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When Oikawa stares at him from across the net, Tobio doesn't feel it yet. All he knows is the roaring of the crowd at each of his sets, the squeak of his shoes against the floors, and the sharp whistle of the referee that brings him back to the present each and every time. He's here, on the court, playing against the silhouette in front of him that has eluded him for years and years and years.
When Oikawa stares at him from the door of the empty dugout, waiting for all of Tobio's teammates to leave before he shows up, that's when he starts to feel it. The anticipation. The familiarity.
Suddenly, he's not sitting in a smelly locker room anymore. Suddenly, he's sixteen again, and he doesn't know if he's tasting Oikawa's sweat or his tears when he comes over to Tobio's house and kisses him for the first time. He doesn't feel like Kageyama Tobio anymore, famed setter of the Schweiden Adlers and the Japan National Team. Suddenly, he's just—
"Tobio-chan."
Tobio's response is almost conditioned into him. His mind blanks out and his muscles tense up and he doesn't know why his tongue is so heavy in his mouth, but he finds the words to say, "You played well today."
Volleyball isn't an easy topic, given the decade of animosity it's caused between them, but he doesn't know what else to say to him. They've never had anything in common except for this.
This, and the instinct to press each other up against the nearest surface and tear each other's clothes off.
It's pure instinct, that's what it is. Tobio doesn't want to put a label on whatever this really is. He's never been good at thinking outside of the court, and it's hard to make sense of his swirling thoughts when Oikawa's mouth is so busy making a mess of his lips, leaving a bruise on the side of his mouth that Tobio won't be able to explain in training tomorrow.
It's instinct and sensation, mostly. A craving for it. Tobio craves Oikawa's mouth, the softness of his hair, the lilt of his voice as he teases him between kisses. "You're getting better at this," he whispers, leaving an uncharacteristically gentle kiss against the side of his nose. "Have you been practicing with someone other than me, hm?"
His voice is teasing, but his eyes aren't. They've never agreed on anything like that, but Tobio still feels a rush of panic when he sees the veiled anger in Oikawa's eyes. "Why do you care?" he mumbles, though the trembling of his bottom lip is entirely unconvincing.
"I don't," Oikawa says, but again, his eyes. Watching him, always. "I have, though."
It takes Tobio a second to piece his words together, to figure out what he's saying.
Oh. Of course he has. Tobio has always been just one in a crowd of many, always looking up at Oikawa in hopes that he'd turn around and give them the time of day, make them feel special and seen.
Has Oikawa ever actually seen him? Does it matter? In that crowd, who else can say that they know the taste of Oikawa's mouth so intimately, that they've ever been wanted by Oikawa the way Tobio's wanted by him right now: desperately, with no inhibition?
Tobio doesn't care how Oikawa sees him, what he thinks of him. It's enough to be wanted by him.
The door to his room opens, and a head of short-cropped hair peeks in. "Tobio, I'm home—"
He says he doesn't care how Oikawa sees him, but he does care about how Ushijima sees him. How he's seeing him under Oikawa, flushed and panting, winded and wanting.
They all freeze. While Tobio's frozen in horror at being caught like this, the sparkle in Oikawa's eyes is different. He reads the air faster than either of the two, and Tobio stiffens when Oikawa settles more snugly against his body.
"Hi there," he says, not breaking eye contact with Ushijima. "Welcome home."
He looks… pleased. Looks smug and satisfied as he dips his head down and kisses Tobio's shoulder. Tobio swallows his embarrassment and turns his head to look straight at Ushijima for the first time since he walked in on them.
He doesn't know exactly what he was expecting, but all Tobio sees is disdain in his eyes. Oddly enough, it's not disgust.
Somehow, that comforts him.
Ushijima closes the door behind him without saying another word. Infuriatingly, Oikawa goes back to kissing him right away, hands roaming over his skin with a fervor that wasn't there earlier.
"What's wrong with you?" Tobio says, though all he does is crane his neck back to let Oikawa start kissing down his throat. "Aren't you—"
"Embarrassed? Ashamed?" Oikawa smiles against his Adam's apple. "Tobio-chan, don't act like you didn't like it when he saw."
Tobio stiffens, even when Oikawa starts nibbling on the lobe of his ear, the way he likes it most. He doesn't know where he got that idea, why he thinks Tobio would ever enjoy something mortifying like that.
Oikawa isn't deterred, not at all. "Isn't it exciting, knowing he's right on the other side of this wall? Hearing everything? Knowing it's you?" And at that, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh beneath Tobio's jaw, instantly causing him to moan in surprise. The sound echoes in his room, undoubtedly piercing through the thin walls of their apartment.
