi hums, rubbing his large hands over the smooth skin of Tooru’s ass cheeks. “You always did love being spanked back then. Let’s see whether you still love it just as much now. Cross your arms behind your back.”
Tooru obeys, locking his forearms together in the small of his back, each hand gripping opposite elbow. Toshi’s right hand comes to encircle them, not gripping tightly but just resting there, ready to restrain him if necessary.
“Give me your colour and your safeword.”
“Green, Toshi.” Tooru looks over his shoulder and gives him a reassuring smile. “Safeword is crow.”
Toshi smiles back slightly and lifts his left hand to strike.
The first impact is exploratory, nowhere near the full force Toshi is capable of applying with his big spiker’s hands. But it still makes Tooru exhale slightly in surprise at the intensity of the sensation, even though Toshi soothes it straight away by rubbing his palm softly over the impact site.
The second impact is on the other cheek, a little harder. Again, Toshi soothes the impact with light circles of his palm.
Tooru drops his head down to the soft bed beneath him with a sigh and settles in.
Toshi builds him slowly, measured intervals between each impact, always one cheek, then the other. Warming him up, allowing him to adjust. The predictability is both a blessing and a curse, making it easier to brace himself, but also making him anticipate the impact more.
The skin of his ass is getting warm and sensitive. Even the light circles Toshi brushes over it between impacts is adding something to the sensation. Not unpleasant, exactly, but also not restful.
Toshi’s hand runs gently through his hair. “Colour?”
“Mmh... Green. Keep going,” he sighs.
“Alright. Brace yourself.”
Toshi increases the speed and the severity of his strikes. Now, sometimes, two fall in quick succession in the same place, multiplying the stinging and making Tooru hiss. The rhythm is not quite as predictable as before. The rubbing of the palm over the impact site not as soothing.
Tooru starts to moan slightly after each impact, wriggling his hips a little. The temperature difference between the hot flushed skin of his ass and the cooler air of the bedroom is making him shiver slightly and goosebumps break out across his arms and legs.
“You’re doing so well, Tooru.”
The murmured praise makes him moan more loudly and lift his hips. “More... please...”
Three quick impacts fall on his right cheek, one after the other in the same place, sharp thwacks that crack around the room. Then, three more fall on the left side. There’s no gentle rubbing afterwards, leaving the sting to bloom to its fullest extent on his overstimulated skin.
Tooru wails, burying his mouth in the mattress beneath him to muffle the sound.
The impacts comes hard and fast now, relentless, over and over, making him squirm and buck and cry out each time. Toshi’s right hand locks tightly around Tooru’s forearms behind his back, holding him still.
He can feel cold sweat start to prick his skin, goosebumps now a permanent fixture. His breath is coming fast.
Too fast.
He tries to regulate it but is thwarted each time a new strike wrings another cry from him.
Suddenly, there’s a lull, leaving him panting and drooling from his open mouth into the sheets below his face.
Toshi’s right hand releases his arms behind his back and rub the clammy skin along his spine between his shoulder blades. His voice is soft and gentle. “Colour?”
The two wolves in Tooru’s brain snarl and fights against themselves. He won’t give up, he never gives up, he’s not a quitter, he has to fight, he has to win, he has to beat Toshi at his own game, but he promised to be good, to respect his limits and if he pushes even one more step beyond this place he’s going to break down completely and cry, and then he probably won’t stop crying, and then Toshi will be upset again, like in Paris, and his breathing is too fast and his heart is hammering and—
“Yellow,” he whispers, almost inaudibly between gasps.
There’s an exhale above him “Good boy. Thank you for telling me.” A hand cards through his hair, soothing and reassuring. “Do you want a break? Some water?”
He sucks in a few more breaths, swallows. His throat is so dry. “Mhm. Water,” he croaks.
Toshi’s arm loops around the front of Tooru’s chest and levers him upright to come kneeling between Toshi’s legs. Tooru winces when the raw skin of his ass makes contact with the heels of his feet and lifts himself forward again slightly, taking some weight on to one hand in front of him. A water bottle appears in front of him.
“Here.”
Tooru takes it in his free hand gratefully and drinks most of it, still gasping breaths between every few swallows like he’s just run a sprint.
“That’s it, little one.” Toshi’s hand rubs soothingly along his spine.
The cool water feels so good in his mouth, refreshing, washing away the anxious thoughts that were pressing in. The gentle touch up and down his back is helping too. He takes another couple of deep breaths.
“What do you need?”
He needs…
His heart aches and he wants, he needs to feel close, closer than close, he needs to feel full and complete and whole. A craving for connection floods through him, ten times more powerful and overwhelming than it was that night on the couch when he sucked Toshi’s fingers into his mouth.
He needs to feel him.
He needs to feel not alone.
Water bottle sloshing, Tooru spins around and throws his arms around Toshi’s shoulders, kissing Toshi hungrily, biting his bottom lip, invading his mouth with his tongue.
Toshi makes a surprised noise and his hands come up to grip around Tooru’s waist, steadying him. After a moment, he breaks the kiss and takes the water bottle to put it safely on the bedside table.
Tooru nuzzles Toshi’s neck, inhaling his scent, licking and kissing the soft skin, unable to get enough. Hungrily, he whispers, “I need you, Toshi. Fuck me, please. I want you inside me, I want to feel you close.”
“Are you sure? You were just—” Toshi looks at him searchingly, eyes flicking between Tooru’s own.
“Yes, please!” Tooru whines. “Please?” He wraps his free hand around Toshi’s semi-hard cock, stroking him, and leans forward to bites his shoulder, not too hard, but hard enough to draw an exhale from Toshi’s throat. He follows up with more licks and kisses, his hand still stroking, working Toshi back to full hardness.
Still, Toshi hesitates, his hands unmoving on Tooru’s hips.
Come on, come on!
Why won’t Toshi do something? Anything! Why is he just sitting there when Tooru wants him, needs him, craves him to take him in hand and just wreck him?!
Frantically, he tries to think of something that will make Toshi unfreeze. Then his brain lights up with the right words, the true words, the words that will finally make everything click. He leans forward and whispers into Toshi’s ear, voice rough and heated, “I belong to you, Ushijima Wakatoshi. I want you to own me and never let me go.”
“Fuck.” Toshi’s curse is gritted out between clenched teeth, low and guttural. In one swift movement, his hands around Tooru’s hips tighten and grip painfully tight, lifting him up and throwing him over on to his back. “Don’t. Move,” he growls.
The command makes Tooru’s eyes go wide and his body freeze, heart hammering.
Toshi turns back to the bedside table and picks up the bottle of lube, coating both the fingers of his left hand and his cock with a generous amount. When he turns back, he grips Tooru’s throat with his right hand, constricting his throat enough to prevent all sound, if not all air. “You really want me to fuck you?”
Tooru nods frantically, staring back into those piercing, hungry eyes. The fire in them is no longer banked. It is burning high.
“Spread your legs for me.”
Tooru obeys, lifting and opening his legs.
Toshi slips his middle and ring fingers into Tooru’s hole at the same time, tightening the hand around Tooru’s neck briefly. “This is mine.” His voice is low and menacing. His fingers start to move, slow at first, then building in pace, working him open, curling and brushing against his prostate every other stroke.
Tooru’s mouth falls open in a silent whine, eyes pleading.
Toshi finally lets go of his grip around Tooru’s neck, leaving him to gasp in a full lungful of breath.
As soon as he can speak, Tooru whispers, “Please fuck me, Toshi. Please. I’ll be fine, please just— Mmh!” He lets his head fall back and closes his eyes, momentarily overcome by a brush of fingers against his prostate.
With a long, controlled exhale, Toshi withdraws his fingers. He lifts up one of Tooru’s legs to rest against his chest, then leans forward and braces himself with his left hand above Tooru’s shoulder, bending him open and tilting up his pelvis. With his right, he guides his cock to brush against Tooru’s slippery, loosened hole and pushes inside.
“Oh god...!” The feeling is so much, all at once. It’s painful and full and burning and so good and it keeps going and going until he’s sure there can’t be any more but when he looks down, Toshi is only about halfway inside.
“Oh god,” he whines again, fingers scrabbling at Toshi’s chest. “Oh god, oh god! Hurts so good, mmmh, you hurt me so good Toshiii!”
The only sound that comes from Toshi’s throat is a low, drawn out sound, somewhere between a groan and a growl. He pulls back slightly, easing the pressure and making Tooru inhale sharply, then pushes forward again, all the way down until he’s fully inside.
It makes Tooru wail with painful pleasure.
“Shh...” Toshi lets himself fall forward onto his forearms, bringing them face to face. He hushes him and kisses him possessively, the chain around his neck with his wedding ring and the little silver padlock key dangling between them. “That’s it, you’re taking it so well, Tooru. Breathe for me.”
Tooru forces in a shaky inhale and wills his muscles to relax. He wraps his arms around Toshi’s shoulders and blindly seeks out Toshi’s lips again, wanting the feeling of warm softness on his mouth to contrast the sharp burning stretching fullness in his ass. He bites Toshi’s bottom lip, then pushes his tongue inside and tastes him, licking the inside of his mouth with desperate abandon.
He only stops when Toshi gives a little roll of his hips, making his mouth fall open with a sharp exhale.
“Mmh... You feel so good, Tooru,” Toshi hums and then starts to move, rolling his hips in a slow, controlled pace, withdrawing just a little way only to push back fully inside, over and over.
“Oh, fuck...” Tooru’s eyes fall closed, his voice dropping whole octave lower into a low groan. “Oh.... oh god...”
“Good boy. Relax and let it happen,” Toshi murmurs in his ear.
He claws his fingernails into Toshi’s back and hangs on, surrendering himself to the feeling of being fucked.
It’s so good. It’s so, so good. Deep and full and overwhelming in the best way. He feels so deeply connected, every part of his mind and body completely filled with Ushijima Wakatoshi.
I am whole.
I am not alone.
The thoughts burst inside his head like silent fireworks, making him screw his eyes tightly shut as tears rise up suddenly, making his breath hitch with a little sob. He bites his lip and concentrates on the steady rhythm of Toshi’s cock sliding in and out of him, over and over.
