Chapter Text
Oh, no. Here it comes. That reckless, tipsy urge.
The one that clouds his head likes dark pink candy floss and turns his laugh all breathy and giggly. That draws his eyes to the broad shoulders and thick arms milling around him, the faces highlighted red-purple-blue by the flashing club lights and shaded in sharp angles, the lips mouthing along to the music, soundless under the shuddering bass.
That stupid, shameless urge to pick a pair of shoulders, arms, and lips, and flirt his way into a kiss. To feel someone warm and muscular fit against the soft planes of his own body, to slide his hands under their shirt, let their tongue tease into his mouth.
Even more ridiculous than the urge itself is the irrational liquid confidence that whoever he selects will want him back. It only arises after an inadvisable amount of drinks, and it sprouts like a parasitic weed, choking out all parts of him that are self-aware and logical. Suddenly, without knowing he’s been overtaken, he is no longer an awkward literature nerd, skinny and bony and out of place. He is graceful, lithe, and whip-smart—a certifiable twink. Desirable, intriguing, fuckable.
And, against all odds, no matter how out-of-his-league his elected hunk is, it always works. He is always well-kissed and often well-fucked by the end of the night.
Ittetsu hasn’t been out clubbing in more than a year. In the most random twist of fate, his entire life has been sideswiped by the world of high school volleyball. He comes home from practice every day too exhausted to go out, eyes drooping as he grades papers until midnight, but content with the assurance that he is making a significant difference in the lives of twelve teenage boys.
His free weekend nights are spent gratefully taking a bath, drinking wine, lying back to drowsily enjoy his favorite prostate massager, and falling asleep before 8:00 pm. He hasn’t kissed anyone in a year, but he hasn’t often felt the need.
He’s feeling it now. That weed has had a full year to grow, untempered, untrimmed, and Ittetsu feels the intoxicating tendrils of it taking root. His laugh is lilting sweetly, his eyes beginning to scan, his pulse quickening in anticipation.
The only problem: he is not at the club.
He is decidedly nowhere near a club.
He is not dressed in something tight that makes his tiny ass look magically plump, not spritzed with spicy cologne or wearing his contacts, not shimmering with touches of glitter under the pulsing lights.
He’s in a crowded izakaya in central Tokyo. It’s well-lit and boisterous with the laughter of very straight, working men fresh out of the office. He’s wearing his Karasuno High School track suit, surrounded by the coaching staff of Nekoma and Fukorodani. And Ukai Keishin, his own coaching partner, is sipping sake just beside him.
Ittetsu doesn’t have much of a choice when it comes to picking his kissing target.
Nekomata-san and Yamiji-san are, obviously, out of the question. Fukurodani’s assistant coach is married, and—now that he thinks about it, Ittsetsu can’t even remember his name. Naoi-kun is handsome, but he has spent the past fifteen minutes explaining controversial referee calls throughout volleyball history without taking a break to chew his food. Ittetsu has seen far too much half-digested gyoza on his tongue to have any interest in becoming more intimate with it.
Which leaves Ukai. (As if Ittetsu is really only picking him through process of elimination. As if he doesn’t already have a guilty habit of letting his gaze drift towards Ukai’s smirking mouth whenever he’s not looking.)
Ittetsu has tried to be careful on nights like this, out with coaches and Ukai, drinking. He’s known that he gets reckless when he’s had too many. He’s known that Ukai would make the slide into recklessness even sweeter. He tries to know his limits. But Yamiji and Nekomata are in some mad competition to one-up each other with the amount of rounds they buy, and Ittetsu is in no place to turn down free alcohol on a teacher’s salary. Besides, it’s impossible to resist saying “Oh, go on, why not?” when Ukai teasingly offers to refill his glass.
Ukai’s eyebrows raise higher every time. Sue him—Ittetsu likes surprising him.
It’s his own fault that the inevitable has finally happened: that reckless, tipsy urge is pulling him towards Ukai.
“I hope you all have sharpened your defensive skills these past few months,” Nekomata says. He’s leaning back with his arms crossed over his stomach, nursing his sake glass, eyes closed as he smiles towards Ukai in a way that is all the more menacing for its sweetness. “You cannot win a battle with a spear and no shield.”
Ukai huffs and quirks a challenging brow. “You can if you strike smart enough,”
“There’s a chink in every armor,” Ittetsu adds.
Ukai’s eyes flicker towards him, and his smirk snags at the corner of his mouth. Ittetsu watches closely as it spreads wider, smiling back.
“How are you finding nationals, Takeda-sensei?” asks the coach whose name Ittetsu forgot. “Handling the organized chaos okay?”
