Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2587163.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ダイヤのA_|_Daiya_no_A_|_Ace_of_Diamond
  Relationship:
      Miyuki_Kazuya/Sawamura_Eijun
  Character:
      Miyuki_Kazuya, Sawamura_Eijun, Kuramochi_Youichi, Kominato_Haruichi
  Additional Tags:
      Another_Seido-wins-a-game-and-Miyuki-and-Sawamura-have-celebratory-sex
      fic, i_love_these_idiots, awkward_equipment_shed_sex, sassy_haruichi
  Series:
      Part 1 of Misawa_Week
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-09 Words: 6667
****** Private Practice ******
by TrumpetGeek
Summary
     "Sawamura has always been a bundle of emotions, and he supposes
     winning the Koshien isn't going to be any different."
Notes
     check out some of the amazing_gifts ive received for this fic!
See the end of the work for more notes
 
 
Miyuki watches, mouth tight and grim as Sawamura rips his hat off to wipe the
sweat from his eyes. Behind the pitcher he can faintly hear his teammates
howling encouragement to the battery, but they are merely background to the
blaze in Sawamura’s eyes, the determined jut of his chin and the smirk that
lifts the corners of his lips.
 
Potentially the final pitch of the final game of Koshien, and of course both
the bases and the count are loaded. Sawamura has managed to pitch a no-hitter
right up until the previous inning, despite having been subbed in earlier than
normal, and Miyuki has to give him credit. He can see Sawamura subtly rolling
his shoulder and knows that the pitcher is starting to feel the mental and
physical strains of pitching hard for six innings.
 
The catcher eyes the batter –southpaw, all-around strong hitter and likely to
go pro- and makes his decision. He can see Sawamura’s eyes widen slightly as he
pounds his mitt and spreads his arms wide, telling him silently to pitch
whatever he felt like, as long as it is his best.
 
The smirk slides from Sawamura’s face as he nods, replaced with the look he so
often wears when he is cornered and excited about it. Miyuki bites down on a
grin and settles, muscles tense as he watches his pitcher wind up. He knows
this is a critical moment, but he can’t help but admire Sawamura’s form one
last time –the Sawamura who pitches during games is totally different to the
Sawamura who pitches during practice. Where there is normally idiotic shouting
and excessive arm flailing, during games there is quiet passion and a beautiful
form that wastes no movements, and Miyuki would be lying if he said he never
got a little turned on when faced with that intensity. Thankfully it is just as
difficult for Sawamura to watch him crouched down, fingers flicking against the
insides of his thighs inning after inning.
 
(he’d murmured the admission into his ear one night, wrapped up in Miyuki’s
sheets and half asleep)
 
Sawamura narrows his eyes and Miyuki feels the familiar rush of heat and
adrenaline as the pitcher lifts his leg nearly perpendicular to the ground, arm
muscles coiling with unreleased energy. He watches, mouth drying as Sawamura
grits his teeth and swings his arm down, snapping his hips on the pivot as he
lets it fly.
 
This is his favorite Sawamura, and he is the only one who gets to see it –fire
incarnate.
 
The ball that flies into his glove is one of the best that Sawamura has ever
pitched. It stings his hand, and in the silence of a stadium collectively
holding its breath the smack of it seems to echo forever.
 
“Strike! Batter out!”
 
The stadium around them explodes with noise, but he barely hears it. Instead,
he is focused on the boy standing on the mound, leg still lifted and arm still
crossed over his chest on the follow-through. Sawamura’s eyes, trained on the
ball still buried in the pocket of his mitt, trail up slowly, and when they
land on his Miyuki inhales sharply. He looks –vicious, triumphant, like he can
conquer an empire. He looks like victory.
 
He looks beautiful.
 
Sixty-one feet separate them, but Miyuki covers the distance before he even
realizes he’s gotten up from his crouch. His glove falls somewhere along the
way, and he is still struggling with his mask and helmet when they meet in the
middle. He has just enough time to brace himself before Sawamura jumps into
him, strong thighs wrapping around his hips. Kazuya chokes on a surprised
laugh, arms curling around Sawamura’s lower back to heft him higher up on his
waist as he begins to slide down because of the slick chest protector. The
pitcher laughs too, breathlessly, and raises a hand to help him tip the mask
and helmet to the dusty ground since Kazuya has his hands full, and the sound
of it, hushed and warm in his ear, is the most beautiful sound Kazuya has ever
heard.
 