For a while, there nothing but the slick sound of bodies meeting, their harsh breathing, and Tooru’s little whimpers every time Toshi bottoms out, slowly building him towards his peak.
“Tooru...!” The slightly pressed moan from Toshi tells him he is building too. “Do you want more?”
Yes.
“Yes!” Tooru whines. “Yes please, you feel so good, oh god, please, please, more...” He’s babbling but he doesn’t care, he only wants whatever Toshi is offering him to push him over the edge.
“Who do you belong to?” The question is punctuated by a sharper thrust of Toshi’s hips, driving deep inside. Then the steady rhythm stops abruptly, leaving Tooru cruelly hanging, his building pleasure melting away like mist.
Tooru’s eyes fly open with a wail of protest.
Toshi meets his gaze, fiery, lambent eyes staring down at him. “Who do you belong to, Tooru?”
“You...! Only you, always you, please...!”
“Say my name.
“Toshi!” It is a plea, a prayer for deliverance. “Please!”
“My whole name. Who do you belong to?”
Tooru’s hands scrabble uselessly at Toshi’s chest, nails leaving red lines in their wake, while his brain desperately tries to assemble the right order of syllables. “You, Ushijima Waka...” he gasps for air, tries again. “Wakatoshi... I belong to you...”
Toshi smiles, fierce and implacable. “That’s right, Oikawa Tooru. You belong to me,” he growls. “I own you and I am not letting you go.”
Then he wraps his arms around Tooru’s calf resting against his chest and lifts him up, using it as leverage to fuck him fast and hard and deep, with all the muscles of a powerful, peak condition athlete’s body.
“Toshi! Oh god, oh god!” This pace is so much more frenetic than the slow and steady one before, and the angle Toshi is holding him at means he is hitting his prostate over and over with each thrust. He claws his hands into the sheet underneath him and throws his head back, crying out each time Toshi bottoms out. He has no control left and he doesn’t want any, he’s going to come, he’s going to come, he’s going to come—
“Come for me, Tooru. Come, now.”
The command is pressed out between gritted teeth, clipped and authoritative, and impossible to argue with. It launches Tooru over the edge with one final yell.
“TOSHI!”
He comes hard, all over his own stomach and chest, but the pace doesn’t slacken, mercilessly driving him through the waves of his orgasm, then through to the other side, making him wail from the overstimulation.
After another few moments, Toshi grunts and loses his rhythm. “Fuck! Tooru...!” He gasps and snaps his hips forward hard, once, twice, then comes hard with a grunt.
Tooru feels him pulse and twitch deep inside. He clenches his muscles hard in response, making Toshi groan and both his hands tighten reflexively around Tooru’s calf.
Then they’re both still, eyes closed and sucking in ragged, uneven breaths, their leg muscles shuddering with aftershocks.
“Oh god,” Tooru croaks, his voice gone hoarse with overuse. He shivers, muscles in his ass clenching again involuntarily.
Toshi exhales sharply at the sensation. He lets go of Tooru’s calf and allows himself to fall forward, bracing himself on his arms either side of Tooru’s shoulders. “Tooru...” He says the name like prayer of gratitude, voice low and rasping, and brushes small kisses on the corners of Tooru’s mouth and eyes.
Tooru’s arms come up to circle around Toshi’s shoulders, pulling him down closer. “Give me your weight,” he murmurs.
Toshi hesitates, then complies, letting all his weight come to rest on top of Tooru’s body and burying his face in Tooru’s neck.
It feels indescribably good.
It feels like home.
I am not alone.
The thought blooms in his fucked-out brain and fills him with a golden flood of feeling. He buries one hand in Toshi’s hair and pulls him even tighter into the embrace, kisses him just behind his ear and whispers, “Tadaima.”
Toshi makes a small noise in the back of his throat. His shoulders go stiff and he stops breathing. After a long moment, he exhales shakily and presses a kiss into Tooru’s neck, just above his collar. “Okaeri,” he whispers back hoarsely.
They stay like that for an unmeasured length of time, skin on warm skin, feeling each other breathe.
Eventually, Toshi lifts his weight back off Tooru, who reinflates his lungs with a deep inhale and opens his eyes.
“Hey,” he whispers and smiles.
“Hey,” Toshi rumbles back, eyes, soft, corner of one mouth lifting up in answer. “Are you okay if I pull out now?”
Tooru makes a face. He hates the sensation, but grits his teeth and nods. “Mhm.”
Toshi slides out of him in one quick movement, making Tooru hiss.
“Be right back.” Toshi kisses his forehead soothingly, then climbs off the bed and disappears to the bathroom.
Tooru closes his eyes again and lets himself drift, revelling in the sting of the sore skin on his ass, the well-fucked ache in his stomach and the boneless feeling of his limbs.
I am not alone.
The golden feeling persists, drenching every part of him.
I belong to you.
Everything is still there—his conflicting emotions, the aching absence in his chest, the sensation of clinging on while wanting to let go. And yet, it all feels... contained. Measurable. Surmountable. No longer an unscalable mountain but a rough terrain that he can navigate through.
Because he has a map now.
And his compass.
Toshi kneels on the bed beside him and kisses him softly, then wipes away all the mess of cum and lube with a warm cloth. “Want a shower?”
“Mhm. In a minute... I’m too... happy to move...” Tooru sighs and shakes his head. Then, impulsively, he reaches out and wraps his arms around Toshi’s chest, making him overbalance and land awkwardly sprawled back over Tooru’s body again. “There,” he nods, pleased. “That’s better.”
Toshi huffs, half in protest and half with laughter. He lets the wet cloth fall to the floor beside the bed and rearranges himself next to Tooru, slipping his arm under his shoulders and gathering him close. “I’m...” he whispers, hesitates. Tries again. “I’m happy too, Tooru. Really, really happy.”
Tooru leans back his head a little so he can see Toshi’s full face and smiles, the happiest, brightest smile he owns. “I’m so glad to hear that. It would really suck if you weren’t.”
This time, Toshi actually chuckles. “Yeah. It would.”
Tooru laughs a little too. “You know what does suck, though? I am so hungry I could chew my own arm off.”
“Mhm,” Toshi hums. “Me too. Let’s go get something to eat.”
Tooru pouts. “Nooo... I don’t want to leave the house. I’ll make that pasta and sauce we bought at the general store.” He rolls himself out of bed, hissing as the spanked-red skin on his ass rubs across the sheets briefly. He pads to Toshi’s sportsbag, rummages around for a moment and slips Toshi’s oversized hoodie over his naked body. It smells like him.
Toshi raises an eyebrow, teasing edge to his voice. “It’s just plain tomato sauce. Isn’t that too boring for you?”
Tooru snorts. “It’s fine. Maybe then I’ll finally know what it’s like being you.” He grins, sticks out his tongue and gives Toshi the middle finger, then spins away and down the stairs to the kitchen.
The pasta is very plain. But there is a lot of it and it is filling, so they both wolf down two bowls each. Afterwards, Toshi lights the fire even though it is still the middle of the day, and they collapse on the couch to doze.
Tooru wakes because there are fingers running through his hair. He blinks open his eyes. “Hm?”
Toshi is looking down at him with an amused glint in his eyes. “Don’t sleep too long, Tooru. You’ve only had three orgasms so far, and I promised you at least six.”
Tooru snorts in surprise, then grins wickedly. “God, you’re insatiable!” His hand reaches for the bulge in Toshi’s sweatpants, squeezing and stroking gently. “Give me fifteen minutes, Wakatoshi-chan, then I’m going to fuck that smug look off your too-handsome face.”
Toshi’s mouth quirks up in a small smile, accepting the challenge. “What makes you think I will let you?”
In one movement, Tooru rolls himself up and comes to sit straddling Toshi’s waist. He looks down at him through lowered lashes and whispers silkily in his ear, “Oh, I think you might. Sometimes, you can be a surprisingly obedient puppy...”
Toshi huffs a breath, like something has just punched him in the solar plexus. The growl in the back of his throat when Tooru leans down to kiss him is both defiance and plea.
Chapter Text
They manage eight orgasms that day between the two of them: five for Tooru and three for Toshi. In the evening, they are both too tired and touched out to do anything other than go to sleep early.
The following two days they are back on the slopes, maximising their rapidly dwindling time in the snow. They bicker and banter, tease each other and push each other’s limits, competing to see who can do the most jumps and tricks. Only their silent agreement to avoid risking serious injury keeps them from doing any really stupid shit, which Tooru’s sensible better angels are grateful for and his inner daredevil secretly resents.
On the morning of the seventh day, they lug their hired gear back to the shop and trudge to the bus stop with their heavy sportsbags, their bodies and minds both pleasantly tired.
The silence between them has grown so comfortable that it feels like a warm, weighted blanket.
On the bus back to San Juan, Tooru claims the window seat this time. He stares unseeing at the landscape rolling past outside and lets his thoughts drift, while Toshi dozes with headphones in his ears, head leaning on Tooru’s shoulder.
Sometime around lunch, Tooru’s phone pings. They must have just rolled far enough out of the mountains that they’re back into cell phone coverage.
It’s a selfie from Hinata showing him, Bokuto, Gallo, and a tall, lanky young man that looks around twenty, grinning wildly into the camera with outstretched tongues, making peace signs with their fingers. A huge bronze horse and its rider appear in the background, looking pompous and heroic.
Tooru grins and nudges Toshi. “Looks like they’re having fun in Buenos Aires.”
Toshi blinks open his eyes and does his best to focus on the image on Tooru’s phone, frowning. “Who’s the kid?”
“Oh, that’s Lucio-chan.” Something twists in Tooru’s heart. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but... He smiles a little. “Luciano Aloisi. He won Setter of the Year in 2023. I’ve been coaching him for the last four years.”
Toshi’s eyes flick from the phone up to Tooru’s face, his gaze alert and focused. “He won Setter of the Year, and... you’re his coach?”
“Mh. Well, not officially, but... he approached me after Tokyo and asked if I would work with him. He’d been playing with the Under-19s and got signed with CA San Juan the year before, but was struggling with the mental transition to playing at pro level.”
“That’s... Tooru, that’s incredible.” Toshi’s face is full of genuine respect and admiration.
