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the last words on earth

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“I’m going to retire.”

Tobio, who’s about to shove a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, pauses and stares.

They are in Bariloche for the holidays, and Tooru is thirty one and he’s decided that this season is going to be his final season as a volleyball player. Tooru wants to have kids. He wants to have a family, and a house in Miyagi, and if not kids, then he wants a dog that looks like the one Hajime had when they were kids.

“This season?” Tobio asks, placing the spoon back into the bowl.

They haven’t discussed this before, but Tobio knows his contract with San Juan is about to end and he thinks it’s about time he gets to exist just to exist. And also, his knees are going to give out soon if he doesn’t stop and he’d rather not have them give out until he’s old and weary, preferably with Tobio by his side.

Tooru thinks that it’s just really fucking unfair how despite being a complete fucking idiot, Tobio still looks wonderful that even the panoramic vista of Lake Nahuel Huapi and the snowcapped Andes sprawled behind him pales in comparison.

“Yes,” he answers, clipped, then busies himself with pretending to check their itinerary for that day.

Tobio is silent for a while. “Okay, are you, uh—”

“I want to go back to Japan. To Miyagi.”

“Okay.” Tobio says.

“Okay.”

 

 

 

There is a navy blue velvet box in Tooru’s luggage, and it’s all he can think about.

 

 

 

Tobio absolutely sucks in skiing and Tooru gets to make fun of him for falling on his cute little butt at the beginner’s slope in Cerro Catedral where they’re surrounded by children who are astoundingly better than his Olympic multi medalist athlete of a partner.

It’s fucking funny, is what it is.

“How are you so shitty at this, baby?” Tooru laughs, brushing the powdery snow off of the back of Tobio’s red bob cap after he fell for the tenth time within the span of thirty minutes. “We have Niseko, have you never been?”

“No,” Tobio grunts, scowling at him when he’s upright again.

Tooru leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose that’s red from windburn.

“We’ll make time for it.”

 

 

 

“I don’t want to retire yet,” Tobio says bluntly when they’re back in the privacy of their room, their legs burning from a day of trekking to the hilltop for Parroquia San Eduardo.

Tooru’s in nothing but his boxers on the bed and Tobio’s crouched by the hearth a few centimeters away from where Tooru’s sitting, trying his luck at building a fire.

He looks at Tobio and sees his world, right there, wearing dumb Snoopy pyjamas that one of his other dumb friends probably bought for him.

“You don’t have to.”

He waited ten years for Tobio before, so what’s a few years more?

When the fire finally starts blazing, Tooru stands and offers his hand to Tobio, pulling him up and pulling him close until they’re chest to chest. 

Tobio looks at him with amusement, almost cross-eyed from how close their faces are, the tips of their noses just barely grazing against the other.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tobio asks when Tooru tilts his face away when he tries to lean in for a kiss.

Even his scowl is cute, good fucking lord. How can Tooru be so lucky?

Tooru wordlessly presses Tobio’s hand on his chest and reels him even closer with a left arm snaking around Tobio’s middle. He grips Tobio’s other hand and lifts their intertwined fingers to the side, folding at the elbows and brushing against his shoulders.

“Uh?”

Tooru grins predatorily and starts murmuring a song, swaying their hips along with the tune in his head. It’s the same one he’s played in Tobio’s apartment once when he was alone and loading the washing machine in Tobio’s bathroom with his dirty clothes.

“What are we doing?” Tobio asks with a befuddled smile but humours him anyway. Lets Tooru guide their bodies with tiny shifts in pressure.

“Tango.”

“This doesn’t seem like tango.”

“And when did you become a tango expert, hmm, my Tobio-chan?” Tooru asks as he sensually rolls his hips, beaming when he hears a gasp escape from Tobio when their groins line up. “Last I heard, I’m the Argentine national here.”

“Just kiss me,” Tobio demands like the impatient little cretin that Tooru’s longed for and loves with his entire soul.

Tooru very happily obliges, heat rising from his belly when he feels Tobio buck up against him as he slides his tongue into Tobio’s mouth.

This close, Tooru can feel the rapid fire beating of Tobio’s heart and he cherishes it, wants to be the only one to get his adrenaline rushing. Every word out of his mouth makes Tooru want to sin.

“¿Por qué eres tan bueno conmigo?” he asks reverently against Tobio’s lips, their bare feet sliding on the cold tiled floor as Tooru guides them until the corner of the bed is pressed against the back of Tobio’s knees. “Me siento realmente afortunado de tenerte en mi vida.”

“What’s that mean?” Tobio asks before Tooru topples them over to the mattress as softly as he could, sliding his hand up from Tobio’s waist to cradle his head as they land.

“It means you’re hot,” he says, rolling his hips sensually and feeling Tobio responding in turn. 

