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heat from the ace

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Tsukishima is an imposing figure on the pitcher’s mound. 

In reality, at a hundred and ninety centimeters, he’s an imposing figure just about anywhere. But Bokuto has always admired him most when he stands on the mound. There’s something about watching his face and being able to see the tightly wound control he has that sends shivers down Bokuto’s spine. 

It’s only after they’ve been a battery for two years that Bokuto can read all that control. In the beginning, Tsukishima had been a mystery. But Bokuto is nothing if not relentless, and he’d eventually worn Tsukishima down into tolerating his company, and then accepting his company.

These days, he might even go as far as to say Tsukishima enjoys his company. 

The pitcher seeks him out after practice. He’s got sweat dripping from his forehead, and were they in a more private locale, Bokuto would wipe it away for him. Instead, he licks his lips.

“Good throwing today,” he says, bumping his hip. 

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but under the facade of indifference, Bokuto can see the affection in the gesture. “Good catching today. You busy tonight?”

“I have a project due in three days, so nope,” Bokuto answers, grinning.

Tsukishima sighs. “It drives me crazy when you put things off to the last minute, you know.”

Bokuto drops his voice to a murmur. “I can think of a few other things that drive you crazy.”

Tsukishima colors, ever so slightly. He glances around to make sure no one’s eavesdropping. “You could at least attempt to contain yourself.”

“But it’s so much more fun to rile you up,” Bokuto answers honestly, throwing his arm around Tsukishima. 

Tsukishima huffs. “Yamaguchi has a paper due tomorrow so he’ll be busy all night.”

“You can come over if you want. I’d hate for my favorite pitcher to be lonely.”

“Give me an hour to get a bag together and take a shower.”

“Make it half an hour and we can shower together,” Bokuto offers.

Tsukishima shrugs off his arm. “You’re horrible, and you stink.”

“That’s the smell of victory, baby,” Bokuto says, and he delights in Tsukishima’s sharp inhale.

---

In practice, it’s only twenty-four minutes after Bokuto drops his bag in the living room before there’s a knock on his apartment door. Tsukishima waits until the door is closed behind him before succumbing to Bokuto’s waggling eyebrows, all but throwing himself into Bokuto’s arms.

No matter how many times it’s happened now, it always takes Bokuto by surprise when Tsukishima shows desperation like this. Under his indifferent exterior, he wants Bokuto just as badly as Bokuto wants him, and he has a funny way of leaving Bokuto completely breathless.

“You really didn’t shower,” Bokuto observes, oddly touched, once Tsukishima pulls back and allows him to take a breath. “You’re still smelly, just for me.”

“Shut up,” Tsukishima answers, kissing him again. The beginnings of his erection press into Bokuto’s thigh, and Bokuto grins.

“We should take care of that,” he says.

It takes longer than it should to get the shower, since Tsukishima refuses to stop kissing him for even a moment. Bokuto laughs the whole way, slipping his hands up under the ratty shirt he’s pretty certain Tsukishima lifted off his bedroom floor the last time he stayed over. Tsukishima is the most sensitive right above his hips on either side, and Bokuto takes full advantage of that, leaning in to every gasp and curse he can pull from Tsukishima’s lips.

In the bathroom, Bokuto straddles Tsukishima’s lap on the toilet while he fusses with the faucet. Tsukishima lifts impatiently at the hem of Bokuto’s shirt, leaving it around his neck while he dips his mouth to one of Bokuto’s nipples.

“Tsukki!” Bokuto cries, hand slipping from the faucet. He laughs and takes Tsukishima’s face in his hands. “You that horny for me or what?”

“It’s been a week,” Tsukishima groans. 

Bokuto kisses him, pulling away quickly before they can get caught up in it again. “I missed you, too.”

He tugs at Tsukishima’s wrist until they’re both up. He allows Tsukishima to pull his shorts away (there’s a short groan when he realizes Bokuto is sans underwear) and slips his own thumbs into the waistband of Tsukishima’s pants. He slides down with them, and when his face is level with Tsukishima’s cock, he licks at the tip of it.

“Gods, that’s—I’m fucking sweaty, Kou,” Tsukishima says.

Bokuto’s answer is to take the head of it into his mouth and suck. Tsukishima grasps at Bokuto’s hair, winding his fingers through it and keeping him in place. 

“Disgusting,” he says faintly.

Bokuto pops off, an obscene slick sound resonating through the bathroom. “You love it,” he teases before licking a stripe up his shaft.

“Would you get in the shower while it’s still warm?” Tsukishima says, and it’s probably meant to say annoyed, but since he’s so breathless it sounds more weak than anything.

