Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3929833.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Haikyuu!!
  Relationship:
      Azumane_Asahi/Kageyama_Tobio
  Character:
      Azumane_Asahi, Kageyama_Tobio
  Additional Tags:
      Praise_Kink, POV_Second_Person, Foot_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-13 Words: 4664
****** tell me what you want ******
by lokh
Summary
     ah, yes. the first fic for asakage. and what is it? pure pwp.
     in which kageyama loves his senpai very much, and deserves everything
     he wants in the world (even if that happens to be what asahi wants
     too).
Notes
     practice safe sex everyone!!!!!
     this shit is never beta-read so Forgive me
“K-Kageyama, you really don’t have to…”
“Azumane-san,” he says, sliding to his knees anyway, and your name on his
breath sounds like a prayer, blue eyes dark with adoration and looking at you
like you can redeem him, give him direction like a sinner to his god.
“Azumane-san,” he says, again, and you shudder, his lips parting on the bulge
of your trousers. “Please tell me how you want it.”
And you know that though he’s insistent, he’ll stop if you push, firmly tell
him no, but god, he’s so, so eager, hands shaking on your hips, and you can’t
pretend that you aren’t, either, pressing against the soft of his mouth. Even
in his forwardness, he waits for your signal, sharp shoulders held taut, and in
his subtle hesitance you think you’re beginning to truly understand the depths
of his desire to please you.
His gaze speaks multitudes of faith and affection, and if you told him to sin
once more, there’s no doubt in your mind that he would do it again.
You do.
“Just like this is fine.”
His entire body moves forward and he leans in, leans his weight into you and
breathes you in, and you can’t stop a sigh, wondering if his nose against your
belt buckle isn’t bothering him. His mouth opens and closes, words lost into
the fabric, and honestly, it barely reaches your skin, a murmur amongst yelling
heartbeats, but a thrill still runs up your spine, electric, and not for the
first time, you think, “oh, god, this is really happening.”
He shifts, a hand abandoning your waist to palm at you, and you really hope
that groan wasn’t as loud as it sounded. His hand is so very, very warm, long
fingers at first gentle and ghosting, before growing bolder, sliding slowly
across the length visible through the fabric, and whatever thin thread was
tethering you to the existential ground completely snaps when his tongue
flattens against your front, leaving a growing wet spot.
“Stop, stop,” you manage to say, one of the most coherent thoughts you’ve had
in the past few minutes. Kageyama stops, immediately, warmth leaving you to
hide behind worried lips.
“Is this not…?”
“No, no, it’s just,” you swallow, working your words. You can’t believe you’re
really about to see this, but, “take off my pants.”
His eyes widen, and you’re worried about the blood rushing to his head when he
nods, rapidly. His fingers stumble in their haste to unzip your pants, pausing
when you reach for your buckle yourself.
“Azumane-san, I can–”
“It’s fine, Kageyama, I’ll do this. You’re doing just great there.”
And his eyes flicker to yours, searching, and he must find something there
because his face pinks, just slightly, and he mumbles, “alright.”
It occurs to you, as you distantly hear the too-present click of your belt
coming undone and the shuffle of your trousers being pulled down, that you
really, reallywant this. Thinking about it, the fact that it’s happening right
now, makes your heartbeat skyrocket, room suddenly too small and Kageyama so,
so close, and you take in a deep breath when he stops, fingers lightly resting
on the hem of your briefs, and even after all this time, getting this far, he’s
still waiting for your permission, frozen until you’ve given your go-ahead, and
you nod, once, head dipped by a surge of affection.
He inhales noisily; holds his breath. He hooks his fingers onto the waistband
(and you try not to shiver at the feel of short, smooth nails pressing against
the fat of your belly, in the curls of the hair there) and slowly, agonizingly,
pulls down your underwear.
