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Evolution

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It’s a relationship that’s evolved through the ages.

Technically, sentient organisms are naturally driven to do so. You know, how life came from the ocean, and grew legs to walk on land. How monkeys became man, how man ended up here, getting assfucked on a Tuesday night.

It’s really all about perspective.

Nobody really expected them to last.

Meeting in highschool, then crossing paths in college. Seeing each other at the grocery store, then moving in together two years later.

Tsukishima would hate to say that he knows him, but, he really does.

Him. Ushijima.

He’s seemingly very quiet, which is only a plus in Tsukishima’s book. He’s relatively organized. Quirky, in small things. Easy to live with, because he stays out of your way. Hard to love, for the same reasons.

But, humans evolve. To co-exist, and whatnot.

Tsukishima knows he’s not exactly a walk in the park to get along with either. He gets fed up over fake politeness and angry over taxes and hates ordering pizza on the phone.

He’s a brat, per say.

Tsukishima has dated other people. Used other people, but Ushijima is the only one who has put up with his whiny ass for so many years.

Ushijima just gets him.

Like today, for example. Ushijima is being especially patient, and Tsukishima just wants to rip out his hair and scream.

Social events are literally the fucking worst. He has to shake hands with all these prim and proper fucktards, that have literally no interest in Ushijima’s actual wellbeing.

Yes, hi. Pleasure meeting you. Enjoying the party? Yes, wonderful weather today.

Tsukishima is pissy. Nobody cares about his day. Nobody cares about the weather. No, it’s not  a pleasure to meet you, you smell like an old folks home.

They’re in a banquet hall, full of possible sponsors. Tsukishima never perused volleyball, but Ushijima did, rightfully so. Still, as his lover, it’s Tsukishima’s ‘responsibility’ to parade around in an itchy suit and pretend that they don’t fuck on the kitchen table at night. 

Some lady in a fur coat grabs Ushijima’s hand. She looks like someone who grew up with a silver spoon surgically shoved up her ass, Botox extremely evident around her lips, and eyes. Hilariously enough, the man hanging off her arm looks like the lovechild of Limp Bizkit and Riff Raff.

“Hello! Hello!” She beams, shaking his hand. “Ushijima, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Ushijima is good at this shit, because he’s incredibly polite, and a man of few words. “The pleasure is mine.”

Tsukishima zones out. Becomes more interested in the way Limpy Riff Raff is picking the food out of his teeth with his pinky nail.

He feels an elbow in his side- Tsukishima turns with a snare. Ushijima gestures to the lady currently looking at him, holding out her hand.

“Oh.” Tsukishima deadpans. “Hi.” He doesn’t bother to shake her hand. She pulls away, and stands up straight with a glare.

He can feel the ugly look Ushijima is giving him, but frankly my dear, Tsukishima just doesn’t give a damn. He’s the one who dragged him here. Tsukishima said no. Ushijima insisted.

The evening goes on like that; Tsukishima keeps his hands in his pockets, and refuses to talk to anyone else.

Ushijima is getting slightly, slightly irritated with him, and it’s really awesome. Tsukishima takes any emotion he can get.

They’re off in the corner, away from the big circles of people.

Ushijima tips his head up to meet his eye, and rumbles, “You’re being rude.” The best part of being an inch taller than Ushijima, is that he gets to slightly tower over him.

“I don’t care.” Tsukishima replies, in an equally flat tone.

“We’ll talk when we get back home.” Ushijima decides, and walks away. Tsukishima feels a cold chill run down his spine, but ignores the feeling.

He refuses to talk to Ushijima the rest of the night. Tsukishima pouts, and snarls at anyone that tries to sit next to him.

The drive home is completely silent. Tsukishima crosses his arms, and looks out the window.

It’s his fault. Tsukishima works a desk job. Minimal social interaction.

Their car hits a small pothole. Tsukishima jolts against the seatbelt.

“Watch it,” he snaps, and looks away. Ushijima doesn’t answer.

The road winding up to their home is an old one. They pass similar homes, until Ushijima pulls the car up to the driveway, and parks.