And infuriatingly, Oikawa's right. Tobio's heart skips and stutters at the thought of Ushijima hearing— just like he always does, perceptive and quietly caring.
"So you do like it."
The smile on Oikawa's face as he leans over Tobio is sharp, knowing. Again, Tobio feels a faint rush of panic in his bright red ears.
It's quiet in the apartment after that, a silence that Wakatoshi notices immediately. He's in the kitchen getting himself a glass of water before bed, just wanting to end this night of torture already. When Tobio asked him to come back to the apartment a little later after their match, he didn't expect that it would be because of… this.
Because of him.
Oikawa, who grinned at him from across the court with a challenge in his eyes, as always. The same challenge Wakatoshi saw when Oikawa stared straight at him as he walked in on them.
I won, this time.
The thought flashes through his mind so quickly, Ushijima barely catches it. But that is what it felt like, seeing Tobio under him like that. It felt like losing.
And the weight of that thought stays with him, even when he catches Oikawa being shoved out of Tobio's room, stumbling out with his clothes half-unbuttoned. A mess, as usual. Wakatoshi can't help the sneer that tugs at the corner of his lips.
A sneer that Oikawa mirrors. He doesn't leave, not right away. He stands across from him, leaning against the kitchen counter as he puts his clothes back on. "I knew he would miss me," Oikawa says, chin tucked down to focus on the buttons of his shirt, "but I guess he didn't miss me enough to let me stay. No thanks to you, of course."
Wakatoshi takes a sip. He doesn't want to validate that with a response, but he can't seem to walk away now.
It's the wrong move. His silence only makes Oikawa smile even wider, that disingenuous glint in his eyes growing brighter at Wakatoshi's silence. He's challenging him, always.
Oikawa stops before he finishes with the last button of his shirt, leaving a patch of red on his chest exposed to Wakatoshi's gaze. "Aren't you curious?" he says, expression suddenly dropping. "Don't you want to know what he tastes like?"
Wakatoshi's lip starts to tremble. He thinks it's anger.
It must be— but he doesn't know why his response his to pull Oikawa in and kiss him deep, tongue swiping into his mouth to take every drop of Kageyama that lingers on him. It's fast and rough and Wakatoshi feels him crumple under his touch as his hands dig into Oikawa's biceps as he holds him in place. He winces in response when he feels the sharp crescents of Oikawa's nails digging into the flesh of his waist, sliding up under the hem of his shirt.
Wakatoshi doesn't like it. He doesn't like that he's being rough, doesn't like that Oikawa's whimpering into his kiss in pain, doesn't like that he can taste Tobio on him, just faintly.
Oikawa pulls back with a gasp, the edges of his lips blurred as they swell. "You—" He laughs and licks the corner of his lips. "Wow, you really wanted to, huh? Really wanted a taste of him?"
He holds Wakatoshi's chin, swipes a drop of spit from the corner of his lips. "Tobio-chan's sweet, could you tell?" His grip tightens when Wakatoshi's jaw clenches. "And he kisses just like that too." He grins again. "I would know. He learned it all from me."
The sight of them on Tobio's bed flashes on Wakatoshi's mind. The look on Oikawa's face right now, flushed and wrecked— exactly as Tobio looked earlier.
Except there was something else there, something Wakatoshi could glean from the way Tobio looked up at Oikawa. Something like desire, but on a different level. Deeper.
Something akin to longing.
Tobio longed for Oikawa.
"What's going on here?" a voice says, and both of them turn to see Tobio with his arms over his chest, brows furrowed in confusion. His eyes shift between the two of them, and Wakatoshi feels his blood turn cold at the anger in Tobio's eyes, dark blue turning nearly black.
Silence in the apartment, yet again. Another two people caught in the act, but this time, no one's running away.
Ushijima drops his hands to his sides, expression blank. Tooru watches him lock eyes with Tobio, senses something shifting again between them when Ushijima takes one step closer.
And then, "Does it have to be him?"
Tooru can see the snarl on the side of Ushijima's lips, sees the slight tilt of his head motioning towards him. Talking about Tooru as if he's not even in the room, as if he doesn't exist. As if this is their moment, and Tooru's just some unlucky bystander who has to bear witness to this.
Tobio glances at him, just briefly. For once, Tooru can't tell what he's thinking.
And then, "No. It doesn't have to be."
