Work Text:
They’re fucking in a hotel bed.
Hinata, gorgeous Hinata, round little ass tight around his cock and riding him into the mattress, moaning and riding and riding and moaning and tight, tight, faster. Kageyama is running his hands up Hinata’s torso, feeling his solid wiry muscles drenched in sweat, pulling him down—Hinata’s cock, pink and hard and cute if a cock could be cute, streams openly as he pumps it, his other hand pinning Kageyama’s shoulder back into the bed, and he pumps, faster pump faster. Hinata rolls his hips torturous-slowly and grins, bright hair slicked against his forehead and falling into his eyes, and Kageyama groans into the pillow at the sensation on his dick and the ease with which Hinata ruins him, every fucking time—Hinata stops touching himself and pins back Kageyama’s other shoulder, his nails digging into the skin, and maybe he would leave scratches or bruises, fuck, maybe he would say, Come in me, Tobio—Kageyama pumps faster—come, Tobio, come for me—he pumps, harder, so close, please work this time—
Nothing.
Still.
His hand slows around himself, and he inhales—and with a frustrated grunt slams his lube-slick fist into the headboard behind him. When he opens his eyes he’s greeted with the hotel room’s empty darkness, fantasy over. But it was shit, anyway. Ineffective. Is he not imaginative enough for this? Does he need porn? The fuck.
The first couple weeks away from home were fine, orgasm-wise, but straying into week three he just… he glares down at his cock—what is wrong with you—then tugs up his shorts grumpily. It’s late, but he’s still kind of hard and he can’t sleep like this.
He gets up and cold showers quickly to get rid of the erection and the lube, but the sense of failure and dissatisfaction isn’t going anywhere—it settles right down at the pit of his stomach and makes him itch from the inside out.
“You’re gonna miss me so much when you’re gone,” Hinata hums over their dinner on his last day in Sendai. We should do something together, he’d said, and followed it up with, I want McDonald’s! So guess where they are.
“I’m going to be really busy,” Kageyama points out, fussing with the straw in his soda. Six weeks abroad with the team, a major tournament, a handful of exhibition games, and an endless parade of interviews and PR crap. The volleyball is good, but the promotional song-and-dance drains him.
Hinata pulls a face. “So what, you’re not going to have time to miss me?”
“Maybe not. I’ll be distracted.”
“You’re a lousy boyfriend,” Hinata mutters, out the side of his mouth, and though it’s obviously not meant Kageyama feels himself glaring.
“I’m not, why do you want me to miss you so much?” Hinata gives him one of those are you really so stupid squints, and it clicks what is happening, and what he did to earn the ire. “Of course I’ll miss you,” he submits, lowering his voice.
In an instant Hinata is grinning again, leaning forward over the table, and Kageyama has the faintest suspicion that he just got played into that confession. “Yeah, but will you miss me?”
“I just said I’d miss you, stupid. What do you want?”
“No, I mean,” Hinata leans a little closer to him (Kageyama shifts back, they’re in fucking public, what is he to do), and he winks badly. “Are you gonna miss me?”
“You’re just repeating the same question.” But Kageyama lowers his eyes to his meal because he does recognize the tilt of Hinata’s smile, embarrassingly, and when their calves brush under the table he feels a blush starting up on the back of his neck.
“Come on,” says Hinata, extending a fry toward Kageyama’s mouth seductively. “Six weeks is so long, right.” His gut stirs at Hinata’s smugness, torn between wanting to wipe it off his face and wanting to submit to the power Hinata has over him that way. He settles on defeating it, mainly because it would be weird if he asked Hinata to step on him in the middle of a McDonald’s.
“I’ll survive.”
“Ugh.” Hinata flops back in his seat, throwing the fry at him. “I was just trying to be helpful. I could have sent you nudes or something.”
Flustered, he quickly says the opposite of what he feels: “I don’t want that.” Hinata narrows his eyes and Kageyama narrows his back. “What about you, anyway, aren’t you going to miss me like that?”
