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Flamengo Days and Starshone Nights

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The last time that Oikawa Tooru saw chibi-chan, he was fluffy haired and it was through a screen. He remembered being on the receiving end of that intense stare in his final year of high school, back when Hinata was a clumsy, baby bird yet to find his footing, and it still makes chills roll down his spine. It’s when Tooru follows Tobio-chan to the Olympics, his prodigy kohai making it to the ultimate world stage, that he sees him in person, four years later.

Tooru’s tour guides, upon hearing that he was a high level setter in university and just shy of making the national team, were excited to drag him to the beach. As a hot-blooded man, he was excited to see attractive people in various degrees of undress, but Tooru catches little of the rapidfire chatter in Portuguese, except for a single word: ninja. It’s one of those Japanese loanwords that’s made it into most other languages, but it immediately piques his interest.

Tooru mutters something under his breath at the ultimate sight in front of him: Hinata appears to float down to the sand below as if he were some otherworldly creature and not just some abominably short volleyball alien with magical powers. It’s clear when Hinata zeroes in on the far-less-common Japanese words that Tooru says to himself more than anything, because it’s then that he spins around to face Tooru. It’s the reflexive fear that Hinata jumps into at Tooru’s absent-minded exclamation, “Is this real?” that really makes him pause. He had not grown much taller, a couple centimeters at most, but he had filled out with muscle in the meantime, enough that he certainly cannot be mistaken for a grade schooler anymore.

The fear quickly leaves Hinata’s face, and his eyes sparkle as he exclaims, “Grand King!”

Tooru had nearly forgotten his old nickname from half a decade ago, but he laughs at the figurative sparkles in Hinata’s eyes at the recognition. Hinata is distracted momentarily by his partner jumping on his back in celebration at their win, and it’s a wonderful display of strength as Hinata’s body doesn’t bow under the pressure of a heavier body draped over his, only requiring a minor adjustment in his stance to support the extra weight. He waves him off in halting Portuguese, and it’s clear that Hinata is already better in the language than Tooru ever will be.

He’s still surprised: as little as Tooru knows about this foreign language, he does catch Hinata’s heavily accented “amigo” among a few others that are warped not only by the unfamiliar language, but also by the person speaking it. After pitching his partner to the sand, Hinata stands to his full height, and if they stood on level ground, Hinata’s eyes would barely reach Tooru’s collarbones.

He walks over to where Tooru stands, on the edge of the boardwalk where the wood reaches the sand. “It’s good to catch up, but want to go somewhere a little more comfortable? There’s a bar I like around here.”

Tooru is stunned at this, and he says yes, if only to clear away the memory of an almost innocent looking spitfire he faced in high school to replace it with the more mature, freckled face in front of him. Hinata’s answering smile is as bright as the sun that had already set, but there’s an edge to the smile that Tooru hadn’t seen in his time across the court with Seijoh.

He takes a moment to sit on the lip of the walkway, dust off his bare feet, and slip on some sneakers. He peels off the compression sleeves, showing a tan line at his wrist.

“You know, you look more like the locals than I do. I thought you would be shirtless and free.” Tooru could only hope, if the defined muscles on Hinata’s newly revealed arms were anything to go by.

Hinata stops, and he doubles over laughing until he’s gasping for breath. “Oikawa, have you ever been sunburned? I mean, tropical sunburn and everything?” He shoves the sleeves into his bag. “You would not be making fun of the layers if you had been.” Standing up, Hinata slings his bag over his shoulder, and after a few steps forward, Hinata looks back and beckons Tooru to follow.


The brass instruments and the sensual, syncopated rhythm overtakes Tooru’s senses, and the cheap beer from the dive bar Hinata had chosen makes every nerve in his hands tingle pleasantly. Tooru is only on his third beer of the night, but his vision already swims with the unfamiliar alcohol coursing through his veins, and running his fingers over his over-sensitive palms only keeps the sensory overload at bay.

On his fifth glass of the night, Hinata barely hides his snigger, an almost cruel laugh hidden in the pale yellow contents. “You do realize that this is only three percent? It’s barely enough to get anyone tipsy at a full pitcher full, let alone the three glasses you’ve had.”

Tooru glares at Hinata, but the swimming feeling in his head must have diluted the intention behind his look, because the little shit head actually started laughing. Downing the last of his glass, Tooru stands up quickly to leave the bar in a huff, and proceeds to nearly stumble into the occupants of the next table over. 

It's only a few moments before he feels a push to steer him towards the door, and after a few stilted apologies in Portuguese from Hinata, Tooru is outside looking at the colourfully lit streets in Rio. 