It's strange, just standing here, watching Ushijima's large hands enveloping Tobio's face as he kisses him. Those same hands that left bruises on Tooru's arms are cradling Tobio close with a gentleness that infuriates him.
He doesn't exist in this moment, not to Ushijima, not even to— no.
With his eyes open, Tobio stares back at him, even as he moans into Ushijima's insistent mouth. Just staring. Waiting.
Aren't you going to do something about this?
Tobio has always been his most and his least favorite junior, always looking up at him with those expectant eyes. He's never known what to do with Tobio's attention. It's like he wants him to be something he's not, wants him to be better.
But he's not the good person Tobio wants him to be. He's not going to cradle and coddle and care for Tobio the way he wants him to. He's not going to be the person Tobio can come running to when he needs it, and he never will be.
And he's certainly not going to put a stop to this, no.
Instead, Tooru digs his nails into the same marks he made on Ushijima's waist and nibbles on the lobe of his ear from behind. Ushijima pulls away from Tobio's lips and leans his head back against Tooru's shoulder, groaning. "What is it?" he says, irritated at the interruption.
Tooru bites harder into his ear. "Don't you have a bed we could use? I could tell you all about what makes Tobio feel good." He smiles at Tobio, resting his chin on Ushijima's broad shoulders. "You want that, don't you, Tobio-chan?"
It's painfully familiar, the defiance in Tobio's eyes. He wants to say no, wants to fight back, Tooru knows. But it only takes a finger gently tracing the line of his jaw for Tobio to crumple, as he always does. To melt like putty in Tooru's hands, always so obedient, so eager to please.
Tobio's mouth is as soft and warm as ever, even as he hesitates to take the head of Tooru's cock in while Ushijima watches at the side, gripping the base of his dick in anticipation. "He— hah, he choked the very first time he did this, right, Tobio-chan?" Tooru smiles and speaks with blatant familiarity, boasting of a history that Ushijima would never be able to comprehend. He doesn't know how many firsts Tobio has shared with Tooru, how much of Tobio's life is stained permanently with Tooru's lips and the touch of his hands.
Tooru runs his fingers through Tobio's hair, a little shorter than it used to be when they were in high school. Those eyes, still dark and deep blue, struggle to look up at him past his lashes, but Tobio tries anyway, just wanting to see Tooru's face. Tooru knows that, knows Tobio wants him, but he's come too far to stop this game now.
He pulls out of Tobio's mouth and tilts his chin up to kiss him. The bitter taste of his cock lingers on Tobio's tongue, mixes perfectly with the flavor of his spit. Tooru indulges himself for a little longer—indulges Tobio too—and allows Tobio to wrap his arms around him, to stand on his knees and press their bare chests together.
Before Tobio can settle on top of him, Tooru pulls back and presses his mouth against Tobio's ear, whispering, "Don't you feel bad, making him wait?" And they both turn their heads to see Ushijima lying against the pillows, hand still gripping the base of his swollen cock. It's huge, as expected, and Tooru feels Tobio's throat bob under the palm of his hand.
Tooru ignores them as he walks to Tobio's room and takes the bottle of lube in his bedside table. It's about three-fourths empty, and Tooru ignores the racing of his imagination at what Tobio did to use it up that much. He doesn't delude himself into thinking Tobio stays put, waiting for him in the few times a year that their paths cross, but…
It's always that damn look in his eyes that gets to Tooru. That earnest glint earlier this night when Tooru asked him if he had been practicing with anyone else. He can't lie, unfortunately, even if Tooru wants him to.
He wants Tobio to lie, wants him to pretend that he's not enjoying the weight of Ushijima's cock on his tongue, wants him to push Ushijima away when Tooru comes back into the room because he'd rather be sucking Tooru off instead.
But Tobio's body can't lie. His moans, his bright eyes, his desperate hands clawing along the sides of Ushijima's thighs are telling Tooru everything he needs to know.
It doesn't have to be Tooru, just like he said. It never had to be; Tooru just got here first.
All Tooru has over the rest of the world is his familiarity with Tobio's body, the intimate knowledge of every spot that makes his toes curl, every movement of his lube-slicked fingers in his ass that forces Tobio to pull off Ushijima's dick and moan uncontrollably. Tobio takes one finger easily, allows two fingers with a little bit of resistance, and the third finger is just a precaution, given the sizable difference between Tooru's cock and Ushijima's. He thrusts his fingers into Tobio's ass, curls them just right, fucks into him ruthlessly— until Tobio's begging him to stop, hand struggling to reach back and grab Tooru's wrist.