Like this, Tobio looks like a work of art, his hair splayed on a sea of deep blue beddings. He’s like one of those statues in Rome, chiseled to perfection and all Tooru’s for the taking.

“And that I want to see you bouncing on my cock.”

“Does it really mean that?” Tobio asks skeptically, then gasps when Tooru presses slides a hand into Tobio’s dumb pyjamas to grasp at his hardening dick. “I know vida means life you know.”

Trust his beautiful polyglot to be a complete nutjob.

Tooru shuts him up with a kiss and proceeds to try to erase every intimate touch that ever grazed Tobio’s body, and replaces them with his.

 

 

 

“I know you don’t care what I think, but I—”

“I do,” Tooru says swiftly, spearing a tiny square bread from the plate with a long-stemmed fork before dipping it in the pot full of melted cheese. “I really do, actually.”

Tobio nods, his blue eyes reflecting the flickering light from the spirit lamp heating the stove where the fondue pot is on. Tooru watches as his partner for four years chew on a piece of cheese-dipped bacon before chasing it off with wine.

He’s getting far too Italian, his Tobio.

“I love volleyball,”

“You don’t say.” Tooru drawls, deadpan.

“I love volleyball,” Tobio repeats insistently, ignoring Tooru’s teasing grin. He places his fork on the plate and meets his stare.

Tooru can see the flecks of green in his eyes, and thinks of what it would feel like to wake up to them every day for the rest of his life.

“But I like the idea of us fighting hard to play with each other every season. I work harder for it that way.”

“You still have that shrimpy brat,” Tooru reassures him with a quick pat on his hand, ignoring the bubble of fondness creeping up from his heart with the thought of Tobio working hard to meet him in the court. “It’s fine, you’re going to be okay.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not you.”

“I know, baby, but I’m still going to retire.”

Tobio sighs. “Fine.”

 

 

 

Tooru is standing in the balcony of their hotel room, his eyes heavenward. Out here, the night sky is littered with stars, small pinpricks of light in the serenade of dark.

It reminds him of the small town they grew up in, and wishes he can go back in time so they could’ve skipped a tonne of heartaches and go straight to where they are now.

“Hey,” Tobio calls out to him quietly and Tooru turns around to find Tobio approaching him, his right hand closed into a fist.

Tooru cocks his head to side at the determined look on his partner’s face.

Tobio reaches forward and grasps at his hand, pulling it up and pressing something against his palm. 

There, on Tooru’s hand, are two keys with a worn volleyball charm dangling from the keyring.

“That’s uh, a key to my apartment in Rome, and a uh, key to my house in Miyagi.”

Tooru feels a glimmer of fear, his anxiety bubbling up his chest and he thinks maybe he needs to do one of those breathing exercises again. But then everything stills when Tobio reaches up again to gently close Tooru’s fingers around the small unobtrusive keys like he hasn’t just given Tooru everything he’s ever wanted.

“I really love you,” Tooru says, his mouth dry with Tobio’s hand still clasped around his. “I love you so much, Tobio.”

“I really love you too.”

 

 

 

There is a navy blue velvet box in Tooru’s luggage.

He wishes for enough courage to bring it out.

 

 

 

They’re on the last three days of their vacation and Tobio is on him, in him, through him and Tooru’s world melts away as Tobio fucks his brain out.

Every thrust changes Tooru’s breathing, moans punching out of his mouth timed to Tobio’s body.

“Don’t come,” Tobio growls when he notices how close Tooru is, meeting his eyes as he abruptly pulls his dick out of Tooru.

Tooru’s going to fucking die because Tobio’s been bringing him to brink for what feels like hours but he won’t let him topple over the edge because he’s a sadistic minx.

“Don’t come, Tooru, I’m not done with you yet.”

Tobio,” he whines, high pitched. Needy. Greedy.

Then his beautiful, wonderful, stallion of a partner is sliding down until his face is resting between Tooru’s legs.

“Watch me,” he challenges - Tooru’s king of the court, right before he swallows Tooru’s dick whole, his cock meeting Tobio’s throat in one smooth motion.

Tooru forces his eyes to stay open so he can watch as Tobio barely even chokes around the girth, tongue pressed flat against the back of his cock as if he’s trying to permanently embed the shape of Tooru’s dick on it.

Tobio doesn’t do anything at all, just stays there with his dick in his mouth, calmly breathing through his nose until Tooru couldn’t stop himself from reaching down to bury his hands into his hair and try to make him move.

Tobio quirks an eyebrow up, his eyes glinting with mirth as he finally finally slowly pulls back, hollowing his cheeks as he goes - the sensation creating a vacuum that’s bordering on painful the nearer he gets to the tip, then Tobio grins at him before sliding back down again, and the torture goes on and on and on.

“Your mouth is made for sucking cock,” Tooru says in between gasps, trying to get some semblance of control with his dick now exposed on air as Tobio repositions himself until he’s kneeling on the bed and looming over Tooru’s pliant body.

