Archive of Our Own

Boys will be boys. 

That’s how the phrase goes, doesn’t it? Kiyoomi thinks as he watches the guy with the turnip hair pull out an old dirty magazine from his bag, and the rest of the boys in his room lean forward like they’re being presented with the Graal. 

The girl on the front page, just like all the other girls inside the magazine, is dressed in almost nothing, scant lacy clothing made even more flagrant by the position that she’s in. Legs up, on their hands and knees, squeezing their breasts together, bent over; this apparently is the epitome of what’s attractive in a woman.

Kiyoomi doesn’t get it. The pages turn and turn and turn, and his training camp roommates can’t seem to be able to stop staring, while he feels close to nothing, except maybe a little nausea.

He isn’t stupid. He’s seventeen, and this isn’t the first time he’s been subjected to the idea of being intimate with a woman. Around new people though, always comes the apprehension that they’ll know what he’s thinking, that he isn’t like them. 

He pretends to be interested in the book but his mind wanders to Wakatoshi, his ultimate rival and rare friend, who was sitting right where Kiyoomi is now, just a year ago. Kiyoomi wonders if his roommates brought the same thing when he was there, and made him watch. He wonders if Wakatoshi likes looking at those. 

Kiyoomi sort of hopes that he doesn’t. 

"What about you, Sakusa?" a voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry?"

"Which one would you wanna have sex with?"

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows raise as he glances from the open magazine to the expectant gazes of his roommates and back down. He thinks of the magazine in his bag, the two months old volleyball weekly featuring Wakatoshi on the front page, jumping over a net and spiking with all the strength of a powerschool’s ace.

"I’d rather have sex with someone I love," he replies, his throat dry.

There’s a resounding silence in the room before the boys laugh at his expense and move on. Kiyoomi sits quietly with his shoulders hunched for the rest of the night, his dreams of romance and strong volleyball players kept secretly to himself.

9 years later.

As Kiyoomi looks into his reflection in the sun visor mirror of his car, he already regrets coming to the wedding. He tries to smooth out the bags under his eyes, to no avail. At least his hair is more cooperative today, curls staying put as he brushes them off his forehead. He slaps the visor mirror up and leans back against the headrest, blowing out a sigh. 

His phone dings on the passenger seat and his eyes slide to it.

From Komori: Where are you?

From Komori: Everyone’s here, the ceremony ends in like five minutes.

From Komori: I know you’re never late. So get your ass out of your car and join us.

With a tight jaw, Kiyoomi picks up the phone and clicks off the notifications without answering any of the texts. It’s 6:14pm, which means he still has a good fifteen minutes left to wait before he can be considered ‘late’. 

He knows he’s being ridiculous but he can’t help it. Even in the comfort of his own car, the AC running low but fresh, he feels like there’s sweat sticking his shirt to his back and in his neck. The sun is glaring outside and he does not want to go out. He does not want to do this. Most of all, he does not want to make a fool of himself.

So he stubbornly stays in his car for another three or four minutes, staring pointedly across the parking lot before he finally finds it in himself to get out, sliding his phone in the inner pocket of his suit. Just as he expected, the temperature outside is warm, just on par for an evening in July. 

When Iwaizumi-san invited him to his wedding, well, him and the rest of the Olympic team really, he said the ceremony would be in a small open space venue, which was why not everyone could attend it. Right now Kiyoomi is thankful that he wasn’t told to come, because staying seated in that heat for over ten minutes sounds like absolute hell. At least, the party’s venue will probably have air conditioning. 

As he gets closer to the building, he can appreciate how nice it looks. Iwaizumi-san and his fiancee chose the city of Kagoshima, where Kiyoomi had never been. From where he stands, he can see the Sakurajima volcano and the sea on his left, calm and imposing all in one. It’s certainly a good choice  for a view, and he can imagine that the ceremony happened outside for this very reason. This place also has its charm. All around the temple house, tall sakura trees stand, painting the view in pink.

Kiyoomi walks up the stoney stairs leading up to the entrance and nods to the man who asks for his name. He gives it to him, as well as his wedding invitation, and he’s let in. The doors open to a large room, light pouring in from each window on the sides. It’s been decorated for the occasion, pink and white flowers swirling around the columns and on the stage in the back, where musicians are seated, playing soft music. Other than this, the room is pretty sparse, Kiyoomi notices. A few chairs have been placed on the sides, but most people are standing, mingling and dancing in the middle of the room as they wait for the newlyweds. 

"Kiyoomi!" a voice reaches out to him from the crowd. Kiyoomi squints, until a familiar head of brown hair makes its way towards him. As per usual, Motoya is sporting a happy grin, glass half full. "You made it!"

Kiyoomi looks him down and curls his lips. "You still can’t tie your tie properly, it’s ridiculous."

Motoya pauses and blinks at him, smile frozen. "Hi sunshine." He laughs when Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. "It was tied properly but it’s a hundred degrees in here, alright?"

Kiyoomi gives the disheveled tie one last look of distaste before he focuses on something else. "Whatever. Where can I get a drink?"

"Oh, it’s right over there!" Komori replied, pointing towards the shoji door with the hand holding his glass. He takes a long sip and starts walking towards it. "Come, I’ll take you," he adds, as if they’re still in highschool, as if Kiyoomi can’t maneuver a crowd without his cousin there to guide him.

"Not like I would’ve gotten lost," he says drily, following him regardless.

They pass several people, some Kiyoomi knows or recognizes and who nod politely to him, some he’s never met. Behind the door is a huge banquet room, decorated for the occasion. Round tables are dispersed across it, set with elegant china, sachets of dragées and name tags. The entire left wall is glass, offering a beautiful view of the volcano. Right on the left of the entrance is a bar, which Komori walks to with confident steps. The same petals of flowers give the final touch, adorning the tables, the bar and the tall columns.

"Over there’s where you can put down your gift." Komori points to the platform on the other side of the room where indeed, numerous wrapped packages are laid out. "You did bring a gift, right?"

Kiyoomi nods and pats his pants pocket, an envelope of forty thousand yen. It’s a little impersonal and to the point, but it’s what Kiyoomi would want, if he were the one getting married. Which he is not. 

He reaches the bar and plops down on a stool, running a hand through his hair. He can feel it stick to his neck already. Even with the AC running in the room, it’s still exposed to the sunlight, and he’s wearing a suit. 

There’s a list of the drinks on open bar that he grabs, reading through it quickly. "I’ll have a glass of rosé; a lot of ice please," he tells the barman, resting his elbows on the counter and watching him as he starts preparing the drink. A comfortable silence settles between the three of them, broken only by the clink of a glass being put down on the counter, and the pop of a bottle of wine being opened. 

"So, I got them a navy boat."

Kiyoomi shifts his gaze towards Komori. "Mhm."

"Alright, that’s it." Komori clicks his tongue. "What’s with you today?"

And there it is . Kiyoomi doesn’t know why he keeps thinking Komori will ever leave him in peace, when it’s been proven countless times that that’s impossible. If his cousin notices the slightest change or ick in his behavior, he starts prodding like a hawk; and he knows it comes from a good intention, but there are just some situations that he likes to keep to himself. 

"Nothing, I’m fine." The waiter finishes dropping a cube of ice in his glass then slides it towards him, and Kiyoomi picks it up immediately. "Thank you," he says as he stands up, Komori never far behind him. 

"You know it’s a wedding, not a funeral, right? You’re allowed to smile and stuff."