Tooru looks away out of the window, suddenly oddly embarrassed. He shrugs, something in his chest that feels heavy, but... also sweet. “He’s the one that’s incredible, Toshi-chan... Better than Kageyama and me, combined.”
“That’s... high praise. Especially coming from you.” Toshi raises a sceptical eyebrow.
Tooru laughs. “I know, right?” Then he sobers, looking back out at the rugged landscape rolling past. Eventually, he says quietly, “Lucio-chan is my replacement, Toshi. He’s going to be the next starting setter at Atlético, and he’s going to take them to their next ten championships.” He says it without emphasis, without boasting. Simply stating a fact.
Toshi makes a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat.
“Whenever I see him play, I feel... hungry. I think to myself, ‘I’m the one that made you. I shaped and tempered your steel.’” Tooru leans himself against Toshi’s shoulder, staring down at the black phone screen in his hands. “That’s what I want, Toshi. I want so much more of that. The new generation that’s coming... I could fight them. And I would win. But... I don’t need to beat them just to prove I can. I’ve beaten them once already, and I’m... done with that now.”
He takes a breath, realising that his chest feels tight. Holds it for a moment, then lets it go slowly. “I want to join them, Toshi. Not beat them. I want to train them. Teach them, build them up and make them fly for me. That’s the goal I want to chase now. That’s what makes me hungry.”
“Hmmm...” The rumble vibrates deep in Toshi’s chest, comforting. Quietly, he intertwines his fingers with Tooru’s own. “So that’s why you asked your agent to look for the Youth Development Coach position.”
“Mhm.” Tooru nods. “I... kept thinking about those kids we coached at the Nekoma gym. Every time I thought about it, it made me smile. And then working one-on-one with Lucio-chan... It made me realise that I love teaching, and I’m good at it.”
Toshi squeezes his fingers slightly in response, then is silent for a long time, deep in thought.
Tooru returns to staring out of the window. The absence in his chest is pulsing and aching, but somehow, he also feels... lighter. Like a weight has lifted off his shoulders that he has been carrying for a long, long time.
Eventually, Toshi leans his head sideways and brushes his cheek against the top of Tooru’s head leaning on his shoulder. “Why Germany? Why not teach here in Argentina? Or in Japan?”
Tooru sighs, exasperated. Surely, the answer to that is stunningly obvious, even to someone as dense as Ushijima Wakatoshi can be sometimes. “Because I am tired of not living in the same timezone as you, Toshi-chan! I am tired of flying thirty-six hours just to see you... to see my husband twice a year! I am so, so tired of it!”
“But... Germany? You don’t speak the language, Tooru. You’ve never been there. It’s... That’s a really long way away from home for you.”
Tooru turns in his seat and leans with his back against the window, draping his legs over Toshi’s lap and smiles tiredly. It’s cute that Toshi is being overprotective, but also... Sigh. “Didn’t you face exactly the same thing when you moved to Poland, Toshi-chan? Why did you do it?”
Toshi looks down at his hands and nods slowly, thoughtfully. He doesn’t say anything.
“Besides... It’s not the first time I’ve moved half-way across the world to a new country where I didn’t know anyone and didn’t speak the language. I did exactly the same thing when I moved to Argentina from Japan. It was hard, yes. But I managed it just fine.” He reaches out a hand and touches Toshi’s upper arm reassuringly. “And this time, I won’t be alone.”
“Mhm.” Toshi nods again and flicks his eyes to the side at Tooru’s face for a moment, a little half-smile on his lips.
Tooru falls silent for a while, listening to the engine drone and feeling the vibrations of the wheels on the surface of the road. Eventually, he says quietly, “Yes, San Juan is my home. I built it for myself, brick by bloody brick with my own sweat and tears.” He sighs, finally forcing himself to voice the nagging thought that has been lurking at the back of his mind for over a year. “But... I think it was also a fortress I built to keep you out. A way of running away and hiding from the monster I didn’t want to face yet, until I was ready.”
Toshi looks over at him again, frowning. He looks like he is trying to find the right words for a rebuttal.
Tooru jumps in before he can. “Subconsciously, at least. I’m not saying that’s what I set out to do when I moved here. But... It ended up that way. A little, anyway. And...” He shakes his head, speaking slowly, hesitantly, feeling his way forward through a dark tunnel of complicated thoughts and emotions. “I don’t need that anymore. If I stay here, this... fortress will become a prison. If I let it.” He falls silent again, deep in thought. Then whispers, just to himself, “And I won’t.”
“Tooru...” Toshi rumbles his name, squeezing his hand. It’s soothing and comforting.
Tooru squeezes back, hard. Grits his teeth for a moment, fighting down the ache in his chest, then grins fiercely. “So, you see? I am not giving up, Toshi-chan. As much as it hurts to let go of my home and what I’ve built here, I want to. I want a new challenge. And for this to work.” He squeezes Toshi’s hand back hard, lifting it up a little. “This is my home now. I have cost us enough time together already. You fought for me for ten years, while I tried my hardest not to notice. I think it’s my turn, now. Let me fight for us, now.”
Toshi makes a small noise at the back of his throat and swallows hard, staring fixedly down at his feet extended under the seat in front of him. Inhales, exhales slowly. “You didn’t cost us any time, Tooru,” he mumbles hoarsely. “You were exactly where you needed to be. But... I understand.” He lifts their intertwined hands to his mouth, brushing a kiss across Tooru’s knuckles, looking sideways at him with glistening eyes for a moment. “Let’s fight together, now.”
“Mhm.” Tooru nods back, unable to say anything else because of the lump in his throat.
They sink back into their comfortable silence, Tooru’s legs resting on Toshi’s lap, their hands still intertwined. The bus rumbles on back towards San Juan, the endless landscape rolling past outside the window.
~*~
The closer they get to his apartment, the more a nameless fear begins to build in the pit of Tooru’s stomach.
Once they get home, there will only be one more night. One more night until tomorrow. Tomorrow, and the airport. The airport and Toshi walking through the security line. Walking through the security line and leaving. Leaving him alone.
Again.
In the taxi on the way from the bus port, his hands start shaking and one knee starts jiggling restlessly.
Toshi takes his hand and holds it tightly, but it doesn’t help much.
His heart is thumping out of his throat by the time they get out of the car and haul their sportsbags into the lift up to his floor.
Driven by sheer animal instinct, Tooru pushes Toshi roughly against the elevator wall and kisses him feverishly, invading his mouth and biting his lips sharply. He is panting, skin crawling with electricity, the small moans and huffs from Toshi’s throat pouring pure gasoline on an already raging fire.
They tumble in through the front door, their bags dropping forgotten to the floor, shoes kicked off in haste as hands slide inside each other’s clothes, groping and scratching at sensitive skin. Toshi’s large hands slide around to cup Tooru’s ass inside his pants, and Tooru’s fingers find Toshi’s nipples and pinch them roughly, earning him a small moan. It makes him tip up on the balls of his feet and bite Toshi’s neck right above his collarbone, leaving a circle of teeth marks.
Mine.
The thought rips through his brain like a searing thunderbolt, forcing a sharp exhale from his throat.
He bites again, harder.
Mine!
Toshi growls and catches Tooru’s wrists in his hands, pulling down hard. His eyes bore into Tooru’s, seeing into him. Seeing through him.
Tooru stares back, wild-eyed and panting, feeling like tendrils of electricity are sparking right out of his eyes. He feels unhinged. He burns with the desire to take, to hold, to bite, to scratch and to devour, to claim and to own.
He jerks his wrists free from Toshi’s grasp, faintly surprised that its so easy, and launches himself at Toshi’s mouth again, hands coming to grasp rough handfuls of his hair and pulling him down into the ravaging kiss.
Mine.
Somehow, they make it to the couch. Tooru forces up Toshi’s shirt and sweater and falls on his chest, licking and sucking his nipples with abandon. Toshi grunts and his left hand comes up behind Tooru’s head to push him down harder. Tooru moans in response and bites around one areola gently, making Toshi exhale sharply and tighten his grip in Tooru’s hair.
The wordless permission kicks Tooru into a higher gear. He licks and bites hard on one nipple, pinching the other with his fingertips until they are both hot and swollen, standing at full attention. Then he swaps between the two and repeats the same treatment, listening to Toshi’s breathing increase to sharp gasps interspersed with quiet groans.
God, he lives to hear Ushijima Wakatoshi groan.
A feral grin spreads over Tooru’s face and he leans back so he can see Toshi’s face, then pinches both nipples hard at the same time.
“Unnggh! Tooru...” Toshi’s voice is pressed, his eyes closed, face contorted into a frown.
“Yeah?” he breathes quietly, grin widening. “You like that?” He brings his hand down to Toshi’s crotch, feeling his rock-hard erection through his sweats. He grips it and squeezes it mercilessly, eliciting another groan. “You want more?”
Toshi’s eyes fly open, their gazes meeting with a crackle with static electricity. “Yeah...!” he gasps between breaths. “More!”
A wicked, delighted, evil laugh escapes the back of Tooru’s throat. He pinches Toshi’s nipples again, digging in the tips of his fingernails and holding for a moment, then releases them and watches him squirm as the blood flows back into the abused flesh, making the sensation even stronger.
While Toshi is still gritting his teeth from the onslaught on his nipples, Tooru bends forward and finds the soft skin in the crook of Toshi’s neck with his mouth. He digs in his teeth and sucks hard.
“Tooru...!” Toshi’s voice is half resistance, half plea, as his hands fly to Tooru’s back and grab fistfuls of his shirt, hanging on.
It makes something molten flood Tooru’s gut and pool in his groin. His skin starts feeling too hot and too tight. He bites down harder and gives one final suck at Toshi’s sweet skin then lets go, leaving behind a perfect, round bite mark around a dark purple bruise. He stares at his work admiringly for a heartbeat, then he turns his head and bites Toshi’s earlobe, whispering, “You’re mine, Ushijima Wakatoshi. All mine.”
There’s a huff of breath, then two enormous hands push down on Tooru’s shoulders and force him down, down until his face is pressed against the hot bulge of Toshi’s cock still caged in his pants.
