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This one was too short. Pass. This one smiled too wide, he looked like a total hippie, ugh. This one had a no-face chest pic as a lovely introduction. What a douche. If Rintarou wanted to fuck someone like that, he’d call Atsumu, what the hell? No-face didn’t even have a nice enough pic to make Rintarou consider him—not after Aran and Osamu. Sorry, No-face, you just had no chance against them. Left swipe.

“Who the hell is No-face?” Komori asked. “You’re trying to fuck Kaonashi now?”

Rintarou wanted to throw a pillow at him, but flipping him the bird was a close second. Less movement. So he did just that. Komori snorted, going back to doing whatever it was that Komori did on their lonely nights in hotel rooms with no warm bodies beside either of them. Rintarou didn’t like this sleeping arrangement. 

Why did he choose the EJP Raijin, again? They were pretty strong, but three quarters of the players were settled and content dads. Dads! Not even DILFs! Rintarou was pretty sure only Washio, Komori and him were what the educated called “bachelors,” and the uneducated called “single as fuck.” But Washio was already about to leave the single gang, which left Rintarou to fraternize with Komori Motoya, of all people. 

Fat chance. High school resentment didn’t die that easily. 

Rintarou didn’t hate Komori. (Even if Itachiyama beat Inarizaki’s ass twice in the Interhigh finals.) But he did hate that Komori was just as much of a bitch as him, but also a total wolf in sheep’s clothing. He was literally everything Atsumu hoped to be in his wildest dreams. Rintarou knew Komori was evil, but most people laughed in his face when he talked about it, Atsumu included. 

The only balm for his heart was the understanding pity in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eyes whenever they played against the MSBY Black Jackals. What did Komori do, that his old teammate could take one look at Rintarou and know his suffering?

The thing was, the team paired them all the time. Maybe Washio could leech enough dad energy off the other guys that they unequivocally loved him best. Hell, they fought almost every time to room with him, leaving Rintarou and Komori to mingle in the desolate environment of cheap hotel rooms across the country.

But that was only part of the reason. Rintarou wasn’t dumb; he knew that he and Komori made them a little uncomfortable sometimes. Rintarou was sometimes a little too mean, not quite over the sharp jabs that were the bread and butter of Inarizaki’s volleyball team. And Komori seemed sweet—was sweet most of the time—but he blurted the most unsettling comments in the most random moments. Every guy on the team feared him a little. Well, he had to have some guts and be a little unhinged to be Sakusa Kiyoomi’s self-proclaimed best friend.

That didn’t mean Rintarou feared him—oh, no. He was on another level. And he was going to win.

“Not like you’re getting any either.”

Komori sent a long glance at him and hummed, “Nothing you know about.”

That was the start of Rintarou’s descent to hell.

 

+ + +

 

Another day, another practice. Another evening for Rintarou to mindlessly swipe Tinder in the middle of the changing room. He craved a shower, but he was always the last one to finish practicing, so he always had to wait for an empty stall. Next to him was his unwanted hotel room companion, and Rintarou had the unpleasant feeling of being copied.

Was this a prank? Why was Komori scrolling Tinder next to him? Oh, that guy had nice lips. Wait. That was a guy. Then a girl. Then another girl. Then a guy. Interesting. Rintarou was absolutely not looking, but damn, Komori had something like 15 unread messages. Rintarou could have chosen not to comment, but he couldn’t stop being a jerk.

“Can’t believe you conned so many people on there.”

Komori waved him off. “Yeah. And also like half the Olympic team. They all sounded like they had a great time, though.”

Nah, Rintarou was not falling for it. He’s seen the looks. “Really? Wouldn’t be so sure that Sakusa Kiyoomi left raving reviews…”

That’s a good one, heh. Rintarou 1 – Komori 0 . But Komori immediately grimaced.

“Disgusting,” he gagged. “Sakusa’s my cousin, dude.”

Okay. What the fuck. Rintarou -10 – Komori 0 . He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how a family had to have enough bad luck to give birth to two completely different brands of jerk, volleyball talent notwithstanding. So he had to deflect that one. Fast.

“Then who?”

Komori has the audacity to raise a hand and start counting on his fingers. “Hoshiumi, Hinata, Yaku, Iwa-san—I don’t think you know him, but he’s the team’s trainer, impeccable arms—Gao, Bokuto and Miya. It wasn’t during the Olympics, though—maybe it doesn’t count.”

Rintarou was horrified.

“You slept with Atsumu??”