They make their way back into the first room, where people are swarming with excitement waiting for the newlyweds. Kiyoomi dodges shoulders and twirling bodies in a rush to reach a safe spot in a corner, where he’ll be able to sip on his cold wine, enjoy the music, and stay alone as usual until the Iwaizumis get here. Meanwhile, Komori babbles on. As usual. 

"Did you just wake up on the wrong foot, or did your parents call again? Did they give you their good old speech about you not being married yet? I understand they’re worried for you, but honestly, we’re just 26. And! In the prime of our careers! Still…I guess it sucks to hear that when going to a wedding. I didn’t tell my mom where I was this weekend, I knew she’d freak too. I can call them and tell them to back off, if you want. They’ll listen to- Hey!"

Kiyoomi abruptly stops walking and turns around, catching Komori by his biceps as he almost body slams into him in result. Kiyoomi squeezes, hard, and keeps his gaze even, even as Komori hisses. “Do not call my parents. I will kill you, you know I will."

"Okay, okay. Let go of me," Komori says quickly. He rubs at his muscles when Kiyoomi releases him. "Jeez, you’re no fun," he whispers under his breath.

Kiyoomi ignores him. Komori’s still hot on his trail, but he at least stays blissfully quiet until they reach the wall. They both rest their shoulders against it and take a swift look around them, at the people happily chit-chatting and/or dancing.

Kiyoomi feels himself relax, until he turns his head and spots Ushijima Wakatoshi a few meters away, holding a drink of his own. His designer suit fits him like a glove, broad shoulders and strong build on display under the black material. He stands there looking tall and handsome, serious and superior, even if he’s simply having a conversation with Ojiro and Kageyama.

Kiyoomi tenses and curses. He backtracks.

"Where are you going now ?" Komori asks incredulously. 

"You don’t have to follow me," Kiyoomi hisses as he dives right back into the crowd. He knows it’s ridiculous, but his stomach has dropped with anxiety at the idea of being seen, and his cheeks already feel hot. He shouldn’t even have come, he doesn’t know what he was thinking.

Komori catches up to him and walks beside him, lowering his voice to a fake whisper. "So why are we running from Ushiwaka?"

"I don’t know what you mean," Kiyoomi shoots him a glare, battling off an even darker blush as Komori stares at him flatly in return.

"Is that why you’re in a bad mood? We have beef with him?"

Kiyoomi sighs, heavily. He looks away from his cousin, only for his eyes to widen when they meet brown ones. His heart beats a little faster.

"No, that’s not it…", Komori continues with a slow smile, not faltering even when Kiyoomi stops walking. "You’re red as a tomato. You still have that schoolboy crush on him, huh?"

"For the love of God, shut it. Miya’s coming."

"Atsumu?" Komori frowns, turning around right as Miya reaches them. He’s not alone. Ever so inseparable when they’re in the same room, even if it would kill them to admit it, Miya and Suna both flash a smile at Komori and Kiyoomi. "Hey Rin, hey Atsumu," Komori says easily. 

"Don’t you two look sharp?" Suna smirks. "You ever think about modeling together as a family?"

"That’s not a half bad idea. Maybe you could hook us up. You know a whole lot of agencies, I’ll bet."

As Komori and Suna start flirting like teenagers, Kiyoomi doesn’t break eye contact with Miya. 

Kiyoomi feels hot, confined in his suit, sweat coating his skin at the back of his neck and at the bottom of his back. Everyone seems to be the same way, but not Miya. Miya looks like he belongs under the sun. It kisses his skin and his hair, leaving him golden from his blonde strands styled perfectly to the freckles Kiyoomi knows he’s covered with. His white shirt has the first two buttons opened, and it’s tucked casually in a pair of cream colored trousers without even the help of a belt. He has a drink in his hand that he’s slowly twirling, and Kiyoomi knows without looking that it’s a saké over ice.

"‘Sup, Omi-kun," Miya calls out. 

"Miya."

"How’s it goin’?"

"Fine," Kiyoomi glances over at Komori and takes a quick sip of wine. "You?"

Miya licks his lips and grins. "Well, much better now."

Kiyoomi holds Miya’s eyes a moment longer before allowing himself to give him a more thorough once over. The shirt he’s wearing is almost transparent, with how light the material is. With the first buttons off, the top of his sculpted chest is on display, along with a few of his hair. Kiyoomi knows exactly where the hairs stop, and where they begin again all the way down into his pants. He knows how his stomach would feel under his fingertips, taut and hard. 

He knows how he would feel, getting his hands on Miya. Shameless. Just like Miya is now, saying that kind of thing to him in public, in the presence of his cousin no less. 

"Still depressed about Iwaizumi-san getting married?" he decides to play it light.

Iwaizumi-san is the athletic trainer for their group of Olympians, just about their age. He used to play volleyball, growing up in Miyagi, alongside and against Wakatoshi, Kageyama and Hinata. The latter two of them harbor some sort of blind admiration for him, and he was instantly included in the team. 

He’s friendly and stern, strong and gentle, full of advice and respect for the athletes he’s in charge of. 

It wasn’t long before Miya grew an infatuation for him. He asked for his number two weeks into training, laughed with him during water breaks and invited him over to his brother’s restaurant.

Kiyoomi doesn’t care. This is just like Miya. He finds someone he likes and he lets it be known. He shows affection without ever letting it grow into anything serious, falls in love with no one and everyone. He wears his heart on his sleeve, but is always dressed for winter.

Iwaizumi is taken, and Kiyoomi doesn’t care about Miya anyway.

His comment gets Suna’s attention. "Yes, he is."

"I was never depressed," Miya moans, shooting both of them an offended glare. 

Suna takes a deep breath, then shifts his voice into a deeper one with a poor kansai accent. "Why do all the sexy ones have to tie the knot? I could’ve had my fantasy affair with a hot trainer but he had to be straight and conventional."

Miya seethes as Komori laughs at his expense. "Yer a shit liar, Rin, and an even shittier imitator. Shut yer mouth. I was pissed Oikawa got the best man spot."

"Aren’t they childhood friends?" Kiyoomi mutters.

"He’s the enemy, Omi-kun," Miya makes a sour face. "Technically he lost the right to be Iwa-san’s best man when he moved to America."

"Would you say that to his face?" Komori laughs, just as Suna quips, "Not like you would’ve gotten the part anyway."

Just at that moment, the front door opens. Kiyoomi nudges Komori to make him look as a man enters and asks for everybody to leave the dancefloor and stand by the walls, making room for the newlyweds. The music shifts to a more romantic melody, and the Iwaizumis enter the room followed by their wedding party, who join the others by the walls and clap in tandem. Kiyoomi recognizes Oikawa, but he doesn’t spare him more than a glance. 

The bride and groom are truly beautiful. Iwaizumi’s wife wears a princess cut dress, long black hair veiled in white silk, and legs completely covered by the gown. Iwaizumi himself is radiant as always, lovingly holding his bride by the waist to pull her into their first dance. He looks only at her, and soon their foreheads touch as he whispers something that only she can hear, and that makes her smile from ear to ear. 

Something tugs at Kiyoomi’s sleeve, ripping him from the romantic scene. "Omi," Miya whispers.

Kiyoomi looks at him from the corner of his eyes. "What?"

Miya’s eyes scan the room, as if to make sure no one is paying attention to them. Then he brings his gaze back to Kiyoomi and speaks low. "Meet me outside?"