"Let's get you back to where you're staying." Hinata moves so that he's fully facing Tooru. "Where do I drop you off?" 

The flaw in Tooru's plan presents itself. "I… don't know." 

Hinata drops into an unimpressed glare. He pushes at Tooru's back. "Come on, I don't live far away." 

The small hand at the middle of Tooru's back steadies him as he moves through the streets, winding his way through the unfamiliar streets. The trip isn't long; he's pushed up a small set of stairs and into a small bedroom, but the walk and the fresh air sedates his brain so that when his head hits the pillow, Tooru falls asleep right away. 


When Tooru wakes up, it's to the sun shining brightly through the window, highlighting the pounding headache he's experiencing. What makes the ordeal even worse is hearing Hinata call out to his apparent roommate the kinds of things he'd expect a mother to fuss over. He gets up, and cradling his head, Tooru finds his way to the kitchen, where Hinata is buzzing around, full of energy. As soon as Tooru sits down, he finds a glass of water shoved in front of his face. 

"Drink up, we're going to beach soon." 

Tooru glares at his water, making eye contact with a man who could only be his roommate. "Shut up, Hinata." 

The roommate's glare lightened into an amused smirk, which disappears as soon as Hinata shoves a simple, grease-filled breakfast in front of his face. 

He puts both of the other men out of his minds, tuning out the halting conversation in Portuguese. He finally remembers that he had saved his travel details on his phone, and after refamiliarizing himself with his plans and answering a few emails, Tooru takes the greasy monstrosity freshly offered from Hinata, and eats. 

After Tooru freshens up, Hinata yells back a farewell to Pedro, much to the roommate's chagrin. Tooru follows Hinata back to the beach, and as Hinata chatters happily into his ear as he walks his bike alongside him. It’s a weird feeling, Tooru decides, as he was the first to admit to finding the man beside him beyond annoying in high school. And yet—the knee brace that he now wears full time instead of just during volleyball has mellowed Tooru out so that even Iwaizumi doesn’t feel the need to pummel him with volleyballs when he’s being obtuse, so it’s easy to think that Hinata has underwent a similar transformation.

Flamengo’s white sand beach is blindingly bright, even more than the high ceiling lights in the Sendai gymnasium he often looked into as a side effect of setting to his old team. He lurches forward as Hinata drags him forward towards a half-empty court. “If you partner up with me, we can play right now.” Hinata mutters under his breath, barely audible.

Tooru’s heartbeat races at the thought of playing volleyball once again. “Let’s go.” 

Tooru doesn't have much time to watch Hinata in his element, as beach volleyball requires even more concentration as its indoor cousin, but what he does catch out of the corner of his eye is truly a sight to see. Hinata was just as breathtaking jumping beside him on the sand as he was during their first practice match, as he sent the ball whizzing close enough to his ear to disturb his hair with its wind.

Just like Hinata has to correct Tooru on how to jump in sand after he nearly does a faceplant, Tooru takes one look at Hinata trying to set the ball for him, and cries internally at his poor form. He takes a moment, when it is his turn to serve, to crouch down and wrap his arms around Hinata. He feels the smaller man stiffen in his embrace, but as Tooru gingerly moves Hinata’s hands into a more natural setting position, he relaxes until Tooru’s mouth whispering instructions is directly at his ear.

When Tooru scores his first excellent spike against the other team, Hinata smacks his back with enough force that he almost feels like Iwaizumi is back on the court with him, rather than spending his break back in Miyagi. The difference is that Hinata’s hand lingers on Tooru’s back, radiating heat on Tooru’s already overheated, slightly sunburnt body. It’s nearly suffocating, the intensity of the small touch, but Tooru has never lost his competitive edge, and caresses Hinata’s shoulder after a nice service ace.

It’s exhilarating, the tension that builds between Tooru and Hinata as their celebratory touches linger longer with each successful rally, and Hinata's unfettered smiles turn into something impish as the first set turns into a second. 

They don't win, Tooru's skills are too honed for an indoor court, but he can't get the feeling of Hinata's body half-climbing up his own as he gets a good spike in, and Hinata's sets turn from rough to something approaching passable. His body ignites at the possibility of something more in the touches, and it takes everything within him for Tooru not to take Hinata into his arms like a buff trophy. 

The other pair share a glance between them, and Tooru clearly sees the rolling eyes and the huffs of impatience as the lead marches toward the boardwalk. Their other opponent yells a string of words in their direction, none of which makes any sense to Tooru. 