His eyes on your cock are heavy, pupils blown wide enough to envelop dark blue
with pitch black. You’re trying so, so hard not to get embarrassed, trying not
to succumb to the easy temptation of hiding what is probably an extremely
humiliating expression behind your hands. You can’t hide or run, not now, not
when Kageyama’s head is between your thighs, cheeks flushed as the head of your
cock on your stomach.
“You look so good,” and, oh, you hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but it’s
true, and the pink of Kageyama’s face blossoms into a full red. He ducks his
head, mumbles (you think he just thanked you), and his dark hair tickles the
inside of your thigh.
He does this a lot, you’ve come to experience. Under praise, he flushes with
pride (though you hope you’re not imagining that he stands, just that much
straighter, when you’rethe one praising him), and it’s not like he isn’t
admired, like his talents aren’t recognized, so you wonder why he’s like this,
so in want of affection, of the physical presence gained by standing too close,
except you also don’t, you don’t wonder, because it hurts to think about it,
makes your chest ache in a way that threatens to tear you apart.
The realization hits you like an awry serve.
He needs to be told.
“God, Kageyama, you look so good there. You’re so beautiful,” you say, and not
in a million years would you have ever thought those words would come out of
your mouth. Your heart is hammering, hammering, and you can only wonder how
Kageyama must be feeling right now, eyes shining and lips trembling. Then– he’s
whimpering, a quiet, desperate thing, and not in the farthest recesses of your
imagination would you have ever thought Kageyama capable of something so needy,
so erotic.
It’s only then that you notice how hard he’s straining against his pants,
thighs shaking and knees fidgeting. You shuffle back on the bed, just a little,
but Kageyama tries to follow you, bending forward and arms reaching, and you
don’t have time to think(oh god oh god he’s coming over i need a second oh godi
hope i don’t cream my pants) when your foot shoots out and halts him by the
groin.
He definitely stops, then, confusion written on his face and his rigid stance.
You have noidea what you’re doing. Everything seems to have stopped,
everywhere, to witness this awkward spectacle, but in the end, it’s not any
different from the awkward moments you spend every day together, one fumbling
their words and the other patiently waiting.
And Kageyama does wait, unmoving, eyes flickering but form still. You allow
yourself a moment to breathe, to calm your racing heart and to drink in the
scene before you. Your foot bare, you can feelhim pulsing at your soles,
unbearably hard and making you dizzy with the knowledge that Kageyama wants you
this bad, enough to squirm and shudder when you’re barely even touching him.
You should let him unzip his pants, let him run his hands along his dick. It
would only be kind, when Kageyama’s been so obedient, gaze fixed on you
expectantly.
But there’s something about the way he looks now, something that makes you
heady with arousal, ceiling swimming and fingers aching to touch and ruin.
There’s something about the way his head is tilted, almost in deference, stare
half-concealed by long eyelashes, the way he’s drawn into your touch and
shaking with the effort of staying put. He looks reallygood, on his knees, sat
below you, the foot at his groin only serving to make him look that much more
submissive, almost humiliated. He looks good in a way that makes something in
your chest stir, something in your mind decide that, for once, you want to be
cruel to him.
So when he reaches for the zipper of his pants, you stop him, pressing harder
against him, and he can’t contain an audible gasp, face open with surprise, and
you’re suddenly aware of how hard you two are breathing, jagged pants filling
the heated air.
“No,” you say, abruptly, and Kageyama raises his brows, almost challenging,
reminding you for a moment that, though he’s always been excessively polite to
you, that he recognizes you as his senpai, he’s still Kageyama, and, King or
not, can’t stand to have his demands denied. You try not to roll your eyes.
“No,” you say, again, and you coax out of him a low groan that goes straight to
your groin, rubbing the balls of your feet into the front of his pants. “Don’t
touch yourself. You’ve been so good for me; you can do this for me, can’t you?”
His cock twitches against your toes, and the hand that was hanging reluctantly
in the air goes straight to your cock, and you can’t find it in yourself to
stifle your moan at the sensation of his callused fingers on you, warm and
there.
“What do you want me to do, Azumane-san?”