Kiyoomi should have expected the proposition. He did expect it, but he had hoped in vain that he would be prepared for it. As it is, he isn’t ready. A no feels hot on his tongue, but he can’t make himself say it.

"Maybe later," he replies curtly, turning away completely.

Miya keeps his grip on Kiyoomi’s sleeve a moment longer. He wants to press the subject, Kiyoomi can tell. He must realize that it isn’t the right time, nor place though, because he eventually lets go. His warmth disappears as he returns to Suna. 

Kiyoomi’s shoulders sag as he exhales through his mouth. He vents himself with the collar of his shirt and focuses on the marriage starting in front of him, trying to think of everything but his own deplorable love life. 

Kiyoomi closes his mouth around a spoon of his dessert and sighs, content. It’s sweet, just like he likes it. The expensive wedding cake is reserved for the guests that were present at the ceremony, which Kiyoomi understands, but the rest of them can still enjoy a savory floating island, with strawberries dipped in chocolate and small icy mochies. 

He enjoys the small pleasure as long as he can. Now that the dinner is coming to an end, people are slowly getting up from their seats to mingle, some going back to the first room where they can keep dancing. 

Kiyoomi eyes Wakatoshi’s table. He is still eating his dessert as well, seemingly listening to what Kiyoomi recognizes as one of Bokuto’s endless stories. 

At his own table, over half of the people have already left. He’s alone with Yaku and Komori, who are engaged in an animated conversation that Kiyoomi isn’t interested in joining. He likes Yaku enough, but one wrong word and he gets offended, or outraged. Kiyoomi has witnessed one too many fights between Yaku and people on the team who never intended to piss him off or trigger anything close to that reaction, and he knows he doesn’t have Komori’s patience or social abilities to handle that right now. 

He pops a strawberry in his mouth and chews on it slowly, his knee bouncing underneath the table as he gets progressively more and more nervous. Kiyoomi can count on one hand the number of things that make him anxious: crowds, creepy crawly bugs, hotel beds and Ushijima Wakatoshi. Other than that, he always keeps a composed mind. 

As he glances at Wakatoshi’s table again and sees him standing up, more sweat starts to bead on his neck.

He puts an elbow on the table in front of him and counts to 15, slowly, resting his chin in his palm casually. Then he clears his throat.

"Excuse me," he says to no one in particular as he gets up, drink in hand. 

He spots Wakatoshi at the bar and he follows in stride, pushing a stool further under the counter so he can stand right next to him, leaning his hip against the edge. The barman notices him first, acknowledging him with a nod as he grabs a clean glass for Wakatoshi from a high shelf, invisible to Kiyoomi. 

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you."

Wakatoshi turns to face him and bends his neck to a deep nod. "Ah, Kiyoomi-kun."

Kiyoomi nods back, placing his half empty glass on the bar. "Hello, Wakatoshi-kun."

He’s glad that he waited until now to strike this conversation. It’s the end of the dinner, everyone is now in good spirits and a little more loose. Kiyoomi himself is on his third glass of wine. He can look Wakatoshi in the eye and not feel like he’s going to combust on the spot.

He practiced what to say, just last night, in his hotel room. If he’s honest with himself, he has been practicing what to say since his teenage years. He’s supposed to compliment him and/or make a comment about how nice it had been to play together for once, at the Olympics; then let him know he’s making a stop in Tokyo after the wedding, then invite him to a lunch date.

It seems easy, until Wakatoshi asks him: "How are you?" and Kiyoomi’s brain stutters to a stop. 

He opens his mouth, words swimming in his head. Desperately, he tries to remember what he’s supposed to say, to no avail. When it becomes clear that he has to talk, he forces his voice out.

All that comes out is: "It’s really hot today."

Great, he thinks, fucking great, as Wakatoshi simply nods with pensive eyes, picking up the beer that’s slid to him across the bar. 

"It’s a little cooler in Osaka. How is it in Tokyo?" Kiyoomi tries again. 

"It is cooler as well, but the air is not as pure." Wakatoshi looks towards the glass window as he says that, as if he could see the particles seeping from the trees and turning into clean oxygen. His eyes are hard and non equivocal, but Kiyoomi likes the green in them; and the soul that they hold. Like a long and tranquil river, one that makes you feel safe. Simple and clear from impurities.

"I…was just thinking of going to Tokyo more often," Kiyoomi says softly. He holds his breath when Wakatoshi turns back and looks directly at him. He jumps the gun. "Mostly because I want to see you more often."

"Oh," Wakatoshi replies, voice even. Hesitation or shame aren’t feelings that Wakatoshi seems to ever have, but Kiyoomi thinks that’s the closest he’s ever seen them in him as he looks Kiyoomi up and down before he continues, the slightest frown burrowing his eyebrows. "That’s going to be complicated. I’m going to be in Warsaw soon."

Kiyoomi blinks. "Warsaw…As in, Poland?"

Wakatoshi gives a nod. "My leaving the Adlers hasn’t been made official yet, but I will be moving before next season. Warszawa has a strong team, and it will bring me closer to my boyfriend."

Kiyoomi’s breath hitches. "Boyfriend."

"You know him. My old teammate Tendou. He lives in Paris now."

A flash of red hair and an excessive laugh comes back to Kiyoomi, who just nods dumbly. Wakatoshi’s face stays the same as he picks up his beer and detaches from the bar. 

"I hope we can meet in Tokyo before I go. It is a good idea."

"Yeah," Kiyoomi says breathlessly, grabbing his glass as well. "Sure."

"Be well."

"You too."

Wakatoshi leaves, and Kiyoomi’s shoulders slump, with the weight of his mortification and another emotion he can’t quite pinpoint. Disappointment, probably. He touches a hand to his warm cheek and sighs, hoping it isn’t as red as it feels like.

Well, there you go.

He puts his glass back on the counter. He doesn’t touch it again.

He finds Miya again five minutes later, in deep debate with his table. His hair is no longer styled in the perfect casual swirl he sported earlier, disheveled now as if someone ruffled it or he tugged on it. With the way Kiyoomi sees him gesturing with his arms as he talks, that’s a plausible possibility. 

His plate is half full of dessert, but he pays it no mind as he speaks, voice loud enough that people from other tables start to turn around. He doesn’t mind them either. He probably doesn’t even notice Kiyoomi approaching, at least until Kiyoomi passes by and discreetly brushes a hand against his back. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t stop walking to check if that caught Miya’s attention. He knows it did. He just hopes his tablemates were too busy listening to his nonsense to see it. 

He crosses the door to the other room and makes a beeline towards the exit, taking his phone out as he goes. 

To Miya: Parking lot. 

Not five seconds later, his phone lights up with a reply.

From Miya: you bet

From Miya: be right there

Kiyoomi pockets his phone just as he walks outside, immediately exhaling at the sheer heat that meets him. 

He tugs at his tie and takes it off entirely, undoing a button on his shirt and shoving the tie on the backseat of his car once he reaches it. He locks it back up afterwards and leans against it, waiting. 

His mind goes right back to Wakatoshi, and the strange feeling that’s been eating him up since their conversation. He thinks back over what he found out, about Wakatoshi’s boyfriend and his new life. Not a trace of Kiyoomi in it. 

The idea tingles something weird up in Kiyoomi’s stomach.

All of that flows right out of the window when Miya shows up, wearing a stupid grin on his face. He practically jogs over to Kiyoomi, casting a quick glance around him to make sure they’re alone before he plants himself in front of the car. 