The doors unlock. Tsukishima yanks open the door, and steps out without a word.

The mood is horribly tense. Tsukishima could just apologize, and fix it if he wanted to- he could commit murder, and Ushijima would forgive him – but Tsukishima doesn’t want to. He’s crabby. He’s hungry. The food sucked. His feet hurt.

Ushijima unlocks the front door.

Ushijima grips him by the back of the hair, and hauls him through the doorway.

Tsukishima’s voice hitches with a sharp inhale, and Ushijima slams the door closed with his foot.

“Ah!” Tsukishima grunts, as Ushijima tightens his grip and wordlessly pulls him through the house. Tsukishima nearly trips over his own foot, pain seeping from the back of his neck, down his back. He’s yanked hard, and he bitches, “Wakatoshi! Fuck! Cut it ou-ow!

He’s hauled into the bedroom like a dog, and thrown onto the bed.

“You acted like a child tonight,” Ushijima speaks, and his voice is lower than the fifth circle of hell. Tsukishima feels his tongue run dry. At that tone, Tsukishima’s body immediately runs on autopilot. It’s like a bucket of ice. Like fire beneath this skin. He's Pavlov's dog.

“Wakato-“

“That was unacceptable,” Ushijima rumbles. He looks so intimidating, standing at the foot of the bed, a hand loosening his tie in jerky, frustrated movements. “I wished you there to support me, not to cause more trouble.”

Tsukishima swallows, and slowly sits up on the bed. He chews on his lip, thinks about it for a minute, and considers cutting all losses.

“Punish me then.” Tsukishima answers, sharp, like a knife – and Ushijima’s stare alone is enough to make Tsukishima’s body run hot and cold.

“What was that?”

“Punish me, sir.”


 

The rope burns Tsukishima can deal with – but there’s some nasty bruising on his ass that he can’t really do a damn thing about, so.

He’s wiped down, slowly, methodically. Treated for the bloody lip, and the hand-shaped bruises around his neck. Looks like it’s turtleneck season.

Tsukishima is bathing in the post-sex glow.

The room is silent, except for the crickets outside their window. Ushijima’s nose in his hair is a nice, familiar feeling. The sheets rub against Tsukishima’s oversensitive skin, but he won’t complain.

“I’m sorry,” Ushijima is the first to say, right against his ear. And god, his voice is so low, it travels beneath Tsukishima’s skin.

“Don’t apologize.” Tsukishima answers, really soft and half-asleep. “I wanted it.”

“I was mean.”

I was mean,” Tsukishima repeats. He swallows his pride. Mumbles a really soft, “Sorry.”

For a moment, he thinks he might imagine the smile against the back of his neck, but, Tsukishima is asleep before he has the time to think about it.


 

So, yeah. Their relationship is maybe, just kind of… a little fucked up.

They can be cute, okay? They hold hands in the winter and buy coffee and dogwatch on the park benches. Ushijima trusts him – talks to him more than anyone else, and it’s wonderful.

But Tsukishima likes to push every single dime sized button he can find on Ushijima, and he loves to reap the rewards. Everyone is a little fucked up that way. Humans didn’t evolve for nothing.

Ushijima is a good dom. Actually, Tsukishima isn’t really sure if he’s so much a dom at all, rather than a really accommodating person that does what he’s asked. He says he likes it, so, no harm no fowl.

Ushijima comes home quietly, shutting the door with a click.

Tsukishima is bone dead tired, but still perks up at the sound of keys being tossed onto the counter top.

“I’m home.” Ushijima says.

Tsukishima hums in acknowledgement, and sets aside the mail he was shifting through. He looks up over his glasses, and frowns.

“What the fuck is that?”

Ushijima looks down to his hand. He blinks, “A bandage.”

“It’s soaked in blood,” Tsukishima deadpans. He digs his heel into the floor, and slides the chair out from the table. He pats his thigh, “Come here.”

Ushijima does, silently, moving to stand between his legs. Tsukishima snatches his hand, and squints, bringing the bandaged hand closer.