Hinata cradles his chin in his hand as he mumbles in a mix of accented Portuguese and sporadic Japanese, enough that Tooru makes out the line, "get a room" among the mess of syllables. Tooru's eyes widen at this implication, and it is then that he catches Hinata's gaze, who has worked out the rest of the puzzle. Hinata's face flushes comically red, but Tooru's must be doing something as well, because Hinata's eyes have moved from mortified to predatory, and Tooru's breath dies in his throat before he can exhale. 

It's jarring, when Tooru remembers the scrawny kid who commanded attention with his high jump and his loud voice, to see that hungry look in his direction and have it not relate to volleyball at all. Hinata pokes at Tooru's cheeks, and deepens his voice ever so slightly. "It looks like you have a little sunburn, right here." 

Tooru, by nature, is King Competitive Shit-head, and adrenaline rushes into his chest as he straightens to his full height. He adds a sense of challenge into his stance by cocking his head to the side as he places all his weight on his good leg, smirking while he raises his eyebrows at the statement. "And what is your suggestion, Mister Local?" 

"Getting out of the sun, for one." 

Tooru brings out his phone, and after checking the address, he tries to puzzle out where his hostel is in relation to where they stand on Flamengo Beach. Hinata pulls his arm down, and after a few moments, Tooru could almost hear the GPS in the shorter man's brain declare, "recalculating." 

Hinata's glassy gaze turns bright again, and he declares, "My place is closer." He takes a couple steps towards where he parked his bike. "Are you coming?" 

Tooru eagerly follows Hinata, and the short trip to the apartment is made even shorter by the fact that he somewhat knows where he's going, and he definitely knows what is waiting for him at the end. Hinata definitely walks closer to Tooru than he did on the trip down to the beach, and it's enough that electric sparks course through his arm as Hinata's shoulder brushes up against his skin. The mischievous side glance is enough for Tooru to know that the little shit is being intentionally obtuse, and trying to drive him wild. 

Not wanting to let on that the plan was working , Tooru gently caresses Hinata's elbow with a lopsided smile, and he has to hide the sheer glee at Hinata's sharp inhale at the touch, because to show weakness was to lose. Tooru hates losing. 

By the time that Hinata leads them into the apartment, he unceremoniously throws his bike into the empty nook near the doorway. Hinata drags Tooru into the kitchen and pushes him into the empty chair as the bike clatters to the ground behind them. Hinata doesn't notice the ruckus behind him, and instead, looks into Tooru's eyes with blown pupils and a penetrating stare. 

There's a level of care in how Hinata avoids his bad knee, and the emotions behind the caring act only serve to make Tooru's blood run even hotter in the tropical midday air. His breathy exhale at feeling the full force of Hinata's interest on his abdomen stutters on its way out, and an egocentric smile crosses Hinata's face before he dives in. 

Hinata, despite moving in first, doesn't quite make it to the point of pinning Tooru in place in his seat; Tooru surges forward, just as eager to unleash the burning static buried just under the surface of his skin. Normally, Tooru would aim for finesse and mind-dizzying skill, which was something he could pull of with ease, but the teasing fried his brain. Instead, Tooru uses too much tongue in his enthusiasm in pulling the smaller man towards him, but the sloppiness works. 

Just as Tooru groans with pleasure, he hears a door open, to find Hinata's roommate standing stunned in the doorway. There's a tense, quiet moment as Pedro takes in the scene before him, his eyes wide with disbelief. Before Hinata can break the silence, Pedro turns on his heel, and back into the bedroom that he emerged from, loudly declaring his frustration to the empty air as he closes the door. 

The air grows heavy with the awkward silence, Hinata still poised to strike on Tooru's lap. It breaks with Hinata's thunderclap of a laugh, which devolves into giggles that force him to rest his head on Tooru’s shoulder. He pulls the smaller man closer, and Tooru smiles as he presses a kiss to Hinata's temple.

The giggles subside, and as Hinata lifts himself off of Tooru's lap, he offers his hand to help the tall man out of the chair. With a strong pull towards the bedroom Tooru had slept in the night before, the mischief returns to Hinata's face as he drags Tooru along for the ride. 

As soon as they cross the threshold, Tooru pulls Hinata closer to him, and presses his back against the door closing behind him. As it loudly latches behind them, Tooru leans his arm against it to loom over the short man. He follows Hinata's glance towards the bed behind Tooru, and it just makes him smile ferally. 

With a short but passionate kiss, Tooru leaves Hinata wanting more , and he traces his hands along Hinata’s abs as he sinks to his knees. As he laves his tongue in one of the delicious grooves criss crossing Hinata’s body, Tooru decides that limping for a few days is worth being at ground zero for the smell of sunshine, salt, and something indescribable mixing into one of the more intoxicating scents that he’s ever encountered. His fingernails scrape at Hinata’s back, a little extra friction with drying sweat not fully absorbed by the shirt.