“I’m a high school teacher; every day of my life is organized chaos, so it’s not too unfamiliar for me. Although, I can’t imagine what it’s like for the boys, adjusting from our tiny Karasuno gym to a stadium with crowds of this magnitude.” Ittetsu hears the words pass his lips and smiles internally, pleased with himself. He’s always delighted by the bits of his vocabulary that surface after a few drinks.
“It’s a challenge all its own to perform consistently on every court,” Nekomata agrees sagely. “For the first years, especially.”
Coach Yamiji mutters something under his breath about “Third years” and Assistant Coach Whats-his-name lets out a groaned laugh.
“We had a bit of hang-up yesterday with one of our third-years who couldn’t play properly because our gym’s audience was too small.”
Ukai chuckles, deep and rumbly, and with the way Ittetsu can feel it in his bones, it’s as good as a thundering club bass.
“Somehow, I think I know who you mean without telling us.”
Yamiji shakes his head in exasperation and refills his glass. “Thank goodness for Akaashi-kun. Sometimes I think he’s more deserving of the assistant coach stipend than Agawa here.”
“The hell?” Agawa squawks while the rest of the table laughs.
Agawa Agawa Agawa, Ittetsu stamps into his drunken brain.
“Hey, don’t feel too bad. I offered my position to Kenma-kun a few weeks back and he turned me down,” Naoi says through a bite of gyoza. “Said he had better things to do.”
Nekomata’s shoulders shake in silent amusement. Ittetsu giggles, at the point of tipsiness where everything feels sillier than it is.
When the laughter dies down, Ittetsu turns to Ukai, skating his gaze over the charming tipsy flush on his cheeks. “Who do you think on our team would be best suited to replace me? Sugawara? Ennoshita maybe?”
Ukai’s lips pinch briefly before they stretch back into a smirk. “There’s no replacing you, sensei. No money on earth could give any of these kids your way with words. You’re stuck with us.”
The compliment drips warm and syrupy down Ittetsu’s skin. If he replays it in his head enough times, it almost sounds like flirting. Ittetsu rests an elbow on the table and fits his cheek against his fist, peering at Ukai through half-lidded eyes.
“Stuck with you, hmm?”
“Yep. Sorry, sensei. Bet I could be replaceable, though. Once he graduates, Sawamura would make a fine coach.”
Ittetsu frowns. “No,” he says firmly. “I fought for too hard and too long to convince you to join me. You’re not going anywhere now. I’m not above begging you all over again.”
Ukai’s eyes widen a fraction, smirk faltering, and when he reaches for his sake glass, it looks a little like he needs it.
“Begging?” Naoi chimes in with a salacious grin. “Now, what exactly did Takeda-sensei do to persuade you, Keishin?”
He’s leaning into the double entendre of it, his tone facetiously suggestive. The joke isn’t just in the implication of something sexual—it’s the laughably absurd concept of two men interacting in that way. Homosexuality is so inconceivable to him, it’s a joke in and of itself.
Ittetsu’s stomach flutters. Of course, he’s always painstakingly private. Of course, he wishes he didn’t have to be. But queerness being so far off the radar of these men means he gets to play right in front of their faces, without them once considering if it’s real.
“I offered to beg on my knees in the middle of the Sakanoshita store, didn’t I, Ukai-kun? Is that what finally did it?”
Naoi laughs and smacks the table with mirth, jostling the several empty sake bottles, and the rest of the men chuckle.
But Ukai—Ukai just smirks, watching his fingers rotate his glass on the tabletop, ears turning pink to match his alcohol-flushed cheeks.
And that— that —is what floods Ittetsu with confidence that he’s chosen the right target.
Because it shouldn’t be on Ukai’s radar either. From everything Ittetsu has heard, every teasing quip from Takinoue, every joke about his “crazy ex” during past nights spent drinking, Ukai is straight. Yet his ears are pink, and he’s not laughing, and he won’t meet Ittetsu’s eye. The implications aren’t comprehensively absurd to him.
“He dredged up a rivalry I hadn’t thought about in a decade to get me to join, then brainwashed me into developing an emotional attachment to the same twelve ridiculous kids who buy out my whole stock of meat buns every other day. Don’t ever try to win an argument with Takeda Ittetsu. He’s stubborn as a mountain and the rest of us are blades of grass.”
“Pardon me, Ukai-kun, I think determined is a better word.”
“Obstinate.”
“Tenacious. I’m a literature teacher. You don’t want to have a vocabulary battle with me.”
“See what I mean?” Ukai throws up his hands theatrically, and the other men laugh.