“It was a mistake on my part,” Ushijima explains.

“Obviously.” Tsukishima turns his hand over, and looks at the blood that’s sopping the bandages. “Is it broken?”

“There is no permanent damage.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue, and carefully begins to unwrap the bandages, sanitation be damned. He dumps the wrappings on the tile, and examines the slice running between his index and middle finger. It’s nasty, but it’s already stopped bleeding. Tsukishima gives a little huff, and smiles, “Hm. Remind you of something?”

“Are you talking of the injury I gave you?”

Tsukishima smirks, and reaches over to pat his thigh, as he stands, “Sit down. I’ll grab new bandages.”

“It’s fine.”

“Shut up.”

Ushijima does. Tsukishima impatiently digs beneath their bathroom sink, until he finds the first aid kit; he returns with it tucked under his arm. He decidedly sits on Ushijima’s lap, and slaps the kit on the table. The lock flicks open- Tsukishima begins wrapping between his fingers. In, and out, around and around.

“Are you going to practice tomorrow?”

“I have to.”

“You’ll just make it worse.”

“We have a tournament this weekend.”

Tsukishima chews on his lip, and gives a little tug on the bandage. He’s careful, weaving between strong, trained fingers. These hands are so large- just as big as Tsukishima’s, but incredibly powerful. Tsukishima has seen him crush apples in his palm. Grip the doorway and pull himself up on a dare. Spike balls powerful enough to kill.

Tsukishima’s ass can also attest to the power of these hands. They’re pretty great.

He finishes wrapping the wound, and turns around to meet Ushijima’s eye. “All better.”

Ushijima gives this small, attractive little smile, “Thank you.”

“Who did this?” Tsukishima asks, turning back to his hand. He brings it up to his lips. Kisses the pads of his fingers, one by one. There’s callouses, but Tsukishima is by no means surprised.

“Just someone on the team.”

“Hm,” Tsukishima frowns. “Tell me their name.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”  

Ushijima gives this little huffy laugh, which is very short, but very much a laugh. “You’ve seen me more injured than this.”

“Yes, but this is your left hand,” Tsukishima argues. He turns around and looks Ushijima in the eye, chin up, eyelids lowered, “How’re you supposed to spank me now?”

Watching Ushijima’s face change from neutrality, to the smallest hue of pink, is incredibly entertaining. Of course it’s gone in a heartbeat, but Tsukishima sees the tug of his upper lip.

“I have a right hand, you know.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a strong as your left.”

“What a shame,” Ushijima’s voice lowers, which you would assume is impossible, but miracles do happen. Tsukishima involuntarily shivers at the baritone, and watches his lips as he says, “You’ll have to be on your best behavior then.”

Tsukishima breaks into a wicked smile, and leans up to kiss him, really slow and grossly romantic. Ushijima is a sweet kisser. Tentative, and learning. He wasn’t always this way – he couldn’t always read the mood like he does now. Tsukishima has trained him well.

Ushijima's hand heals in due time.


 "Hey,"  Tsukishima calls from the couch. "Take out the trash on your way." 

Ushijima pauses in the doorway, gym bag thrown over his shoulder. He turns, and deadpans, "I believe you are perfectly capable." 

"I'm actually not. You see, I was born with paper skin." 

"Right." 

"Bones of glass, Wakatoshi." 

"Mm." 

"Every morning I break my legs-" 

"If you're so fragile," Ushijima opens the door, "then don't beg so hard for me to spank you." 

Tsukishima chokes, sitting up, sputtering, "Did you just clapback?" 

"I don't know what that means." 

"Nevermind," Tsukishima relaxes back. "Take out the trash, or I break up with you." 

"Nn." 

He does. 


 

Relationships have their ups. They really do. But there’s also the perfect storm that blows along; the right amount of things that go wrong.

Tsukishima is pissy today.

It’s not that he can help it, really. His tongue is too quick for his own good – Tsukishima digs his own graves.

He adores Ushijima, he really does, but he’s just a wall. Insufferable, really. Worse that Date Tech.