"Hey, you."

"Is anybody going to be looking for you?" Kiyoomi quickly asks. 

Miya shakes his head. "Nah. Well unless Hinata wants to start me up again on the beach versus ground volleyball thing again. You wouldn’t believe what Sho-kun was-"

He cuts himself off as Kiyoomi grips the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. He raises his eyebrows and lets it happen, bringing a hand up to cup the side of Kiyoomi’s neck. "Hey, you," he repeats softly, smile growing wider. 

Kiyoomi glances down at Miya’s mouth. "Hey."

Their lips touch and Kiyoomi’s eyes flutter close, his free hand flying to bury itself in Miya’s hair. He uses his two points of contact to pull Miya impossibly closer, then lets himself get ignited by the feeling of kissing him, like he always does.

His skin pleasantly burns where Miya runs his fingers along his neck, his hair standing on edge. He relaxes his jaw and Miya is onto him immediately, licking a bold stripe inside his mouth. Kiyoomi tugs at blonde strands in return and they hum together, bodies locking in place. 

Miya kisses him deeply and slowly like that for a long minute, his tongue sliding against his until it curls back inside his own mouth and he pulls back, leaving a single wet smack to the side of Kiyoomi’s neck.

 "Eager, are we?"

Kiyoomi swallows hard, forcing his grip to loosen and wrapping his arms around Miya’s neck instead in an almost-hug. "Well I didn’t bring you here for small talk."

They both already sound a little breathless.

"Fair enough," Miya chuckles and goes back to Kiyoomi’s neck, slipping his thigh between his legs to feel up his crotch. Hot kisses trail down the line of his throat, and Kiyoomi winces.

"Ah, wait," he hisses, pushing Miya back with a hand on his chest. His body temperature is steadily rising, and he’s suddenly aware of the sweat already coating his skin. "Not here."

Miya pulls back. "Alright." He slides his hand down Kiyoomi’s chest, tapping on it with the tip of his fingers. "Let's go in yer car."

The idea is so ridiculous that it makes Kiyoomi smile, amused, until he realizes Miya is serious, staring back at him with a hesitant twitch of his eyebrow. Kiyoomi’s face twists in disgust. "Ew. No."

"Why not?"

"Did you just meet me yesterday?"

A snort makes Miya’s forehead bump against his. "Okay, princess," he lowers his voice. "Where do you suggest we take this to?"

"How about your car."

Miya pauses, body unmoving as he glances away then back at Kiyoomi. "Oh, here’s the thing. I didn’t bring my car."

"What?"

"I got here with Sunarin," Miya explains sheepishly as Kiyoomi’s eyes harden.

"What?"

"Well I don’t even have a car!"

Kiyoomi looks at him incredulously. It’s true that technically, Kiyoomi has only ever seen him stroll up at practice on his bicycle, but… "You’ve told me before that you had one."

"It’s actually kind of a truck, back in Kobe. I wasn’t goin’ ta roll up in here with it, it’s a fancy place. Look at those tiny parking spaces." Miya gestures vaguely towards the parking lot. "Ridiculous."

Kiyoomi stays silent, waiting until Miya brings his gaze up to him to flick his forehead. Miya jerks back with an affronted yelp. "Ow! What was that for?"

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue. "Thanks a lot for inviting me outside when we had nowhere to go. Now we both have blue balls." 

He gives Miya’s chest a push, frowning when he doesn’t budge. "Get off, Miya."

"Wait, Omi," Miya pleads, fingers still on Kiyoomi’s shirt. "I do have the keys to Rin’s car."

Kiyoomi’s frown deepens. The idea grasps at his mind for a second before he dismisses it almost immediately. It would be in bad taste. He says so to Miya. "That’s disrespectful, even for you."

"Disrespect- Oh come on, it’s Sunarin!" Miya sputters, voice tilting higher. "He used to do it with ‘Samu on my bunk bed back in highschool."

Kiyoomi’s mind goes blank for what feels like the hundredth time today. "What? Why are you telling me this? Ew. That’s…", he looks away with a grimace, "disgusting. I don’t think I can even get it up now."

"I know, he’s a pig," Miya says sourly. He cups Kiyoomi’s face and forces him to look down, eyes pleading. "But he’s got a nice ride. C’mon, I’ll prep it for ya while ya get the lube, ‘cause I got some but it’s the tacky sachet kind ya hated the last time." He chuckles, sheepish. "Sorry."

"What makes you so sure I brought lube with me?"

Miya looks entirely unimpressed, a single eyebrow raising on his forehead. "Well, didn’t you?"

Kiyoomi stares at him and, not for the first time since Miya and he started this ‘arrangement’, starts weighing the pros and cons of going through with it. 

Cons: he doesn’t like the idea of doing it in Suna’s car; he doesn’t like the idea of letting Miya fuck him in his best friend’s car like they’re frat boys at a party after one too many drinks; he doesn’t like Miya being unprepared and still getting what he wants. 

Pros: he gets to get Miya out of his unfortunately good-looking suit and have him; and he gets to stop thinking for a bit. 

He heaves a sigh, making sure that Miya knows how much this is inconveniencing him, and gives a single nod. 

"Fine."

"Yes," Miya pumps a fist into the air, whispering.

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes at the over-the-top reaction, just so he doesn’t blush. 

Miya doesn’t waste any time, pulling away from Kiyoomi to stroll across the parking lot. Kiyoomi watches Miya until he stops by a pristine white Jeep a few meters away and gives Kiyoomi a thumbs up. Kiyoomi looks towards the building again, hoping very much that no one’s going to want to have a smoke here for a good while.

He unlocks his car and leans inside, popping open the gloves’ box to pick out his small bottle of lube and quickly snatching it in his pants pocket. He closes the door with his hip and starts walking down the lot as casually as he can. 

Suna Rintarou’s car is a Cherokee, he finds out, clean and completely intact. It’s a little big for his tastes but, well, he likes the color. He doesn’t look at it for long anyway, because Miya is currently half bending inside of it, and it’s very hard to focus on anything but the curve of his ass and how tight the fabric of his trousers is around his thighs.

Kiyoomi clears his throat. 

"One second." Kiyoomi hears a grunt and a quiet thud, before Miya straightens up. "Done." He leans against the door and waves his hand, gesturing for Kiyoomi to go inside.

Kiyoomi leans in and takes a peek. The front seats, clean and all black nappa leather, have been pushed forward to their maximum to make room at the back. He spots the keys and a box of condoms resting on one of them. On the backseats, Miya has laid down a backpack, wrapped in a jacket, a makeshift pillow.

"Good enough for ya, princess?"

The princess nickname is a thing between them. It’s a Miya thing, really, that Kiyoomi shouldn’t have indulged him with in the first place. The first time he said it, it was one of the first times they met for…extracurricular activities. He remembers it like it was yesterday.

Kiyoomi grunts as his back hits the wall. 

Miya’s mouth is searing on his, kissing him hard and deep. It almost hurts, and he shoves both his hands in Miya’s hair in retaliation, tugging as hard as he can.

“Watch it,” he mumbles against full lips.

“Sorry,” Miya replies, not sounding sorry at all. He dives for Kiyoomi’s neck and drags his teeth around his earlobe, sliding one under Kiyoomi’s t-shirt and brushing his thumb against his nipple. Kiyoomi’s head jerks against the wall too. “Just so happy we won, fuck.”