“Mmh...” Tooru chuckles. “You want to be in my mouth, Wakatoshi-chan?”
“Yes,” Toshi grits out. “Suck me off. Now.”
“Oh... Be careful what you wish for...” In one smooth movement, Tooru grips the edge of Toshi’s sweats and pulls them down, underwear and all, exposing his length and sinking his mouth over it and all the way down.
“Oh fuck!” Toshi’s hip cant up sharply, his hands gripping uselessly into the sofa cushions behind his shoulders.
Tooru ignores him, setting a merciless pace. One hand closes around Toshi’s shaft, stroking him as he bobs his head up and down, lapping the underside of the head with his tongue each time he reaches the top. His other hand slips down, grips Toshi’s sensitive balls and squeezes, too tightly to be pleasant, but not quite enough to be painful.
It earns him a loud, drawn-out groan through clenched teeth.
He absorbs the half-controlled thrusts of Toshi’s hips by leaning more weight on his elbows and listens to Toshi’s increasingly wild, gasping breaths. It doesn’t take him long, rocketing towards his peak in under a minute.
For a moment, Tooru considers letting go completely, just to hear Toshi moan with frustration as his building orgasm dissolves into mist.
If he wasn’t so driven by his own burning desperation for release, he absolutely would. But he feels like he’s on fire and his patience is evaporating rapidly, so he keeps up the driving pace until Toshi’s whole body goes rigid and he grunts a bitten-off curse into the skin of his biceps, his warm cum spurting into Tooru’s greedy, waiting mouth.
“Mmmmh...” Tooru hums, swirling his tongue lazily over the head of Toshi’s cock a few more times, making him twitch, then lets go, holding Toshi’s cum in his mouth. He crawls back up to straddle Toshi’s still panting chest and, meeting Toshi’s slightly unfocused gaze, leans forward to spit the cum into the palm of his hand. “My turn, now.”
He yanks down his own sweatpants and lets his cock spring free, coating it liberally in the mixture of cum and spit in his hand and starting a steady pace of long strokes. He hisses at the almost painful pleasure, he’s so desperate for stimulation.
Toshi eyes widen slightly as he understands what Tooru is planning. He exhales gently, opening his mouth and extending his tongue obediently.
“Oh, good dog!” Tooru moans and bites his lip, watching him. He can’t believe his luck. Ushijima fucking Wakatoshi absolutely fucking adores him. He runs his free hand through Toshi’s hair and tugs at it gently. “Fuck, look at you! You’re so perfect. You want me to come in your mouth?” he whispers hoarsely.
Toshi nods quickly, soft gaze staring up at him, mouth open, pink tongue glistening. His hands come up behind Tooru, gripping his ass firmly.
“What a good puppy... Oh god, you’re such a good puppy for me...!” Tooru groans and lets himself fall forward, bracing himself with his free hand on the armrest of the couch behind Toshi’s head, stroking himself faster and faster.
He screws his eyes shut for a moment as he focuses on his building peak, then reopens them to stare down at that obediently open mouth, waiting for him. The sight short-circuits something in his brain, crystallising the chaotic mix of love and pain and fear into a flood of pure release.
“Oh god, oh god, Toshi! Fuck, FUCK!” Tooru comes hard, not just into Toshi’s mouth, but all over his face, making him flinch slightly.
“Oh god...” Tooru gives himself a few more soft strokes then lets go, bringing his second hand beside the first to brace himself more securely while his head hangs down and he pants raggedly. “Oh fuck...” he moans, gasping. His legs start shaking.
Large, gentle hands move from cupping his ass to gripping his hips, adding their support to keep him upright.
Tooru opens his eyes again, surprised to find two errant tears rolling down his cheeks as he does.
Fuck. He’s crying again. Why is he always fucking crying?
Below him, Toshi is staring up at him with lambent eyes, face still spattered with cum. The sight twists something so deep inside Tooru’s heart that his next gasp turns into a sob. “Shit, I’m sorry, Toshi. I’m so sorry...”
Why is he always so selfish? Toshi is leaving tomorrow, and Tooru has just used him in the most egotistical, demeaning way and shit, he doesn’t deserve someone as good as Ushijima Wakatoshi, he’s just a selfish asshole, he always fucks everything up and—
Another sob fights its way free from his throat. “I’m so— sorry...” he hiccups, then screws his eyes shut and holds his breath, trying desperately not to break down crying.
“Tooru... Hey, hey!” Toshi sits up slowly, making Tooru scoot back from his chest down into his lap, and wipes his face clean with the sleeve of his sweater. “Tooru, look at me. It’s okay,” he murmurs gently, cupping Tooru’s face with both his hands. “You didn’t hurt me, I loved it. I wanted you to do that.”
Tooru opens his tear-flooded eyes and searches Toshi’s face, not quite believing him. “Yeah, but—”
Toshi shakes his head decisively. “No ‘but’. Believe me, I wanted it, or I would have stopped you.” He brushes a kiss on each of Tooru’s eyes and rubs his cheekbones with his thumbs. “I’m fine. Everything is okay.”
For some reason, that makes the dam break.
Because everything is not okay. Toshi is leaving tomorrow and it’s not okay, he’s going to miss him so much and it hurts so badly that his heart is going to split in two and try as he might he can’t hold back the flood any longer.
His face crumples and he buries his face in Toshi’s shoulder and starts sobbing in earnest, fists clawing into his sweater and refusing to let go.
Toshi brings both his arms around Tooru’s shoulders and squeezes hard, holding him together. “Oh, Tooru... Shh... It’s okay. It’s okay, little one...” His voice sounds both worried and reassuring, and it just makes Tooru cry harder.
After about ten minutes, the flood recedes again, leaving him with just the occasional hiccuping sob. “Fuck...” he croaks, shaking his head weakly. “Why am I always fucking crying?” He wipes his nose on his sleeve and shakes his head, disgusted with himself.
“Because you’re worried about tomorrow, Tooru,” Toshi says gently, brushing Tooru’s hair out of his face with one hand and kissing him on the cheek. “You have been ever since we got off the bus. Wait here, I’ll get some tissues.” He disentangles himself and gets up, walking to the bathroom. There’s the sound of running water and splashing, his hair slightly damp when he returns with a box of tissues.
While Tooru blows his nose, Toshi disappears into the hallway and reappears carrying their sportsbags in from where they dropped them. “Give me your sweater, I’ll get you a new one. Both of these need a wash.” He unzips his bag and throws Tooru the oversized hoodie that he already wore back at the chalet.
Too tired and wrung out to argue with Toshi in his take-charge mode, Tooru obeys. He shucks off his snot and tear-stained sweater and slips on the oversized one, rolling his shoulders happily. “You’re never getting this back, you know. It’s mine now.”
Toshi raises an eyebrow at him and smiles faintly. “I know. That’s why I brought it.” He picks up Tooru’s discarded, snotty sweater and drops it on his bag, then pulls out the rectangular box from a side-pocket and opens it, taking out Tooru’s collar with its silver padlock. He steps forward to stand in front of Tooru, waiting expectantly.
With a small, teary smile, Tooru leans his head forward, savouring the feel of the cool leather as it slips home around his neck. When the padlock clicks shut, he sighs quietly.
“There, safe and sound,” Toshi murmurs, carding his hand through Tooru’s hair for a moment. That done, he shoulders both their bags again and heads into the bedroom, reappearing some time later with an arm full of his dirty clothes and heading to the laundry. A few minutes later, the washing machine starts.
From his perch on the couch, Tooru watches him quietly, two fingers of his right hand hooked absentmindedly into the ring of his collar. Something about watching Toshi going through the mundane chore of doing laundry is so... soothing and normal. That, and the reassuring weight of his collar around his neck makes the ache in his heart hurt a little less.
When Toshi comes back into the living room, he bends down and gives him a kiss on the temple. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to cook something or order take-out?”
“Mhm.” Tooru frowns, trying to remember what, if anything, is left in the pantry and the fridge after a week of him away. “There’s miso paste and dried wakame, rice, maybe some eggs...”
“Okay then, I’ll cook.”
Tooru shakes his head and makes to get up. “I’ll do it. You don’t know where anything is.”
“No, Tooru. I will do it.” Toshi’s voice is even. “But you can come and tell me what I need to know.”
For some reason, the mental image of Ushijima Wakatoshi looking completely lost in his kitchen is quite funny. Tooru chuckles. “Okay.” He picks himself up off the couch, clutching one of the pillows to his chest, and pads to the kitchen, sliding onto one of the bar stools at his kitchen bench.
Toshi steps in behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, kissing his neck, then walks around the counter and looks around, trying to get his bearings.
“Bottom left cupboard, there’s a pot for the miso soup and an omelette pan. Rice cooker is in the cupboard above the fridge.”
The next forty minutes are spent directing Toshi around his kitchen with a mixture of teasing, silly jokes and banter, until something akin to a simple washoku meal is assembled: miso soup, fluffy rice with nori, and two slightly misshapen rolled omelettes. Nothing fancy, but filling and comforting in its familiarity.
After they finish eating, Toshi insists on stacking the dishwasher and cleaning the kitchen, and Tooru can’t be bothered to argue. Then they curl up together back on the couch, Toshi with his book and Tooru slotting himself in between Toshi’s legs and resting his head on Toshi’s chest.
“Are you feeling a bit better now?” Toshi asks quietly, after they’ve been settled for a while.
“Yeah, I’m okay now,” Tooru sighs. “Sorry to freak out... again. I normally manage to keep it together until you leave, but...” He shakes his head, disappointed in himself.
Toshi gives him a small squeeze with one arm wrapped around Tooru’s shoulders. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t want you to keep it together until I leave, I want to be here so I can make you feel better.”
Tooru sighs again. “Mhm.” When he says it like that, it makes sense, but also, he can’t help feeling so embarrassed and disgusted with himself for always being so over-dramatic.
They lapse back into silence. The only sound is the occasional whisper of paper as Toshi turns a page.
A sudden realisation hits Tooru and he starts up, pushing himself quickly up on his elbow and pulls back the collar of Toshi’s hoodie. Underneath is a big, livid-purple bruise in the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder. It is ringed by a ring of perfectly visible teeth marks.
