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Neon Love

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Suga giggles from the backseat of Daichi’s car, watching Kuroo Tetsurō poke at his best friend’s cheek while Daichi tries to speak into the intercom of the fast food joint they’ve pulled up to.

 

"Tetsu, stop it," Daichi sighs, grabbing at his boyfriend’s hand and keeping it still. The neon lights of the restaurant shine through the car, mottle Daichi’s left cheek with blues and reds and purples. The air outside the car is pleasant, a breeze ruffling Suga’s short bangs as he turns his face towards his open window.

 

"I’m sorry, sir, could you please repeat your order." The voice on the other end of the line crackles and fizzes — but even Suga can hear the telltale ring of annoyance in the employee’s voice.

 

"Tooru," Daichi says suddenly, interrupting Kuroo’s spontaneous rendition of some horrible pop song, craning around to peer at the last inhabitant of the car. "What did you want again?"

 

Suga smirks, eyeing Oikawa from the corner of his eye. They’re both as shit-faced as Kuroo is so he can’t help the laugh that bursts from him when Oikawa answers, "Just you and your sweet thighs Dai-chan," in the sleaziest voice possible.

 

For a moment Daichi’s face is expressionless, his eyes flicking from Oikawa to Suga and back again. Suga shrugs, still grinning. It’s not his fault that Daichi had chosen to be the designated driver tonight and is painfully sober.

 

Daichi curses and turns back around in his seat, heaving out a sigh that carries all of the exasperation of a father dealing with three misbehaved children in it. "I’m just going to go in," he mutters, still holding onto Kuroo’s hand as he pulls out of the drive-through lane and parks in a close spot.

 

"I’m going to come with youuu," Kuroo sing-songs, unlocking his door and clambering out at the same time that Daichi does, killing the engine.

 

Daichi hesitates a moment and then seems to think better of arguing, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand once he’s locked the car and dragging him towards the front door, muttering something under his breath as he goes.

 

Suga leans his head back against the seat rest once they’ve disappeared inside, sighs happily and lets the subtle buzz of alcohol drift through him.

 

He’s actually not as drunk as he’d thought at first — otherwise he probably would’ve insisted on going inside too, just to see if he could convince one of the workers to give him a free ice-cream cone. He’d done it once before — walking out with a scoop of vanilla happily after a lot of coy grins and flirting while he peered up through his eyelashes.

 

Outside the cracked windows, the roar of traffic and the buzz of the fast-food drive-through mix and mingle, smudging in with the summer night air and the greasy, hot smell of oil and sugar and fries.

 

And beside him Oikawa Tooru sits, humming under his breath now as he traces meaningless patterns on the short stretch of leather seat that separates them.

 

Suga eyes him subtly from his peripheral vision — studies the play of neon lights on Oikawa’s hair and skin, watches the long length of his fingers dance and skim over the seat, stares at the long length of his eyelashes that’s highlighted by gold and violet and ruby.

 

This is familiar, watching Oikawa do something small and trivial, waiting for him to look up.

 

And like clockwork, Oikawa does, his dark eyes finding Suga’s face, the small grin that curves his lips sending a telltale shiver down Suga’s spine.

 

They’ve done this before, too many times now for Suga to keep track — but he knows the routine by heart.

 

"What?" Suga asks, keeping his voice nonchalant, disinterested even as his pulse picks up at the look on Oikawa’s face.

 

Oikawa hums under his breath, continues to trace swirls and lines over leather, his eyes dropping so that his eyelashes shutter his gaze, throwing lines of ink shadows over his cheeks.

 

Suga would never admit it out loud, but Oikawa is gorgeous in this light, backdropped by colors and a luminescence that sparks and burns.

 

"Nothing, Kou-chan," he purrs, the tip of a finger straying closer to Suga’s thigh as he draws, his eyes flicking back up to Suga’s face. "You just seemed a little… stressed earlier. Before the drinking I mean."

 

Suga smiles a little at that, turning his head back towards the window to hide the expression. He doesn’t want to admit it, but the fact that Oikawa had noticed sends a little shock of warmth through him. Another breeze rolls through the cracked windows, the heat now that the car’s AC is off leaving little beads of perspiration along the back of Suga’s neck, his upper lip.

 

"I’m okay," he answers. Sure, he had been a little uptight earlier today. Working two jobs and going to summer school that meant a 40-minute commute every day would do that to anyone.

 

But Kuroo had been right. Going out with his friends had helped diffuse the stress for a little bit.

 

Oikawa hums again. "I’m glad," he responds and Suga tilts his head back towards the other college student. They haven’t known each very long — just a semester after Oikawa had transferred in the middle of winter holidays — but Suga has learned to read the other over the months. He knows when Oikawa is being genuine and when he’s just trying to get under his skin. Right now it’s the former.