(that is a lie, the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard are Eijun’s quiet
moans and hitched little gasps of pleasure, though this is a close second)
 
Sawamura smiles down at him, the shade from his hat giving Kazuya a clear view
of the pink dusting his cheeks, and the sweat glistening at his throat, and the
mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He wants to touch him, wants to put his
fingertips to Sawamura’s jaw and watch his eyes slide closed, wants to press
his hands to his waist and feel him breathing, wants to do a lot of things –but
as their teammates swarm around them, gathering on the pitchers mound as though
it is a winners podium, he settles for letting his forehead fall onto whatever
part of Sawamura he can reach and closing his eyes.
 
“We did it,” the pitcher murmurs as he slides shaking fingers into Kazuya’s
sweaty hair. The grin that creeps over Kazuya’s face is pressed into the jersey
above Sawamura’s heart. He doesn’t even have the mind to tease him about
stating the obvious, or about his cliché jump into Kazuya’s arms.
 
He is even about to reply back to him, probably something equally as cheesy and
totally not his style, but instead he is almost startled into dropping Sawamura
when Kuramochi sidles up and slaps the pitcher hard on the back in greeting.
 
“Nice job, Bakamura! Kyaha!”
 
Kazuya can feel Sawamura shaking as the rest of the team howls their
encouragement and praise to the pitcher in his arms, though he doesn’t know
whether it is from their words or adrenaline or exhaustion, or a combination of
all three.
 
Sawamura has always been a bundle of emotions, and he supposes winning the
Koshien isn’t going to be any different.
 
The umpire clears his throat and shouts “Line up!”
 
Kazuya passes a hand over Sawamura’s ass and down his thigh, helping him
untangle himself from his catcher’s waist to stand on shaking legs. He tosses a
heated glance in his direction, letting Kazuya know with a glare and a quirk of
his lips that the touch hasn’t gone unnoticed. Kazuya smirks back as he bows.
 
 
When they shake off their bow, Sawamura is the first to shake hands with the
losing team, something that never fails to make Kazuya smile. He supposes he
likes that about the other boy, that he never takes something like victory for
granted.
He watches Sawamura make his way down the line of defeated players for a moment
before turning away toward the dug out. The sun is beating down on them, and
now that the game is over he is starting to feel a bit sticky under his
catchers gear –and not in the pleasant sort of way- but there’s a ceremony to
go through first.
 
As the announcer drones on about the history of the Koshien and the fortitude
of the teenagers who participated, it really begins to sink in.  He can see it
in his teammates’ faces, too, as they begin to realize that they’ve done it,
that all their hard work, sweat, tears, blood, everything –everything they’ve
done to improve over their high school careers, however long or short
–everything has been working toward this moment.
 
It is an amazing feeling, but he knows that nothing can ever really compare to
the feeling of Sawamura’s last pitch hitting his mitt or the feel of him,
shaking and jubilant, in his arms.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He realizes how tired he is as soon as he steps over the lip of the dug out and
down into the shade. His legs feel a bit like lead as he makes his way over to
the bench, and his fingers shake as they fumble with the straps of his gear.
The adrenaline will carry him for a few more hours yet, but he knows without a
doubt that he will sleep the sleep of the exhausted tonight.
 
He starts when something is pressed into his hands, and his fingers curl around
it on instinct so he doesn’t drop it. He glances up to see his pitcher’s sunny
smile and realizes that he’s just handed Kazuya the mask that he’d forgotten to
pick up. Eijun’s hands curl around his and squeeze, warm and rough, before they
retreat to fall at his sides.
 
“Need some help?” He asks, grinning wild and brash. Miyuki feels like he’s been
sucker punched, it just isn’t fair.
 
Yes, he wants to say.
 
“You need to cool down,” he says instead, staring pointedly at Sawamura’s
shoulder. They’ve been standing in one place long enough during the closing
ceremony that it almost doesn’t matter anymore, but still. Instead of pouting
like Kazuya thinks he might, Sawamura’s grin turns slightly predatory, and he
agrees without any resistance.
 
Miyuki understands why immediately, however, when Sawamura begins pulling his
jersey out of his knee-breeches.
 
 
That little shit, Miyuki thinks faintly.
 
The jersey comes off without much preamble, but his breath nearly catches as
Sawamura yanks the back of his compression shirt up and over his head,
revealing smooth, warm skin in its wake. The smirk that is flashed his way
barely even registers, he’s too preoccupied with controlling his limbs so that
he won’t reach out and touch.
 
No matter how many times he’s seen his boyfriend naked, the sight of all of
that tanned skin never fails to make his stomach jump and his mouth run dry.
 