“However you got here, you two seem to work well,” Nekomata supplies, ever smiling. “Your strengths complement each other. Karasuno is fortunate to have you both.”
Ittetsu inclines his head gratefully. “It could have gone several ways, but I could not be more pleased with how patient and helpful Ukai-kun has been. He is just what the team needed.”
He glances over to find Ukai watching him thoughtfully. Caught, Ukai smiles smoothly, a little sheepish under the praise. It’s moments like this where Ittetsu is reminded of Ukai’s age, that it is new for him to have responsibilities like this one and even newer still to be praised for doing well.
It’s the alcohol, the cloudiness of his head, that has Ittetsu’s knee shifting to touch Ukai’s, and the looseness of his lips that has him softly saying, “He’s been just what I needed too.”
Ukai’s leg jolts against Ittetsu’s. His eyes dart away, a raspy laugh bubbling up as his ears flush again. “Sensei here always acts like I’m the one who saved Karasuno. Never gives himself enough credit.”
Ittetsu shrugs, pushing his glasses up his nose and reaching for his sake glass. He shifts in his seat but keeps his knee where it is.
Let him think about that.
The conversation moves on, but Ittetsu can feel Ukai’s tension. He’s still rotating his glass between his fingers, barely sipping it. When the table laughs, he joins belatedly, quietly, like he’s hardly listening. Their waitress appears to take more drink orders, and Ukai clears his throat in the small beat of silence when she leaves.
“I need a smoke,” he says, pushing himself up to standing. The dark spices in his deodorant or conditioner wash over Ittetsu in a wave. Ukai points a finger towards Nekomata. “Don’t you tell the old man.”
Nekomata holds both palms up, the picture of innocence.
Ukai’s body looks tantalizingly long stretched out beside Ittetsu in the pitch-black of that track suit. The fabric shifts nicely over his broad shoulders as he walks away. Already, in his absence, the spot on Ittetsu’s knee has gone cold.
“I’ll come with you!”
Ukai turns back and cocks his head, blinking in perplexity.
Ittetsu stands, and his tipsiness swoops in on him, the floor tilting beneath him. He’s a bit further along than he thought, then. Not drunk, but well past buzzed. At the point where it feels like gravity forgot about him, his body full of more air than muscle; a slight gust of wind might send him tumbling to the side.
“Whoa there, sensei.” Ukai catches him by the wrist when he stumbles over an uneven floorboard. “Don’t try telling me again that you’re not a lightweight.” His fingers are gone as quickly as they came, but the bright slash of his smirk lasts until they’re out the back door.
The alley behind the izakaya is lit from one side—the neon lights of the busy Tokyo street seeping in as though through a crack in a door. Where they stand, in the dark beside the unfrequented back entrance, the izakaya’s sign is attached just above them, the feeble orange glow of it like an egg cracked over their heads. It shines off the blondest streaks of Ukai’s hair, the tip of his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the ridge of his knuckles as he fishes out a cigarette. The rest of him is cast in dark, dripping shadows.
Ittetsu leans back against the cool concrete wall, the chill of it soaking pleasantly through his jacket and against his flushed skin. He watches the practiced way Ukai fits a cigarette between his lips and flicks his thumb over the lighter, cupping his hand around it to protect it from the brisk winter breeze. It takes only two tries for the flame to take. Ukai breathes in a long drag, then pulls the cigarette from his lips on his exhale, sure to direct the smoke away from Ittetsu.
Something loosens in his posture, in his expression, like one knot has come undone amongst the dozens that keep him strung together. A burst of heat glows in Ittetsu’s stomach—another spark of a lighter. He’d like to pick and pull at the rest of those knots, witness Ukai Keishin come totally unraveled.
“You want one too?” Ukai asks, voice low in the quiet dark. “Or did you just come for some fresh air?”
“A bit of both, though I don’t know if I’d finish a whole cigarette.”
“Y’know, ‘a bit of both’ kinda cancels out the fresh air part.”
Ittetsu chuckles, watching the delicate space between Ukai’s lips as they blow out another stream of smoke. “It’s been a while since I’ve smoked anything. Maybe I can just take a few puffs of yours?”
Ukai’s eyes flick towards him, brows ticking up. He clears his throat gently and leans his head back against the wall beside Ittetsu, taking another slow drag.
“Sure.”
He holds the smoke in longer this time. As he exhales, he passes the cigarette over. Ittetsu takes it, careful to hold it casually and to bring it up to his lips as if he’d last done this yesterday. The paper is slightly wet where Ukai’s lips had been. Ukai’s eyes are on him as he breathes in.