After a small pause, Tooru hooks his fingers under both of Hinata’s waistbands, and with a flourish, the twin sets of fabric pool at the smaller man’s feet. He faces Hinata’s thick cock, and Tooru has to bite his lip to keep from drooling at the sight of it. Hinata is larger than his frame would suggest, and as Tooru estimates the length in his brain, he reaches out and feels the soft skin under his calloused hand.

Tooru’s breath ghosts over the tip, and he feels Hinata shiver above him. A heady rush courses through his body, and after a deep breath, Tooru wraps his hand around the base as Hinata shucks his shirt, leaving himself bare to the elements. 

He licks down Hinata’s length, a soft moan leaving Tooru’s lips as he does so. His sounds are answered by the loud thump of Hinata’s head hitting his door. Tooru wraps his lips around the head, curls his tongue against the skin there, and revels in the incoherent noises of pleasure leaving Hinata’s mouth.

Small fingers card through Tooru’s hair, and as Tooru twists his hand, he's forced to grab into Hinata's muscular ass in order to hold him upright. As he bobs his head, the fingers in his hair clench, and Tooru can't even blame him for the delicious pain radiating from his scalp. 

Even though the tears form in the corners of his eyes, Tooru makes an effort to look up into Hinata's face, or as much as his position allowed. Hinata’s face is flushed, contorted in a confused expression as he whimpers for mercy. Tooru's not going to give him any; instead, he removes the hand wrapped around the base of Hinata's cock, takes one ass cheek into each hand, and hums with satisfaction. 

Hinata bucks forward at the sensation, and Tooru is bereft as he withdraws from Tooru's grasp, hearing endless, nearly incoherent apologies babbled in his general direction as Hinata pulls away. Tooru has to take his hands, look directly into his eyes, and he growls, "Again," before Hinata stops. 

Hinata's mouth forms a perfect "O" as he realizes what Tooru is implying, before his eyes widen to comic proportions. With a level of challenge lingering in Tooru’s eyes, he watches Hinata's face as he takes the cock in his mouth once more, planting his hands on either side of Hinata's hips. Hands return to his hair, and Hinata's grip tightens until he gives a tentative thrust into Tooru's mouth. 

A moan vibrates through Tooru, and that's a good enough answer for Hinata to start a shallow but steady rhythm. Tooru brings his hands from their place on the door to wrap around Hinata's back, steadying the other man as his body arched away from the wooden door serving as his support. He nudges Hinata so that he takes him deeper, and Hinata keens at the contact. 

Hinata still goes slowly, but his thrusts turn sharper and rougher, until Tooru hums with satisfaction and encouragement. Tooru feels the shudder cascade down Hinata's body, and the grip in Tooru's hair tightens until he's sure his scalp is bruised and he's lost some hair. Miraculously, Hinata becomes even louder. 

He speeds up his movements, going deeper and deeper with each stroke, until his pace becomes erratic. Tooru pulls Hinata closer, limiting his movements until a yell reverberates through the room. Sharp bitterness fills Tooru's mouth, as he steadies an increasingly boneless Hinata, and Tooru's shorts become even more impossibly tight. A small amount of cum escapes, running over Tooru's bottom lip before he can catch it all. 

Tooru withdraws, and as he licks the remnants that Hinata leaves off his fingers, he slowly rises to his full height. His knee loudly pops as Tooru tentatively puts his weight back onto the leg, and before he can rest his forearms against the door, Hinata snakes his hands under Tooru's shirt, until he lifts it off and it joins the rest of the clothing on the floor, with his shorts following not long after. 

Before Tooru can process the fact that he's completely naked, Hinata starts stroking his cock, gently and slowly. He's so hard it's almost embarrassing, but he can't help but thrust into the small fist. Hinata’s ministrations speed up, and Tooru feels a dangerous heat curling deep within his balls. He’s about to cry out as Hinata ducks down, but instead of having the splash zone, being Hinata’s hand, some of his body, and possibly the floor, Tooru’s mortified at the sight in front of him. He hadn’t cum on any portion of the wood flooring, but there was a significantly sized white glob stringing downwards from Hinata’s cheek, and when he notices that it strings into Hinata’s short hair, Tooru has to hide his face.

Not that it seems to bother Hinata. Instead, after quickly clearing his face with a towel, he rises up on his tiptoes, and drags Tooru’s ear closer to his mouth.

“After we shower, we should keep going.”

Tooru’s body may have been spent, but it was the quickest he had ever jumped into a shower.