“Yeah, but I actually like porn, and I get to watch your games on TV, which is even better.” The image of Hinata getting off to one of his games flashes through his head and Kageyama swallows. His pouty, scowling boyfriend starts to pile the garbage from their meal on to the tray. “So I will be great, and you can just, ‘survive’!” His pulse picks up, Hinata is standing to bring their things to the trash and Kageyama jumps up after him.
“Wait, a second ago you were going to send me nudes—”
“Oh, so now you want them?” Hinata empties and leaves the tray, Kageyama hovering over his shoulder. A while ago he started buying a new fit of jeans, tighter than before; Kageyama hates them, he thinks, observing the shape of Hinata’s ass. Distracting.
“It’s kind of a turn-around wanting me to get blueballs.”
Hinata pushes past him, nose in the air. “You aren’t even into porny stuff!”
“Porn of you is different.”
Hinata pauses and gives him a sidelong glance, annoyance fading, and they start to leave the restaurant. “That’s kind of cute, Tobio.” Kageyama accepts that he’s probably a little red-faced while he holds the door. “It’s cute how you can’t even get off without me.” I can if I think about you hard enough, he retorts internally, missing the irony. “I wonder if that’ll help you to survive the next six weeks.” Kageyama starts at the tone of his voice, a dare, and turns to find Hinata grinning at him, eyes flashing with the fire of competition—the same spirit that first drew them to each other, now making him warm to the point of discomfort in the middle of a public sidewalk.
“Are you serious?” he asks quietly.
Hinata’s grin only broadens at the effect his threat has on Kageyama. “I’m so serious. You’re on your own.”
“Why?”
“Because you said you wouldn’t miss me, and I want to make you understand how wrong you are.” Damn it. Why is that hot.
“Whatever,” Kageyama grunts, stomping up the sidewalk ahead of Hinata, refusing to make eye contact. He swears the laugh he hears catching up to him sounds evil, and he wonders if he is dating a sadist. Hinata withholding to break him, half to prove a point and half to see Kageyama unravel. But two can play at that game, oh, he won’t go down easy.
The first time he tries calling home he forgets it’s 3 AM in Sendai, and despite how endearing he finds the sleepy, disoriented voice on the other end of the line, he sends Hinata back to bed.
Then he waits for Hinata to call him—which he does, three or four times, once during a clinic, and then an interview, and so on. He starts getting angrier and angrier every time he comes back to the locker room and sees Missed Called: Hinata Shouyou glaring up from his phone screen.
All in all he’s been gone for a week by the time he gets through, and they talk for about ten minutes. It’s always like that, these little conversations snuck in when one of them is half-awake or on the move. The morning after his night of shitty masturbating he drags himself to the airport with the rest of the team, and dials Hinata while waiting for his flight from Paris to London. It’s been five days since he last heard that voice.
“KAGEYAMA.” He holds the phone away from his ear. “You’re alive! Are you in London?”
“Not yet. We’re boarding in a few minutes.”
“Hey, who’re you playing first in the tournament, I want—”
“Hold on, wait. I have a day off soon, I can call you when you wake up.”
“Oh, okay, let’s skype, then!”
“Skype?” he repeats, in a mumble. A couple of his teammates, sitting near him in the boarding area, eye him over their crossword puzzles and iPhone games. He sinks in his seat; he’s pretty sure they’ve all figured out he lives with someone, a man, especially since Hinata likes to visit practices, but he still prefers to keep his private and professional lives separate.
“Yeah? Kageyama? Do you not know skype?” He sounds amused, Kageyama can almost see the look of delight pinching his round face.
“No, I know skype,” he coughs. The guy beside him puts his hand over his mouth, hiding a smile, and Kageyama sinks further into his chair.
“The videochat program.” Oh.
“Yeah. Of course. Let’s skype.” Videochat—that means he’ll get to see Hinata, hear him speak and see him move, and the thought quashes his embarrassment a little.
“I’m sure one of your teammates or a manager knows how to use it, you can ask them to help you get it set up. Since I know you’re technologically unfortunate.”
“Technologically unfortunate?” he echoes, actually quite indignant, and someone laughs this time.