“Sure!” Bokuto agrees. He takes Tsukishima’s cock into his mouth for another moment, swirling his tongue around the tip, before standing and pecking Tsukishima on the cheek. He gently removes Tsukishima’s glasses from his face and sets them on the counter. “Come on.”

“I can do that myself,” Tsukishima grumbles, following Bokuto into the shower.

The shower is really too small for two people, but they’re so entwined with each other that it doesn’t make much difference. Once they’re wet enough to not stick to each other, Bokuto allows Tsukishima to pin him against the wall and rut against his thigh. 

He’s never said it in so many words—he’s not one to express himself through genuine speech the way Bokuto is—but Bokuto knows Tsukishima has a thing for his thighs. He buries his face in Bokuto’s neck and grasps his hips with his hands. Bokuto tips his head back and rests it against the tile.

“You feel so good, Tsukki,” he murmurs, running his hands over the expanse of Tsukishima’s back. It’s far more muscled than it looks, and Bokuto loves feeling the way it tenses and releases with each of Tsukishima’s movements. 

Tsukishima turns his face and kisses Bokuto’s neck, open-mouthed and hot. Bokuto gasps, his hips jerking forward.

“You played well today,” Tsukishima murmurs, low and right against the shell of his ear. “I always feel so much better knowing it’s you catching my throws.”

“You like a man in gear,” Bokuto teases, slightly breathless.

Tsukishima laughs once. “Like you better out of it.”

Bokuto reaches for the soap and pours some into his hands. Tsukishima moves back enough to allow Bokuto to rub it over his body, from his shoulders down to his hips, from his back over the curve of his ass. He takes his time, rubbing his fingers into the muscles he knows are sore from a long practice. Tsukishima lets out a quiet sigh. It’s not often he allows anyone to see him vulnerable like this, and Bokuto considers himself highly privileged to be among those that Tsukishima will relax his guard around. 

When he’s finished, he holds the bottle out in Tsukishima’s direction, waggling his eyebrows and earning a laugh. 

“Ridiculous,” Tsukishima says, but it’s unmistakably fond, and he takes the bottle from Bokuto.

He’s thorough and efficient, until he reaches Bokuto’s groin. Then he coaxes Bokuto’s legs apart and slips his hand between them.

“Hah,” he mutters, feeling Bokuto’s erection. He swirls two fingers around the base, and Bokuto grinds into his hand. “Feels like you’re getting bigger.”

“Yay,” Bokuto says faintly, unable to focus on anything except the thick calluses on Tsukishima’s fingers. “It’s only been like three years.”

Tsukishima teases him a bit more, picking up the pace and slowing it down, rubbing hard and then so softly he can barely feel it. Bokuto’s about to say something when Tsukishima leans in close to him again.

“You want your first here or wait ‘til we’re in bed?” 

“Bed,” Bokuto says firmly. “Unless you want to carry me in there, and if Coach finds out you used your shoulder for something like that he’ll have my head.”

They finish quickly, opting to shampoo their own hair instead of each other’s. Bokuto keeps catching the dark look in Tsukishima’s eyes and shuddering. It urges him along, pushing him to finish washing off so they can resume their activities.

They don’t dry themselves as properly as they should. In the end, Bokuto turns all the way around and looks at the wall as he’s toweling off just to keep his eyes from wandering, and still Tsukishima’s gaze manages to bore into him, heavy in the quiet of the bathroom. Tsukishima’s hand drags down his spine, down to his ass, and Bokuto turns.

“Fuck it,” he says. “God, I’m so hard, I can’t wait anymore, come on.”

Tsukishima smirks as they make their way to Bokuto’s bedroom. Bokuto manages to keep his hands to himself until Tsukishima sits on the edge of his bed, and then he’s climbing over him again, mouth attached firmly to his collarbone. He pushes Tsukishima’s back into the mattress and leans over him. 

“I was thinking you should fuck my thighs,” he says into Tsukishima’s chest, and it’s either that or the way he swipes his tongue across Tsukishima’s nipple that forces a gasp from him. When he looks up, Tsukishima is doing his best imitation of apathy while also biting his lip.

“Sounds fun,” he says, and Bokuto laughs.

When he leans over to retrieve the lube, Tsukishima slides his hand between his legs again. He uses one finger on either side of Bokuto’s dick, slipping them back and forth, and Bokuto’s so worked up that it’s no time at all before he’s coming hard, still on his knees, his hand curled around the bottle of lube.

“Not fair,” he pants, aftershocks rolling through him. Tsukishima’s hand has slowed, but not stiled. “You know that feels fucking amazing, you couldn’t wait two seconds—”

“If you recall, I was prepared to let you come in the shower,” Tsukishima observes.