Tooru lets out a long, tortured moan. “Oh shit... I’m so sorry, Toshi...”
“Hm?” Toshi lets his book sink and squints down at his own shoulder, trying to see what Tooru is looking at. “What?”
Tooru scrabbles off the couch and walks quickly to the bathroom, coming back with a powder compact that has a small mirror inset in the lid. He hands it wordlessly to Toshi with a grimace.
Toshi sits up and angles the mirror at his shoulder, squinting in the low light. Then his eyebrows rise all the way up his forehead. “Oh...!” He moves the mirror backwards and forwards a little to see the whole thing.
“Yeah...” Tooru hangs his head. “I’m sorry. I... wasn’t thinking.”
To his absolute surprise, Toshi laughs. It’s a quiet laugh, but genuine and happy, and so is his smile. “That’s the first time you’ve ever properly marked me.” He sounds both pleased and a little bemused.
Tooru stares at him, totally lost for words. “What?”
Toshi’s smile widens. “Remember what you said just after? You said, ‘You’re mine.’” He chuckles. “I guess you really meant it.”
“You’re... not upset?” Tooru whispers.
“Of course not.” Toshi clicks shut the powder compact and places it down on the coffee table, then gathers Tooru into his lap. “Why would I be upset that you claimed me as your own?”
“But...”
“If it becomes a problem, I’ll just cover it with some tape.” Toshi nuzzles Tooru’s neck and inhales deeply, then looks up and catches Tooru’s gaze. His eyes are honest and he is still smiling. “You belong to me, Tooru. And I’m happy that I belong to you, too.”
Tooru stares at him, trying to compute what he has just heard. They raise a storm of words in his tired, overwrought brain, flooding him with emotions again.
You belong to me.
I belong to you, too.
You are not alone.
He holds his breath and clenches his jaw, frowning furiously to keep fresh tears at bay. “Okay,” he croaks hoarsely.
Toshi nods once, then leans back to lie down again, bringing Tooru with him to rest back on his chest. He picks up his book again and opens it.
After a long moment, when he’s got enough control of himself again, Tooru grips the fabric of Toshi’s hoodie hard. “I did mean it, by the way,” he growls roughly. “You’re mine, Ushijima Wakatoshi. And if you ever abandon me, I will hunt you down and strangle you with your own collar.”
Toshi lets his book sink for a moment and looks down at him. Although he is smiling, there’s a fierceness in his eyes. “Do you promise?”
Tooru glares back at him. “You bet your fucking ass I do.”
~*~
Tooru stares fixedly down into his iced coffee, working hard to hold himself together.
He hates airports. With a passion. Which is kind-of ironic for someone who has to fly as much as he does.
Sitting opposite him, Toshi is also staring at his drink, watching the drips of condensation roll down the ice-cold bottle of water. He’s been more than usually quiet all morning, ever since they woke up. They’ve barely said more than a dozen words to each other all through breakfast and the drive here, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. But this isn’t just Toshi’s usual quiet. This silence is heavy, and it makes Tooru’s heart ache.
He reaches out with his foot under the table and hooks it into Toshi’s ankle. “Hey, big guy,” he says softly, smiling a little. “Talk to me. What are you thinking about?”
Toshi looks up and makes an attempt to smile back, though it fails. “I...” He pauses, thinks. “I was just thinking about you. And what you’re planning to do.”
“Oh, that.” Tooru’s own smile slips and he exhales slowly. “Yeah...”
“Do you really want to do it?” Toshi’s gaze is measuring, assessing.
Tooru takes a deep breath and looks down at his hands, then back at Toshi and nods resolutely. “Yes. I do.”
Toshi thinks about that for a moment. “You really think this is the best choice for you?”
The question makes Tooru’s resolve wobble a little. He swallows hard and looks out across the airport lounge at the people milling around with their suitcases and backpacks. Eventually, he nods again. “Yes, Toshi-chan. I think this is the best choice for me.” He smiles a little and reaches across the table for Toshi’s hand. “I’m sad to leave behind what I’ve built here in San Juan. But I’m not afraid of what comes next. I want this, and I’m going to chase it. Wherever I go, I know I’m going to thrive.”
Toshi squeezes his hand lightly, then nods. “Okay.” His voice sounds a little shaky, and he’s not looking at Tooru, staring instead at the dirty navy-coloured airport carpet.
Tooru squeezes back.
“When does your contract with Atlético finish up?”
“End of November.”
“And when would you start the new role in Frankfurt?”
“They’ve left that up to me. I think...” Tooru looks away and thinks for a while. “It’s going to take a while to move everything and get set up over there. Maybe... start of February?”
“Hm.” Toshi makes a thoughtful noise. “I have Liga games from September to May, but I should be able to get some time off in December. So I’ll… come back here then, and help you move.”
Tooru’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “You want to fly thirty-six hours from Poland to Argentina, just to help me pack some boxes? And then fly thirty-six hours back?” He laughs. “That’s insane, Wakatoshi-chan! Why would you do that to yourself?”
“Because I think you’ll probably be anxious and upset. And I want to be there with you to support you.” He squeezes Tooru’s hand again. “We’ll fly back to Europe together.”
Tooru frowns and opens his mouth to protest, but something catches in the back of his throat so he just closes it again. Swallows hard. Finally, he manages to whisper hoarsely, “…Okay. Maybe.” He clears his throat. “Let’s… talk about it more, okay? We’ve got three more months until then, and there’s so much I have to organise between now and then to make it all happen.”
“Mhm. Okay. We will talk more.” Toshi nods again. “How long is the initial contract you’re thinking of signing?”
Tooru breathes in, exhales. “Twelve months initially, with the option to extend another two years if all parties agree.”
“Hm. My contract with Orzel is until the end of 2028, as well.”
Tooru doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he just nods. Everything is suddenly feeling very... real. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe both.
With another little squeeze of Tooru’s hand, Toshi looks up and captures his gaze. “Maybe then, we can find a home together, somewhere.”
The words detonate inside Tooru’s skull like a silent explosion. It makes his eyes go wide and his heart thump chaotically in his chest.
Home.
Find a home.
Together.
Chaotic fragments of memories invade his brain: Toshi reading on Tooru’s couch; Toshi doing laundry; Toshi in the shower; Toshi’s lunch dishes in the drying rack; Toshi cooking in his kitchen; Toshi in his bedroom, asleep in his bed.
A home. Together.
“Only if you want to. I don’t want to pressure you, Tooru.” Toshi’s voice is a little hesitant.
“No!” Tooru blurts out, his voice gone thin and uneven. “I mean, yes! I want to.” He closes his eyes, trying to get himself together, squeezing Toshi’s hand like his life depends on it. “Let’s... let’s do that. I mean. Think about it. About that. Then.”
He’s babbling, but he can’t stop himself, his brain filled with buzzing static and endless tiny fragmented memories of Toshi, there, together, in his apartment. At home. With him.
There’s a slight chuckle and Toshi’s fingers squeeze back lightly. “Alright. Let’s think about it.”
Before Tooru can think of anything to say in response, there’s a chime followed by an announcement that Flight AR 1449 To Buenos Aires will soon be ready for boarding.
Toshi unfolds himself from his seat and hefts his backpack, then looks expectantly at Tooru.
Shit.
Tooru fights back the pain that sears through his chest and gets up as well. “Let’s go, I’ll walk you to security.”
It’s not a long walk. All too soon, they’re at the end of a shuffling queue of people waiting to go through the security scanners, corralled by temporary barriers.
“Text me when you get home,” Tooru says shakily, desperate for something to say.
Toshi looks back at him in surprise. “Okay.” He nods and smiles, eyes glistening. “Okay,” he says again, voice gone hoarse, and steps forward to enfold Tooru in a crushing embrace.
After two minutes, Tooru tries gently to disengage himself. “Toshi? You should get going.”
Toshi doesn’t let go. His arms tighten even further. “Just… Just another minute.” The whisper is pressed and uneven, and it makes Tooru’s heart crack.
He flexes his arms around Toshi’s waist and hugs back as tightly as he can, holding his breath to fight back the stinging tears.
Finally, Toshi does let him go. When he looks up from his shoes, his eyes are glistening. “I’ll… miss you.”
Tooru nods and tries to smile. “I’ll miss you too. See you in four months.”
Toshi nods back. “Mhm. Ittekimasu.”
“Itterasshai.”
Chapter 23
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Epilogue
[Four months later...]
Friday, 12 December 2025
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:04PM
My love, do you have a contact person at DVV coordinating your move?
Oikawa Tooru, 12:28PM
um, yeah?
why
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:29PM
Would they be able to receive a package for you?
I want to send you some housewarming gifts, but we do not know your new address yet.
Oikawa Tooru, 12:30PM
oooo presents! 🥰🎁
i’ll ask
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:30PM
Thank you, Tooru.
How is the packing coming along?
Oikawa Tooru, 12:34PM
total nightmare
yours?
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:36PM
Completed.
Oikawa Tooru, 12:38PM
well fuck you too, no need to be smug about it
Oikawa Tooru, 12:40PM
gallo picked up my baby today 😭💔
at least she’s going to a good home with a friend
not becoming a slave to some random stranger
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:40PM
It’s a car, Tooru. Not a person.
Oikawa Tooru, 12:40PM
you take that back 😡😡😡
and wash your mouth out with soap
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:41PM
I’m sorry.
Oikawa Tooru, 12:42PM
u’d better be
at least he promised to pick u up from the airport
he’ll drop us back there as well
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:43PM
That’s good of him.
Oikawa Tooru, 12:45PM
lol yeh he’ll cry so much😏 he’s such a baby
i still can’t believe you’re insane enough to fly all the way out here just to fly all the way back. u need your head examined
anyway i gtg movers coming
Ushijima Wakatoshi, 12:46PM
Because I want to, Tooru.
Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow before I leave for the airport.
I love you.
Oikawa Tooru, 12:47PM
🖕💖
~*~
It is cold.
Not quite as cold as Ushijima has come to expect from Polish winters, but still an unpleasant shock compared to the balmy low thirties of sunny, summery San Juan.
And not only is it cold, it is also wet. The drizzle has been relentless all day. The air under the awning outside the hotel smells of rain-washed asphalt and car exhaust.