(oh how he wants to lick the moisture off of him, to run his tongue and a hint
of teeth along the jut of his collarbone and the tendons in his neck)
 
Miyuki’s eyes rake across Sawamura’s toned chest and stomach, letting his lips
curl into a lopsided leer as a flush begins to creep over Sawamura’s cheeks and
the delicate bridge of his nose. Sawamura turns away to grab an ice pack,
muttering something under his breath, and gives Miyuki an accidental view of
his beautiful back before sliding the pack on and velcroing it into place
across his chest, and that is a damn shame.
 
Luckily the removal of his catchers gear provides a good enough distraction,
once he realizes he is still wearing it. The chest protector comes off first,
and he sighs as the fresh air reaches the skin beneath his jersey. He loves
everything about catching, from being able to control his pitchers to the sound
and feel of the ball in his mitt, but sometimes he finds the protection too
stuffy, especially during the long hot summer games. The elbow braces come off
next, and he rolls his shoulders, glad to have full range of motion back in his
limbs.
 
Sawamura makes a small sound, and he turns toward him, head cocked.
 
He opens his mouth to ask if the pitcher wants to stretch, or maybe help him
take off his leg braces, but -
 
“Do you need to stretch, Miyuki-senpai?”
 
Miyuki closes his mouth and bites back a groan. Of course Furuya, with his
penchant for ignoring the atmosphere, would ask to stretch with him. He
probably feels neglected, since he’s been benched since the third inning.
 
Pitchers, Miyuki thinks, barely resisting a good eye-roll as he turns away from
Sawamura’s pout.
 
“Sure, sure, Kaibutsu-kun!” He agrees, flapping a hand toward him as he follows
the monster rookie out of the dug out.
 
Out of the corner of his eye he watchs Chris-senpai lead Sawamura through his
own stretches, pressing down on his back, and figures this is probably better
anyway. No telling what would have happened if he’d been allowed to put his
hands on Sawamura’s bare back. He’d just have to bide his time.
 
Furuya’s weight eases from his back and he sighs, standing up to brush the dirt
and dust from his breeches. The dug out is emptying –most of the equipment has
already been loaded and his teammates are slowly making their way toward the
bus, though a few of the third years were lingering. He turns and surveys the
field, already empty save for a few of his teammates still out raking the dirt.
 
When he turns back, Sawamura is staring at him with his brows furrowed and a
frown turning down the corners of his lips.
 
“Don’t think so hard, you might sprain something,” he says, grinning. Sawamura
splutters and flails a bit, but the reaction isn’t as dynamic as he expected so
he reaches out and ruffles his hair.
 
There we go, Miyuki thinks fondly as his pitcher screeches, hands coming up to
slap him away. Sawamura looked too serious just then. They play-fight for a
while –though to be honest, Kazuya isn’t sure it is playing on Sawamura’s part,
some of his punches hurt- until he abruptly catches both of the pitcher’s
wrists in his hands, pulling him up short.
 
“I’ll take that offer now,” he says, biting down a grin at the adorably
confused look on Sawamura’s face. Watching his eyes carefully, he slides his
fingers along the inside of Sawamura’s wrist and down to his hand, tangling
them briefly together as he brings them down to his leg brace. Sawamura glances
up at him through his eyelashes and bites his lip, but settles on his knees as
he begins to help remove the braces. Eijun works in silence, occasionally
letting his long fingers brush just slightly against Kazuya’s calves as he
goes. The brief touches are comforting and warm, and Kazuya wonders how they
can go from heavy-lidded gazes filled with promise and heat to sweet and
soothing touches in such a short span of time, but then he supposes Sawamura’s
always been a person of extremes, and he’s just hanging on for the ride.
 
(that particular turn of phrase conjures up all kinds of images in his head,
and he really is just a teenage boy after all)
 
When the leg braces finally come off, he grins and rotates his ankles. There
are strap marks imprinted on his skin under his breeches, he can feel them when
he shakes out his legs, but he doesn’t mind –they are just reminders, like the
soreness of his muscles and the slight redness on his cheeks from the sun’s
kiss. It feels kind of like satisfaction.
 
He looks up to find Sawamura looking at him again, that same frown from earlier
flirting with his lips. Kazuya glances around the dug out to make sure no one
is paying them any attention before he leans in and presses his lips to the
shell of his pitcher’s ear.
 
He hums, grinning as Sawamura tenses and full-body shudders at the sound, and
murmurs, “Good job today, Eijun.”
 
Kazuya’s stomach tightens at the shivery little gasp that works its way out of
Sawamura’s throat. The day he’d discovered Sawamura’s praise kink had been a
very fun day indeed, but the way he responds –it is too much, sometimes.
 