“I am too, but you don’t have to take it out on me,” Kiyoomi eggs on, voice breathless.

Miya kisses his throat apologetically. “’Promise I’ll be careful.” He flashes an impish smile, and takes Kiyoomi’s shirt off with a clean swoop. “Princess.”

Kiyoomi momentarily stops breathing as a strong wave of heat passes through his body, pooling at the bottom of his stomach. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be careful. He wants to grab Miya by his stupid hair and throw him on the bed. He desperately wants to see Miya stripped down to nothing and cover every inch of him with his tongue. 

Miya drops to his knees and nudges Kiyoomi’s ankles open, pressing open-mouthed kisses just above the waistline of his sweatpants. Kiyoomi looks, and tangles his fingers through the damn blonde hair, widening his stance.

“Feel free to call me that again,” he rasps out.

Miya freezes mid-pushing Kiyoomi’s pants and underwear down to look up at him through thick eyelashes. “Princess?”

More blood rushes to Kiyoomi’s head but he manages a nod, since his dignity was already shed on the second he stepped inside Miya’s hotel room anyway. 

Miya blinks, surprised. It only lasts a fleeting second, before he schools his expression and grins up at him, the curl of his lips dripping with faux-honey and something a little feline. “Feelin’ a bit naughty, are we?”

“Atsumu, I swear-”

“Alright, I’ve got ya,” Miya purrs, not breaking eye contact as he finishes to take Kiyoomi’s clothes off, then places his hands on his body, one around his hip, the other around his thigh. “Whatever you want, you tell me.”

And as Miya starts going down on him with practiced ease, Kiyoomi exhales slowly through his mouth and thinks: this, just this again and again.

"Good enough for ya, princess?"

Ever since that moment from almost a year ago now, the princess thing has never stopped. Miya says it because he knows Kiyoomi likes it, and Kiyoomi continues to pretend he doesn’t know Miya knows he likes it. 

Like right now, as he glares at him flatly over his shoulder. "I suppose."

He shuffles inside the car and crawls backwards, tucking his legs in after having kicked his shoes off. He’s too tall to lie all the way down and he ends up pressed against the door, the backpack pillow providing support for his back. Miya watches him from the door until he’s settled in, running a hand through his hair and occasionally looking out towards the temple. 

Once Kiyoomi has stopped squirming, he gives him a thorough once over and starts leaning in to join him. Kiyoomi immediately presses his socked foot against Miya’s chest. "You need to put the air conditioner on."

Miya pauses, and for a second looks exasperated. "Excuse me?"

"It’s a hundred degrees."

"Ya seriously want me to start the engine for this?"

"It’s a hundred degrees," Kiyoomi repeats, properly enunciating.

Miya drops his head back and growls, like a brat, but does as he’s told, mumbling under his breath as he opens the driver’s door to start the car and kick up the AC. "I swear, ‘can’t even have sex with this guy without havin’ ta go into fuckin’ logistics. Takes a fuckin’ hour."

Kiyoomi ignores him, taking a deep breath and unbuttoning his trousers. He shuffles them down his legs until they come off completely. He does the same with his shirt,  folding everything quickly and placing them on the ground. He figures it’ll save them time for when they’re inevitably cramped together in the tiny space. 

As the AC starts, a breeze of fresh air reaches him, and he welcomes it gladly. Miya comes back up soon after, and he fixes him with a hard stare as he climbs in, knocking his shoes off and undoing his pants as well.

Kiyoomi softens.

"Thanks," he says, gratefully. 

Miya freezes briefly, pant leg around his ankle, and he nearly loses his footing. Kiyoomi hides a smile under his hand as Miya curses and grabs at the nearest headrest to go back upright. He slips his foot out of his pants and nods quickly. "Yeah, anytime."

Miya closes the door behind him when he’s done, and the two of them are left together, close. Miya on his knees between Kiyoomi’s legs. 

Kiyoomi reaches for the front of his shirt. "Come here," he breathes out and pulls, meeting him halfway for their lips to crash together. 

They were clumsy the first few times that they did this, not too sure of their movements or the pressure of their mouths; but there’s nothing unsure about the way they kiss now. 

Miya braces a hand on the window behind Kiyoomi’s head and slips the other one into his hair, effectively holding him still as he licks the inside of Kiyoomi’s mouth with practiced rolls of his tongue. 

Kiyoomi gives as good as he gets, sliding his hand along Miya’s back and grasping at his shoulder as he kisses him slowly. When Miya pulls away for a second to breathe, Kiyoomi closes his teeth around his full bottom lip and tugs, reveling in the happy sigh that follows. Miya breathes him in and gives him one, two, three pecks before he goes back in with his tongue.

Kiyoomi moans weakly, letting all of the tension melt from his body. Soon his jaw is completely relaxed, and Miya’s fingers are playing with his curls rather than gripping them to hold his head still. 

Kiyoomi pats at the floor with his free hand and feels around until he finds the bottle of lube, which he promptly presses against Miya’s chest. Miya lets go of the back of Kiyoomi’s head to take it and pulls back from the kiss, both of them panting as he unclasps it.

"Shit, you’re right, it is hot in here," he whispers, dropping the lube momentarily on Kiyoomi’s chest to pull his shirt over his head and throw it away. 

It doesn’t hurt to be reminded how breathtaking Miya Atsumu is when wearing nothing but a pair of underwear. Kiyoomi reaches his hand up and traces the outline of Miya’s abs with light fingertips, teasing the beginning of his happy trail.

Miya takes off Kiyoomi’s boxers, lifting his legs up one at a time, then drops a dollop of the cold liquid over his fingers. He hooks one of Kiyoomi’s leg over his shoulder and presses a finger to his rim. "Tell me how ya feel."

Kiyoomi nods, closing his eyes when Miya sinks the finger in, quick and methodical. 

Kiyoomi had expected Miya to talk, quite a lot, during those moments. He had expected him to be as he was on the court, or playing any sort of game, be it the board kind or a conversational one. Showing and mouthing off, smirking more than necessary and pushing his partner (or rival) over the edge of boundaries that they didn’t even know existed before Miya all but shoved them to the other side. 

As it is, Miya in between Kiyoomi’s legs is nothing like he is on the court. Perhaps he doesn’t see sex as a game. 

There is no loser or winner when they’re like this; Kiyoomi’s panting breaths filling the silence between them and Miya ever so carefully scissoring his fingers and pulling them in and out of him, patting his walls and grazing that place inside of him that has his knees shaking where they’re bracketed respectively on Miya’s shoulder and against his hip. 

Kiyoomi throws his head back, a low thump against the window, and exhales, inhales deeply, letting the simple pleasure consume him like a long shiver. 

It might be Kiyoomi’s favorite part when they meet. When the attention is all on him, and he doesn’t need to open his eyes to see it. Because his own breathing is all that he can hear, which means it’s all that Miya hears too; and even if he’s used to it by now, probably knows his way around Kiyoomi better than anyone, Kiyoomi assumes it must take Miya a bit of concentration to do what he’s doing with his fingers. Taking him to a town near Nirvana, that is. 

Kiyoomi’s hand is still on Miya’s stomach, and he moves it after a while, softly trailing his fingers up and down, feeling the muscles twitch in response. He used his other arm to cover his eyes before, but he moves it now and blinks to take a look. He lets his hand wander further and further down, cupping the bulge straining Miya’s boxers. 