“Shit, it’s freezing,” Tooru whines, stepping impatiently from foot to foot, rubbing his cold-reddened hands together and then sticking them back into his parka pockets.
Ushijima throws him a look. “Did you forget your gloves?”
Tooru makes a face. “Couldn’t find them. I’m sure I packed them, but...” He shrugs and stamps his feet again.
Quietly, Ushijima takes off his gloves and hands them over. “Put these on.” When Tooru scowls and opens his mouth, he cuts him off. “Don’t argue.”
Tooru’s scowl deepens. “Don’t fucking treat me like a baby,” he growls under his breath, but snatches the gloves and puts them on.
“Mhm.” Ushijima suppresses a sigh.
Am I safe with you?
Always.
Both their nerves are frayed. It’s been a long, stressful week, starting with Ushijima’s marathon flight to Argentina, followed by several frantic days of making sure Tooru ate and slept while he packed his entire life into boxes, supervised the moving crew and dealt with a thousand tiny last-minute emergencies. Then another marathon flight back to Europe with Tooru in tow... Even Ushijima’s endurance is starting to be tested.
But if he is feeling tired, then Tooru must be absolutely exhausted. Though, interestingly enough, the big storm of emotions that Ushijima was braced for hasn’t eventuated. Tooru has been completely focused and single-minded all week, and he hasn’t cried even once. On their way to the airport in San Juan, Tooru even teased Gallo for being emotional, laughing and joking the entire time. The only indicator that all is not well is the razor-sharp edge to his jokes, and the sudden lightning strikes of vicious temper.
So Ushijima pulls himself together and strengthens his resolve. He is here to support Tooru. He is Tooru’s safety and his sanity, his anchor and his lightning rod in the everyday chaos of life. That is the oath Ushijima has sworn, symbolised by both the wedding ring and the silver key on the chain around his neck, safely hidden beneath his clothes.
He makes a mental note to buy Tooru a new pair of gloves.
“Where the hell is this woman anyway?” Tooru grouses and checks his phone again. “She said she’d be here by now.”
“We can go back inside and wait in the lobby if you’re too—”
An elderly, black Volkswagen Golf pulls up on the side of the road and flicks its hazards on. Out of it climbs a tall woman with a swinging blonde ponytail, dressed in a long, black anorak and jeans. “Oi-Kawa-San! Ushi-Jima-San! So great to meet you!” She bounds up to them, her smile so bright it could light an entire stadium. Her loud, cheerful American English is strongly flavoured with German grammar.
Ushijima blinks, doing his best to switch gears in his brain from Japanese to English.
“Frau Henke, a pleasure to finally meet you, too!” Tooru replies smoothly in an equally cheerful tone, in his polished, barely accented English. He steps forward and extends his hand to shake in the German fashion. “Thank you so much for all your assistance with the move over the past few months.”
“Annika, please! Call me Annika!” Her smile notches up another few megawatts as she shakes hands with Tooru, then offers the same hand to Ushijima, who shakes too, surprised by her strong grip. “Was the flight okay? And the hotel? Hopefully you got some sleep, yes?”
“Yes, the hotel is perfect, thank you very much for booking it for us,” Tooru nods, smiling charmingly. “We both managed to get some sleep since we landed yesterday, though the jetlag is pretty terrible. We were up at 4AM,” he laughs and slides smoothly into routine air-travel small-talk while Annika shepherds them to her car.
Ushijima chooses the rear passenger seat and silently folds himself into the small space, content to listen and let Tooru lead the conversation, rather than participate.
When they’re all seated, Annika claps her hands and gives Tooru a sheaf of print-outs. “Okay! I have four accommodations for us to go viewing today. Sorry, apartments,” she corrects herself quickly with a laugh. “All of them are about twenty minutes’ jogging to the headquarters and available for renting immediately. Sounds good, yes?” She doesn’t wait for a reply and pulls out into traffic.
Frankfurt inner city traffic is dense and busy. The streetlights of every main street are decorated with Christmas lights, painting the gloom of the rainy afternoon with golden sparkles of light. Tooru keeps up the polite chatter from the front seat, allowing Ushijima to look out of the window and stare at the city beyond.
At one point, they cross a bridge over the Rhine river to the other bank, entering a residential suburb backing on to a forest, narrow, quiet streets lined with well-maintained low-rise apartment buildings. Nothing is over ten storeys.
Annika pulls up outside one such building and pulls a key from her pocket, checking its label and then the house number. “This is it. Apartment number one.”
The apartment is on the ground floor and perfectly fine, except that it is missing a kitchen. Empty walls with unpatched holes stare back at them where cupboards and cabinets should be.
When Tooru points this out, Annika laughs, a little embarrassed. “Ach ja, sorry! In Germany we can bring our own kitchen when we move in, it’s very normal. But I should have thought that you don’t have one, of course! Sorry, let’s go to the next place.”
The next place is in an older building, white paint turning green with moss where the gutters have obviously been overflowing for a while. When Annika opens the apartment’s front door, a strong smell of paint and damp walls greets them. Tooru takes one look and shakes his head, holding his hand in front of his nose. Annika makes an apologetic face and they troop back to the car.
The third apartment is nestled right under the roof of an old, beautifully restored eight-story building. Light floods in through massive windows and the whole place has wooden parquet flooring. The living room’s sloping ceilings are bracketed by exposed, polished wooden beams. There is even has a fully present and correct kitchen.
Tooru is delighted, his face lit up with a glowing smile as he walks around. The whole place already feels like him, especially the main bedroom with its high pitched ceilings and French doors leading to a balcony.
Ushijima breathes a quiet sigh of relief, the unease weighing heavy in his stomach after the first two apartments melting away. As he walks slowly back into the living room, something catches his eye: a sturdy, stainless steel hook embedded into one of the wooden beams in the ceiling.
When Annika comes back with Tooru from inspecting the balcony, he points it out and asks what it’s for.
“Maybe for a hammock or a hanging chair?” Annika shrugs, then turns to Tooru with another megawatt smile. “So, yes? Want me to call the markler, I mean, the... agent? Get a contract, we can go sign this afternoon?”
Tooru nods enthusiastically and gives her his most dazzling smile. “Yes please, Annika-chan.” As she turns away, already lifting her phone to her ear, he raises an eyebrow at Ushijima and throws a slow, deliberate look at the hook on the ceiling. Then he winks and grins wickedly.
Much as he tries to maintain a neutral expression, Ushijima can’t help it when one corner of his mouth curls up in a slight answering smile.
This has worked out so much better than they both could possibly have hoped for.
~*~
“Look, perfect for handcuffs!” Tooru says loudly, pointing at a huge bed with a solid wooden headboard which is topped by a square metal bar.
Ushijima flinches slightly and throws a look around at the other customers shuffling around the showroom floor of the furniture gallery, pointing at things and murmuring to each other.
Tooru grins sardonically at his reaction. “Relax, big guy! Nobody here speaks Japanese.” He throws himself on to the mattress and rolls around a few times. “Hmm... Yeah, nice. Do you like it?”
Ushijima sits down next to him and pats the mattress experimentally. “Mhm. But you can probably order any mattress you like with this bed frame, Tooru.”
“Yeah, I know,” Tooru rolls his eyes and sighs irritably. “I was just asking, fuck! Is it so hard for you to have an opinion for once?” He rolls back off the bed with a huff and examines the tag attached to the frame, writing down the order number on his piece of paper and wandering off towards the wardrobe section.
Ushijima watches him go, wondering what he meant. He takes a look at the tag as well, trying to convert Euros to Yen in his head but giving up after a few seconds. Luckily, the relocation allowance in Tooru’s contract is generous enough that he can afford to buy quality.
His eyes linger again on the bed frame’s metal bar. Tooru was right, it is perfect for attaching handcuffs. Or rope. Or leather restraints. As he follows after Tooru, a quiet part of Ushijima’s brain starts thinking about how to exploit this fact for both their benefit.
After an indeterminate but lengthy period of time, they finally exit the hot, stuffy showroom and reemerge into the damp, grey cold of a German winter morning, sidewalk thronging with crowds of last-minute Christmas shoppers.
Tooru starts walking, looking down at his phone, scrolling through a list in his notes. A few shoppers coming the other way scowl at him as they skirt around him. He looks satisfied, having ordered and paid for a bed, wardrobe, dining table and chairs, and a couch, to be delivered to his newly-rented apartment the day after tomorrow, when he officially receives the keys. Luckily, the clerk reassured them that they deliver right up to Christmas Eve, otherwise they would have been sleeping in a hotel for another week.
Ushijima lengthens his stride slightly and takes hold of Tooru’s elbow, steering him out of the way of another group of pedestrians. “Is there anywhere else you want to go today? Or, if you’re hungry, we can go and find somewhere to eat.”
“Hm...” Tooru frowns, reading over his list, then switches over to the map. “Let’s take the tram back into the city centre. There’s a department store there, I need to buy some sheets for the bed and some towels as well, to tide me over until my own stuff gets here.”
“Okay.” Ushijima looks around, orienting himself, then steers them back towards the tram stop they arrived at, walking slightly in front of Tooru to forge a path through the crowd on the sidewalk. “When will your boxes arrive?”
“Six to eight weeks, give or take...” Tooru says absently, his head still down, squinting at something on the map.
“Only eight weeks? From Argentina?” Ushijima is impressed. “It took twelve weeks for my things to get shipped over to Poland from Japan, and then they were delayed by customs for another three.”
Finally, Tooru looks up and grins. “Well, maybe Argentinian moving companies are just more efficient than Japanese ones, did you ever think about that?” He bumps Ushijima slightly with his shoulder.
Ushijima raises an eyebrow and smiles slightly, using his weight and core muscles to absorb the bump and not lose balance. “Or it could be nothing to do with that, and just the way that the international shipping routes work.”
“That’s exactly what a sore loser would say,” Tooru sticks his tongue out at him, then looks down at his phone again, turning it sideways and frowning. “We can get something to eat once we’re back in the city centre, too. I’m definitely hungry, and if I’m hungry then you must be starving.”
“Mhm.” Ushijima realises that Tooru is right. He definitely needs to eat soon.