He shoulders his gear and hands Sawamura his jersey, turning away before his
body does something embarrassing without his brain’s permission. Behind him
Eijun makes a soft sound in his throat and his shoulders fall as he forces
himself to relax, and he tugs on the #20 almost reverently. Miyuki throws a
smile over his shoulder as he starts walking away.
 
“Come on, you don’t want to be last on the bus, do you? I bet they’ll make you
sit with Kuramochi~”
 
Sawamura squawks and barrels past him, startling a laugh out of him as he bowls
over several of his teammates in his desperate attempt to find a seat away from
his butt-kicking senpai. He only just reaches the door of the bus when
Kuramochi flies out of nowhere, pile driving him into the ground.
 
“Kyahaha! Thought you were gonna get away with it, huh?!”
 
“Kuramochi-senpai! Can’t breathe!” Sawamura wheezes, the arm around his neck
tightening as Kuramochi pulls him into a ruthless headlock.
 
“You did a good job pitching but you’re still not that great, so don’t forget
it!”
 
“YES, KURAMOCHI-SENPAI!” Sawamura cries, hands tugging at the arm still wrapped
around his neck. Kuramochi takes a few steps back, dragging the helpless first
year along with him.
 
“HAHA! That’s what you get for forgetting to cover first base in the fifth
inning, Bakamura!” Jun shouts.
 
“YES, SPITZ-SENPAI! I WILL DO BETTER NEXT TIME. KURAMOCHI-SENPAI PLEASE DON’T
KICK MEEEEE!!”
 
“OI DON’T CALL ME SPITZ!”
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The bus turns out to be a lively place, the team buzzing with the kind of quiet
energy that tends to give way to happy exhaustion. Eijun thankfully escaped the
wrath of Kuramochi-senpai and managed to find a seat next to Haruichi, though
he wishes he could’ve sat close to Kazuya.
 
(perhaps it is for the best; he is having enough trouble trying to forget the
way Miyuki’s arms had tightened like steel around his back when they’d hugged
on the mound, and the twitch and jump of his solid, warm muscles under Eijun’s
shaking and sweaty palms)
 
He can feel the catcher’s eyes boring into him from where he sits behind and to
the side; it is a gaze that simultaneously weighs him down and lifts him up,
filling him with warmth and anticipation. He hates how Kazuya can have such an
effect on him so easily, but he isn’t unaware of how he returns the favor.
 
“Eijun-kun, you look like you have something on your mind.”
Haruichi’s voice punctures his thoughts and he flushes at being caught
daydreaming about his boyfriend –not that anyone has to know that!
 
“Ahaha well I was just thinking about how good this feels, to win with the
senpai,” he replies, laughter tinged with a hint of nervousness. He brings his
hand back to scratch at his neck. Damnit.
 
Thankfully Haruichi takes his words at face value, though for a second it looks
like he might not. “Ah. It’s good to win with Brother again.”
 
Eijun grins and lets himself relax, though he feels he should’ve known better
when he catches the glance that his pink-haired friend slants his way.
 
Very quietly, “are you sure you weren’t thinking of naughty things you wanted
to do to Miyuki-senpai?”
 
The pitcher chokes loudly, having just drank from his water bottle, and a hand
from the seat behind him whips around to pound at his back. He shoots an
incredulous look to his seat partner to find him hiding a laugh behind a
delicate hand.
 
“HARRUCHI!”
 
The pinch-hitter loses it, laughing hard enough to gasp and clutch at his
sides. Eijun tries hard to glare and make a show of being angry, but it loses
its effect rather quickly when he finds he can’t keep the corners of his lips
from twitching up, and soon he is joining him, laughing so hard he cries.
 
They manage to sober up after a few swift kicks from the seats behind them, and
as he whips around to give Kanemaru (the bastard) what-for, he makes eye
contact with Miyuki and stop short, shivering.
 
Miyuki is staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face, eyes warm
and molten behind his sports goggles. Eijun flushes, suddenly nervous at being
pinned under that gaze, and thinks back to what Miyuki had said to him right
before getting into the bus.
 
“Tonight, at the storage shed.”
 
The words had been whispered hotly into his ear –damn Kazuya for taking
advantage of his weak spots!- and it’d taken him a moment to understand them as
words because he’d been too busy trying to hold back an embarrassing and
potentially damning sound.
 
With roommates and baseball, they’ve had trouble finding places in which to be
alone, so meeting Miyuki at the storage shed can only mean one thing…and it
fills him with anticipation.
 
The Miyuki in Eijun’s present stares at him a moment longer and then shifts
slightly, the light from the sun reflecting off his goggles and masking his
eyes. The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk as he raises his chin.
 