“I gotta admit, I’m surprised you’ve ever done this before. Didn’t strike me as the—“
The smoke doesn’t get much further than Ittetsu's throat before he’s coughing it back out, the acrid sting of it in his nostrils. His eyes water, and he folds in half, his free hand on his knee as he struggles for fresh air. The flat of Ukai’s palm thumps his back. It sends him stumbling a step forward in his tipsiness.
“Shit, you okay?” Ukai’s tone is probably aiming for kindness, but he’s laughing. “Breathe, sensei, careful, don’t burn yourself.”
Mortified, blushing, finally able to take a full breath again, Ittetsu straightens.
“I’m out of practice,” he rasps weakly.
“Clearly.”
Ittetsu giggles self-deprecatingly, swiping a thumb along the tears clinging to his lashes. He’s supposed to be getting a kiss, not thumped on his back like a gorilla.
“Here, I’ll take it b—Wha—Hey! You shouldn’t…”
Ittetsu breathes the smoke all the way in this time, fighting down the urge to cough. He lets it fog his lungs, his chest, his head, until he can’t stand it, and blows it out. His mouth twitches with the satisfaction of watching it stream out and dissipate in the dark.
“There. Like riding a bike,” he says. He hands the cigarette back to Ukai.
“More like getting flung over the handlebars.” Ukai raises the cigarette back to his smirking lips, but there’s a minuscule blip of hesitation in the practiced movement. A momentary pause right before he wraps his lips around it again, as if he’s considering where it has just been and consciously deciding it shouldn’t phase him.
Ittetsu’s pulse quickens.
“If you’re out of practice,” Ukai asks with smoke seeping from his mouth, “when were you in practice?”
“In university. I never made it a habit—just on nights out, when friends offered.”
Ukai squints at him, as if he’s trying to see through ten years of layers to a university Ittetsu still somewhere within him. Heat rises to Ittetsu’s cheeks again, but he lifts his brows and lets him look.
“Do you not believe me?”
“Nah, I’m just trying to picture it. You, smaller, with even bigger glasses, smoking on nights out. Did you wear ties back then every day, too?”
Ittetsu scoffs. “No.”
“Collared shirts?”
Ittetsu averts his eyes.
Ukai’s barked laugh echoes off the alley’s walls.
“It was the style!”
“Nice try, sensei. I’m only three years younger than you; the style couldn’t have changed that much.”
This time, the heat on Ittetsu’s cheeks is less pleasant. It’s a stumble in his tipsy confidence, his certainty that if he simpers and flirts, he’ll get what he wants. Maybe Ukai knows him too well to see him that way now.
The half-smoked cigarette appears in front of Ittetsu’s face. He blinks, then carefully takes it between his fingers, breathing in a measured inhale. When he glances towards Ukai, he finds him staring up at the strip of starless sky visible above them.
Rolling the cigarette between his fingers, Ittetsu drinks in Ukai’s profile.
He has a nice mouth. Ittetsu noticed it early and has always thought so: smooth, thin lips, and that one charmingly crooked fang that stays hidden unless he smiles wide. A nice face, too. Sharp and handsome, a little intimidating in its intensity, and therefore even more striking when it softens. His hair is the same with how it’s religiously spiked back. Ittetsu can only imagine its silkiness when it hangs down to frame his face.
Ittetsu feels small next to him. There is a power in his muscles that Ukai never gets to use as a coach, a strength to his hands during serving demonstrations, a fierceness to his emotions in the heat of a game, and an earnest compassion after a loss.
Strong and sweet…
He has to be a damn good kisser; Ittetsu knows it. The same way he knows grass is green.
Fuck, he really wants that kiss.
“Maybe I’ve never been wild,” he starts up again abruptly. “But university was probably the closest I’ve ever come.”
“Yeah? What all did you get up to in your collared shirts?”
“Partying, mostly. Lots of clubbing on the weekends, after assignments were turned in, of course.”
Ukai huffs through his nose.
“I kissed a couple of girls in those clubs, early on. Realized I didn’t like it very much.”
There’s a beat. Then a curious, “No?”
“No. When I tried kissing boys, I found I enjoyed that much more.”
Ittetsu looks unseeingly at the sky as he takes another puff of the cigarette. The awareness of Ukai’s wide-eyed gaze tingles over the whole side of his face, curling deliciously hot in his stomach. Ittetsu lets it linger, even as his heart pounds, as fear tries to encroach in on this precipitous feeling. Eventually, he breathes out and turns to meet Ukai’s eye.
