When the shirt slides off Suga’s pale shoulder and he throws his head back, grinning with a darkness in his eyes that has Daichi swallow hard, the button of his pants wrestled open by long fingers, hips swaying in a way that’s hell and heaven and goddamn bliss, that is when Sugawara attributes a completely new interpretation to the song pour some sugar on me for his boyfriend.

Suga’s smile around the words “pour some sugar on me, ooh, in the name of love, pour some sugar on me, c’mon, fire me up” is cherry-red, his tongue a lick of flames. The music is loud, his striptease practiced – perfect. And it’s Daichi’s.

And Daichi swallows when that devilish little mouth nips at his ear, bites down on the skin of his neck, a low whimper stuck in his throat. He is indeed a goddamn lucky bastard, and Suga makes sure that he’ll always remember that.

Tooru has been biting his lips ever since Hajime first met him. He does it when he’s nervous (surprise quiz in class), excited (important volleyball game) or crying, silent tears on his cheeks, words stuck in his throat – when he thought Hajime would reject his brave, wonderful confession after training, after years.

And during that last time, Hajime had wiped his tears and pressed their foreheads together, whispering: “If you keep biting your lip like that, I’ll kiss you every time you do it. You’re ruining your skin. Alway make me care for you.”

Tooru had stared at him, soft mouth red and eyes tear-dark. Then, he’d smiled, choking on one last sob. “I’m sorry. But – but I think a kiss could make it better.”

Of course, Tooru still bites his lips nowadays – but he does so with a smirk at Hajime, and a soft noise in the back of his throat when Hajime kisses him gently.

Chocolate Pancakes.

“He said he never loved me,” Tooru says. “It’s over.” His eyes are red.

“Come in,” Hajime says and wraps an arm around him, just before Tooru begins to cry. “You can stay here. I’m so sorry.” He lets Tooru into his apartment.

He’s not good with words, has never been able to weave them so brilliantly like Tooru does. They’re playing on their university’s team, Tooru shines brighter than ever before, and Hajime loves him like never before. It doesn’t matter that Tooru’s had a boyfriend until now, a guy who’s always kissed him a bit too roughly (for Hajime’s taste) and who treated him like arm candy (Hajime thinks that Tooru deserves to be treated like a King, not some pretty thing).

But that doesn’t matter now. Tooru looks tiny on his couch, wrapped into Hajime’s former baby blanket that’s ragged and paled out, the brilliant red faded to soft pink. Hajime returns after five minutes in the kitchen and he brings a stack of pancakes, drenched in chocolate syrup, and a cup of tea.

“You… ‘s that for me?” Tooru’s eyes are wet. They’re big and silver-shining in the dim light. Hajime sits and pushes the plate into his hand, a fork into the other, the tea staying in his hand. “’course. Your favourite comfort food.” He tries a smile, but fails. “God, I’m sorry. I can beat him up. You can stay as long as – “

Tooru hugs him. Hajime can barely put the tea away before tears sink into his neck, trembling fingers curled into his shirt, shivers wrecking Tooru’s body. “Thank you. Just – thank you. I – I’m nothin’ without you.”

Hajime lets him cry all night. Tooru eats all the pancakes, licks the chocolate syrup from the plate and falls asleep on Hajime’s lap. It’s been fifteen years since they met. Hajime closes his eyes and counts the beat of Tooru’s heart. One. Two. Three.

Fourteen years of loving Tooru.

For a long time, Kageyama is quite sad about every single animal being scared of him. He’s tried to feed and pet the neighbour’s cat, one of his teacher’s dogs, and he even built a nest for a hedgehog in his garden once. All of the animals made scared noises, immediately hiding from him. None would let Kageyama touch its fur or small paws, not caring how badly he wanted to pet and hold them.

But now it’s not so bad anymore. Ever since the day Hinata’s first roughly pushed his head into Kageyama’s hand after a great spike, Kageyama’s understood the way it works.