It looks like a challenge, and maybe it is, but…it is definitely an invitation
too.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The atmosphere on the ride back to the school is animated, and not even the
‘don’t get careless, don’t do anything stupid, don’t make me have to punish
you’ speech from the coach is enough to put a damper on their spirits. The
managers had volunteered to deal with unloading the equipment and putting it
away, leaving the rest of the team to their own devices, though many of them,
Eijun included, decided to stay behind to help out.
When he trudges back up to the school, the party is already in full swing.
Someone had commandeered his room and set up a video game tournament. Eijun has
to admit that he is impressed at the set-up –they’d somehow managed to smush
enough furniture together to create one long surface. He honestly has no idea
how, seeing as the only flat piece of furniture in the room is the one desk
that had been shoved in the corner. The rest of the ‘table’ is made up of
chairs of varying heights and cushiness, and balanced rather precariously on
top of all of that sit four television monitors that look like they’ve seen
better days.
 
Most of the first string players are already there, gathered around the
monitors. Eijun can’t help but grin at Kuramochi’s cry of outrage when some
conniving bastard throws the blue shell and knocks him out of first place and,
with a triumphant cry, Isashiki crosses the finish line in first.
 
The door bangs open behind Eijun just as the argument between Isashiki and
Kuramochi is rising to a fever pitch, and Kanemaru pokes his head in. “Chris-
senpai told me to come get anyone who wants to do karaoke. We were gonna set it
up in the cafeteria, but apparently we’re not allowed after what happened last
time, so it’s gonna be in our room instead.”
 
Eijun opens his mouth to ask what had happened that was so awful, but the looks
on Kawakami’s and Kuramochi’s faces make him think that perhaps he might not
want to know after all. There are some instances in which it is better to be
ignorant, after all.
“Oh, and Sawamura? Miyuki-senpai is looking for you. He said something about
working on your ball control…?”
 
Eijun flushes from the tips of his ears down to his toes at the implications,
and Kanemaru grins, mistaking his flush for one of embarrassment rather than
ardor rekindled. He can’t believe Miyuki had said something like that, ooh when
he gets his hands on him…
Well. It is a good excuse for him to slip away without suspicion, he supposes.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The shed door rattles behind him as he falls back against it, gasping in
surprise as something warm and solid presses into him. It is pitch black in the
shed except for a few slivers of the moon’s light shining down through the
undressed windows, but he is able to make out Miyuki’s face clearly in the
darkness. He looks hungry.
 
“Been waiting for you,” he murmurs, lips moving against Eijun’s cheek as he
nuzzles into him. Eijun smiles and turns his head to kiss him warmly, mouth
soft and pliant against Miyuki’s. His hands come up to fist in the back of the
catcher’s shirt, needing to feel him close as Miyuki -Kazuya, he supposes, now
that they are alone- tilts his head to find that perfect angle where they fit
together like puzzle pieces. The kiss starts off sweet and languid, but as is
usual with them, it doesn't stay that way for long. When Kazuya pulls away
Eijun chases, pressing back with his tongue and moaning quietly at the warmth
of Kazuya’s mouth and the feeling of his fingers pressed to cheek. He feels a
scrape of teeth against his bottom lip and that’s it, he’s gone, his capacity
for higher thought a mere memory as the fire in his belly grows, stoked by a
whole day’s worth of anticipation and adrenaline.
 
It’s too much, the feeling of Kazuya’s tongue sliding against his, flicking
against the roof of is mouth –it’s absolutely filthy, obscene, wet, and Eijun
lets his head flop back against the wall as he pants to catch his breath,
throat bare. He closes his eyes as soon as he feels the humid puff of breath
against the side of his neck, breath hitching as Miyuki makes his way down his
neck to the hollow of his throat, leaving sharp little stinging nips that make
Eijun’s fingers clench and his hips jerk with pleasure.
 
He forgot that he hadn’t buttoned his jersey up properly after cooling down,
and Kazuya takes full advantage of the open collar to sink his teeth in,
sucking an angry bruise onto the tan skin above his collarbone. Eijun cries
out, hands uncurling from Kazuya’s shirt to span his shoulder blades and press
him closer as he licks the mark, tongue pressing flat and hot against the jut
of the pitcher’s collarbone.
 
Kazuya drops to a crouch in front of him and presses a kiss to Eijun’s
quivering stomach, smirking at the choked off whine that the pitcher can’t
quite smother. Eijun from any angle is striking, but looking up at him through
his matted fringe Kazuya has to admit that this is his favorite view –the first
year’s normally tanned skin is thrown into sharp white relief by the light of
the moon, and he can see the glisten of sweat collecting at the hollow of his
throat and the dips and curves of his chest and stomach. For a moment he
considers drawing the pleasure out, wanting to see Eijun squirm and writhe and
beg for it, but he dismisses the idea as a promise for later, when he’s not
quite so hard and hot and needing relief.
 
