Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6607606.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Haikyuu!!
  Relationship:
      Yamamoto_Taketora/Daishou_Suguru
  Character:
      Yamamoto_Taketora, Daishou_Suguru
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, PWP, Blow_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-20 Words: 2899
****** spit or swallow? ******
by raggirare
Summary
     Tora suddenly feels an urge to invest in a lifetime supply of
     mouthwash.
Notes
     For crockertier for making me consider this ship from the beginning,
     and nekokat42 for all the amazing art they draw.
     (I should also not be allowed to title things at 3am.)
See the end of the work for more notes
It was only thanks to practice that the moan threatening to escape his throat
was stopped entirely, even without a hand to cover his mouth. He was thankful
for as much. His hands were too busy keeping him grounded, with the fingers of
one searching for purchase against the tiled wall and the other curled and
twisted into long strands of hair. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make
sure he never forgot where they were; that the bathrooms at the far end of the
stadium may have been rarely used but they were still considered to be in a
public space which anyone could walk into at anytime.
(Sure, they were tucked away in a bathroom stall, but it meant nothing when it
was so easy to see feet and knees and unmistakable colours of uniforms from as
far away as the doorway itself, heavy breathing filling the space around them.)
Normally, something like this was so simple. They never spoke, barely made eye-
contact. Simply fell into the same routine they had somehow started almost two
years prior and then left afterwards without even a second glance. But, for
once, Taketora found himself wanting to make it different. Not out of any sort
of emotional attachment to the act or the older wing spiker, but simply because
it was the last. The regionals were over and only one of them was going to
Nationals and Daishou would be graduating. No more tournaments. No more
practice matches. No more training camps to wake up in the middle of the night
and end up in this exact position in the bathrooms, over and over again, with
no name for what they were, their actions a complete secret from their teams.
The ace’s eyes drifted down, and the only thing that stopped the sight of his
dick disappearing into Daishou’s skilled mouth from pushing him over the edge
was the look he found in the elder’s eyes. It was one thing to find the elder
looking at him in the first place. It was another to find anything in those
eyes.
There was a moment where Taketora felt concern creeping into his gut (and
concern over the concern, because there was nothing emotional about anything
they did). He had never seen any sort of emotion in the Nohebi captain’s eyes
beyond the taunting or the scheming, so finding something akin to the
thoughtfulness he felt caught him off guard.
It seemed to catch Daishou off guard as well, with the way his movements came
to a grinding halt, but it barely lasted a moment before he recomposed himself
and Tora, unprepared, found a moan escaping his half-open mouth at a finger
brushing against his puckered entrance and the tip of Daishou’s tongue pressing
against his slit. The moment destroyed, everything seemed to carry on as though
nothing had happened, and the younger spiker found himself unable to even
recover his previous train of thought with a pressure on the underside of his
dick (Daishou’s finger briefly sliding against it in search of saliva as a
makeshift lubrication) and then a press of the same finger against his entrance
again. It was instinct at this point to relax, trained and practiced from every
other time they had done this (far more experienced than the first time, where
Taketora’s body had caught them both by surprise and left Daishou almost
choking), and the initial discomfort was easily ignored in favour of the flat
of a tongue lapping slowly over the head of his erection.
Within a few moments of a finger curling so precisely inside him, and the
warmth enveloping him, and even the occasional approving hum vibrating around
him, Taketora was lost again in the pleasure, his concerns and thoughts long
forgotten. A second finger joined, the dry intrusion receiving a slight hiss of
an inhale, and the younger spiker let his hand finally drop from the wall to
join its partner tangled into Daishou’s hair. His head lowered, as well, bowed
forward with his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open, and any fears about
people hearing him were long forgotten with the low moans that tumbled louder
and louder from the back of his throat.
Taketora always lacked a sense of time when he reached this point; when his
mind was nothing but a haze of pleasure and Daishou was so completely in
control. A part of it was trust, because the older spiker knew his body better
than he did himself by now and Tora knew that he could trust the captain to
catch him (so long as it was when they were alone like this). It was a point so
easily proven moments later when the edge came and went, and the ace’s fingers
curled and dragged blunt fingernails along Daishou’s scalp. The mouth around
him stilled, the back of the elder’s throat hot and soft against his leaking
tip, while the fingers inside him continued to curl, slowly massaging him
through his orgasm.
There was a sudden coldness around him, Taketora noticed on his way back down,
at the mouth finally relinquishing its hold of him, but his head stayed bowed
and eyes closed through the tongue lazily licking along his length. It always
took time for him to catch his breath, minutes drawing out as he recovered
himself to the steady rhythm of fingers still moving inside of him and the
tongue cleaning away spit and cum. It was on him to let Daishou know when he
was stable enough to not be stuck between using the wall and the older spiker
to keep himself upright.