“Wow. It wasn’t during the Olympics, it was at Youth Camp. Long time ago.”

You slept with Atsumu during Youth Camp???

This didn’t make any sense. Komori didn’t make any sense. But something was amiss. Wasn’t Ushijima gay?

“What about Ushiwaka? Didn’t try? He’s hot.”

“Yeah, no. Sakusa would kill me.” Komori shivered.

“Um…” said a shy voice. Oh, fuck. It was time for Washio to leave and meet up with Konoha, and do whatever wholesome almost-couples do. But Washio didn’t move. He was red-faced and staring straight at the ground. He looked ready to die.

“You slept with Bokuto…?” Sheer incomprehension was painted on Washio’s frowning face.

At least Rintarou had the decency to shut up. Komori shrugged.

“Yeah, why not? His chest’s amazing. Huge dick, too.”

Rintarou could physically see Washio’s soul leaving his body, holding the pieces of his dear high school memories.

Evil. Komori Motoya was evil.

 

+ + +

 

Okay. So fuckboy-Komori was a thing now. Rintarou realized that thinking this much about a teammate probably wasn’t normal, but what could he do? Talk to his friends about it? The twins would laugh at him, because they were mean, too. Ginjima was too straight for this. He could tell Aran, but speaking to Aran meant that Kita-senpai would know, and Rintarou didn’t think he wanted Kita-senpai to know. So he had to suffer in silence.

Rintarou left the gym that day with his tail between his legs for several reasons. One, they made Washio uncomfortable, and he felt kinda bad. Washio was a sweet guy. Two, Komori roasted him to death for having had so many attractive teammates but never sleeping with them. 

“Wait, hold on… you were on the same team as the twins AND Aran, and you didn’t try to fuck any of them?”

Yeah. Eat shit, Komori. 

Rintarou cared about team harmony. Sleeping with either of the twins was basically asking for trouble. They ran their mouths too much, and for the couple of times Rintarou could observe, sleeping with one was accompanied by a heavy and disturbing interrogation by the other twin wondering why you did that and why you didn’t choose him, instead. And Aran was untouchable—team’s terms; Aran was for the people. 

Being a starting player on the team still had its perks. He slept around with the easy stream of starry-eyed boys that confessed to him. You know, like a proper slut!

But now, reason three, Rintarou wasn’t sure he could look in the eyes of half of the players his age in the V.League, knowing that a) Komori had had a threesome with Hoshiumi and Hinata, b) he had fucked Bokuto so hard, he was hoarse the next day, and c) he told him he had rimmed Atsumu for so long he cried. DURING YOUTH CAMP. Couldn’t they have just sucked each other’s dicks, like normal gay teenagers? No. They had to have advanced gay sex, right off the bat. Excuse Rintarou for being a sensible guy under layers upon layers of practiced snark.

 

+ + +

 

A sensible guy that wasn’t getting much action. You’d think the opportunities wouldn’t be scarce for a professional athlete, and yet. Or maybe, it was Rintarou’s unfair standards. In either case, he wasn’t so sure he was going to have any more fun tonight than on any other night he spent getting drunk off his ass with the team. 

They had finally won against the Jackals—after three consecutive defeats—and even though it was just an off-season game, it motivated the whole team, making them ditch the boring izakayas for a club with the players of the youngest team in the league.

The Jackals were a mess. It was fun to watch them saunter around the club, with too much energy and too long of limbs for most of the mortals that surrounded them. Joking with Atsumu had been fun, but now he was off to harass Sakusa, leaving Rintarou to watch the crowd.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Komori talking to a group of girls—perks of being on the national team. But in an eye blink, he was walking towards their table again, throwing himself into their booth, smelling a little of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke.

“Wow, almost got eaten alive there.”

Rintarou rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t you be lucky?”

“Wouldn’t you be lucky?” Komori retorted without missing a beat.

Rintarou raised his nose, looking down on him. “You’re acting like this,” he added while pointing at himself, “wasn’t named one of the top five hottest players in the league.”

Perhaps the shots were working a little too well. Perhaps it was the pure and absolute sexual frustration that made him run his mouth, but Komori looked stunned for once. Then his eyes turned maybe the most mischievous Rintarou had ever seen.

“You’re on, Suna,” he laughed. “Let’s play a little game.”

Oh. That wasn’t a good idea. Even tipsy Rintarou could tell. Yet he nodded, regardless, feeling drawn to the playful smirk on Komori’s lips.