“Remember that time with the karaoke machine?”
“I told you, we don’t talk about that.”
“I talk about it constantly!”
He grunts; everyone around him is grinning at their laps. The PA system comes on from the gate, Flight 4516 to London Heathrow will begin boarding shortly. “Shit, I’ve got to go.”
“But you just called!”
“I know, sorry.” A frustrated whine on the other end of the line. The others are getting up and starting to queue at the gate, and he spies one of the managers waving him over. He grits his teeth. “I’ll text you about sighpping.”
“Skyping.”
“Yes, skyping. Bye.”
“I love you,” Hinata sighs, utterly defeated. Kageyama gets that feeling, he really does.
“Love you too,” he mutters, and hangs up.
The manager who helps him install Skype asks when they’re done, in a polite and friendly way, who are you going to talk to? But he stares at her and only gets out the my and a b sound, before she waves him off, saying not to worry about it in a way that seems more sympathetic than disinterested or grossed out, which he supposes is nice.
A few hours later, after practice, he takes the computer back to his hotel room; the maid service has been in and his jar of lube is neatly arranged on the nightstand. He sits there gaping at it before remembering he had left it tucked under his pillow after yet another night of failed jerking off, and so whoever cleaned had probably had to pluck it out to make the bed, and he sends a quiet apology up into the atmosphere.
It’s only eight, meaning he has two or three hours to kill before Hinata wakes up. He sets up the computer and leaves it open to the program, worried about missing the call somehow, then flips on the television, but everyone speaks English so fast he can’t catch more than every few words. Every channel is English and more English, and then there is… pay-per-view porn. But he can’t understand any of the titles so he can’t tell which ones are guys only, and anyway, he grumbles inwardly, it doesn’t even work if it’s not Hinata.
So he leaves on one of the comedy programs and takes a long hot shower. He thinks of Hinata going down on him, of the two of them making eye contact as his cock sinks past eager lips and tongue. Hinata’s mouth is so warm and wet, he remembers the feeling well, there’s no fucking thing like it in the world, and Kageyama’s own hand is… is a shitty imitation, he thinks, giving up. He turns the dial on the water all the way to cold and then jumps out of the stream, shocked out of arousal.
He lies there in a towel for a while, staring at the ceiling, skin slightly damp. The television drones in the background.
This has to be psychological, this… block. He’s never had so much trouble before—but, in the two years they’ve cohabitated he’s never been away from home more than a week. It’s his first year as a regular, his first year traveling like this, and he’s got to get used to the hotel rooms and foreign languages. That’s part of being a professional athlete. It’s what his future holds. Hopefully his future doesn’t also hold never again having an orgasm outside of Japan’s borders, but, you know. He sighs and shuts his eyes.
Above the noise from the comedy program, his computer starts ringing. He bolts upright, clicks off the TV and flees to the desk, hands roving over the keyboard excitedly. Skype is doing something… there’s a picture of Hinata (hnng) and it says incoming video call and it keeps ringing. Green for accept? He clicks it. Another thing happens. Uh.
Then there it is: blurry and jerky at first, but smoothing into focus, Hinata’s face fills his screen.
“Kageyama!” Holy shit that smile—Hinata waves both hands, two blurs swarming the window. “Kageyama, I can’t see you, you have to turn on your camera.”
“How do I…”
“Do you see the camera icon in the corner, with the red X over it? Click the X to make it go away.” Kageyama does, and a little box with his own face appears in the corner of the window.
“Huh.”
“Why are you naked?” Hinata asks, laughing. A nice noise.
“I’m not, I’m in a towel, I just…” Hinata has his chin in his palm, watching him with a little smile, and Kageyama notices that the image of himself at the corner is mostly his naked shoulders and collarbone, because of the way he’s leaning toward the computer. “I just got out of the shower,” he manages, sitting back. Now most of his torso is visible. Hinata clears his throat and looks off somewhere else in the room. No, look at me.
Under the towel, his cock twitches.