Ukai says nothing. He’s not frowning, but he’s not smiling either. Behind his eyes, there are calculations whirling—the revisiting of moments swept under the rug, perhaps reliving tonight ’s comments, seeing them through a new lens.
“I… didn’t know,” is what Ukai finally murmurs.
The encroaching fear fades back to the periphery.
That’s one hurdle down. One still to go.
Ittetsu shrugs and smiles softly. “I’m very private.”
This time, when he hands back the cigarette, Ukai’s gaze flicks to Ittetsu’s lips and away again, quicker than a blink.
They stand there, side by side, silent, until Ukai has taken the last puff of the cigarette and ground it to dust under the toe of his shoe. Ukai heaves a sigh, cupping a hand behind his neck and rolling it side to side.
“It’s a bad habit, I know, but sometimes it just feels so fucking nice.”
“You’re a man who puts others above yourself constantly, Ukai-kun. You’re allowed to have a thing or two that just feels nice.”
Ukai looks at him. It’s clear he picked up on the suggestion in those words. His mouth opens and closes, his eyes darting towards the door behind Ittetsu. He could easily leave. He could comment on how cold it is or how late, and argue they should head back. Ittetsu wouldn’t stop him. But he hesitates, and Ittetsu sees it as his opening. There’s a gap between what Ukai should do and what he’s doing. Between where he should be looking and the glances he keeps stealing at Ittetsu’s mouth.
Maybe it’s the sake, or the nicotine, or both, but Ittetsu feels unstoppable. Confidence buzzes in his bones. Certainty simmers under his skin. He’s right about this, he knows it.
Ukai wants to kiss me.
He turns towards Ukai and leans his shoulder against the wall, peering up at him through his lashes.
“Have you ever kissed a man, Ukai-kun?”
Ukai’s eyes flare wide. Even in the orange light that drains them of color, Ittetsu can make out the adorable darkening of Ukai’s ears and track its bloom over his cheek, down the side of his neck.
“No. I-I’m. I’ve only been with women. I only like women.”
Ittetsu hums thoughtfully. He purses his lips. Visibly, Ukai struggles not to look at them. He holds Ittetsu’s gaze with the desperation of a man scrabbling for purchase on a cliff’s edge. Ittetsu smiles, letting it crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and tilts his head.
“Have you ever thought about it?”
Ukai inhales sharply.
“A-Are…” He swallows. His next words are shaky, the humor in them weak: “Are you trying to seduce me, sensei?”
It’s a callback, a desperate grab for a time when he held all the cards. One last swipe at a handhold, an attempt at normalcy.
Ittetsu doesn’t let him have it.
“Yes.”
He pointedly drops his gaze to Ukai’s parted lips. When he peers back at Ukai’s eyes, he finds he can no longer meet them.
Ukai is watching his mouth, staring as Ittetsu dips his tongue out to wet them.
“F-fuck, Takeda, I…”
“If you wanted to try…” Ittetsu takes a step closer, so they’re face to face, almost chest to chest. “I’d be happy to help.”
Ukai’s eyes are half-panicked, half-hazy with something dark that sends a shiver down Ittetsu’s spine. “But I’m—and you’re… We’re drunk.”
“Exactly. We’re reckless enough to do something we might never admit we want otherwise.”
That seems to hit Ukai like a truck. He sways forward, compulsively, as if yanked by a leash. He halts before his lips can meet Ittetsu’s, hovering just out of reach, his nose grazing Ittetsu’s cheek.
“I haven’t… How do I…?”
Ittetsu skates a hand up Ukai’s shoulder to cup the back of his neck, smiling as Ukai shivers under his touch. “Just do what comes naturally, Ukai-kun. It’s not all that different. Just kiss me. Touch me. However you like.”
With a shaky exhale, Ukai dips the rest of the way to close his lips over Ittetsu’s. And Ittetsu knows within seconds, with the way Ukai’s fingers graze his neck on the way to cup his jaw, the way he gently tilts Ittetsu’s head to kiss him better, the way his lips linger, tugging slightly at Ittetsu’s upper lip as they pull away: Ukai is every bit the good kisser he hoped.
“Yes,” Ittetsu whispers as the thrill of it sinks into his bones. His first kiss in over a year, and it’s with Ukai. So sexy, so strong, supposed to be straight. Ukai shudders at the whisper, or at the kiss itself, and Ittetsu giggles through his nose. He feels deliriously powerful. He feels fucking fantastic.
The second kiss lasts longer, focused on Ittetsu’s lower lip. Ukai slides his other hand around Ittetsu’s waist, and Ittetsu rocks up on his toes to loop his arms around Ukai’s shoulders, pressing into the firmness of his chest. He forgot how liberating it feels to be dwarfed by someone like this, to be wholly at someone’s mercy physically, yet kissed like he’s what they need.