“Do you want to go out?”

A gruff noise, from across the room.

Tsukishima crosses his arms, “We stay in, then.”

A shrug.

“Are you cooking?”

Another noncommittal noise.

“Am I cooking?”

Ushijima looks away from the T.V., “What?”

“God!” Tsukishima picks up an apple off the kitchen counter, and hurls it at Ushijima’s head. “You’re fucking useless."

Ushijima catches the apple in one hand. He stares, “Huh?”

“You know, this is why you’re insufferable.” Tsukishima curls his tongue. His tone is flat, but it makes the words sting more. “It’s like talking to a brick.”

“I said, dinner was up to you.”  

“It’s always up to me.”

“I don’t really care what we do.”

“You should, asshole,” Tsukishima snaps. “I do the fucking cleaning, I do the fucking taxes. I cook all the goddamn time ‘cause you keep snapping your fingers in two-“

Ushijima settles back into the couch. Looks at him, but remains calm.

Tsukishima gestures between them with his forefinger, “This is a partnership. I can’t read your fuckin’ mind. The least you can do is actually talk to me like a goddamn human being.”

“Tsukishima.”

“But maybe that’s not your fault, huh?”

“Tsukishima.”

“I guess that’s just the difference between us, hmm?”

“Tsuk-“

“Considering my mom actually gave a damn about me when she was-“

Then, like whip, a crack, a deep, bolt of thunder.

“Kei.

And that’s it. It’s the deep, rumbly tone – the one accompanied by fiery eyes and a deep frown. It runs down Tsukishima’s spine, curls around his gut and stays there.

Tsukishima would like to say he has the upper hand.

But Ushijima has conditioned him so well.

“That is enough."  He thunders, rising from the couch.

“Yes sir,” Tsukishima answers, like a reflex.

“We don’t yell,” Ushijima glowers.

“We don’t yell,” Tsukishima repeats. His hands curl by his side. His throat dries.

Ushijima is slow to cross the room. He looks Tsukishima in the eye – stares, until Tsukishima is the one to look away in secession.

A hand reaches past his face. Curls, in the back of his head. Jerks, until Tsukishima is whimpering, and meeting his eye once more. He’s close, breath close, eyes close, and Tsukishima swallows around cotton.

Ushijima would never actually hurt him, no. But he knows Tsukishima. Knows how to get him to really listen.

“You will calm down.” Ushijima demands, “You will stop yelling, and when you are sane, you will speak to me like a human being, and I will listen.”

Tsukishima grinds his teeth, and inhales.

Ushijima looks down. Tsukishima closes his eyes.

Fuck.

“Are you hard?” Ushijima asks, voice just barely rasping. Tsukishima breathes in.

He doesn’t give him an answer. Instead the younger smirks, glasses glinting behind the light, and lets his head fall into the weight of Ushijima’s hand.

He is. He is really fucking hard.  

Ushijima seems to think long and hard about this; Tsukishima can see the wheels turn in his head. His hair is messy, from running his hands through it too many times. His eyes are narrowed, and focused.  

Then there's angry lips on his, sloppy, for Ushijima, but fuuuck yes, Tsukishima rolls with it. He tips his head, opens his mouth, moans around Ushijima's tongue and lets him steal the spit from his mouth. A hand crushes his hip, the other forces his head pliant. He could snap Tsukishima in half, if he wanted, which is something Tsukishima absolutely adores. 

He kisses Ushijima back the best he can, reveling in the his lips swell and his gut coils with heat. Possessive Ushijima is the best Ushijima.

They pull apart.

“Two minutes,” he rumbles. “Bedroom. Naked. On your knees.”

He lets go. Tsukishima runs.


 

It’s a mean toy, but Tsukishima is obedient.

They’re simple thigh cuffs; they keep his wrists pinned to his sides, hands free to tug and yank with no purchase.

Tsukishima kneels on the floor, shamelessly naked, shamefully hard.