Hinata glances back to the camera and he’s swarmed with guilt and embarrassment. Their one time to talk and he’s thinking about that. “Sorry, I’ll put on a shirt,” he says quickly, about to stand.
“No!” Hinata giggles, maybe… nervous? He’s not good at judging but he thinks so. Kageyama lowers himself back into the desk chair. “It’s fine,” Hinata says, his voice softening in a way it doesn’t usually, a way that makes Kageyama’s throat tighten. He glows faintly yellow in what Kageyama recognizes as their living room—the futon, the wall of photographs, the lamp Hitoka had gifted them on their first anniversary. “How are you? How is… everything...” Even in shit webcam quality his hair looks so fucking soft, and Kageyama’s hand lifts to stroke the screen, which is stupid, he curls it back into a fist on the desk. A thoughtful sliver of tongue appears at the corner of Hinata’s mouth, and trails along his lower lip, and Kageyama almost gasps. He saw that, he thinks, but when he snaps out of it, Hinata hasn’t—he’s not even looking at the camera, his eyes are lower on the screen and out of focus.
Looking at me, he realizes. Ha, fuck. He remembers how damn smug Hinata had been, acting as if he didn’t need any help, and now he’s sitting there in their apartment where they’ve fucked so many times looking at Kageyama’s naked torso like it’s all he’s thought about for weeks—shit, has he been getting off to the games like he said?
His cock twitches again. Hinata touches his tongue to his upper lip and Kageyama images that tiny gesture on his silt and he is—getting hard. Say something. “Everything’s good.” His voice definitely sounds off. He doesn’t know how long they sat there waiting for him to answer, but neither of them comments on it.
Hinata is looking into the camera, again, tongue away. He probably didn’t even notice what he was doing, dumbass. “Are you having fun? Have you been icing your shoulder? Are people mocking your English?”
“It’s fun.” Every word is strangled by heat building in his groin. “They haven’t told me to ice. No one… uh, probably not as much mocking as you’d want.”
“Darn it,” Hinata says, grinning into his eyes. He is so fucking cute; Kageyama’s crotch pulses again.
“The, uh, outlets are different.”
Hinata nods, and then he does something horrible: shifting his seat, maybe to pull his feet out from under him or something, he makes a noise. Right in the back of his throat, a visceral whimper-groan of comfort and pleasure. Innocent or not Kageyama knows that sound, recognizes it at once, and the moment he hears it he’s on his back in their shared bed, sheets mussed around them, and he can feel Hinata inside him and he can see Hinata arch into him with the muscles of his arms flinching, pinning him down, and the heat of them together making sweat bead on their skin. Kageyama’s cock is pulsing and the more he tries to shake the sound, the louder the memory swells in his ears, the little groan bleeding into moans and cries. That’s the sound he makes when he fucks me.
He slams the computer shut.
Shit.
He hung up on Hinata. He’ll have to know something was weird, he’s going to ask and Kageyama will have to tell him all about the shitty jerking off—I want to jerk off so badly, fuck. He digs his nails into his thigh hoping the pain will knock his boner but it’s actually kind of… good. This is hell. He has to call back but he can’t raise his hand to open the computer again, it just goes where it wants to—down the towel to palm his erection.
He exhales and pumps once, slowly, down his length. Need lube. It’s fine, he tells himself as he scrambles toward the nightstand. He’ll just knock one out quickly (he hopes) and call Hinata back, he can say the wifi went out, and he can put a shirt on to knock the sexual tension. He brings the jar back to the desk and squeezes a little into his palm, having to measure his own breathing, sinking into thoughts of getting off to Hinata behind Hinata’s back and winning their stupid fight. This time, when he lets the towel fall away from his hips and he grasps himself, it feels different than how it’s felt all week—good, better, promising. But even remembering the block makes his stomach clench up—but he’ll just be more miserable talking to Hinata if he can’t do it, and Hinata is going to want to know what happened—ah, fuck, he could touch himself for hours and he wouldn’t come thinking like this.
The telltale electronic tone of his cellphone ringing erupts from the pocket of his jacket, crumbled in an armchair.