 

"Me too," Suga says, waiting for Oikawa to meet his eyes again. They look at each other for a second — Suga watches Oikawa’s throat work as he swallows, feels his own nerves jump as Oikawa’s eyes drop down to his mouth.

 

"Screw it," Suga thinks suddenly. He’s always waiting in these moments — waiting for Oikawa to say something else that’s just teetering on the edge of suggestion, waiting for Oikawa to be the first one to move forward. Tonight though… tonight Suga feels more confident and he doesn’t really care if it’s just the alcohol or not.

 

He unbuckles his seatbelt, slides over towards Oikawa until there’s no space left between them — until Oikawa’s hands drift to his waist instinctively, a pleased glint flashing in his dark eyes.

 

"Finally," Suga thinks he hears Oikawa breathe, but he doesn’t stop to ask questions, just shifts until he can swing a leg over Oikawa’s lap, straddling him. Oikawa leans his head back against the head rest, peers up at Suga’s face in the gloom with a lazy smile playing over his lips.

 

Suga matches the smirk with one of his own, lets the feel of Oikawa’s fingers digging into his waist above his belt loops send sparks rushing over his skin, fill his chest with anticipation.

 

"So…," Suga murmurs, biting his lower lip in a way he knows drives Oikawa crazy, "do you wanna help me de-stress a little more?"

 

The line is undeniably corny but Suga’s still high on the rush of Southern Comfort in his veins — besides, Oikawa’s eyes light up at the question, his tongue swiping his lower lip in a brief flash of pink.

 

"I don’t know, Kou-chan," Oikawa murmurs, his fingers sliding down to edge up Suga’s t-shirt just enough so that he can hook his index fingers into Suga’s belt loops. He jerks him closer by them, Suga’s body curved to meet the movement until their faces are inches apart. Oikawa’s eyes travel from Suga’s eyes to his lips and back again. "What do I get out of it?"

 

Suga’s heart is hammering in his ribcage by now, his skin tingling with the intoxication of having Oikawa Tooru so close. Emboldened once again — this time by the firm grip Oikawa has on him — Suga grins outright. "Me," he answers without hesitation.

 

A brief flash of surprise flashes through Oikawa’s eyes, a cherry red glow from outside outlining the shape of his jaw — and then he kisses Suga.

 

Suga meets the kiss after only a half-second of surprise, a tiny noise of satisfaction working its way up his throat, his eyes fluttering shut, fingers finding the front of Oikawa’s button-down and fisting in the fabric.

 

This — this is familiar and exhilarating and new all at the same time. They’ve kissed before — the first time had been after a month of Oikawa’s transfer, in the locker room after volleyball practice. Suga remembers the bite of the metal lockers against his back, the hunger that Oikawa had kissed him with.

 

And over the months Suga has found himself in similar situations, the two of them gravitating towards each other in this unnamed relationship.

 

Now, right now though, he refuses to dwell on the questions that sometimes surface when he’s lying in bed late at night — or worse, when he’s in Oikawa’s bed, tangled up in sheets that smell like him and pressed to his chest, listening to the slow and steady inhale and exhale of breath as the other sleeps.

 

Instead he lets himself drown in this moment, unable to stop the breathy little moan that leaves his lips when Oikawa’s hands find his ass, pulling him down to grind into his lap, their mouths parting and then meeting again, over and over and over again.

 

"God," Oikawa breathes against Suga’s jaw, lips drifting down to hover over Suga’s pulse point in his throat. "You’re perfect," he finishes and Suga’s eyes fly open at that before Oikawa bites down, hard, sucking a mark into Suga’s skin.

 

"Fuck," Suga hisses, tightening his thighs around Oikawa’s hips, his vision going hazy with pleasure, with the remaining fog of alcohol in his system. Oikawa continues his ministration, but Suga swears he can feel the edge of a grin pressed into his skin at the same time that Oikawa slides his palms up under the back of Suga’s t-shirt, his fingers mapping out the ridges of Suga’s spine.

 

His hands are hot and the car is hotter. Suga lets his head fall back to bare his neck more, squeezing his eyes shut and holding onto Oikawa’s shoulders for dear life. He rolls his hips down on instinct, grinding into Oikawa’s lap.

 

Oikawa curses then, breaks away from marking Suga, and the next thing Suga knows, there’s the click of a seatbelt unfastening and the world is tipping, turning, sliding sideways as Oikawa lowers him down onto the whole length of the backseat, following after to press the length of their bodies together, hovering on his elbows.