It was with a grunt and a gentle tug of the hair still tangled around his
fingers that Taketora let his weight lean back against the wall to give the
other room to stand. His nose wrinkled at the odd sensation of the fingers
finally sliding out of him and he could only meet the smug expression on
Daishou’s face for a second once the captain was standing before he used one of
the hands still in his hair to pull Daishou’s head onto his shoulder. It was a
gentle act, complete with gentle fingers massaging over the elder’s scalp
almost as an apology for pulling at his hair only minutes before.
Taketora’s other hand dropped and, with no sense of urgency, movements almost
languid in his lingering afterglow, his fingers slipped past the waistband of
Daishou’s pants and shorts and underwear and gradually edged them down. They
weren’t worked all the way off, just low enough to free the elder’s half-hard
length before the younger’s hand travelled upwards, under the bottom of the
other spiker’s shirt to tease over the muscles and soft skin of Daishou’s
stomach, and the way the muscles trembled under the touch was something Tora
couldn’t help but find amusing (something he had discovered early on and always
made a point of taking advantage of).
It was similar to the way he took advantage of the effect of hot breath against
Daishou’s neck and teeth teasing at an earlobe. There were unspoken rules
between them, like no leaving marks (and no kissing, because the taste of
himself on the captain’s tongue always made the ace gag), but it never stopped
Tora from indulging himself in having a sensitive neck within reach. It was a
habit, by now, to let his hand wander while he pressed kisses and dragged teeth
along the pale skin for as long as he could, testing Daishou’s patience every
time. Some days, it would drag out, but today, with the cool late autumn air
biting at bare skin, the elder’s patience was noticeably shorter, and he
quickly expressed his annoyance at the teasing with a bite against Taketora’s
clothed shoulder (hard enough to prove his point, but not so hard as to leave a
mark through the fabric).
Tora teased for a moment longer, earning him a second, harder bit, before his
hand finally dropped from beneath Daishou’s shirt and thick fingers curled
around the warm length, his hold gentle. No matter how many times they ended up
like this, it always fascinated Taketora how different it felt to have the hot
weight of someone else’s dick in his hand than his own, and even with having
memorised every part of how Daishou’s length felt, he always let his calloused
fingertips run over every inch with care. There was always extra attention to
the head, the pad of his thumb spreading precum over and around the slit, and
every shift of movement was matched with a shift of his mouth, between teasing
bites and suckles of Daishou’s lobe, and ghosting kisses over his neck and
teeth pressing through the material of the Nohebi jacket covering the elder’s
shoulder.
Every ministration was careful and light, and far from the expected aggression
of someone of Taketora’s demeanour, and it was, more than anything, simply
because he had learned. He had learned that, even when Daishou started to gnaw
on his shoulder impatiently, that these fleeting touches always lead to a
better end than simply pumping away at his dick (and there was something so
satisfying about leaving the older spiker unable to speak or even move for
minutes on end).
There was a challenge, as well, in trying to get sound out of Daishou. The
elder’s control was unmatched (not that Tora had much to compare it to apart
from himself), and beyond hitches in breath, getting him to be anything but
silent was something Taketora turned into a game, one which he often lost. But
he was determined to win this time, no matter what it took (those thoughts were
starting to come back).
With a last press of lips to the corner of Daishou’s jaw, and one last tug on
his earlobe, Tora let his knees slowly sink beneath him. It took a moment or
two for the elder to actually realise what was happening, and by the time it
had fully sunk in, the ace was on his knees and dragging the flat of his tongue
against the head of his dick, their eyes locked. One of Daishou’s hands came to
rest on a broad shoulder while the other pressed against the wall to keep him
balanced, but he never looked away from the golden eyes, even when Tora’s lips
quirked into a fanged smirk. The eye contact continued, the younger relying
completely on touch to guide the head to his lips and past them, slowly taking
more and more of the length into his mouth.
He’d never done this before, considered it once but brushed it off (because if
he couldn’t handle the taste of his own cum, how was he going to handle the
taste of someone else’s), so Taketora was well aware that he wasn’t going to be
able to pull of anything like Daishou could do with his mouth or his tongue,
but it also didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try (and maybe a part of him hoped
that even just the sheer fact he was doing this for the first time would give
Tora an advantage in getting something out of him).