He runs a finger along the waistband of Eijun’s breeches, grinning at the jump
and twitch of his muscles and the sharp inhale from above. Eijun’s fingers bury
into his hair, his grip almost too tight before he relaxes, his nails scraping
across his scalp in exactly the way he liked. Kazuya moaned and pressed his
forehead against the jut of Eijun’s hipbone, nipping at the skin in front of
him as the blunt nails make another pass through his hair.
 
“C’mon,” Eijun moans, fingers tugging insistently at his hair. Miyuki laughs
against his skin as his fingers come up to fumble with the belt in front of
him. The clack and clatter of it is almost startlingly loud in the relative
silence of the shed, and Eijun twitches as Miyuki pulls it through the belt
loops with a snap, tossing it into the gloom.
 
“Impatient?” Miyuki asks lightly, nails scraping down the tops of Eijun’s
thighs as he tugs at the breeches. Eijun hisses and Kazuya can feel the muscles
of his legs flex beneath his fingertips.
 
“Like you aren’t?”
 
“Mm, good point,” he murmurs, letting his eyes go heavy-lidded as he watches
Eijun step out of his pants and underwear. He’s fully hard in front of Kazuya,
jutting out from the open vee of his jersey, and Kazuya grins as he runs his
palms up the backs of Eijun’s thighs to cup and squeeze his behidn. He uses the
grip on Eijun’s ass to pull his hips forward, and then Kazuya is hollowing his
cheeks and swallowing and Eijun curls in on himself with gritted teeth.
Kazuya’s mouth is hot and wet and so good around him, he knows he’s babbling,
knows the hand curling into Miyuki’s hair is probably the wrong side of
painful, but the steady suction and the scratch of Kazuya’s nails across his
hips and the fingers leaving marks on his ass are all too much.
 
Eijun forces himself to unclench his fingers because he doesn’t actually want
to hurt his boyfriend, and ends up scrabbling at the wall, his shoulders,
anything he can reach to keep himself grounded as his hips jerk and he comes
un-fucking-done.
 
“Nnn fuck, please” he moans, not really sure what he’s asking for. Let me come,
he wants to say. Fuck me,anything, just –
 
He’s almost there, he’s so close –and then Kazuya pulls off of him with an
obscene noise and an even more obscene grin. Eijun’s hips jerk forward, trying
to get that heat back on his cock so he can come, damnit, but the asshole just
licks his lips and flits his tongue along Eijun’s slit before sitting back,
looking way too damned pleased with himself.
 
“Kazuya,” Eijun growls. His voice is low and rough and he feels a small sense
of satisfaction at the shiver that charts its way down Miyuki’s spine.
 
“Not done with you yet,” Miyuki husks, and suddenly Eijun is facing the wall
he’d just been leaning against. He nearly loses his balance but Kazuya is right
behind him, hands running up and down his sides under his jersey and over his
hips and okay, it’s not as good as Miyuki’s mouth hot and wet on his cock, but
Eijun’s always loved Kazuya’s hands on him in any capacity, so he swallows his
frustration and leans his forehead against the cool wall in front of him,
trying to relax and enjoy the rough fingers trailing across his skin.
 
There’s a ghost of warm breath across the dip of his ass. He can feel Miyuki’s
smile pressed against his skin, and he tips his head back in appreciation, and
then –
 
“Ow! Did you just bite my ass?!”
 
Miyuki’s laugh washes over his skin, and when Eijun moves to rub the sore spot
his hand is redirected to press back against wall. He grumbles something about
stupid idiots under his breath, but his words are cut short, choked back behind
gritted teeth when Miyuki puts his mouth to the base of his spine and sucks.
Eijun’s back arches and he swallows down a startled cry as Miyuki nips with
sharp teeth and then alternatively soothes the sore spot with warm passes of
his tongue, drawing what’s sure to be a bruise out to paint his pale skin.
Eijun never thought that being marked in such a way could feel so good, but by
the time Miyuki is satisfied with his work and begins to move on, Eijun’s legs
have gone to jelly and he’s suddenly very glad he’s got both palms against the
wall for support.
 