Hinata came to him on his own. He’s chosen Kageyama, and he’s decided that he wants to have those awkward shaky fingers on his head and gently tracing along his neck. Somehow, Kageyama has earned this honour.

And when he pets Hinata, this little bundle of sunshine makes a soft noise that’s better than any purr he could ever get from any animal in the whole wide world.

One day, Kageyama snaps.

Hinata stares at him when he tears his hand out of those warm fingers. When Kageyama stumbles back and slides down the wall of the locker room, shaking, blood rushing in his veins, and watches the harsh imprint of his own grip on Hinata’s hand go an angry crimson. “Why,” his voice is a mess, it always is after his outburst of aggression, this hopeless coping mechanism he still uses when things become overwhelming or he fucking fails in training, when he makes mistakes and people are too much, when he has to run and hide, when Hinata is still there even though he yells and is terrible, no friends, nobody wants him.

“Why are you doing this? You – you’re always there when I’m like this, when I h-hold you too tightly and hurt you – I don’t want to hurt you, but you keep coming after me and you even h-hug me when I cry. This isn’t… I don’t understand. God, explain it to me, Hinata. Why’re you here when I’m like this? I’m so – so angry, and I can’t – they’re all too much and I k-know they hate me, like my old team, but you. You… are here.” The sob tearing out of his throat is a wild animal, hurt and howling into the silence. He chokes. “Tell me why.”

And Hinata smiles at him with sorrow so deep and warm that Kageyama’s lungs and fucking throat and all of his scarred, dark-splattered insides rip apart.

“You really know nothing about love, Tobio.”

“Spock, I have a theory. Hear me out. I know why you hate being touched.”

“I had assumed that you were aware of Vulcans being touch-telepaths, Captain.”

“Nah, that’s not what I mean. This is much more fun. Also, you let me touch you if it’s just your shoulder or arm or something. I thought about it, and I know why.”

“Do you? Enlighten me, then, as you seem to be an expert on Vulcan – “

“You’re ticklish.”

“…that is by far the most illogical thing you have uttered all day. Fascinating.”

“And I can prove it. C’mere, lemme just – “

“Captain, cease doing this immediately. I forbid you to – take your fingers off my ears this instant. Jim, if you do not – “

“Aww, you’re fidgeting, that’s kinda cute – wait. What was that?! …Spock?”

“…c-cease touching me this instant.”

“Spock, did you just purr?”

“I did no such thing. If you would excuse me – Jim, do not – Jim.”

“Wow. I had no idea Vulcans like to be pet like this. Do that noise again – aww.”

“We do not. This is an exception since you are the one touching me.”

“Wait. D’you mean you only purr for me? Don’t just go! Hey, Spock!”

“This conversation is over.”

“Uh-huh, sure. You know, you were adorable just now. Hey, wait for me!”

“But I should be dead,” Hajime coughs through the soot and dark smoke in his lungs when Tooru pulls him out of the ruins of his burnt house and lays him down next to his unconscious parents and sister. He laters learns that it was a short circuit in the power lines that almost killed them all. Tooru’s skin doesn’t carry a single burn, his eyes alight and blazing like the flames.

“Yet you aren’t dead,” Tooru whispers into his ear before Hajime faints, and when the police and firefighters arrive, they find a burning house and the rescued family lying in front of it. Alive. All of them. Hajime’s arm is burnt and he lives.

“But this is impossible,” Hajime whispers against Tooru’s pale skin as he watches the black lines crawl over it, ink-dark tattoos coiling over his boyfriend’s skin as if they were alive, symboles and runes and ancient power pulsing through Tooru’s smile.

“Yet it is real,” Tooru mumbles into their kiss and pulls Hajime deeper into himself, throwing his head back with a howl as he lets himself be devoured, kissed, heat and sparks tingling down Hajime’s spine, thighs around his waist.

“But you are human,” Hajime says when he and Tooru are in the forest at night and Tooru dances for him, midnight-black smoke and silver sparks flowing around him like water, spinning, spiralling, framing his naked body.

“Yet I am not,” Tooru says, and smiles. “And yet you love me, and I, you.”