Komori put a finger between their faces. When had he come so close?

“I bet you I can find someone to leave with faster than you, Mr. Top Five.” Rintarou could feel his breath fan across his face. “Not a pity fuck, either. A hot one. Loser gets locked out of the room.”

 

+ + +

 

Two hours later, Rintarou was wondering how much his pride would hurt if he texted Washio for the couch outright and left. He knew he was attractive, but he liked to play hard to get, not cruise for an underwhelming one night stand… Well, shit. 

He felt a little silly for even acknowledging this as a competition. He tried to speak to some guys, but none of them were hot enough to be worth the trouble of this shitty dare. What was it that made him tune in to Komori’s jabs and want to respond to them?

He could see him from here, talking to a girl who was standing way too close, twirling her hair like this was some cheap premise for some chick lit sex scene. Maybe it was—Rintarou was sure Komori could play the part. All sleazy smiles and wandering hands. Unnecessary whispering in ears, dripping with promises of sleepless nights. Was it the refined Tokyo sprezzatura? The self-importance of growing up in the capital, going to a powerhouse school? Was it the Olympics’ glory?

Komori caught him watching and sent him a shit-eating grin, arm curling around the girl’s waist. Yeah, Rintarou knew she was pretty—he had eyes. He tried not to be a sore loser, raising his hands in defeat with a lopsided smile. Alright, have fun , he intended to say with it. Rintarou was finishing this drink and then going back to the hotel, pounding on Washio’s door until he was let inside to mope on the couch and then pass out. Leave Komori with this pretty girl, with pretty eyes and pretty hair that surely smelled amazing or whatever.

Then he felt a warm hand around his forearm.

Komori almost caged him against the bar, a little too in Rintarou’s personal bubble. Maybe he was tipsy too, so Rintarou only raised an eyebrow.

“Here to brag?” Rintarou sighed. “You won, alright. I’m crashing in one of the guys’ rooms.”

“Hmm.” Komori smiled, sliding his arm around him in a loose grasp. “No, don’t get all sad now, Sunarin. I thought of something.”

Komori got even closer, whispering slowly in his ear.

“That girl was pretty, but I feel like I could do much better. Don’tcha think so, Mr. Top Five?”

Rintarou’s mind came to a stop. Komori’s arm around his waist was almost too warm. Rintarou inhaled shakily and then time blurred.

 

+ + +

 

If Rintarou had been a person in touch with his feelings or some shit, he would’ve realized that maybe he’d wanted a piece of that for some time, and that maybe all the jabs were his twisted way of flirting. Playing hard to get. Uninterested and untouchable, when he wanted the exact opposite—thinking of Komori’s thick thighs, his strong torso, his impish laugh. 

Acting like he didn’t chase the smell of Komori’s hair after a shower. Like he didn’t crave the drops of sweat that dripped down his neck after four sets.

It was easy to get drunk on the plump of his lips, the warmth of the alcohol rapidly receding in favor of something hotter, burning his skin inside out. He felt like a giddy and stupid teenager, badly concealing smiles and inappropriate hands in the backseat of a taxi, walking stiffly through a hotel reception and throwing hands all over each other the moment the elevator doors closed.

Komori kissed like he was messing with you, making you chase his last touch, teasing the tip of his tongue and never following through. It drove Rintarou mad. All hands in hair and rumpling clothes and sloppy lips. He could always blame it on the alcohol tomorrow. 

Now, he wanted to focus on the dizzying feeling of cool fingers and a burning tongue dancing on his skin.

It was difficult to try to open the door of the room as Komori straight up fondled him in the hall, pulling him back to his chest as he kissed his way up and down Rintarou’s jaw. As soon as they were inside, Komori dropped to his knees, fingers already working on Rintarou’s belt, sliding his pants down before he could even speak.

“Pretty,” he hummed appreciatively as he took Rintarou’s cock out, and Rintarou felt just a little smug (and a lot overwhelmed) at the way it looked pressed right next to the soft skin of Komori’s cheek.

Komori licked a lazy line from the root to the tip and had the audacity to kiss it, winking at him. He twirled a coy tongue around the head before taking him entirely in one long and controlled motion. Rintarou tried to keep still, thinking if he reacted, it was only because it had been some time— not because Komori’s mouth was velvet-smooth and so hot he felt like his cock was melting. Komori’s lips were all puffy and stretched around him while he bobbed up and down like whenever he got an ice pop after a long summer practice.