You stop. The question catches you off-guard, gnaws at your weird power rush as
you realize that part of the decisions are up to you, that you, too, need to
verbalize your wants. You know what you want, god, you want it so bad, but you
don’t know how to say it, make it sound at least half-way decent, enough to
have Kageyama comply, enough to please him, too.
“Kageyama,” you start, and at once his attention focuses completely on you.
“You know, you have a really nice mouth. Has anyone ever told you how cute and
full your lips are?
“Because they are,” you insist, when he tries to look away, breaths coming
shallowly and eyes glistening, “they are. It makes me think you’d be wonderful
at using your mouth. You’ve always been a fast learner, after all, so skilled
at everything you do. Wouldn’t you look nice, wrapped around my cock?”
His eyes snap to yours and he flushes, head to toe, and the whine that slips
out is incoherent and so, so hot, and what you wouldn’t give to choke him with
your cock, delirious with want, but you’re patient, with Kageyama especially
so, and so you wait, too, wait for him to slide his fingers down to the base,
leaving room for his tongue, god, his tongue, gliding along the tip of your
length, testing, along the head and across the frenulum, saliva dripping
heedlessly onto his chin, onto you. He flattens his tongue against the shaft –
tenses, curls it slightly around the circumference, and the squirming, the
trembling, the wetness makes you far too close, and then he stops, withdraws
his tongue, a trail of spit still tying you together.
You’re still reeling when his lips engulf the head of your cock.
It would be embarrassing if you started crying now, not now. His mouth is hot,
too hot, pulsing and soaking, working itself around you, and – and he’s
swallowing, pressure enough to make you groan as he tries to work the rest of
your dick into his throat. The noises he makes are lost, words translating into
pure sensation and senseless vibration against you, and you rest your hand in
his tangled hair, exercising enough self-restraint that you don’t accidentally
push him further onto you. You dig your nails softly into his scalp, and he
moans around you, spit escaping along his jaw and around your dick, and every
pore feels like it’s on fire.
“Kageyama,” you say, voice shaking, and he looks up at you, and it takes all
you have left to not finish then and there. “Kageyama, you’re so, so good for
me, I knew you could do it. You could take in all of me, couldn’t you? You’ve
done so well, so far. I believe you can do it, please, Kageyama, I want you
to.”
And your foot, still pressed against his cock, falters, then shifts and leans
in, almost kneading, and tears are gathering in his eyes – from what, you’re
not sure – and he swallows, again, breathing in through his nose before closing
his eyes and slowly, slowly taking you in.
His lips are spread so wide around you, slick with spit and what is surely
precum, and he stops, suddenly (maybe you’ve hit the back of his throat – you
can’t tell the sensations apart, anymore), when all your cock is in his mouth
and his chin grazes the skin of your balls, hair against his nose (and you hope
it doesn’t smell too bad). His tongue strains against the underside of your
length, and he’s groaning freely around you, unrepentant, and against your foot
you barely register a slight dampness.
You tighten your fingers around his hair, a reminder, then carefully pull off.
He gasps for air, blinking furiously, and even his fingers tremble
uncontrollably now. He looks at you, a question, and he forgets to wipe his
chin.
“Tell me what you want,” you say, before you forget why you stopped in the
first place, before your desire becomes too great, commanding all your
attention. He stares, brows furrowed, as if to say, ‘I’m the one pleasing you.’
Then he moves to stand, and you realize it was more of a ‘isn’t it obvious what
I want’ frown. You shake your head, and he pauses.
“I won’t know what you want unless you say it out loud.”
His gaze doesn’t shift, and suddenly you wonder – what if thisis where he
finally loses his patience, where he needs to leave to collect himself and stop
himself from going off at you, and you’d understand completely, but you’d
really, really like to keep going. Something in his expression changes, then –
his brows relax, eyes soften. He’s understood something you haven’t – maybe
he’s heard something you hadn’t meant to say. The air is too thick, and you
wonder if the moment’s dissipated when he says, almost shyly, the quietest
you’ve ever heard him after all this time, “I want to feel you dripping out of
me.”