His poor cock looks so neglected in his palm, but he winces, ties the towel back around his hips and wipes off the lube, and goes to answer the phone.
It is, of course, Hinata, and he answers feeling like he’s about to be scolded.
“What happened!”
I got a boner just from looking at you. “Sorry,” he mutters, collapsing back into the desk chair, careful of his still very much raging erection. “The hotel wifi is shit.”
“I saw you close the computer.”
Kageyama freezes. Oh. To make matters worse, he can’t exactly read how Hinata says this… he doesn’t quite sound mad, which is a relief, but there is another emotion that escapes identification. All he says is, “Uh.” And then with similar eloquence, “I.. the.”
“Are you all right?” Hinata asks softly.
“Yes, I’m fine, everything is okay.” This is stupid, Hinata could be really concerned for him and this is all about… a boner.
“Why did you—”
“I’m sorry. I’ll get back on now.”
“Okay…”
He ends the phone call and scoots back into the desk, trying to calculate an excuse as he flips the computer back open and calls up the program again. Could he say… could he say he saw a fly on the keyboard and he wanted to kill it? Or that he had accidentally snapped it shut while reaching for something behind the screen? He waits a moment and the same image of Hinata from before pops up, incoming call. He gives his cock an apologetic squeeze through the towel before hitting accept.
Hinata’s face appears, not smiling like before. He wishes he could run his thumb along the lines of those cheekbones like how potters sometimes do with wet clay, lovingly, wanting to create something. “Hey,” says Hinata, unsteadily, his lips staying parted even after the word leaves him, which is not at all enticing.
“Hi. Sorry.”
“So why did you do that?” Of course, right to the point with Hinata, no room for formalities or the cushion of passive aggression. At least they’ve got that leg up on most couples.
Kageyama sighs and puts his head in hands, elbows on the desk. “Don’t fucking laugh, all right?”
“I promise.”
“This week, I—I’ve stopped being able to…” He lowers his eyes to the keyboard, tracing the keys absently. He scowls at how difficult this is, at the way it makes his face burn, and his erection starts to fade with the humiliation. “I’ve been trying, but I have not—been able to, uh, on my own—to come.”
He half expects to hear Hinata go, don’t say ‘come,’ Kageyama, that’s lewd. But instead on the other side of the screen there’s just… silence, and he lifts his head.
Hinata is staring off somewhere past the computer, his mouth still half-open and what might be the shadow of a blush on his face. Hinata’s blushes, that’s the kind of thing that sets him on fire, the glow of pink under his freckles and the things that might be running through his head, he’s always so fucking creative, and energetic, and willing—Kageyama sits forward, trying not to gasp at the feeling in his groin. Hinata spies the movement out the corner of his eye and flinches, turning back to the camera.
“A whole week? That sounds…”
“It’s terrible.” Like walking around with a spring coiled in his stomach. Like right fucking now. What if I said I had to shit and ran into the bathroom…
“So before, you closed the computer, because…?” Why does he sound so damn light and innocent when he asks a question with such a dirty answer?
“I got overwhelmed seeing you again,” he says through his teeth, now straining to keep his hand out of his crotch. Overwhelmed is a nice word for this.
“You thought I’d laugh at that?”
“I thought you’d gloat, because of what you said before I left.”
“I don’t want to see you miserable, Tobio,” says Hinata in a quiet voice. Kageyama can’t look at the camera anymore because it would mean meeting his eye. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just shrugs. “You’re miserable right now, aren’t you?”
“Then talk about something unsexy, or blow your nose.”
“Or I could help you out.”
He starts, he chokes on nothing. Such a quiet, easy suggestion, delivered innocently, but it’s… Kageyama stares into the camera, looking for some hint of a joke in Hinata’s face and finding none. Instead his eyes have gone half-lidded, hand slipped into the neck of his t-shirt to trace the hollow of his own collarbone. Kageyama can remember how its curve feels against his tongue, and he wonders if maybe Hinata is remembering too. “What do you mean, help me?” The leaking from his cock has picked up, if Hinata doesn’t take off his shirt soon he might break the computer in half.