Miyuki’s thumbs press into the dimples above the curve of his ass, and he
tightens his hold on Eijun’s hips as he slowly rises from his crouch to stand,
warm and solid against Eijun’s back. He suddenly wishes he’d thought to remove
the jersey earlier, but Kazuya hums and nuzzles the sensitive patch of skin
just behind his ear and Eijun purrs, tilting his head for better access. He can
feel his boyfriend’s grin against his overheated skin, and the tongue that
darts out to lick at his sweat distracts him from the telltale snick! of a cap
opening, so he’s surprised when he feels slick, cool fingers trailing down
between his legs.
 
Two fingers press in at once and he’s gasping, face pressed against the wall to
leech some of the heat out of his skin as Kazuya works him open. He can tell
Kazuya is getting impatient, can feel his dick hard and heavy against his thigh
as he works, can feel him twitch at every gasping growl that claws its way from
Eijun’s throat. God the burn and stretch feels so good but it’s not enough and
Eijun doesn’t care anymore, he needs more.
 
He turns his head to look at Miyuki over his shoulder. “Nng Kazuya please just
fuck me already.” He means for it to be a demand but it comes out more like a
plea; his voice sounds wrecked already.
 
Kazuya raises an eyebrow at him but Eijun stands firm, and his boyfriend nods
and pulls out a foil packet and the tube of lube from the pocket of his
breeches, which are already unzipped. Eijun suddenly realizes that Miyuki is
still fully clothed, and he opens his mouth to complain about it but Kazuya
chooses that moment to curve his palm around Eijuns jaw and kiss him. It’s
awkward –Eijun’s forearms are still braced against the wall in front of him,
and Kazuya’s glasses are digging into his cheek, and there’s a crick forming in
Eijun’s neck from the position- but Eijun finds that he doesn’t really mind.
Miyuki’s tongue is warm and wet in his mouth, and his calloused hand is soft on
his jaw as he brings them together again and again, hungry.
 
Eijun feels like he could kiss Miyuki for the rest of eternity and it wouldn’t
be enough.
 
Kazuya lets go of Eijun’s jaw and drops his forehead to the crook of the
pitcher’s shoulder, fumbling with the condom with shaking fingers. He finally
manages to roll it on –
 
(which he tries very hard not to think about because at this point any friction
on his aching cock feels too good)
 
-and then one hand is gripping Eijun’s hip and, using his other hand to steady
himself, he finally finally slides in with short, shallow thrusts.
 
“Ah, Eijun!”
 
Kazuya’s voice breaks on a moan of pure relief. God he’s been thinking about
this all day and it’s all he can do to keep his shaking legs under him when his
hips finally come to rest flush against Eijun’s.
 
“I’m all the way in,” he breathes, lips moving against Eijun’s sweat-slicked
skin. For a moment neither of them dare to move; Eijun is so tight and hot
around him and it’s all he can do to grit his teeth and not come, but Eijun is
shuddering against him, back arching into the drag and burn of his cock inside
him, and that’s it, he can’t wait any longer.
 
He pulls out slowly and then slams back in, and Eijun cries out, body jolting
with the force of it god he’s going to feel every thrust, every slap and brush
of their skin for days,and he’s kind of surprised to discover that he doesn’t
mind the thought at all.He bites his hand to keep himself quiet as Kazuya fucks
into him, but almost immediately his head is jerked around and the catcher’s
lips are on his, hot and insistent.
 
“Don’t be quiet,” he pants as they break apart for air. “Been waiting all day
to hear you.”
 
“Nnng Kazuya,” Eijun moans helplessly, his vision going nova as Miyuki manages
to hit just the right spot inside him. “Please!”
 
Kazuya grits his teeth and tips his head back, Eijun is so tight around him he
can hardly believe it. He tries to find that spot again, and he knows he
succeeded when he feels his lover choke on a sob, hips stuttering and jolting
with each thrust. Eijun turns his head almost blindly to kiss him and Kazuya
complies, swallowing every little noise and gasp. It’s less kissing at this
point and more breathing each other’s air, and it’s hot and wet and dirty and
perfect.
 
Eijun’s inner muscles squeeze down on his cock and Kazuya’s hips start to lose
their rhythm. He knows neither of them will last much longer, so he takes his
spare hand and rakes it down the pitcher’s chest, pinching lightly at his
nipples and tracing the dips and curves of the beginnings his of abs. Even
sweaty and still grimy from their game, Eijun feels absolutely amazing, and he
grins and spreads his hands low on Eijun’s stomach, pressing his hips back just
that little bit more to get a deeper contact before moving down to stroke his
hot, aching cock.
 
Kazuya only manages two strokes before Eijun throws his head back, narrowly
missing bonking Kazuya in the forehead as he cries out and comes hard, painting
the wall of the shed with strings of white. Eijun sobs as Miyuki strokes him
through his orgasm, voice breaking over nonsense words mixed with breathless
sighs of his name.
 