The third kiss is longer, their lips parting and catching, and the fourth is deeper. Ukai’s lips are already open when they meet Ittetsu’s, and he dips into Ukai’s mouth on instinct, sliding their tongues together. Mmmm god, he tastes like sake and smoke, and it’s so absurdly sexy, it does things to Ittetsu’s already cloudy head, makes him even tipsier. Forget alcohol, he could get drunk on that taste alone.
If he couldn’t tell just how much he does, Ittetsu would pause to ask if Ukai likes this. But Ukai tells him with his hand twisting into the fabric of Ittetsu’s jacket and his groan at the touch of their tongues. He tilts his head and kisses back deeper, caressing Ittetsu’s tongue and scraping his bottom lip with his teeth.
They settle into that slow, savoring rhythm. Deep, languorous kisses. The soft, wet slide of their lips is the loudest sound in the alleyway besides the far-off traffic and muffled izakaya chatter. Ittetsu lets Ukai control the pace, lets his head tilt this way and that at the insistence of Ukai’s callused fingertips. Ukai’s thumb pinches Ittetsu’s chin, holding his mouth open so he can lick inside, and Ittetsu stutters a moan at the gentle dominance. Each kiss is a wave of simmering heat through his muscles, gathering low in his stomach, his legs more and more unreliable with each press of lips. Maybe Ukai senses it from the desperate way Ittetsu clings to his shoulders, but he finds himself shuffled back against the wall, crowded against it, able to melt into the support of Ukai’s arms.
“W-wait” he mumbles against Ukai’s mouth.
Ukai pulls back, lips swollen, blinking in drowsy alarm. “What? Was it–?”
Ittetsu pushes his glasses on top of his head and pulls Ukai’s face back down before he can finish his question. This way, Ittetsu doesn’t have to worry about jamming them into Ukai’s cheek, and he can concentrate instead on the feel of Ukai under his hands. The drag of barely-there stubble against his thumb, the warm skin of his throat, the breadth of his shoulders. It’s been too long since he’s explored someone like this; he didn’t realize how much he missed it. Needed it.
He hums as his fingers find the hem of Ukai’s jacket, slipping tentatively beneath it. His fingertips meet the warmth of his skin, slide up the strong planes of his back. The muscles of his abdomen jump and tighten under the barest graze of a touch.
Ittetsu knew Ukai was hot, but, goodness, he’s gorgeous. Trim and muscular—of course he is.
Ukai’s breath is trembling in through his nose, out in low groans against Ittetsu’s lips. Ittetsu might worry he was almost hyperventilating if it weren’t for the way his hands begin to wander too. As if taking Ittetsu’s exploration as permission, he strokes through his hair, palms at his flat chest, and fits his fingers around his hips. His mouth drags a wet line over Ittetsu’s cheek to kiss at his neck.
“This okay?” he huffs hot against Ittetsu’s skin.
“Yes. ’S’okay, it’s so good.”
It’s good, it’s good, it feels so nice.
It has Ittetsu’s lungs stuttering, head dropping back on a gasp. The fact that he is the first man Ukai has ever kissed, and Ukai is so into it he has to have more of him, taste more of him… Arousal is no longer a hazy cloud in Ittetsu’s mind; it’s fierce and real, tightening in Ittetsu’s core, rushing to his cock. It’s always taken so little to get him hard. When Ukai’s teeth scrape over his throat, he can feel the catch of that crooked fang, and a bolt of heat strikes through him. His cock thickens, throbs. His knees tremble under his own weight, and the concrete scratches at his back as he begins to sink.
Before he can get far, the grip at his hips lifts him up, and Ukai’s firm thigh slips smoothly between his legs. It’s such a practiced movement, so confident, Ittetsu knows Ukai has done it dozens of times before. Ukai’s hands even tug at Ittetsu’s hips, encouraging him to rock against him as he sucks at his throat.
It’s what Ittetsu needs—that friction— but he knows it’s instinctive. Ukai hasn’t thought it through, which is clear when Ittetsu grinds helplessly forward, following Ukai’s guidance. The pressure is so good, Ittetsu’s weak, relieved whine spills out of him without thought. Ukai freezes up completely.
There’s a breathless moment of stillness. Ittetsu stares hazily at the blurry orange sign above his head, pleasure simmering in his gut, blood rushing too loudly in his ears.
This might be it. The moment Ukai decides it’s too much. A kiss was good, a makeout fine, but the reality of another man’s hard cock humping against his thigh…
Ittetsu shuts his eyes, bracing himself for the shock of cool air when Ukai’s body pulls away.