Miya hums, or moans, an appreciative, quiet low thing, and tucks his forehead in the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck. Kiyoomi continues to fondle him, and slips his free hand through his hair right at the spot where blond strands rest upon the brown undercut, scratching gently at his scalp. 

When two fingers become three and Kiyoomi is positively burning in anticipation, he breathes out "Atsumu."

Miya understands immediately and looks down at him with a little grin, pulling out one finger after the other. His voice is a little hoarse when he speaks, but still put together compared to Kiyoomi's, which is to be expected but still irks at him for some reason. "Yeah, we should probably hurry up before people start looking for us."

Kiyoomi watches him lean towards the front of the car to pick out a condom, rip the plastic and drop it on the floor with their clothes, latex pinched between two fingers.

“What do you mean before they start looking for us?” Kiyoomi catches Miya’s wrist before he can pull his boxers down and free his dick. “What did you say to Suna when you left?”

“That I had an important phone call,” Miya says, shrugging dismissively. 

Kiyoomi holds onto his wrist. He takes two seconds to study him and think, before he reaches a conclusion. “No one believed you.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t know much about Miya’s abilities to lie, but he is familiar enough with him to know that he never has important phone calls. Especially not in this season, when League 1 recruiters have finished their headhunting, and new contracts are already signed.

“Yes, they did,” Miya argues, looking offended. Disbelief must show on Kiyoomi’s face, because his mouth drops. “Hey, people call me.”

“Sure,” Kiyoomi concedes, “your mom and your brother.”

Miya thrusts a finger towards Kiyoomi’s face, with the hand still holding the condom.

“Don’t talk about my family when my dick’s out, ya freak.”

Kiyoomi bats his hand away. “Your dick isn’t out, yet.”

“So let me take it out,” Miya presses, exasperated. Kiyoomi’s fingers are still tight around his wrist.

A beat of silence.

“Look, Omi, the more we talk an’ wait, the more time Suna has to get suspicious.”

Kiyoomi closes his eyes for a second, but he knows it’s not a situation where he has the luxury to hesitate. Either they do it now, or they tuck themselves in and go back to the party. The lube is starting to cool between his legs, and the window roller presses uncomfortably into his back. 

He sighs and lets go of Miya’s arm, readjusting his knee around his shoulder. “You better be fast…” 

“No worries there,” Miya reassures, the corner of his lips curling up cheekily as he pulls his boxers down to his thighs. Kiyoomi eyes his dick, which Miya almost immediately covers up with the condom, first the tip then down his shaft. “You look fine in that suit. Did I even tell ya that?”

Kiyoomi squirms slightly, fixing Miya with a glare even if the man isn’t looking at him, reaching back down for the lube instead, which he squeezes a generous amount of in his palm. “No. You were uncouth, as usual.”

Miya wraps his hand around his dick and starts stroking, breathing out a chuckle. His other hand ends up flat against the window again as he leans back in, face hovering over Kiyoomi’s. “Do I wanna know what that word means?”

Kiyoomi pointedly does not glance down to his lips. 

“It means you aren’t as charming as you think.”

“Aw,” Miya cocks his head, voice turning sugary sweet as he stares back into Kiyoomi’s eyes. Kiyoomi could swear he hears his hand jerking a bit faster, before the noise stops completely. He wipes his hand on one of their clothes on the floor, hopefully not Kiyoomi’s, then uses it to brush a curl out of Kiyoomi’s face. 

It’s getting harder to breathe.

“No time to seduce you today, I’m afraid, Omi. But I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?” Kiyoomi asks, even if he already knows the answer. 

Miya grins dangerously and dips down, grazing his lips across Kiyoomi’s cheek and the shell of his ear, gently kissing the crook of his neck. Meanwhile, he adjusts his hips until they fit perfectly against Kiyoomi’s, like a puzzle piece. It’s gentle still when he pushes inside Kiyoomi, the slide eased by the lube. It punches the air out of Kiyoomi, but it doesn’t hurt. 

It’s what comes after that scares him as much as it exhilarates him. 

This feels like hanging in the air before you’re dropped. It feels like Miya is playing with him. He trails his deft fingers down Kiyoomi’s ankle and along his leg, until they stop shortly around his leaking cock, and finish their journey around his hip. His mouth is the same, exploring every inch of skin it can with soft kisses, making Kiyoomi dizzy. Anything to distract him from the slow thrusts of Miya’s hips against his own, preparing him for what’s to come.

Kiyoomi’s breathing hard, short whimpers tearing out of his throat whenever Miya gives a particularly deep thrust, or kisses just the right spot behind his ear. Before he knows it he’s holding onto Miya like he’s a lifeline, fingers curled tightly around a big chunk of his hair as he tries to brace himself.

“Ready?”

Kiyoomi almost jumps as the words are whispered to his ear. Miya squeezes his hip and kisses the corner of his lips, patient. 

“Go ahead,” Kiyoomi whispers back, grateful he doesn’t have to use his actual voice.

Maybe it’s because he knows what’s about to happen, or maybe he’s not imagining it, but Kiyoomi feels Miya’s grip turn from gentle to rough in half a second. He hoists Kiyoomi up by his waist and starts fucking into him like he means it.

The way only Miya Atsumu’s ever fucked him. 

Each thrust pushes a gasp out of him as Miya pistons his hips hard and fast. It makes his toes curl and his eyes close. He barely feels it when Miya takes his second thigh to push it against his chest, but he does feel what the new angle allows Miya to do.

He slams in deep, deeper than he has before, and Kiyoomi chokes on a cry. 

It feels- it feels-

“Oh fuck,” he moans, letting his head drop back. It bangs against the window with the next thrust, and that makes him moan too. He has enough sense of mind to feel around for the grab handle somewhere above his head, white-knuckling it as soon as he finds it. 

For a while all that Kiyoomi can hear is the sound of their skin slapping, and their heavy breaths mingling together. It’s a little obscene, and when Kiyoomi blinks his eyes open, he whimpers at the sight of Miya biting his lip and looking between their bodies, hyper-focused.

He tugs at Miya’s hair to grab his attention. Miya looks up at him and whispers “Shit,” before dipping down to press his lips against his in an open-mouthed kiss. Kiyoomi kisses him back with all the force he can muster, all but shoving his tongue in Miya’s mouth to get a taste.

It’s like he can’t get enough of Miya. His touch, the way he moves, his smell, Kiyoomi wants all of it. Miya doesn’t stop his assault for one second, and it’s burning them up fast.

Then Miya pauses all his movements, leaving a wet smack against Kiyoomi’s lips, and Kiyoomi’s back arches in discontentment.

“What- Don’t stop-,” he breathes out, watching in disbelief as Miya sits up. Kiyoomi’s hand falls from his hair, resting on his chest instead, and Miya hums, sounding all too breathless himself. 

“I got ya.” 

Miya hoists himself up on his knees and uses the leverage to start fucking into Kiyoomi again, slower this time. The press of his cock inside of him still makes Kiyoomi moan, and he grits his teeth at the pressure, toes curling up all over again.

“Atsumu…”, he whines desperately, too long fucking gone to care. It’s deliciously good, maybe even better now that the tempo has slowed down, and he can feel every inch of Miya’s dick pushing in, then pulling back. 

“I know, babe, I got ya.” Miya bends over and uncaps the lube with shaky fingers, dropping a messy dollop of it in his palm, which he promptly wraps around Kiyoomi’s dick. 