But he noses into Ushijima’s crotch; licks flat across his navel, and feels the stubbly, shaved hair under his tongue. Tsukishima breathes in, and angles down to lick around the base of his half-hard dick, teasing, tracing in circles. Ushijima is a familiar taste – it’s something Tsukishima thoroughly enjoys, thanks. 

That left hand fists in his hair.

“If you’re bad,” he begins, “I’ll have no remorse leaving you like this.”

Tsukishima shivers, and smirks into his navel.

“Message received,” Tsukishima purrs, and sits back on his knees. Already they’re aching, and it’ll only get worse from here.

Tsukishima meets Ushijima’s eye. Opens his mouth wide, and waits. Tsukishima knows how lewd he appears, face flushed, hands tied, dick pathetically throbbing between his legs.

The look on Ushijima’s face would go unnoticed by most, but Tsukishima takes pride in the slight widening of his pupils, and the small breathy inhale.

He positions his cock at Tsukishima’s bottom lip. Tsukishima dips his head forward, and gets to work.

Sucking cock is an acquired taste for most, but Tsukishima has been secure in his sexuality since he first discovered porn.

He bobs enthusiastically – closes his eyes because he likes it – feels the sting against his throat and squirms his tongue wherever he can. Tsukishima takes advantage of the momentary freedom; he pulls back, licks across the slit, drools purposefully and makes horribly erotic slurping noises-

But the hand in his hair stills him. Tsukishima tightens his fists by his sides, and holds the fuck on.

“I’m quite tired,” Ushijima fucks in, “of always playing into your hand.”

Tsukishima groans as his cock hits the back of his throat. Ushijima fucks him there, arched over his kneeling body in the middle of their bedroom, pants pushed down beneath his ass.

The hand tugs, Tsukishima moans. Nothing can beat this – no dom, no partner. Ushijima is, in every sense of the word, a man. He’s everything Tsukishima could want – strong and commanding and thick as hell. He’s kind, disgustingly. He has a soft spot for Tsukishima, but alas, nobody can reel Tsukishima back in like Ushijima.

“You plan this, don’t you?” Ushijima’s voice vibrates low, and Tsukishima closes his eyes – feels it wash over him, beneath his skin, into his dick. His hips thrust hard, and Tsukishima gags-

He didn’t technically plan this one out. Usually yes, but, this situation just so happened to be a stroke of luck.

 “Hh, you, are-“ Ushijima pushes in far, nudging his throat, forcing Tsukishima to suck in deep breaths through his nose against his navel, “-hh, naughty.”

And Tsukishima moans, really loud and horrible, drool seeping past his lips and down his chin. Ushijima pulls back – gives him a moment to breathe, before he starts the harsh rhythm again.

Tsukishima’s hands yank at the cuffs. He’s being robbed of his favorite part- of getting to grab two giant handfuls of Ushijima’s rock-solid ass – of rubbing a finger against his hole and hearing Ushijima give a throaty little noise.

Tsukishima thinks he might actually lose his hair this time, Ushijima’s grip is so brutal. Ah, but Tsukishima is twisted, remember? His dick is actually twitching against his hip, giving pathetic little throbs, as every hard thrust makes Tsukishima drool.

Tsukishima squirms his tongue flat, trying to prod Ushijima – he makes obscene noises, meets his eye-

And the eyes he sees are primal.

Ushijima grips him by the back of his neck, forces Tsukishima's swollen lips flush with his navel, and comes down his throat.

There’s the faintest growl of “Kei.”

Tsukishima’s throat works around him, gagging, eyes watering, because yes, yes, yes-

The taste is welcomed, at this point. Tsukishima swallows, watching his face, watching him chew his lip and exhale hard, studying every muscle of Ushijima’s body. He’s wound tight, before Ushijima’s body relaxes. Tsukishima still continues to swallow, and swallow – until Ushijima grunts, and pulls out.

He looks Tsukishima in the eye, and covers his slick mouth with his hand.

“Did you swallow?” He asks, in his horribly sex-flooded voice.

Tsukishima gives a little mhmm, against his palm. Ushijima quirks an eyebrow. He prods his mouth open with his fingers. Pets his tongue. Feels around for anything other than spit.