“Oh, fuck, sensei, do that again.”
Ukai’s mouth crushes against his. He kisses him with a searing heat wholly unlike their former slow, searching kisses. He’s devouring Ittetsu, their lips slick with spit, both of them whining and groaning on every other breath. Oh god, to anyone listening, surely it would sound like they’re fucking. Ittetsu obeys Ukai’s command, overwhelmed, euphoric, grinding his straining erection against the firmness of Ukai’s upper thigh. The thick press of Ukai’s cock against his hip gives him all he needs to envision what fucking him might actually feel like.
Whimpering, Ittetsu clings to Ukai’s shoulders, the pleasure draining him of rationality. Images flicker like flashes of flame through his mind, imprints of light on the backs of his eyelids: sinking to his knees in this grungy back alley, taking Ukai’s thick cock all the way down his throat; turning around, bunching his pants down around his knees, keeping his thighs tight together for Ukai to fuck between until they both cum all over the concrete wall; being lifted in Ukai’s arms, bounced on his cock, showing him how good it can be, how good Ittetsu can be.
“Yeah, fuck, Takeda. Shit, oh my god.” Ukai mutters against his lips, practically dragging Ittetsu up and down his leg all on his own.
“Yes,” Ittetsu breathes, going boneless. “Yes, yes…”
Ukai mouths at his ear, his jaw, the corner of his lips. Ittetsu shivers as the cool air tickles every wet spot Ukai leaves behind. Circling his hips, Ittetsu gasps at the spike of pleasure, his eyelids fluttering. All he’d wanted was a kiss, but fuck, being wanted like this, being held, kissed, listening to Ukai’s groans edging closer to growls—he’s leaking.
“Ukai-kun, I m-might cum.”
Ukai’s hips buck harshly against him, cock grinding against Ittetsu’s hip. “Fuck. Yeah, fuck, okay. I might—me too.”
Their lips find each other again, though it can hardly be called kissing, more like panting pressed together, breathing each other like smoke. Ittetsu fists a hand in Ukai’s hair, and it’s as soft as he imagined. He’s even hotter than Ittetsu thought he would be, and Ittetsu’s core is tensing, the pleasure coiling up tight, his cock slicking his underwear with every grind.
“I-I’m close…” he breathes into Ukai’s mouth. Ukai grunts and kisses him harder.
It’s not easy to find his orgasm through his track pants, with nothing stroking him, nothing petting at his prostate. Ittetsu humps frantically, brainlessly, the crest of the summit just torturously out of reach.
“Faster, Ukai.”
“F-fuck,” Ukai repeats, grip bruisingly tight on Ittetsu’s hips. “Fuck.” He pushes and pulls rapidly, and his hips buck, grinding back. With that, Ittetsu feels the start of it: his spine arches into Ukai’s chest, his toes curl in his shoes, the pleasure blooms at the back of his brain…
The Naruto theme blares into Ittetsu’s haze of pleasure like an airhorn.
Shocking as an earthquake.
Ukai’s lips detach with a jolt and a sloppy sucking sound, and he meets Ittetsu’s gaze with equally startled eyes. Fumbling, he pulls his jingling phone from his back pocket and stares at it dumbly, then flips it open and stares at it some more.
“Nekomata,” Ukai mumbles.
Reality floods Ittetsu’s head, and just like that, his orgasm evaporates, slipping through his fingers, floating away on the breeze. It’s as if someone opened the door of their cozy, sweltering dreamland to frigid air, and it’s too late now, he couldn’t get that heat back if he tried.
Itettsu’s balls ache with the ruined orgasm. He drops his head back against the wall with a weak groan, clapping his hands over his face to hide in his mortification.
“S-sorry, sensei, I—“ Ukai stutters. He clears his throat. When he speaks next, it’s with a carefully casual voice. “Hello? No, we’re fine, we went for a w-walk. Is it? Shit, sorry, we lost track of time. Nah, yeah, we’ll head back. We’ll be right in. Okay, thanks.” There’s the beep of him hanging up.
Ittetsu uncovers his eyes to squint at him. “How late is it?” He slides his glasses back onto his nose, and the furrows of Ukai’s anxious expression and flush of his arousal crystallize.
“Past 11:00.”
Gingerly, Ukai slips his leg from between Ittetsu’s thighs, wincing at Ittetsu’s involuntary gasp. He steps back, straightens his jacket, and rubs behind his neck, struggling to meet Ittetsu’s eye. Guilt twists Ittetsu’s stomach. The same tipsy cloudiness that had lowered his inhibitions now frustrates him. His trusty vocabulary is failing him. He struggles to locate the right words in the murkiness of his mind.