It's Ushijima who stops him, fingers digging into the faint bruises on Tooru's arms. "Stop. He can't take it anymore," he says, too warm, too familiar. Tooru narrows his eyes at him. Who gave him the right to dictate how this night will go, what Tobio can and can't take? It's Tooru who knows him, Tooru who taught him everything, Tooru who owns him—
No. There are tear tracks on Tobio's cheeks, flushed bright red with arousal. His dick rests against his stomach, an angry shade of red that tells Tooru he's one thrust away from cumming untouched, ending this night before he even got to the main event.
Ushijima leans over him, presses a soft kiss against his forehead. He's whispering something to Tobio, too quiet for Tooru to hear from the other side of the bed, but all he sees is Tobio slowly nodding and Ushijima getting into position on top of him as he bends him in half. Tooru sits there, watches as Ushijima slides into Tobio, waits as pain transforms into pleasure, inch after inch, one gentle kiss at a time.
And then… they breathe.
The only sound that breaks the silence is Tobio's broken gasp, and Ushijima takes that as his sign to start thrusting into him. He cradles Tobio's head in his thick arms and pulls him close, blocking out every sound other than their breathing, until Tobio hears nothing other than the pounding of his heart and the squeaking of the bed frame beneath them.
Tobio doesn't see anything, doesn't feel anything other than the overwhelming presence of Ushijima on top of him, fucking him with a gentleness that doesn't fit his size and stature. Then again, he's been nothing but kind to Tobio, gentle and straightforward. Even the way he fucks mirrors that, telling Tobio exactly what he means: I want you, I want you, I want you.
No games, no riddles, no hidden agenda behind gentle touches that only serve to rile Tobio up without leading him anywhere. He doesn't need to guess when Ushijima's touching him.
It's the certainty that makes Tobio surrender, makes him melt into the mattress as he cums untouched, splattering all over his stomach.
Even then Ushijima is gentle, pulling out of him in an instant though he's still swollen with arousal. Tobio's been pushed to the edge of hypersensitivity countless times, pain and pleasure turning his brain into pure mush. He craves to be touched, craves to be used the way he always has been. It's familiar to him; he wants it, he can take it—
But Oikawa doesn't even look at him.
Instead, he pushes Ushijima against the headboard and lines the tip of his dick against his ass, sinking down onto him in one smooth motion.
Tobio can't move. He can't lift himself up, can't even turn away. No, he has to watch.
So he lies there on his back, his own cum drying on his stomach, neck turned at a painful angle to watch as Oikawa rides Ushijima to completion, the two of them barely saying a word to each other.
Everything about this is new, unfamiliar, uncomfortable. Tobio is used to Oikawa's teasing, the constant comments about how good he feels, how good he's being. Even Ushijima spoke more than usual, praising Tobio with filthy, filthy words that he never thought he'd hear coming from him. The silence between the two of them is stifling, even as they're fucking and kissing every few thrusts or so.
And then there's the sight of them, the sight of him. The sight of Oikawa with another man, being fucked by someone else, a kind of desperate vulnerability that Tobio's never seen from him. He moans differently when he's inside Tobio, moves more aggressively like he's trying to claim Tobio as his.
Tonight, he's fluid, wanton with each movement of his hips. Again, another standard that Tobio can't live up to. As always, Tobio looks up at him from his spot on the bed, wanting, wishing for Oikawa to look at him just once, to make him feel like he exists in this moment.
Ushijima cums with a grunt, spilling into Oikawa's ass. And Oikawa fucks into his own fist until he's cumming all over Ushijima's stomach, getting back at him by making a mess on him.
Even when they're all untangled from each other, it's silent. A painful silence that Tobio can't read, can't put meaning into. His mind is completely blank— except, of course, for the sights and sounds of Oikawa with another man. And those thoughts settle down, down, down his body, filling his stomach and his chest with a nameless weight.
Ushijima turns to his side and starts cleaning Tobio up with a tissue, gently wiping down the dried cum on his stomach and the slick between his thighs. And then… a thumb comes up to brush against his cheeks, and that's when Tobio realizes he's crying. Just tears, no sobs, his body too tired to even produce the sound.
"Rest," Ushijima says, and Tobio finds the energy to nod. He's lifted up to lie on the pillows, and the position gives him a little more space to move his head and look around.
To look for Oikawa. To see… something, anything to tell him what tonight was all about.
But his body is betraying him, and his eyes are starting to close. He's searching, he wants to see him— but Tobio falls asleep to the comforting weight of Ushijima's hand on his hip and to the familiar sound of Oikawa leaving.