They find the right tram stop for the line leading back into the centre and wait, hunching their shoulders against the cold. Tooru stands close, leaning his head slightly against Ushijima’s shoulder, and when Ushijima glances down, he notices that Tooru has closed his eyes. Maybe it’s just the washed out, grey light of the overcast winter sky, but his face looks pale and worn.
He’s exhausted.
Something in Ushijima’s chest aches. He lifts his arm to wrap around Tooru’s shoulders and pulls—
“Um, hallo? Excuse me, are you…?”
Ushijima blinks, letting his arm go slack again, and looks around. A tall young …girl? …woman? in a light blue winter jacket with a white faux-fur-lined hood is standing behind them, face lit up brightly with a hopeful smile and shining eyes, holding her phone in a clenched fist.
“You are a volleyball player, yes? Waka-Toshi Ushi-Jima?”
Tooru flinches, then tenses and straightens, stepping away before Ushijima can summon the presence of mind to reach for him and keep him close.
A fan.
Here, now?
Really?
Ushijima stifles a growl by clenching his jaw slightly, then engages PR mode and does his best to smile, summoning his English. “Yes, I am,” he nods. Hopefully he can make the encounter as mercifully short as possible by giving them what they want. “Would you like a photo?”
“Oh my god, I knew it! Yes please?” The girl blushes crimson and turns around, waving frantically at another girl in a dark green parka standing a few metres away, whose eyes go impossibly wide as she steps hesitantly closer. “We are so big fans, we watch all your games for Orzel, and also for the Olympics for Japan! You are so amazing!”
That makes Ushijima blink in surprise. There are not many people who watch the Polish volleyball PlusLiga outside Poland, which makes it likely that they are not only fans, but players, too. He moves down to the corresponding question on the ‘How to talk to a fan’ list he keeps in quick recall. “Thank you. Do you—”
Before he can frame the question, Tooru steps up to them and interrupts with his most charming smile papered over his face. “Here,” he holds out his hand to the girl. “I’ll take a photo for you.”
Something about the expression on his face and the way his body moves makes all the warning sirens in Ushijima’s brain go off at once.
Shit.
Tooru is upset. Very upset.
“Oh! Um, sure, thank you!” The girl in the blue jacket hands over her phone, then steps over to Ushijima and waves frantically to her friend again, who inches forward hesitantly, looking like she is about to die of embarrassment.
“Shuffle closer!” Tooru waves them closer together and takes a couple of photos, his smile getting wider but not touching his eyes at all. “Come on Ushiwaka, don’t look so grumpy!”
Ushijima tries hard to keep the frown off his face as Tooru gestures and gives directions to the girls, who shuffle awkwardly closer and pose again, this time making heart-shapes with their hands while Tooru takes several move pictures.
Why is Tooru upset?
Ordinarily, he loves meeting fans, thrives off it, always taking the time to answer every question and pose endlessly for photos. Is it just because he is tired? Or because they are together in public? Because he is hungry?
“Thank you so much,” the girl in the blue jacket smiles breathlessly when Tooru hands back her phone.
Tooru’s fake smile doesn’t fade. “So do you both play volleyball? You look like you do,” he says, nodding admiringly to their height.
The girl blushes and nods. “Yes! I play for my university, and my sister is even in the Deutschland team for Under-16!”
The girl in the green parka squeaks and throws her sister a murderous look, blushing an even deeper shade of crimson.
“Oh, congratulations.” Tooru’s paper smile wavers a little, but stays put. “What positions do you play?”
Ushijima looks around towards the end of the street for their tram, hoping for some way to quickly end the conversation as politely as possible, but it remains stubbornly absent.
“I am opposite hitter in my team at university, like Ushi-Jima-San,” the older girl says, throwing an admiring look at him, then smiles at her sister. “And Hannah is a setter. She is very good, but she is very shy also, so she doesn’t like anyone to tell.”
Setter.
The younger girl plays setter.
“Ah, yes I see,” Tooru nods, his smile fading away completely. “That is a fun position to play.”
Why hasn’t Tooru told her that he is also a setter? If she is in the U16 national squad, he might even be coaching her next semester.
Why is Tooru not saying anything? Does that mean that Ushijima should keep quiet too? Maybe Tooru doesn’t want to have a long conversation about volleyball right now.
But he loves long conversations about volleyball! Why is every line of his body tense and unhappy?
While Ushijima’s brain frantically tries to find the root cause of Tooru’s unhappiness and calculates possible courses of action, his instincts make the call for him. He steps up next to Tooru and places an arm around his shoulders, addressing the girls. “This is my husband, Oikawa Tooru, setter for the Argentinian national team and bronze medallist at the Rio Olympics.”
Tooru’s shoulders freeze, so Ushijima gives him a very slight squeeze in response, then removes his arm again as both the girls’ eyes go wide.
Tooru throws Ushijima a very short, unreadable look before focusing back on the girls. “Ah... yeah. That’s me.” His paper smile returns, softer and sadder at the edges. “Was me, anyway,” he murmurs softly.
The older girl’s face splits into a brilliant, unbelieving smile. “Nein, echt jetzt?! You’re him? You’re Oi-Kawa, the new coach? You’re going to teach Hannah next semester?!”
“Yeah...” Tooru nods and exhales a shaky little laugh. “I probably am.” He looks over at the younger girl, who has gone pale and frozen completely still, and his smile finally turns into something real, though his eyes glisten. “Nice to meet you, Hannah.”
~*~
Blessedly, the arrival of the tram finally cuts short their conversation soon afterwards, allowing them to bid a hasty farewell to the girls and for Ushijima to shepherd Tooru back to their hotel and to safety.
As soon as they are inside the door of their room, Tooru sinks to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. He wraps his arms around his legs, making himself as small as possible, and buries his face in his knees.
Ushijima watches him crumple and feels utterly helpless.
Maybe he should apologise for telling the girls who Tooru was?
But something tells him that them not knowing would have made it worse, somehow.
And yet still, the guilt in his stomach threatens to overwhelm him. He lets himself sink to the floor beside Tooru and wraps his arms around his boy’s shoulders, pulling him close. “I’m sorry...” he whispers in to his hair. “I’m sorry, Tooru... Tell me what to do?”
Tooru makes a small, strangled noise, not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “I thought it would get easier once I got here,” he whispers eventually, barely audible. “I thought, if I just hung on long enough... That once I got here, everything would be new and exciting and I wouldn’t feel like this anymore.”
“Mhmm...” Ushijima hums thoughtfully to show he is listening.
Another minute passes in silence.
“And... I am excited. I am. But also...” Tooru inhales unsteadily, holds his breath. Swallows hard.
Ushijima tightens his arms and nuzzles the skin behind Tooru’s ear, kissing it softly.
Something about that gesture makes the dam break. A sob escapes Tooru’s throat.
Then another.
And another.
And then it breaks, the storm that Ushijima has been expecting ever since he landed in San Juan.
All Ushijima can do is tighten his arms and hang on, for both of them. He closes his eyes and fights down the flood of his own feelings, focusing on humming and murmuring small words of comfort into Tooru’s hair as he cries, long and loud and hard, sobs wracking his shoulders like blows.
Eventually, the storm blows itself out, leaving them both battered and worn.
Ushijima unfolds himself from the floor and pulls Tooru up after him, depositing him in the bed and wrapping him up in the quilt so the only thing still showing is his face. Then he finds a box of tissues in the bathroom, brings it back and hands a few to Tooru to blow his nose and wipe his face. He leans down to brush a kiss on Tooru’s temple and says, “Stay here, I will go get something for us to eat.”
He doesn’t really have to leave their room. He could order room service. But his body is desperate to move, to run, to act, to do something to fix this, and this is the only plausible excuse he can come up with.
Tooru only nods silently, staring at the crumpled tissue in his hand.
Ushijima makes for the door, then turns around again and instead takes out the rectangular box from the room’s safe. He opens it and walks back to Tooru on the bed, waiting.
Tooru silently pushes down the quilt to uncover his neck and leans forward, eyes closed.
Ushijima takes out the collar and slips it on with gentle, practised movements, then clicks the padlock shut. He leans forward and kisses the back of Tooru’s neck, just above the padlock. “There, safe and sound,” he breathes, willing it with every fibre of his being to be true.
“Mhm.” Tooru makes a tired little hum.
After a long moment, Ushijima forces himself to let go and stands back up. “Stay,” he says again. “I won’t be long.” Then he grabs his keycard and wallet and leaves the room, walking swiftly down the corridor and summoning the elevator to the lobby.
Outside, he realises he should have worn his jacket. Suppressing a shiver, he hunches his shoulders and walks briskly to the bakery on the next block, working to master the cacophony of thoughts in his head.
It hurts so much to see Tooru suffering like this. It makes him feel weak and helpless. It makes him feel like he has failed. He should have anticipated this and planned for it better. He knew Tooru would be under immense stress, he expected him to break down at some point, most likely at the airport in San Juan, while saying goodbye. He hadn’t expected Tooru’s self-control to be so immense as to make it all the way to Germany before he buckled.
He’s been so stupid. He should have forced the issue much sooner, taken Tooru aside and quietly broken down those spiked iron bands of self-control to give him some release, before the pressure became too overwhelming.
But it always seemed like a bad time to do so, and maybe better to let sleeping dogs lie. So Ushijima always stayed his hand and hoped that everything would go smoothly, and Tooru would be okay after all.
Stupid.
He has been too complacent, and now Tooru is paying the price.
At the bakery, Ushijima quickly takes in the displays of delicious smelling pastries, stuffed bread rolls, freshly baked bread and cakes and orders a little of everything, using a mixture of English and sign-language. Luckily, the lady behind the counter is kind and patient with him, wrapping everything for him with quick, practised efficiency.
Arms loaded with his spoils, he makes his way through the cold, gloomy dusk back to the hotel, trying to come up with a plan to get Tooru through the next few days. He only has a week left until he has to fly back to Poland. The thought makes his heart ache with worry.
He walks into the hotel lobby and summons the elevator, deep in thought. If only the PlusLiga took a proper winter break, instead of playing right through. He has already missed three matches for this, he simply cannot afford to miss any more. At least Tooru is closer now, making a weekend trip possible here and there. They no longer have to wait six months between visits.