“I’m sorry, Ukai-kun. I only meant to kiss you, not… I lost control. I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you.”
“No, I—I mean, clearly, I liked it. I’ve got, um. Fuck. I liked it, yeah.” His lips twist anxiously, eyes distant as he stares down the alleyway. He looks almost comical with his hair tugged half out of his headband, glowing in the dramatic orange lighting. Ittetsu’s guilt and mortification is dampened as that weed of confidence rears up once more. Flowering with self-satisfaction.
Ukai liked kissing a man. Kissing him.
Ittetsu’s shoes scrape against the asphalt as he straightens, and that brings Ukai’s attention back.
“We should go settle our bill,” he says, as if he needs to remind himself as well. “Nekomata and the others are wanting to leave.”
“Right. Yes. Perhaps I should be the one to sort it out? It’s a bit easier for me to, well. Disguise my predicament.” At Ukai’s cocked head of confusion, Ittetsu demonstrates, dipping his hand down the front of his pants to tuck his erection into his waistband. With the hem of his jacket hanging over it, it’s as if nothing is amiss.
Ukai’s eyes go lidded, watching, then widen with realization. He peers down at himself, where his sizable cock tents the front of his pants obscenely. Even if he were to adjust himself, his cock is so thick, it still would be too obvious.
“Shit, um. Yeah. I’ll stay out here.” Ukai clasps his hands awkwardly in front of himself, and Ittetsu realizes he’s definitely staring more intently than he should.
“Do I look mostly presentable?”
“Ah, maybe zip up your collar. And—your hair is a bit…” Ukai spreads his fingers to mimic a small explosion.
Flushing, Ittetsu recalls the sensation of Ukai’s mouth on his throat. His lips twitch as he zips up his jacket as far up his neck as it will go. With a ruffle of his hair back to a normal level of messiness, he nods.
“Good enough?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I made any marks.”
Oh goodness, sheepish Ukai is adorable.
“Okay. I’ll try to stall them so you can, ah, sort yourself out. Your hair is a bit—” he giggles, copying Ukai’s gesture— “too.”
Ukai pats over his head, grimacing at the state it's in.
With his hand on the door handle, Ittetsu pauses, peeking back. “Thank you for the kiss, Ukai-kun. It was very nice.” Before Ukai can do more than stare and struggle for a response, Ittetsu slips inside.
He winds his way back to their table to find the rest of the men packing up. He smiles through his apologies and makes excuses smoothly when Nekomata asks if their walk was enjoyable. He settles their portion of the bill and gathers Ukai’s things, his veins pulsing with an invisible pride, down to the tips of his fingers.
None of them suspect a thing. None of them can even fathom the reality:
That their acquaintance is not just waiting outside, having another smoke. That he’s still standing in an alley behind the izakaya, fighting off a raging erection. That before tonight, he thought he was straight, and now he has not only kissed a man but kissed him with a groaning desperation, desired him fiercely enough to nearly bust in his pants like a hormonal teenager. And out of all the men who could have triggered this thunderbolt of a sexual tryst, it was Ittetsu. The man who brought three novels to Nationals as if he’d ever have time to read them, who wears thick-lensed glasses and packed a bag full of collared shirts.
A year out from his last kiss, and Ittetsu is still able to turn it on and pull the hottest guy in the room.
When he and a significantly less disheveled Ukai part ways with the other pairs of coaches, Nekomata wishes them an ominous, smiling, “Good luck.”
Ukai and Ittetsu shake his hand in turn—Ukai with menacing firmness. Ittetsu replies with his own playfully frigid cheeriness, “And to you too.”
Side by side, he and Ukai hurry the few blocks back to their inn. The exertion begins to clear Ittetsu’s head, his buzz gradually fading. They discuss what times they’ll need to set their alarms and what the team will be having for breakfast. Ukai makes teasing quips here and there. They settle into a familiar rhythm of banter, which seems to indicate that, fundamentally, nothing has changed between them. Unspoken, there is the understanding that any discussion of tonight's back-alley heavy petting will be tabled for a better time and place. For now, Ukai seems fine, if a little flustered.
Worries subsiding, Ittetsu nearly skips down the sidewalk with the spring in his step.
Nerves might rattle the team tomorrow as they face their long-time rivals, but Ittetsu will lead them in with unshakable, intrepid confidence. If he can pull Ukai Keishin, the boys can beat Nekoma. Ittetsu will make sure they believe they can fight all the way to the top.