Eijun’s legs give out and Kazuya tries to catch him, but he’s still hot and
hard inside him, still weak with building pleasure, so they end up sliding to
the floor in a heap of sweaty limbs. Eijun huffs a laugh and Kazuya supposes
Eijun’s lucky he can find the humor in it because he’s aching.
 
He’s about to ask if Eijun is okay, if he’d hurt him somehow, but Eijun slides
forward off of his cock. Kazuya opens his mouth, probably to say something like
‘what the fuck,’ but Eijun is settling on his back and spreading his legs and
oh.
 
“I want to see you,” Eijun husks, voice slurred with contentment.
 
Well, this was all right, too.
 
Kazuya slides back in and moans because no matter how many times they do this,
it’ll never stop feeling like coming home. Beneath him Eijun is spread out and
relaxed, practically boneless. He looks sleepy and sated and warm, absolutely
stunning despite the mess coating his chest and stomach and the sweat matting
his hair, and Kazuya feels warmth spread through his chest when he realizes all
over again that Eijun is his.
 
He feels fingertips on his cheek, and he opens his eyes (when had he even
closed them? he couldn’t be sure) to see Eijun smiling up at him, sweet and
warm. Miyuki adjusts his balance and brings a hand up to thread through
Eijun’s. He turns his face to the side and kisses the center of his lover’s
palm, smiling at the shaky moan as Eijun closes his eyes to the feeling. This
is the hand Eijun uses to pitch, the hand that had always fascinated him with
its long, slender fingers and rough callouses. He trails his lips down to the
pulse point and laves it with his tongue, and then Eijun is clamping down
around him and Miyuki comes moaning into his pitcher’s left palm.
 
Kazuya’s arm nearly gives out; he only just manages to roll off to the side as
he collapses so he doesn’t squish his pitcher, and they both lie there trying
to get their breathing under control. Kazuya hasn’t felt so sated in a long
time, like all of his bones have turned to liquid, but he dredges up the
strength to remove and tie off the condom, tossing it into the trash bin near
the door.
 
“You better remember to take that out before we leave, Kazuya,” Eijun says
wearily. Kazuya just flaps a hand at him and grins at the adorable scowl that
slides over Eijun’s face.
 
His boyfriend is too cute.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The party is still raging when they make it back to the dorm a little while
later, Kazuya nursing a sore side after Eijun pinched it in retaliation for
forgetting the condom in the trash and having to go almost all the way back to
get it. Honestly, it would have been much worse for Kantoku to find it, Eijun
thinks. Kazuya is just being a baby.
 
From the looks of things, they arrive back just in the nick of time to avoid
listening to Kuramochi’s terrible karaoke singing. The second year is just
stepping down from their make-shift stage when he spots them.
 
“Where have you guys been?! Come join in on the fun, we’ve got pudding cups and
video games!” It’s then that Kuramochi really looks at them. They’re both
sweatier than they had been earlier, and Eijun’s hair especially is a mess.
They’d tried to make themselves presentable before they left the shed, but it
had been a losing battle. “What the heck guys, what have you been doing all
night?”
 
The battery share a knowing glance and Eijun grins at his confused roommate.
 
“Private practice.”
===============================================================================
 
EDIT: The lovely toudoukis drew some fanart! Thank you so much! >______<
End Notes
     sorry if this is a big long and rambley but i wanted to share with
     you why this fic means so much to me:
     1. it’s my breakout piece in the daiya fandom
     2. it’s part of my nanowrimo project
     3. it was written for day one of misawa week
     4. it’s the first thing I’ve written in over half a year. I’ve been
     struggling really hard with writer’s block, and for a while I tried
     really hard to write something for the haikyuu fandom, but every time
     I sat down to get my ideas on paper so to speak, I would freeze up
     and blank out. Since then I’ve fallen hard for Daiya, and I decided
     that I could maybe bully my way back into the writing world by
     forcing myself to do nanowrimo, where word count is the focus over
     quality, and this is the outcome. I sincerely apologize if it’s not
     up to standard, but I’m insanely proud of myself for having gotten
     this far after the last seven months!
     anyway, a couple of notes to end on:
     1. In major league baseball, the distance from home plate to the
     mound is 59 feet. I added a couple because Miyuki sits a little
     behind the plate
     2. This was definitely inspired by arbitraryallegory’s miyusawa fic
     limber, it’s one of my favorites! Their fics are amazing, please go
     read them
     3. You can follow my writing blog (trumpet-geek) or my main blog
     (wingspike) for updates!
     Thank you so much!
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