“But what are you?” Hajime asks into the softness of his mouth.

“If it would matter, Haji, you would not be here. And you would not kiss me.”

So Hajime takes what once was impossible, and closes his heart around it.

“Why do you still care?”

Hajime is silent. His fingers brush white ointment onto Tooru’s split lip. His soft skin bleeds red.

“Because someone has to?” Tooru asks, rough. “Is it a chore to care for me?”

Hajime pulls the bloody shirt over Tooru’s head. He stuffs him into one of his own sweaters, fingers shaking in rage and fear and why-couldn’t-I-protect-you. Because Tooru doesn’t let him, that’s why. Hajime wants to bite that fake smile off his pretty red lips.

“Stop. Just – god, stop. ‘m not worth it. You’re wasting your time. Hajime, stop.”

And he takes Tooru’s bruised knuckles and leans them against his forehead. It takes minutes to find his voice, a scared little thing in the back of his throat. When he speaks, it’s a sentence that’s twelve years old, and finally falls out.

“You’re worth it, idiot. All of if. You’ve always been worth it. Shit, you – you go and get into fights or hook up with people just to, what – feel something?” Hajime breathes. Tooru is quiet, stares at him, and he’s so beautiful in Hajime’s old sweater and with a hint of a blush on his cheeks that Hajime’s heart breaks.

He swallows, and kisses the soft space between Tooru’s knuckles. “Let me make you feel. Just once, let me try, ‘kay? I’ll do anything. Just lemme keep you safe. Can’t stand seeing you bleed.”

For a long time, Tooru’s breath is the only noise. Then, something drips onto Hajime’s hand. “Okay.” Tooru says, voice tiny. “Okay, Hajime.” And he cries.

Bokuto calls Akaashi “baby” or “little owl” when they’re alone. Akaashi protests, refuses, tries to hate the nicknames.
He can’t.
It’s something from Bokuto that belongs to Akaashi alone. Maybe that’s why he can’t let go, why he lets Bokuto whispers the names into his hair and lips and lets him light soft flames underneath his skin.

Hinata already knows that he’s going to cry when Kageyama slaps the food out of his hand.

It hurts when knuckles collide against his palm, and the sweet-filled bun tumbles to the ground, dropping right into a dirty puddle by his feet. Kageyama stares. Hinata opens his mouth, tries not to tear up, wants to understand why Kageyama is being so mean – yes, he’s always rough with him, but never like this. He’s never actually hurt Hinata. His palm is a little red. He swallows.

And then, there are tears on his cheeks, dripping silently.

“I’m sorry.” Kageyama’s voice trembles. He reaches out for Hinata’s mouth, but Hinata flinches and stumbles back. “Did you eat any?” Kageyama wants to know, steps forward, grabs his collar. “Tell me. Did you eat it? How much?”

Hinata doesn’t understand. He shakes his head, makes a soft whimper in the back of his throat. “N-nothin’. Wanted to share w-with you.” There’s a hiccup rising in his chest, he wraps both arms around himself. “Why would you – “

Then, Kageyama picks up the bun and shows Hinata the wrapping. “It’s strawberry, you idiot. The filling. It’s pink and it’s strawberry. You’re allergic.”

Oh. Hinata sniffles. He tries to stop crying, but it doesn’t work. “Th… thanks.”

Kageyama throws the bun away and reaches out, but hesitates. “I’m sorry. Fuck.” He bites his lip. “I’ll buy you another one. I didn’t wanna hit you. I’m so sorry.” Hinata waits for the touch, but Kageyama goes rigid. “Hinata, I’m sorry – “

But Hinata nods, finally, and drops his head against Kageyama’s chest, nuzzling so long until shaking fingers gently touch his hair. “It’s okay. I literally forgot. If I didn’t have you – why did you even remember that, and when did I tell you – “

“Let’s go already. I’ll buy you a new one, I said.” The blush on Kageyama’s cheeks suits him, Hinata decides. He grins and laces their fingers up. “Okay.”