 

Suga’s eyes open blearily, his mouth parting as he tries to catch his breath. Oikawa stares down at him, the neon lights coloring his hair in streaks of red and violet, deep blue. For a moment, only the sounds of their breathing fill the car. Suga’s fingers itch to reach up and tangle in Oikawa’s hair.

 

But it’s Oikawa who brushes the bangs back from Suga’s forehead, the touch uncharacteristically soft.

 

Suga blinks at him, his head clearing a little bit with the space and now with the gesture. For some reason it makes his stomach dip more than any of Oikawa’s kisses have done before. Maybe it’s the look on Oikawa’s face — he looks open, vulnerable. His eyes are soft.

 

"What?" Suga gets out, searching Oikawa’s face. He’s confused… but something else flutters low in his stomach, something he’s been wondering about for months now.

 

Oikawa opens his mouth, and then closes it. Then he opens it again, meeting Suga’s eyes fully.

 

"Date me," he says.

 

Suga’s heart skips a beat. He can feel his eyes widen with surprise. Oikawa bites his lower lip but he doesn’t say anything else.

 

It’s Suga’s turn to open his mouth, find nothing to say, and then close it again.

 

Oikawa brushes his bangs back again, softer this time, the touch barely there. Suga can just see the faintest edges of doubt begin to creep into his eyes, dark.

 

"You don’t have to give me an answer right now," Oikawa says quietly. "I just - I’ve been wanting to ask you for a month now and I thought, why not now? If I’m being stupid and you don’t feel the same way then just tell -"

 

Suga reaches up and covers Oikawa’s mouth with a palm, mind reeling.

 

Oikawa cuts off, blinking down at him.

 

"Just…," Suga says, trailing off, "give me a second."

 

"Mokay," Oikawa mumbles around Suga’s hand.

 

Suga snorts, runs his free hand over his face, trying to steady the irregular thud of his heart, the fizz of happiness that’s slowly growing stronger and stronger with every passing second.

 

All of the sudden, all of those questions he’s been asking himself at night fade away.

 

The answer is right in front of him.

 

"You know," Suga muses, pretending to be thinking hard, "I have been letting you stick your tongue down my throat for five months… along with other things."

 

Oikawa makes a squawk of indignation but Suga removes his hand just then and cranes up, smothering the noise with a kiss.

 

A beat passes before Oikawa kisses back, nuzzling into Suga with a content sigh.

 

When they break apart again, Suga can’t help but smile up at the other. "When’s the first date?" he asks, relishing the way that Oikawa’s entire face lights up, a grin turning his lips up, eyes shining.

 

"Why not right now?" he asks and Suga raises an eyebrow up at him.

 

"What, car sex?" he asks, half-joking. "Already?"

 

Oikawa’s eyes gleam at the question. "I mean," he murmurs, leaning down and brushing his lips over Suga’s forehead, then his cheeks, his nose, and finally his mouth. "It’s not like we weren’t headed that way originally…"

 

Suga laughs right as Oikawa kisses him again, turning it into a moan with a quick nip to his lower lip, a swipe of his tongue.

 

The world blurs again, melting away into colors and sounds, the remainder of it narrowing down to Oikawa and his hands and the heat of his skin, the press of his mouth and how he smells like vodka and cranberry juice.

 

Suga loses himself in it… all of the way up until there’s a rapid knocking on the window behind his head.

 

"Hey!" Daichi yells through the glass, scowling at the two of them, Kuroo smirking over his shoulder. "You two already desecrated my bedroom, you leave my car alone. Get a room!"

 

The locks turn, the driver’s side door swinging open as Oikawa and Suga scramble to right themselves, smooth down rumpled clothing.

 

Daichi is practically vibrating with irritation when he gets in, brow furrowed, but as hard as Suga tries, he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat as two paper bags of greasy fast food are chucked into the back at them.

 

Kuroo turns around and gives them both a thumbs up before Daichi throws a bag of fries into his lap, eliciting a string of whines.

 

Suga fixes his hair, grabs his food, and then nestles into Oikawa’s waiting embrace, letting his head rest against the other’s shoulder. He smiles up at him, holds onto the warmth that spreads through his own chest when Oikawa smiles back, his arm draped over Suga’s shoulder, his fingers playing with Suga’s hair.

 

Daichi pulls out, still muttering under his breath about never leaving them alone in his car again, and soon they’re flying down the highway, the windows still cracked, the air whipping through the car and rustling bags and tangling hair.

 

Suga watches the streetlights fly by outside in smudges of gold and he relaxes into Oikawa’s side, letting his eyes drift closed and sleep run soft fingers over his face — and he’s content to let the questions in his head fly free, disappearing into the night like the lights all around them.