Rintarou felt his knees going weak, heat pooling in his core. He could barely resist the temptation of grabbing Komori by the head and fucking forward—like every nerve of his body was screaming at him to—instead carding fingers through his silky hair. Komori was absolutely being a jerk about it, too: teasing him with light licks around his cockhead, his frenulum, into his weeping slit, pretty pink tongue on pink skin.

“Fuck…” slipped from his bitten lips, making Komori hum.

Komori took him down and down, nose smushed as he swallowed around Rintarou’s girth without breaking a sweat. Rintarou didn’t know if this was the best blowjob he’d ever gotten, or if the insufferable, smug way Komori blew him unnerved him so much—turned him on so much—that Rintarou was being dragged to the edge almost unwillingly. Wanting to fight it, but only holding onto Komori’s hair harder as the small twitches of his hips betrayed him.

Komori had to know what he was doing to him, how he had him in the palm of his hand. Rintarou was close, so close he could taste it. He could feel it tingling in the tips of his fingers as his cock was submerged by all the best sensations—hot and slippery, and the edge was right there—until the utter frustration of a tight hand squeezed him, making Rintarou hover over the precipice as he choked on air.

And maybe also teared up a little.

“You—you absolute… bastard!”

Komori’s red lips were shiny with spit, stretched in a lazy smile. 

“Aww, Sunarin! I wouldn’t want this to come to an end too soon,” he said, dragging his tongue slowly on Rintarou’s cockhead, just as he fisted his cock even harder, forcing a small whimper out of Rintarou. “Join me on the bed?”

Komori could have directed him toward it with his dick; Rintarou would have done absolutely anything. He let himself be pushed down on the fluffy comforter, feeling a little dazed. Komori watched him from the side of the bed with a pleased smile, undressing efficiently. He climbed in next to him, straddling his thighs. Then he looked at him, seemingly in deep reflection.

“Y’know, when I decided to hook up with you, I was sorta hoping you could wreck me.” Komori caressed his face, badly concealing a smile. “But you look so close, I don’t think all the work is gonna be worth it. So, next time?” 

Rintarou looked at him—a little offended and a little baffled at the offer—but Komori paid him no mind. “So. What do you want to do instead?”

Rintarou put his hands on Komori’s thighs. They were warm even under his feverish fingers, and so nice—all soft hair and supple muscle, squeezing around him so prettily—but they were also powerful. Strong, as they made Komori squat on the court and propel himself away right after.

“Want to fuck me instead?”

A pair of lips crushed his own immediately, stealing the air out of his lungs. “Thought you’d never ask.”

It took two pairs of hands and some awkward coordination to undress him. “Do you have...?”

“Was this my bed? Wait.” Komori twisted and shuffled through his bag. “Here it is.”

As he settled back between Rintarou’s legs, Komori skimmed his fingers over his quivering stomach—unspoken question hanging heavy in the air.

Rintarou’s mouth felt terribly dry. He licked his lips, but it didn’t help at all. “Go on.”

The first touch of Komori’s wet fingers still made Rintarou jump, but he hoped it was because of the cold of the lube, and not another reminder of how sensitive he was—how seldom he got laid these days. It was electrifying, the feeling of thick fingers stretching him open. Exploring him, while feline blue eyes watched him intently and examined every moan, every gasp, every involuntary twitch of his body.

Rintaro could come just like this: Komori’s three fingers fucking him hard, other hand teasing his weeping cockhead again. Instead, he fought against the lust that almost drowned him, stilling Komori’s wrist.

“Enough,” he groaned, pulling Komori on top of him up, hard cock digging into his stomach, smearing precum on his heated skin. At least I’m not the only one excited about this , he figured.

He kissed Komori hard, all hunger and none of his faked nonchalance—biting his lip so it’d sting, hard enough to leave a little souvenir for tomorrow. Komori whined and Rintarou smiled against his lips. “Get inside me, you jerk.”

Komori didn’t need to be told twice. Rintarou laughed inwardly as he saw his hands shake a little while he put on a condom. But then Komori caged him with his arms—letting himself grind against him once, twice, predator eyes devouring him. “Ready?”

“Do your worst.”

Komori parted his legs even further, sliding his hands down the back of his thighs. Rintarou could read all his self-satisfaction in the curve of his lips while he admired the view, but he couldn’t mock him for it because Komori started pushing in—killing a biting jab in his throat.