Bokuto sits up, dropping the bottle onto Tsukishima’s chest and catching his breath. “Fuck, Tsukki,” he says, looking up at the ceiling. “I kind of want you to do that all night.”

“If that’s what you want,” Tsukishima answers.

Bokuto reaches for his wrist and wraps around it, forcing him to stop. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

Tsukishima blinks. “I do feel good, Kou.”

Bokuto is completely taken aback. The only response he can find is to lean over again and kiss Tsukishima until neither of them can breathe. He pushes his tongue insistently in Tsukishima’s mouth, licking out the taste of something that’s starting to resemble love.

“Fuck me first,” Bokuto says when he finally pulls away. “Then you can do whatever you want.”

Tsukishima sits up, and Bokuto moves over and spreads his legs wide. The lube is already warmed from where Bokuto had grasped it during his orgasm, so Tsukishima wastes no time in pouring it over his hand. He smooths the liquid over Bokuto’s thighs. Bokuto is patient, as patient as he can be, and he wonders if that was Tsukishima’s reasoning behind that first orgasm. Now he’s sated, at least for the moment, so he’s a little more steady as Tsukishima preps him.

The click of the bottle cap pulls him back out of his thoughts. Tsukishima is rubbing the excess lube on his hand over his cock. The sight of Tsukishima stroking himself is enough to send a thrill through him.

“Ready?” he asks when Tsukishima takes his hand away from himself.

Tsukishima nods. Bokuto kisses him once more before falling to his elbows and knees, his ass high in the air. Tsukishima pushes the outside of his thighs together and lines himself up behind him.

There’s a long moan that tears itself from Tsukishima’s lips as he presses the length of his cock between Bokuto’s thighs. He draws himself back and pushes forward again with a snap of his hips, his balls slapping against Bokuto’s legs. As he begins to fuck himself, he presses a hand to the small of Bokuto’s back, reassuring him. The friction against Bokuto’s own cock is delicious, not enough to get him off but more than enough to leave him shaking beneath Tsukishima’s touch.

“So good,” Tsukishima sighs. He’s never terribly loud while they fuck, but he likes to talk, quiet words of praise and encouragement that Bokuto eats up. “Ah, Kou, you feel so good.”

“Take me,” Bokuto moans, dipping his head to the mattress. “Fuck me, Kei, I’m all yours.”

Tsukishima keens, a low noise in his throat. His fingers curl where his hand rests, making his nails dig into Bokuto’s skin. Bokuto gasps and tries not to buck backward into it, not wanting to throw off Tsukishima’s rhythm.

Tsukishima thrusts into him, driving forward consistently. He’s stuttering as he speaks, which Bokuto knows to mean he’s getting closer to finishing.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima says, almost a whisper. “F-fuck, it’s so good, I can’t…”

“Fill me up,” Bokuto encourages. “Tsukki, Kei, let me feel you.”

And then he does something entirely unexpected.

Tsukishima is only a sophomore and already their university’s ace pitcher, a damn good batter to boot, and incredibly intelligent, pulling As in all of his classes, but Bokuto thinks the thing he’s best at is this: always leaving Bokuto guessing.

“Koutarou,” he pants, and how strange, that even though he’s used Kou a thousand times before, he’s never called him Koutarou. How strange that it leaves Bokuto completely stunned beneath him. “Koutarou, I’m—”

His release spills between Bokuto’s legs. His hips falter, and he slows to a stop. Bokuto lifts his head and turns to see Tsukishima panting hard, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Bokuto tugs him downward. Tsukishima grunts as he lands against the mattress. Bokuto stares at him long enough that he blushes and looks up to the ceiling.

“What?” he asks, still just a little out of breath.

“You’ve never called me Koutarou,” Bokuto observes.

“Haven’t I?” Tsukishima questions. He looks at Bokuto again. “Well. Now I have. So.”

Bokuto smiles, biting down on the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t say anything. After a moment, Tsukishima wears a small smile, too.

“Weirdo,” he says. He sits up on his elbow. “You’ve got a mess between your legs, you know.”

“I do,” Bokuto replies.

He kisses Bokuto’s shoulder, then his chest, then his stomach. He looks back up at Bokuto. “Need some help cleaning it up?”

“I can get a tissue if that’s what you—oh, fuck, Kei!

In the end, it does get cleaned up eventually, but not until Bokuto’s come thrice more, twice on Tsukishima’s mouth and once on the palm of his hand. As Bokuto dangles on the edge of sleep, he feels Tsukishima brush his lips across his forehead.

“Good night, Koutarou,” he murmurs.

Bokuto’s heart skips another beat.