God.
Then you realize what he’s trying to say and your stomach churns, head foggy
with want but warning bells ringing nonetheless.
“That’s… that’s not safe, Kageyama, we really shouldn’t…”
“I don’t have anything,” he persists, voice almost pleading, and it’s so hard
to resist him when he’s grinding into the sole of your foot, urgently, “I
don’t, please, can’t we just…?”
“God, still, I don’t know…”
“Have you done it before?” he asks, and there’s no accusation, just eyes wide
with the need to know, tinged in desperation.
“No, I haven’t, and I probably don’t have anything either, but, still… we
haven’t really done this sort of thing before, it’s better to be safe? Wouldn’t
it be dirty?”
And suddenly you see the first real hesitance cross his face, palpable in his
sudden tenseness, and your muscles involuntarily tense, too. You press,
cautiously, “Kageyama?”
His cheeks burn.
You haven’t seen him turn this red since he first started asking you if he
could toss for you.
He stands, startling even himself, and you reach out, pull him to you, his head
buried in the crook of your neck. His arms tighten around your shoulders,
hiding his face, and this was never a situation you’d envisioned, a role
reversal that has you, for a moment, speechless. Aren’t youusually the one
trying to hide embarrassment? He mutters into your skin, and you try not to
shiver.
“Sorry, what?”
His eyes are far too close, having to flick from eye to eye to look at you, and
this close you can see the sweat beading down his cheek, curling the tips of
his hair, and you’re hit with a wave of guiltbecause you’ve really been hard on
him, at least for the first time you could’ve been kinder, but these thoughts
struggle against the intensity of his smell at this proximity, the scent of
sweat and fabric softener and a smell you’ve come to associate with him making
your senses go haywire.
“I’ve,” he starts, before once more burying his face into your shoulder, and
you hope the hand you place on his back is at least somewhat comforting, “I’ve
been wanting to do this. For a while.”
The revelation leaves you… flattered, if not somewhat embarrassed. You’re
horrified to realize – you’re actually relieved. Gosh, for a while there, you’d
dealt with waking up in the middle of the night, awash in hormones and
confusion, spending long glances at Kageyama after practice to wonder if he
felt the same way. And even after you’d stopped wondering, you’d still felt
these desires something to be hidden, something to be ashamed of – it was
unfair to him, you think even now, if you thought about him that way when he
clearly (at least, it seemed to you) didn’t feel anything for you. That weight
lifts somewhat, now, with his recent confession, something close to elation
lighting up your heart, but you’re still not sure where he’s going with this.
He releases a shuddering breath into your collarbone. “I imagined what it would
be like, to have Azumane-san inside me. I thought, god, you’re probably really
big. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, I always got so hard thinking about it,
and I wanted it so bad, I just. I wanted to know what it’d be like, I hoped – I
wanted it to happen, I wanted you to want it.
“Please, Azumane-san, I’ve practiced, I know how to do it, I’m clean, just
please, fuck me.”
Your mind is filled with questions. Did he spend just as many hours casting
furtive glances, keeping at bay burning desire? Did he really go home and lie
in bed at the thought of you, insidehim, spreading himself open with his
fingers and wishing they were something bigger? Did he come with your name on
his lips, bitten into the mattress to remain unheard and unquestioned?
Moreover, were you going give him what he wanted?
Your hands come up to his collar, unbuttoning and almost unbidden, and a quiet,
‘oh’, escapes his mouth, before he pulls at his trousers, sliding them down,
groaning when his boxers slip off and his dick slips free, already dripping and
flushed unbelievably red. Your own shirt, already undone, is easy to take off,
and you lean back, flush against the mattress, and Kageyama sits on your
thighs, confused.
“You said you practiced,” you repeat, even if only to confirm that those were
real words that came out of his mouth, and he nods tightly, cheeks still
suffused with blood. “And you know what to do. So show me.”