It was a good burn, one that he’d missed so much—it knocked the air out of him as he was filled so full. Stretched to the point of making him tear up a little, a prickle of pain blurring into the pleasure. Fuck, it had been a while. Komori filled him so well—so good—it was almost embarrassing.

Komori pulled out with the same languid pace, hissing. “Why the hell are you so tight?” He groaned as he pushed back in, Rintarou’s nails digging into his forearms. “Feels like you’re trying to squeeze my dick right off.”

The shame set Rintarou’s guts alight. “Do you ever shut up?” 

“Ha, ha. You’re welcome to find out.”

Komori set a hard pace, fingers digging harshly into Rintarou’s waist, punching every breath out of him—fucking him so deep Rintarou could swear he felt it in his throat, making his own cock slap against his stomach.

The friction was so good, Komori might have been fucking him silly, making his body react without thinking. He grabbed Komori by the back of a thigh, forcing him closer. One of Komori’s hands grasped his pec sharply, making Rintarou yelp as Komori leaned his weight on him. 

“Fuck… yes,” Rintarou wheezed, Komori’s cock grazing his prostate on every thrust.

Komori leaned down, kissing him hard. He had Rintarou’s legs pushed all the way to his chest, folding him like an accordion—barely letting him breathe. Rintarou felt high as Komori forced his tongue inside his mouth, the hot feeling frying his brain. He could feel a bit of spit dripping down his chin.

Komori’s breath fanned warmly over Rintarou’s cheek as he leaned down to kiss his jaw, his earlobe, making his way down his neck.

“Say, Sunarin,” he panted against his skin. “Can you turn on your side?”

“Wha… Okay?”

Komori slipped out of him, making him flutter around nothing at the uncomfortable feeling of being empty. Rintarou tried to ignore the way his muscles spasmed as he turned—or the way his own cock was stiff, dark even in the dim light of the room, bobbing heavily between his legs. Komori’s thighs straddled his leg as he put the other over his shoulder, caressing his thigh and rushing back inside with a relieved sigh.

It almost hurt, the way Komori pushed even deeper inside, filling him to the absolute brim. Komori groaned, biting his calf.

“Fuck, baby—you tighten around me so hard—ah...” He laughed. “It’s like you want to suck me dry.”

“How are you even able to say all this embarrassing shit…” Rintarou huffed.

“You say that, yet you cramp around me even harder…” Komori leaned to whisper in his ear, hot breath tickling him. “It’s okay to accept that you love this, Sunarin.”

Rintarou didn’t dare answer back, lest he say something embarrassing himself, feeling himself clench around Komori, stiff and deep inside him. It was already hard enough to kill all the moans and whimpers that tried to leave him.

When Komori took his drooling cock in his hand, Rintarou couldn’t stop himself from fucking into his tight fist. Rocking himself back and forth between Komori and his hand, meeting his thrusts and pulling away on a sloppy rhythm. Forced toward the edge with each harsh thrust of Komori’s cock inside him—pulled by his calloused palm on Rintarou’s sensitive skin.

“Fuck…” he gasped. “I’m close—more, Motoya, more—” 

White bloomed at the edges of his eyes as Rintarou finally, finally released—body pulled taut, arching with the strength of his bliss, spasming around Komori so hard he heard him moan.

“Ah! Sunarin, god—Sunarin…”  

Rintarou fell on the bed, completely limbless. Pleasure blended into pain and back as Komori chased his release, fucking him through his orgasm and more. Rintarou circled his shaky arms around him, bringing Komori closer as he fucked him right to the threshold of overstimulation, burning his nerves. Komori held onto him tight as his hips stuttered—pushing into him erratically until he sighed, coming inside him.

Komori rolled next to him and the two of them tried to catch their breath, staring at the white ceiling of their hotel room. 

Post-nut clarity was a terrible, terrible thing. Rintarou couldn’t fight the small feeling of panic that bubbled in his throat as Komori rose. But then he came back moments later with a wet towel and an easy smile, settling next to him as Rintarou tried to clean at least some of the mess. 

He didn’t quite know what to do with the used rag, so Komori grabbed it and tried to shoot it into the bathroom—missing his shot and hitting the door instead. The rag made a disgusting wet sound as it fell, and Rintarou couldn’t help but snort at the failure, making Komori giggle too. 

Maybe it doesn’t have to be too complicated , he thought as Komori nuzzled against his neck—no sign that he wanted Rintarou to go, just yet—as both their eyes grew heavy in the late hour.

This was alright—it was pretty nice . Everything else could wait until tomorrow.