“Yeah it is,” Tobio rasps, throat fucking ruined but he’s giving him a secret smile as if he knows exactly what that voice does to Tooru. “Just for you, sweetheart.”

Tooru gets absolutely no reprieve from the nickname because Tobio’s suddenly yanking Tooru’s legs further apart, skilled hands throwing his knees over his shoulders until his legs are hanging over Tobio’s back.

With one deliberate thrust, Tobio bottoms out, punching into Tooru to the hilt.

Jesus fuck, he thinks, choking on air when Tobio repeats the motion; a slow—so painfully slow—deliberate slide when he fucks out, and a deep hard jolt when he fucks in, disjointed in rhythm and so fucking good.

“Baby, please,”

“What?”

The pace starts slow then steadily increases with every movement until Tooru’s hands are flailing wildly against the sheets trying to find purchase as Tobio hits his prostate over and over.

“Come here,” Tooru chokes out, “Kiss.”

And Tobio bends him in half to indulge the request, all while ramming into him so brutally that every snap of his hips moves them until Tooru’s head is getting dangerously close to the headboard and he has to reach behind him so he won’t brain himself.

Tobio's hands lock on to the headboard too, using it as leverage to fuck into him and Tooru’s entirely at Tobio’s mercy now, forgetting how words work; like everything in his vocabulary has been diluted down to just Tobio’s name.

“Tobio, Tobio, Tobio—“ It’s just a litany in his head, in his mouth, in him, through him. The name feels like a starburst residing in Tooru’s ribcage right where his heart ought to be until this man has reached in and made off with it, only to replace it with something that only knows him.

“I want you to come from my cock alone, Tooru,” He whispers directly into his ear as the bed squeaks in protest from the intensity of Tobio’s thrust. “Then I want you to leak with my come. I want to see it dripping down your thighs when you try to stand. Then I want to use my fingers to fuck it back into your hole so I can use my tongue to lick it off of you.”

Oh fuck, Tooru thinks.

Then he couldn’t think about anything at all.

 

 

 

“I’ll retire in two years,” Tobio says to him when they’re having breakfast the next day, voice still gravelly. “And I’ll see you home. In Miyagi or wherever you want.”

“We can buy a house here or in Italy,” Tooru says after sipping on the hot cocoa. “I want a dog.”

“Tooru, your cactus died.”

“That was because the cactus hated me.”

Tobio snorts, the smug bastard. Tooru can raise things, alright? He’ll show him.

Tooru stands up and crosses the room to where his luggage is, palming at the lining to find the square box that he’s hidden in there.

He’s had the ring on him for months and okay. Okay. He’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine.

“Tooru?”

“What?” He asks, not facing Tobio yet. His trembling hands wrapping around the velvet.

“What are you standing there for?”

“I just need a moment to mourn my cactus, Tobio-chan. Let me give Plantjime a moment of silence.”

“You named your cactus after Hajime?”

“It’s as prickly as him and his hair. It fits.”

Tooru can almost hear the eye roll and he takes a deep breath before turning towards the round table where Tobio sits.

Tobio’s eyeing him curiously, a quirk in the corner of his lips.

Right. Okay.

“Are you alright?”

“Tobio,” he breathes out the only word he’s ever been sure of, then gets on one knee close enough that he can feel his heat through Tooru’s clothes. He opens the box, and offers it to Tobio. “I want to be with you always until we’re old and wrinkly and bald. You make me want to be good and I want—“

Tobio’s eyes are wide in shock, lips hanging open. He looks fucking terrified.

“Tobio, let’s get married,” Tooru demands, then realises he probably shouldn’t be demanding Tobio to marry him. “I want to marry you. Will you marry me?”

He watches Tobio’s face break into a startled laugh.

“Yes,” Tobio breathes out. “Yes, yes, Tooru. Let’s get married.”

 

 

 

In two years, he’ll be in his shirt and jeans, rushing home from coaching the middle school volleyball players of Kitagawa Daiichi to catch the last Men’s Volleyball match for that year’s summer olympics.

On his finger will be a gold band, and their Shiba Inu will jump up on the couch next to him after he clambers home and yells the voice command that will switch on at the giant flatscreen tv.

He will sit there quietly petting the puppy, her curly tail wagging excitedly as the players' names are announced.

And there he will be, the love of Tooru's life, running to the court decked in red with OIKAWA proudly emblazoned on his back - its letters spanning the noble breadth of his shoulders.

The Once and Future King of the Court flanked by his knights.

There will be a bark and an excited yip.

“Excited to see him again huh?” Tooru will grin with his hand scratching the dog’s ears just as a glint of gold will peek out from Tobio's collar, a ring dangling from it pressed into Tobio's skin under his shirt. “Don’t worry, sweetie, he’ll be home soon.”

And he will.

Just after his husband wins another gold for their name.