You rifle around beneath your pillow – where did that darn thing go? – before
you find what you’re looking for. You hand him a slim tube, and he stares,
uncomprehending, before he realizesand his eyes are so, so wide.
“I don’t use it for anything but, well. You know,” you say, and you overcome
your embarrassment with the anticipation of what’s to come. “Hopefully it’s
good enough?”
“I- uh, yeah. Yeah! This is fine, this is. I’ll just.”
He coats his fingers generously, letting it run between his fingers for a
better feel for its texture and god, you swallow thickly, the action makes you
so, so impatient, makes you wonder just how many times he’s done this, to
warrant such deft and practiced fingers when he reaches behind him, managing to
prepare himself without once taking his eyes off you.
“You’ve wanted me so bad, huh?” you muse aloud, and though you didn’t mean to
say it, Kageyama’s expression makes it worth it. “Thought about me deep inside
you.”
“Y-Yeah,” he says, voice breaking as he shifts, presumably slipping another
finger in with a sigh.
“How long?”
His chest rises and falls with the effort of keeping himself elevated, of
answering you while pushing his fingers deeper, wider. “G-God. I don’t know.
When you. When you first spiked, at the match with the… the neighbourhood
association.”
“What?” because that was so long ago, and he’s been holding onto these feelings
since then? Who was really doing the pining here?
“I was blocking, remember… and I saw… ah, I couldn’t stop. Thinking about your
spike. And your eyes, fuck… I’d wake up sometimes, remembering your face, your
body, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how cool you are, and I was soturned
on, I couldn’t sleep, I’d have to run to burn it off…”
Then he leans back, and you can see, just before his fingers slip out with a
squelch, Kageyama stretched slightly and wet, dark with the pulling at his
fingers, and you remember why this started, how Kageyama wanted you dripping
out of him, and you can see it, and he would look so good,so adorable.
“So adorable,” you echo your thoughts, pulling Kageyama up your body by his
thighs, and his skin is so, so slick, still trembling, blood pulsing. “Thinking
about me, practicing for me. You really like me, don’t you? I love that about
you, too. I thought about you too, you know. Thought about how good you are, as
a setter, at how good you’d be sitting on my cock.”
“A-Azumane-san,” and he’s whimpering again, torso curled over yours, fingers
clenched too tight on your chest and you want so badly to watch him fall apart,
to make him fall apart in front of you, watch this kouhaithat you adore so much
show you just how much he wants you.
“Ride me, Kageyama,” you say, into the shell of his ear. “You’re such a good
boy.”
With one hand, he steadies himself on you, raising his hips until his weight is
balanced on his knees once more, and with the other, he reaches for your cock,
hands still slick with lube as he slides his fingers up and down, and even
through the haze of arousal you can make out the hunger in his gaze, in his too
tight grip.
“Azumane-san,” he says again, positioned above your cock, thumb at his entrance
and fingers guiding you, and you keep your hands, grounding, at his hips,
squeezing him and spreading. Slowly, slowly, he lowers himself onto you.
“God,” and you’re blubbering, but you can’t stop yourself, not when Kageyama’s
rolling his eyes back and leaving his lips parted on a moan, when he’s so tight
around you and so warm, so hot, so much everything at once, “you feel so good
around me, Kageyama, you’re so tight and wet. You’re doing such a good job, you
can take the rest – fuck yourself on me, you’re so beautiful.”
“Azumane-san, you’re so thick, shit,” he’s chanting in turn, head lolling to
his shoulder as he takes you in, more, more, squeezing around you, and the hand
that isn’t holding him up by your leg comes up to touch his dick, hands
spasming around it and its slickness is so, so loud (or maybe that’s the sound
of you fucking him, it’s all melding into one sound characterised by desire, by
Kageyama sobbing). “You feel so much better than I thought, I…”
His ass hits your pelvis and you both inhale suddenly, savouring the moment. He
looks down at you, and he has enough presence of mind to still be asking your
permission, to know to wait, and after what feels like an eternity, you nod,
just slightly, struggling to hold up your own weight.