Tsukishima is still milking the fuck out of this situation, because he squirms his tongue around Ushijima’s fingers, and sighs. Nice hands, really. Ideal.

Ushijima pulls his fingers out when he’s satisfied. Tsukishima vibrates with need. There’s a steady buildup of precome against his upper thigh, and it’s almost pathetic.

Ushijima is looking at him, burning Tsukishima, boiling him with his eyes. He tugs his pants up from around his thighs.

“Wakatoshi," Tsukishima begs, and oh god, his voice sounds awful.

Ushijima is silent. He wipes his wet fingers off on his jeans, and finally mumbles, “You were good.”

Tsukishima keens. He needs, he needs – he’s burning, it’s all so-

He’s thrown onto the bed. Ripped out of the cuffs. Shoved into the sheets face first.

And he’s unraveled like that, string after string, until his thighs are just ridden in teeth marks, until he bites a hole through his lip, and sobs.

“Wakatoshi!” He’ll beg, finally, broken down to nothing.

And Ushijima will mumble a low, raspy, “Kei.”


 

It’s later that they apologize. Both of them, together.

Like they do. 


 

Neither Tsukishima, nor Ushijima, really took an interest in date nights. They spend all their free time together anyways.

But Ushijima starts going out with his team, and Tsukishima sits at home.

It’s not like he’s jealous, or anything. They’re everything but married, at this point. 

And Tsukishima has friends. He still texts Yamaguchi, sometimes.

So at first he relishes in the silence. He has the house all to himself after work – he can lay across the couch and play his music as loud as he wants. He eats raw cookie dough and takes long showers -self care, and all that fun stuff.

But it gets lonely.

Ushijima comes home late, a little buzzed, but still himself.

Comes home to Tsukishima curled up in his bed, clutching his pillow, wearing his shirt.

So the next morning Ushijima offers the idea of a date night, and Tsukishima says yes.

 


 

Tsukishima can tell you about the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. He visited a volcano once, yes. That was hot.  He went to a strip club with friends, yeah, yeah.

But the day that Ushijima kicked open the door, a two hundred pound Great Dane on his shoulders, Tsukishima literally almost died.

They couldn’t keep the dog. Their neighborhood has a strict No Pets rule, but, they were able to get the dog some vet care, and a good home.

“Do it again,” Tsukishima says, later that week. Ushijima picks him up. Sets him down.

“Like that?”

“Yes, again.”

Ushijima picks him up again. Tsukishima marvels in how goddamn strong he is. You know, when those assholes pick you up and you’re like fuck they’re gonna drop me- it’s not like that at all. It’s like sitting in a goddamn chair.

Tsukishima always knew he was strong, of course. Ushijima has picked him up before, probably, but it never registered just how attractive that is. Tsukishima is six foot three. He’s never even heard of the petite section.

Ushijima shifts him in his arms. Tsukishima braces his hands on his shoulders, and locks his legs behind his back.

“Am I heavy?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Wakatoshi, do you know what this means?”

“Um…no?”

Tsukishima brings his palms up to Ushijima’s cheeks. He squishes them, and feels the light stubble beneath his fingers. He brushes his thumbs against his cheekbones and says, “Wall sex, Toshi. Wall sex.”

Ushijima’s upper lip twitches. His hands slide up Tsukishima’s thighs, and brace under his ass, “Haven’t we had sex on every other surface?”

“Yes, but not the walls. This changes everything.”

Ushijima lets out a breathy sigh, which is the closest okay Tsukishima is going to get. He noses into Tsukishima’s neck, and doesn’t move. It’s an especially sweet notion, and Tsukishima wishes it didn’t make his heart beat so fast.

“I love you,” Ushijima rumbles. It’s so deep. So raspy.

Tsukishima’s throat tightens. His hands shake against his cheeks, so he brings them up to Ushijima’s hair, and keeps them there.

He doesn’t say it back, because Ushijima already knows. Because evolution has led them here. 

Instead Tsukishima hums, braces a hand at his neck, and kisses the top of his head.