As soon as he finishes the thought, the realisation strikes him in the face like a spike, hard. So hard that it takes his breath away for a moment.
Of course, intellectually, he knew that things would be easier now that Tooru lives comparatively close to Poland, but... it is only in this moment that Ushijima finally, viscerally, emotionally understands what it actually means.
The new reality of their life.
What Tooru has done.
For them. For him.
And why.
And what it has cost.
The realisation is so profound that it takes Ushijima a minute to realise that the elevator has arrived at his floor. He just manages to get his foot in between the doors before they close again.
When he unlocks the door and steps back into their room, Tooru is still curled up in the blanket where he left him, fast asleep. He looks so small and fragile, like all the single-minded, indefatigable energy that has driven him all the way to this new chapter of his life has momentarily deserted him.
How many times in his life has Tooru pushed himself beyond his limits like this to reach his goal?
Probably many.
Too many, maybe.
And yet, that is also who Tooru is. Someone who constantly pushes his own limits. That is what makes him brilliant. It is one of the things Ushijima loves most about him, his sheer tenacity and never-ending determination to succeed; so similar to Ushijima’s own drive, and yet so different as well.
Ushijima is a steam engine, immensely powerful but fixed to a single track; slow to build momentum, but almost impossible to stop once underway. Tooru is a fixed wing glider, lacking power, but light and agile, always ready to seek out and capitalise on the most favourable thermals to rise higher and reach his destination.
They have both come so far, each in their own way.
And now, Tooru has given them the chance to travel even further, together.
Quietly, Ushijima sets down the paper bags with their pastries and stuffed bread rolls and sits on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through Tooru’s hair. “Hey... Wake up. I think you should eat something,” he says softly.
Tooru makes a sleepy noise of protest, not opening his eyes.
“Come on, my love.” Ushijima takes the edge of the quilt and peels it away slowly. “You’ve probably got low blood sugar, you haven’t eaten since breakfast.” He knows he is certainly approaching that state himself.
Tooru’s eyes crack open, finally. They look red-rimmed and sore. “Is there any aspirin?” he whispers, voice scratchy.
Ushijima nods, gets up and grabs his travel medkit from his suitcase. He pops out two aspirin and hands them to Tooru with a bottle of water.
“Mhm,” Tooru takes them and knocks them back, then gets out of bed, moving slowly and painfully, as if his whole body aches.
“I brought a little of everything, have a look and see what you like,” Ushijima says, putting away his medkit again, and wraps Tooru back up in the quilt again now he’s ensconced on the couch.
They eat quietly, not talking, each caught up in their own thoughts. Ushijima watches Tooru closely. His boy looks exhausted, but beyond that, he can’t glean anything new. They should definitely stay in tonight, he decides.
A question occurs to him. “Have you spoken to Iwaizumi recently?”
Tooru looks up, frowning, a little surprised. “No. There’s been no time.”
“Mhm.” Ushijima nods, accepting that. But still... “Maybe you should call him tomorrow. Or Hinata-kun.”
Tooru’s frown deepens for a moment, then smooths out. “Yeah... I guess,” he sighs quietly. “Maybe.”
Ushijima keeps eating. After another few moments, he asks, “Maybe?”
“I...” Tooru shakes his head. “They’ll have so many questions, they’ll be so excited and want to hear how everything is going and I... I just don’t know what to tell them,” he trails off, staring down at his food. “I’m just so tired and...”
He trails off, shakes his head. “Those two girls, earlier. When you introduced me, it just... it kind-of just... hit me. Again. All at once. What is happening. What I’ve given up. And...” He swallows hard, looks up and away. “I don’t want them to think I’m unhappy, Toshi... But I think, I think it’s going to take me some time to adjust to... being here and... not being the ‘old’ me...”
His heart gives another fresh ache at how thing and stretched Tooru’s voice sounds. “I think Iwaizumi will understand that, Tooru. He doesn’t expect you to pretend you’re feeling something other than what you’re feeling. And Hinata, too; even though he is excitable, he can be calm and thoughtful if the moment demands it.”
Tooru sighs again, but nods, finishing his bread roll. “You know...” He shakes his head, staring off into the middle distance. “I never called Iwa-chan from Argentina. At least, not in the first few years.”
“Why?”
There’s a long silence, Tooru staring at his hands. Eventually, he says softly, “Because I didn’t want him to know how unhappy and homesick I was. I... I didn’t want to admit it. And I didn’t want him to worry about me.”
Ushijima takes that in, nods. “I can understand why you would feel that way, back then. But you don’t have to do that now, Tooru. You don’t have to shield us from how you’re feeling. You don’t have to pretend to be happy.” Ushijima reaches out and brushes a hand gently along Tooru’s thigh. “You’re not alone anymore, remember? We’re on your team,” he says, softly. “I’m on your team.”
Tooru doesn’t respond. The muscles in his jaw go tense as he clenches his teeth and holds his breath.
Knowing he has said enough, Ushijima picks up another bread roll and resumes eating, giving Tooru space to pull himself back together.
After a little while, Tooru starts eating again too.
Once all the food is gone, Ushijima clears away the empty paper bags and cleans up the crumbs. That done, he asks, “Do you want to shower first or shall I?”
Tooru looks up, hesitates. Looks down again.
“Or do you want to shower together?”
Still avoiding his eyes, Tooru only gives a small nod and heads to the bathroom, stripping off his sweater as he goes.
Suppressing a small smile, Ushijima follows him.
He takes his time with Tooru, lavishing him with quiet care, running his hands all over his boy’s beautiful body, taking in every detail. He washes and conditions Tooru’s hair, using his fingers to massage Tooru’s scalp until he sighs and leans all his weight into Ushijima’s chest. That done, he dries him off and uses the hotel’s asthmatic little hairdryer to dry Tooru’s hair as best he can.
It is perhaps an indication of how truly exhausted Tooru is that he doesn’t protest at Ushijima touching his hair.
Once they are both dry again, he grabs fresh tshirts and underwear from both their suitcases and bundles Tooru into bed, sliding his arm under Tooru’s shoulders to pull him into the crook of his shoulder, and entangling their legs.
Tooru’s hand comes to rest on Ushijima’s stomach, fingertips running idly through the little trail of hair there, before sliding down into Ushijima’s underwear and wrapping around his still semi-hard cock. He squeezes softly, just once, before letting his hand rest, just holding on loosely. The warm air of his contented sigh brushes across Ushijima’s neck.
Ushijima brushes a kiss into Tooru’s hair and he closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Tooru’s warm fingers holding him.
He remembers his earlier realisation from when he was standing in the lift. The visceral, emotional understanding of what Tooru has actually done by moving here to Germany. For him. For them. For their future.
A familiar feeling of warmth floods his chest, stealing in like a sunrise.
Gratitude.
It illuminates his entire being with its golden radiance.
Say it, Kageyama’s voice echoes inside his head. Say the quiet part out loud.
He tries to find the right words to express this to Tooru. Tries over and over, each time discarding the words as too shallow and ordinary to encompass the overwhelming intensity of this feeling.
Just say it!
He gives up trying to find the right words. Decides to just say it as it comes, hoping and trusting that Tooru will understand him even without the perfect phrasing.
“Tooru?” Ushijima asks softly, trying to look down to see if Tooru is still awake.
There’s a sleepy sound and Tooru rubs his cheek into the fabric of Ushijima’s tshirt.
“I think I’ve forgotten to tell you something incredibly important.”
“Hm?” Tooru’s hand gives a little acknowledging squeeze, still holding Ushijima in his warm palm.
Ushijima exhales softly. “I know you said in the past that you’re not only doing this for me… That you’re moving here because you want a change. A new challenge. But…” He pauses, gropes for the right words. “...That doesn’t negate the fact that you are also doing it for me. For us. And I don’t think I’ve ever really said thank you, this whole time.”
Tooru has gone completely still and silent against his chest.
Ushijima forces himself to keep talking, to just say the words as they come and hope that they will miraculously be the right ones. “Thank you, Tooru. Thank you for uprooting your entire life, just to be closer to me. Thank you for your courage. Thank you for your faith in us.”
As he speaks, he realises that this is a deep well and, now that he has uncapped it, the words just keep flowing. “Thank you for asking me to marry you. Thank you for accepting my collar and belonging to me. I don’t tell you this enough, because I am so bad at communicating, but I need you to know how grateful I am. That you are in my life. I don’t want to ever live without you.”
There’s a hitch in Tooru’s shoulders and a small noise, like a sob. His hand lets go of Ushijima and curls tightly into the fabric of his tshirt, gripping hard.
A flash of dismay makes Ushijima’s stomach cramp.
Shit.
He’s made Tooru cry again.
He always does this, every time he tries to speak honestly.
Why did he have to open his big mouth? Tooru was finally feeling peaceful and relaxed, and now Ushijima has upset him again.
But...
He also knows that he had to say it. And that crying is just a natural part of Tooru’s emotional landscape. So he tries to reassure himself and soothe away the anxious, guilty feeling in his gut, tightening his arms around Tooru’s shaking shoulders. “I love you, Oikawa Tooru,” he mumbles, half apology, half confession.
Tooru keeps crying. But these tears are quieter, softer. A summer rain, compared to the merciless storm that ravaged him earlier.
Ushijima rubs his hand over Tooru’s back in slow, soothing circles.
Finally, Tooru lifts his head and wipes his eyes and nose on his tshirt. “Fuck you, don’t blindside me like that,” he says, voice wobbling, trying valiantly to smile. Then he pulls Ushijima down into a wet, snotty kiss.
“I’m sorry,” Ushijima lies, letting himself be kissed.
Notes:
We're nearing the end, my beloveds. Thank you to everyone who has been reading along so far, your kudos and comments mean THE WORLD to me. Thank you so much. It makes all the endless hours of work sunk into this fic worthwhile.
I am working as fast as I can on the last chapter, but unfortunately I've had to go back to work so my writing time has been reduced drastically. But I promise you, I will deliver very soon, and we are going out with a bang. So stay subscribed and you'll be notified as soon as the last chapter is up :)
Big hugs xx
Amiira
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