Kiyoomi’s hips jump as he makes some sort of embarrassing noise, practically mewling for it, his nails clawing their way down Miya’s chest furiously. 

“Shit, Omi,” Miya hisses, letting go of the lube bottle to grasp at Kiyoomi’s hip again.

The bottle lands on Kiyoomi’s chest still half opened and leaking, but neither of them notices, or cares as Miya picks up his rhythm again. His thrusts gain in strength and he matches them with the steady pump of his hand, working Kiyoomi to completion. 

Kiyoomi’s whole body is ignited, and he lets that feeling consume him. Normally he would fight against it, try to make this moment linger and keep the pleasure at bay, but he allows it to drown him fast today. 

His mouth works around words that won’t form, his legs shaking and his temperature rising until that familiar spark reaches his throat and he whines out, “Atsumu… Atsumu...”

He vaguely registers a pair of lips kissing his ankle in encouragement before he comes, shivering from head to toe as his vision turns white and his orgasm washes over him.

Then, as he slowly regains consciousness, he registers the soreness of his lower body, and its oversensitivity as Miya continues to thrust into it, somehow erratically now. That’s when he really sees him, Miya, hovering over him once again with his lips pinched and his eyebrows furrowed together, almost like he’s in pain. 

Kiyoomi relaxes his own face into a small smile and brings his hand up to cup Miya’s cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb. 

Miya gasps “Omi,” and rests his forehead against Kiyoomi’s, letting out one last rough grunt before he comes too, eyes squeezed shut and hips stuttering to a stop.

Kiyoomi moans softly in relief, wrapping both of his arms loosely around Miya’s shoulders as the man all but falls down on him like a puppet with its strings cut. His own legs drop down of their own accord, muscles screaming from the twinge, and he winces when his foot lands on their pile of clothes on the ground.

He sighs.

“Ya good, princess?” he hears Miya mumbling into his neck.

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi replies weakly, the corner of his lips curling up as Miya snorts.

For a bit, it’s completely silent except for their slowing breaths, and the AC blowing a constant breeze through the car. It keeps them cool, and Kiyoomi is satisfied when he realizes that he barely sweated. 

He inhales deeply and breathes in the scent of Miya’s shampoo. He’s comfortable like this.

Then Miya raises his head and looks up at him, eyes crinkling as his face lights up with a soft smile. “I wish we could stay like this a little longer.”

Kiyoomi glances down to Miya’s face, the almost imperceptible freckles on his nose and the lines around his eyes, and nods.

“Me too,” he says honestly. 

He would have liked taking things slow like they sometimes do, but he’s glad they had time to have this little moment for them, fleeting as it may have been. His body is relaxed and satiated. The tension in his shoulders from his conversation with Wakatoshi has completely disappeared.

Miya leans forward and presses his lips against his for a candid and gentle kiss, and that’s when it hits Kiyoomi. What he was feeling earlier, what he’s feeling now. 

It’s suddenly so obvious that it overwhelms him completely, before his stomach sinks.

He blinks at Miya’s brown eyes and his ridiculous hair. I’ve been so stupid.

“We should get back to the party,” he breathes. 

Miya nods with a groan and raises himself on his elbows, his softening cock completely slipping out of Kiyoomi as he sits up. They both shuffle and move until they’re in a normal sitting position, each on a passenger seat. 

“D’ya have tissues?”

Kiyoomi pauses from where he was leaning down to pick up his underwear and looks up towards Miya. His eyes are currently turned towards his crotch as he carefully takes off the condom, pinching the end of it between two fingers. 

Kiyoomi shakes his head, raising his hips from the seat to pull his briefs back up his legs. “No, let me look in the glove box,” he says. 

He leans forward and grips the headrest with one hand, popping open the box with the other. Inside is a bunch of crap he doesn’t want to see or think about, some CD’s, and a questionable plastic bag. 

“Great, give me that,” Miya replies when Kiyoomi lists out the different items. Kiyoomi scrunches his nose at Miya’s willingness to touch anything from that box, and more importantly his willingness to force Kiyoomi to touch it too. 

He slowly puts his hand into the compartment with his lips pinched, and his eyes fleet towards the outside so he doesn’t have to look. His gaze lands on the temple’s entrance, and that’s when his blood freezes. 

“Miya.”

“What?” Miya whines, exasperated. “C’mon Omi, I know you’re weird about other people’s stuff but I’m holdin’ a used fuckin’ condom over here.” 

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue and shoots him a glare from over his shoulder. “There are people outside, you brainless idiot.”

Miya’s eyes widen. “What?” he chokes, in as much time as it takes Kiyoomi to grab the plastic bag, bang the box close and hurry back to the backseat before the three people standing in front of the parking lot can notice the naked guy through the windshield. 

“We’re fucked,” Kiyoomi hisses, grabbing his pair of pants and pulling them up at lightning speed. Miya casually drops his condom in the plastic bag before leaning forward to see for himself, still in his birthday suit. “Are you insane? Get back here.”

“Is that Wan-san with one of the bridesmaids?” Miya wanders out loud before letting out an obnoxious whistle. Kiyoomi can see his shoulders shaking as he laughs. “I didn’t know he had it in him.”

“Seriously, he’s going to see you. Get dressed.”

Miya sighs dramatically, flopping back onto his seat and picking up his underwear from the floor. “Don’t know why you’re in such a rush, we’re stuck here now anyway.”

“Or I could get out right now,” Kiyoomi says, buttoning up his shirt, “and you wait five minutes and get out after me.”

“Inunaki isn’t stupid. He’ll know right away. And he’ll tell everyone about it, ya can be sure of that.”

Kiyoomi glares at him, even though he knows he’s right. Technically. “If we don’t get out soon, Suna and your whole gang is going to show up anyway. What difference does it make.”

“I already told you. Nobody’s comin’ for me.” Miya leans down to find his pants and puts his hand in the pocket. “See? Look,” he says, unlocking his phone and showing Kiyoomi the screen. No message. 

“How did you manage to convince them?”

Miya grins secretly towards Kiyoomi before he puts his arms inside the sleeves of his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. “If you must know,” he says finally, still looking away, “I’ve kinda been…working on a contract with a model agency for a while.” He lets out a laugh as he turns to see Kiyoomi’s face. “I know yer gonna make fun of me and all, but it’s a big deal to me; I feel good about it.”

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “I’m not going to make fun of you. That’s…great. Congratulations.”

“Ah, thanks.” Miya breathes out a chuckle, clearing his throat. “Motoya’s not gonna be out for you either?”

“No. He knows I can only get so much of…” he waves his hand around to represent some kind of chaotic noise, “before I have to hide someplace. He won’t bother me for a good while.”

Miya nods slowly, eyebrows raising. “So…We’re stuck here.”

“I guess so.”

They look at each other in awkward silence for a moment longer before Miya gets moving again to put on the rest of his clothes. Kiyoomi holds back a wince and exhales through his lips, resting his head back. He wonders how he always gets into situations like this, where it feels like he should be anywhere but here. 

Usually, Miya and him fuck, then go on their separate ways. It’s safe and it’s practical, and it avoids this. Him feeling like his heart is going to beat out of his chest if he doesn’t either run very far from Miya, or grab his face and kiss him. 

He inhales deeply and closes his eyes. Even the car smells like Miya, that stupid tiny bottle of cologne he always has in his bag for after practice. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

He opens his eyes and looks towards Miya, thankfully dressed now. He hums and nods in response. 