Finally, the ace broke the eye contact to focus on what he was doing, weight
shifting on his knees as it occurred to him just how uncomfortable it was to
kneel on the hard tiled surface of the bathrooms. He did his best to ignore it,
though, pushing the pain to the back of his mind as one hand found purchase on
a hip and the other danced fingers over the remaining length that didn’t fit
comfortably into his mouth and then down to Daishou’s balls, every movement and
touch as gentle and fleeting as it had been when he had been standing, even as
he experimented with hollowing his cheeks and the gentle press of teeth against
sensitive skin and focusing attention on specific parts of Daishou’s hardening
erection. He made sure not to lose himself in the new experience, careful to
stay well aware of every reaction that his actions received, returning here and
applying more pressure there to see the range of what he could pull out.
There was shifting in the grip on his shoulder and in the way weight was being
distributed, and changes, sudden and subtle, in Daishou’s breathing, and even
in occasional swallow, just barely audible and only because Tora was looking
for it.
Taketora’s favourite, though, came when he decided to try something different.
He slowly pulled his head back, cheeks hollowed, until his mouth slipped off
with a quiet pop. The hand against the wall moved, not quick enough to cover
Daishou’s mouth to silence the whimper that escaped, and Tora took it as
motivation (as a prize) to keep going.
After a few passes of his tongue across the slit, he pulled the head back into
his mouth to lavish it with attention and left the rest of the length to his
fingers, combining this new experience (one Tora was honestly surprised to
admit that he was actually enjoying) with the tried and proven methods of what
Daishou liked in a handjob. Once he found a rhythm, the ace lifted his eyes
again, golden finding grey and holding it, and he made sure to not let it (or
his rhythm) break. He could see the same familiar signs, and feel them under
his fingertips, as Daishou edged closer and closer to his peak, and Taketora
found it in himself to not want to let it end as comfortably as it always did.
His best chance of getting something out of Daishou (the whimper was something,
so it wasn’t a complete loss, but it also wasn’t enough) was to push him over
the edge.
One of his hands shifted, large enough to comfortably hold the elder’s balls
and gently roll them between his palm and fingers. A distraction as he let
himself relax, preparing himself. Taketora had absolutely no intention of even
attempting to try and fit the entirety of Daishou’s length (he knew it would
end badly for himself), but his gag reflex hadn’t been enjoying even the limits
he had been pushing earlier.
Slowly, eyes still holding Daishou’s, Tora let his mouth slide down the length
again. The musky scent right under his nose was heady and it was a fight to
keep his eyes open and up. His tongue shifted, from teasing around the slit
with the very tip to simply lying flat underneath the weight, allowing the head
to hit the back of his throat. Fingers curled around the remaining exposed
length while his other hand, still teasing at Daishou’s balls, reached back to
tease and then press a finger against the puckered entrance. Tora allowed
himself a moment to breathe, a slow, deep inhale through his nose, and he let
himself cave to the heavy musk, eyes closing and a low moan vibrating the back
of his throat.
It worked.
It worked too well.
The hand Daishou had been trying to use to keep himself quiet dropped to grab
onto the younger’s free shoulder and a moan fell unrestrained from his lips,
and if Taketora listened enough, he was sure he could hear his name somewhere
in there. There was no time to listen, though, because the sudden rush hitting
the other spiker and shoving him over the edge left Tora almost choking on the
release suddenly hitting the back of his throat and filling what little space
was left around the length in his mouth, and he pulled back as he quickly as he
could (though not fast enough to prevent himself from coughing or to stop the
elder’s cum from falling over his mouth and his shirt). The taste was as foul
on his tongue as he had expected it would be (even worse than his own tasted on
Daishou’s tongue that one time) and he wasted no time in spitting it out on the
tiled floor between them. The hold on his shoulders kept him from moving too
far, so it wasn’t like he had any other option as much as it disgusted him
(because there was no way in hell he was going to swallow that), and the
disgust on his expression only deepened when he released that the tail end of
the elder’s released had ended up on his face and on the rest of his uniform.
The only thing Taketora could do, though, was wait.
It was a few minutes before Daishou could take his own weight, minutes filled
with Taketora using the toilet paper just within reach to clean up his face and
then the mess on the floor and then his uniform. And, when the minutes were
over, there was no helping hand to lift him back to his feet. No snide comment
or snarkiness to fill the silence like it always would. Daishou simply moved
away, giving Tora room to stand and toss the dirtied toilet paper into the
toilet.
“You know you taste absolutely fucking disgusting, right?” The ace spat out as
he stepped out of the stall, eyes looking towards the sink where he expected to
find the older spiker.
The bathroom door was closed again before the words could finish leaving his
mouth, leaving Tora and his echoing complaint alone in the tiled room.
End Notes
     There's a 'sequel' coming at some point probably. Maybe not a direct
     sequel to this version of events specifically, but a sequel to this
     concept.
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