“You’re having trouble touching yourself,” Hinata murmurs, “so I’ll walk you through it.” He half-smiles, knowing, and ready, and Kageyama slides down a few inches in his chair. This is too much. I’m going to lose it. “Since you need me to do it, right?” This is way too much.
“Yeah,” he breathes, and Hinata’s grin broadens. The camera shakes on his end, he must be carrying the computer from the futon to the desk or something. A flat surface, so his hands are free. Kageyama squeezes his eyes shut and starts fumbling to get the towel off his hips.
“Okay, so do you have—”
“I have lube,” he says immediately, grabbing it from beside the computer, maybe a little overeager but holy shit.
“Oh, it’s right there, that’s gross, Kageyama-kun,” Hinata giggles, for a moment sounding seventeen again in a way that shouldn’t be as exciting as it is. The shot of him levels as he sets down the laptop.
“Say that again.”
“It’s gross.” Hinata licks his lips, watching the bottom of the screen, where his abdomen must be well-visible. “You’re dirty.” A strangled sound forces itself out of Kageyama’s throat.
“Can you take off your shirt?”
Hinata narrows his eyes. “Kageyama.” He’s a little too turned on to care that Hinata doesn’t sound pleased with the request, and he starts squeezing lube into his palm, fixated on the tone of Hinata’s voice and the way his eyes go dark when he’s like this. “Kageyama, stop that, listen.” He glances up and is met with a frown. “If you need me then I get to be in charge. And you listen to me, and do what I say. Otherwise it’ll be like before, and you won’t come, right?”
He freezes, lube-in-hand, to gape into the webcam. So this is going to be like that—torturous when he’s sitting here totally naked, the chill of the hotel room on his burning skin, doing… doing whatever Hinata wants, because Hinata loves him, wants him to feel good, because Hinata knows best for him and always has. It takes him a few tries to swallow properly, and then he manages to nod, resisting the urge to start touching himself immediately.
“I’m going to take off my shirt, but from now on, I tell you what to do, okay?” Kageyama nods, trying not to look too hungry and probably failing. “Perfect!” says Hinata brightly, and there’s a white blur across the screen as he pulls off the shirt. Seeing him is good, it makes it easier to imagine how it would feel if he were here, how thin and lean and tight he is all over. Kageyama inhales, thinks of what kind of sound he’d make if he rolled his tongue over one of those little pink nipples, if he’d whimper or cry out or moan. He’s not doing any of those things right now, though, he’s just sitting forward a little and smirking into the camera. But that’s hot too, fuck.
“How hard are you?” Hinata asks, his fingers playing around his mouth suggestively.
“Really—” Really. “Very—”
“I want to see. Stand up, show me.”
Grasping the desk to support himself, Kageyama manages to stand and show himself to the camera, instinctively looking away in embarrassment as he does. It’s been so long now he’s starting to feel disgusting, and there’s precum on his thighs, and a part of him doesn’t want Hinata to see because he’s afraid he’ll feel the same, but then a small voice says, “You really are incredible, you know.” He inhales sharply, wincing at the new surge of blood to his cock. “Sit down again.” He lowers himself again. Hinata is sucking on his lip. “Now, you can start to touch yourself.”
Kageyama feels like he’s missed something. “Aren’t you going to…”
Hinata grins and it burrows right through to the center of Kageyama’s chest. “No, you get to watch me jerk off as a reward when you come.”
“I love you,” Kageyama blurts, it just comes out of him (no pun intended) and Hinata slaps a hand to his face in exasperation.
“Not now.”
“I’m sorry, shit, sorry.”
“Start masturbating!” Hinata squeals, very red face in his hands, and he is so damn cute when he’s embarrassed that Kageyama feels perfectly at home wrapping a hand around his cock and starting to stroke. If I get back into it, he’ll get back into it.
So he lets his head fall back and thinks about Hinata smiling, about Hinata happy and contented and warm, purring, about waking up together and lazy morning blowjobs with their pajamas still on. How much he loves Hinata’s sounds, and he wants to memorize every one of them, and if he’s good he could learn how to play him like an instrument and make little songs out of giggles and gasps.