“No offense, but ya kinda look like you wanna die.”

Kiyoomi tilts his head, conveying a flat stare. “That’s just how I look.”

Miya laughs, turning a little more towards him and criss crossing his legs. With his hair unstyled and his suit a little wrinkled, he looks younger. “Nah, it’s not. I’ve seen ya have fun.”

“When have you ever seen me have fun?”

“When you play.” Miya leans over and pokes a finger to Kiyoomi’s dimple. Kiyoomi bats his hand away, shaking his head. “You get that little smirk on yer face, and your eyes…sparkle.”

Kiyoomi snorts despite himself. “My eyes do not sparkle. Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes, they do-”

“You are out of your mind-”

“I know you, Omi-Omi,” Miya smiles a little bigger, pointing his finger at him. “Ya should let yourself loose a little more often, it’s a good look on ya.”

Kiyoomi sighs. “You think you’re giving me a compliment, but this is actually very rude.”

“Let me have a dance with you later.”

Kiyoomi blinks, twice. “What?”

Miya glances away, then shrugs. “We should dance.”

Kiyoomi looks, and looks at him, and he doesn’t know what to say. 

Part of him thinks about how nervous he would be, dancing with Miya. They’re not teenagers anymore and they’ve been intimate on a level that should have made all of their walls crumble, but getting asked to dance is a little too much like highschool prom for him, and he’s not sure he wants to get into that. It’s bad enough they’re trapped in Suna’s car together with a dirty condom in a plastic bag getting old and cold from the air conditioning.

The other part of him thinks that if Miya danced in front of him, he would either laugh or, again, grab his face and kiss him. That really depends on his skills as a dancer, and with how coordinated he can be on a volleyball court, he fears the latter hypothesis would come true. 

“You can just say no,” Miya says after a long beat. “I just thought it’d be fun. Y’know…as teammates…bros…bros with benefits.”

Kiyoomi scrunches his nose.

“I don’t know why I said that,” Miya says quickly, burying his face into his hands with a groan.

“Never say that to me again.”

“I know, sorry.”

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath. “It could probably be fun. It’s just that I…” He sighs, throwing his head back against the headrest. “I confessed to Wakatoshi today.”

Miya’s hands drop from his face at the words and it’s his time to be speechless. As he looks at him up and down, seemingly at loss, Kiyoomi licks his lips and keeps going.

“He royally rejected me,” he breathes out. “And I felt…weird. Really weird. I didn’t know what to do with it. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, that feeling.”

Miya’s eyes are wide as he listens. “I’m sorry…That sucks. Liking someone and them not liking you back. That uh,” he pauses to swallow, “that’s gotta hurt.”

Kiyoomi shrugs, the corner of his lips twitching up. “It was relief.”

Miya tilts his head. “Relief?”

“Yeah.” Kiyoomi raises a hand to rub the tip of his nose before touching his fingers to his lips. “I realize now I’m glad Wakatoshi wasn’t interested. I think…he’s the guy I used to dream about, the perfect cutout of who I’m supposed to like. But I just don’t anymore.”

It feels good to admit it, to turn that sensation into words and to finally understand it. Wakatoshi is great. He’s tall and strong and good at volleyball, he’s interested in Kiyoomi for the very same reasons. Now that he lets himself think about it, he’s also never shared anything personal with Kiyoomi, or even laughed with him. 

He belongs in that magazine from years ago, when young Kiyoomi thought he could never get a guy like that. 

Things changed since then. 

“Oh,” Miya breathes, eyebrows raising again. He looks towards the window then back at Kiyoomi, almost hesitant. “So is there someone that you do like, then?”

Kiyoomi presses his lips into a flat line, staring up at him. “What do you think?”

Miya nods, his shoulders slumping. “How long? How long have you…liked me?”

“A long time,” Kiyoomi replies honestly. Now that it’s out in the open, he finds it’s easier to just tell the truth. He’s still afraid of how Miya’s going to react, but it’s better than to keep it bottled up like he has those last few months. It’s like a weight on his shoulders has been lifted. “I guess I was lying to myself, because I was…well…scared.”

For some reason, that brings a smile to Miya’s lips. He tilts his head, looking confused. “Why would you be scared? It’s just me.”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi nods, crossing his arms in front of his chest a little defensively. His cheeks turn red before he can even get out the words. “I can barely control myself around you, Miya. I’ve done things with you that I would’ve never considered doing before. Case in point,” he scoffs, gesturing to the car. “It’s never been like this before, for me, and I didn’t want to admit it, but I’m terrified…to keep going or lose what little we have, I don’t even know.” 

Miya is definitely speechless now, and his eyes study Kiyoomi’s face, young and shocked.

“You have no idea what impact you have on people, Miya,” Kiyoomi concludes in a last breath before looking down.

It’s silent for a bit, and all Kiyoomi can hear is the air conditioner still humming and the blood rushing to his ears, until he feels Miya’s hand on his arm. His thumb brushes the skin up and down gently. 

“Thanks for sayin’ all that to me,” he says softly when Kiyoomi looks back at him. “But y’know, I don’t want this to end if you don’t want it to end.”

“What do you mean?”

“I like you too,” Miya answers simply, like it doesn’t make the butterflies in Kiyoomi’s stomach flap their wings so hard he fears he’s about to get sick. “I have for a while. I didn’t tell ya anythin’ ‘cause, hell, I’ll kill you if you repeat it but…you’re way out of my league.” He grins when Kiyoomi snorts again, shaking his head. “Everybody knows it. I mean talk about scary, it took you three months to talk to me when you got on my team.”

“You’ve liked me since then?” Kiyoomi’s lips twitch up as Miya’s face colors.

“…Maybe.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“I know,” Miya laughs, smile growing bigger as Kiyoomi uncrosses his arm and lets him entangle their fingers. “I don’t know how I got ya to have sex with me the first time.”

“I was drunk,” Kiyoomi lies.

“Shut up, you were not.” 

Kiyoomi huffs out a laugh and Miya’s face positively beams. He holds up their hands and kisses one of Kiyoomi’s knuckles.

“We like each other,” Miya repeats.

Kiyoomi nods slowly. “We do…Should we date?”

“Is that somethin’ you want?” He smiles gently when Kiyoomi looks up quickly, surprised by the question. “I don’t want to push you if you’re uncomfortable. If it’s too fast and scary for you…I wanna show you I can be good to ya first. Haven’t really been able to do that before."

Oh. Kiyoomi’s heart softens. He brings his free hand up to cup Miya’s cheek, pushing some of his hair out of his forehead. 

“No, I trust you,” he says. He’s waited long enough, and he decides to go with his instincts for once. He’s always wanted the conventional relationship of his dreams, going on dates and holding hands, meeting parents and buying a bed. He’s sure Miya and him will find ways to mess that up in their own way, but it feels right. Miya feels right. “I think we should date.”

He moves from his seat to get on his knees and turn more towards Miya, crawling closer to where he’s still sitting cross legged. Miya welcomes him with a grin and they both hum softly as their lips meet, fitting together into a perfect kiss. Kiyoomi brushes his nose against his and lets his mouth fall open as Miya pokes his tongue out, licking languidly at his tongue. 

They rest their foreheads against each other when they pull back, and Miya’s hand settles against his hip.

“That means you’ll dance with me, right?”

“Are you a good dancer?”

“´Course I am.”

“I’ll think about it.”

They dance together at this wedding, and at their own, too.