Like this, he begins to move, and his legs are shaking you, too, when he slides
up, down, until he’s almost bouncing on top of you, and his tightness is almost
unbearable, and your head is muddled, like trying to map out the contours of
his body in the middle of stormy, relentless seas, and his eyes slide open,
though gaze unfocused still searching for you, and he’s drooling down his chin,
onto his chest, heaving, and his fingers are pressed so stiffly into your chest
and his cock absolutely soaking, deliciously red in the grip of his tan fingers
when he whispers, brokenly, “Asahi-san…”
You lose it.
He yells in surprise when you pick him up, slide him off you and onto the bed,
the mattress creaking as he bounces, and he looks like he’s about to question
you when you raise his hips by his ass, off the bed, when you slide back into
him completely in one fluid movement, and he screams.
“Asahi-san- Asahi,” and he’s openly crying, now, head thrown back, and his
hands are curled so tight around the sheets, pooling around him and half torn
off the bed. You couldn’t handle it, watching him fuck himself on you, not
moving fast enough, not hardenough, when you wanted so much to just fill him up
and fuck him into the mattress, and you do, you pound into him, you pound his
torso into the bed, until he’s sinking and not sliding towards the bedpost, and
his legs come up to your waist, wrapping himself around you like you’ll stop if
he doesn’t, if he doesn’t hold you together.
Your hands free, you grasp his leaking cock, and his moans and cries are just
audible over the slap of skin against skin, of the distinct wetness there, and
he’s so, so beautiful like this, spread out all for you, all around you, it’s
like he was made only for you and he’s gorgeous and he’s so, so good, voice
begging and begging, and you want to come in him so bad, to give him what he
wants, he deserves everything he’s ever wanted, you want to fill him up until
you’re spilling out and he can’t take a step without remembering you in him,
without wishing you were there and god, Tobio
His come splatters across his chest, his body almost bent in half, mouth open
on a silent scream. His body freezes; shudders, and he clenches down on you
until you, still thrusting, finally, finallycome inside him, marking him
inside. He gasps, holds his breath, tightens, riding you out through your
orgasm, through his aftershocks and overstimulation. It's after what feels like
an eternity later, when the world becomes tangible again, when simple touch no
longer becomes overwhelming, that he breathes, coming down, entire body
trembling around you. 
You two, still bound, lie motionless, limp in exhaustion (both physically and
emotionally), and moments stretch into minutes, calm silence punctuated by
slowing breath. 
He sighs, and you pull out with a grunt, and it's a hazy afterthought when you
realize that a stickiness followed you out. Kageyama's legs slide languidly
down your sides, still spread on the surface of the bed, and so when you sit
back on your haunches, you take the opportunity to look down, and, oh. 
Against his tanned skin, you drip out of him, thick and striking white melting
into the bed sheets below, and through the pangs of want and need, you're
suddenly overwhelmed with... fondness? To look down at this boy beneath you,
drenched in sweat and fluid, looking so satisfied, so pleased, you can't stop
the visceral assertion in your heart that he's mine,mine, mine. But you're
tired, you both are, his eyes not raising from their lazy half-mast, your body
threatening to give out then and there. 
You flop down next to him, onto the soft pillows, and had it not been for the
way Kageyama immediately curls into your side, you might have fallen asleep.
His heat against yours makes everything feel warmer, softer, and even in this
half-conscious state does he find it in himself to cover his red face.
“Can you call me Tobio again?”
You stare. 
And, oh, no, you’d said all that out loud, at the end, your true feelings, that
disgusting sentimental affection and adoration that you try so hard to bottle
up, but he looks up at you, gaze hopeful, and you find that affection, that
admiration and respect reflected in his eyes, so trusting and so vulnerable.
How could you ever deny this? You’re warm, warmer than you’ve been this entire
tryst, and you feel then that maybe you really, really love this boy.
You smile at him.
“Tobio."
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