“Tobio…” He can tell by the tone of voice that Hinata has been watching, and he opens his eyes. At this point he pumps faster just at the sight of his face, with the eyes clouded suggestively. “Slow down a little,” Hinata murmurs. Definitely back into it. He stays his hand, gives himself a more firm, languorous stroke. It does feel more substantial with the pressure, shit. He has started to sweat, even naked with the air conditioning blasting. “Does it feel good, Tobio?” Tobio. He’s always hated that name, why does it sound so good when Hinata says it like this?
“It feels—” He loses the word to a gasp at the twist of his own wrist.
Hinata has started sucking on his finger in between commands, ah, the saliva coating his lower lip and stringing from mouth to tip when he moves his hand to speak. “Squeeze your balls.” And he does, sort of wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. “And.. and rub your thumb around the tip?” Even the little bit of uncertainty in his voice is sexy. He obeys, and whimpers at the touch, imagining Hinata’s hand instead of his own, imagining his tongue—he hears a groan and he sees Hinata’s arm working under the desk, touching himself. He saw me and couldn’t wait, he realizes, groaning again, letting himself work a little faster. Hinata looks like he’s struggling to focus on the screen, his face screwed up in concentration. “I want to be there, I want to help you,” he whimpers, head hanging over the keyboard, breathing heavy.
“I want—yes,” Kageyama gasps, feeling how hot he’s getting, goaded on by the stunning arousal in Hinata’s face, his mouth hanging open like it’s begging to be fucked, and the sound of his own cock sliding through his hand. He’s close, actually so close, closer than he’s been in days and it’s all for Hinata, and Hinata is going to watch him fucking burst, and that only brings him closer.
“If I were there, I'd... I'd.”
"What?" Please tell me. Please.
“I would suck you dry.” The noise that escapes Kageyama leaves him with a flicker of worry at the thinness of these hotel walls, because what the fuck, that is the dirtiest thing he’s ever heard come out of Hinata Shouyou, he wants to swallow those words with their mouths pressed together. “You look so good,” Hinata keeps murmuring, his eyes half shut, over and over, a constant stream of words—he talks so much, Kageyama has never loved that about him as much as now. “You look so nice, beautiful, look at you…” At this point he couldn’t slow the machinations of his hand even if he wanted to, he can feel how near he is to overflowing. His head swims, hazy and ecstatic, swarmed with need: Hinata inside him, Hinata filling him up and caring for him and drawing out little sighs, Hinata’s lips on his hair and his cheeks and his own lips, the feel of his tongue in Kageyama’s mouth. “Please come, Tobio, I want you to.” His voice, milky sweet. The only person who has ever made him feel this way. “Come for me, Tobio.” This is too much. He’s so—“I want to see you.”
He slams his fist into the desk as he finally, finally comes, roaring with how incredible it is, so white hot and fulfilling like in all this time he had forgotten what it was to have a really fucking good orgasm, and now he is rediscovering this most basic form of release. He cries out as it spurts on the edge of the desk and a little on the computer screen where the image of Hinata’s face sits, his mouth still open, drool pooling at the corner of his lips. “Shouyou,” Kageyama breathes, slumping back in the chair, spent, relieved. Gaping, as Hinata leans back and closes his eyes and starts to finish himself off, the line of his neck nothing short of gorgeous, his throat making the kind of noises that claw at the pit of Kageyama’s stomach and make him bemoan his normal human refractory period. How hot he'd probably be in Kageyama's mouth, the way he'd taste.
Hinata gets off with a sweet yelp, collapsing forward over his keyboard. The flush in his cheeks is something to behold, it leaves Kageyama feeling so strangely lucky, because this one is his, and he still can’t quite believe it happened, that he fell in love with his best friend, and was loved in return. But that’s all too sappy-goopy to say when you’re wiping cum off a computer screen (pun intended), so instead he just goes, “That was better than nudes.”
Hinata lifts his head to look into the camera, and smirks. “I told you you’d miss me.”