a/n: *shrugs* i'm slowly transferring all my fic over i guess
"Your bow is crooked," Tsukishima says when Kageyama walks back into the room after changing. The black ribbon tied loosely at the base of his throat is too long at one end and almost twisted into itself. It seems easier to focus his attention on that than on what Kageyama is wearing below.
Kageyama's reaction is automatic and typical: a scowl. It's typical Tsukishima, he thinks, to start criticizing even when he's the one who picked out the outfit in the first place. "It was like this when I put it on," he says, pulling at one end of the ribbon. It unravels a little more.
Rolling his shoulders, Kageyama's frown deepens at the slide of unfamiliar fabric against his skin. A small turn and twist sends the fabric around his bare legs fluttering. Tsukishima pointedly keeps his eyes on Kageyama's face. "This feels weird."
It was probably too much to expect Kageyama to have any sense of style, especially considering what he usually wore around. Besides the lopsided bow, there's a number of other little problems as well: untucked shirt, sloppy cuffs. "Come here," Tsukishima says, standing up from his seat on the bed and moving forward.
Kageyama shuffles forward to meet him halfway, posture slouched. "This stuff is hard to wear," he says, with the slight edge of a whine in his voice. "I don't know how anything is supposed to look."
"Hmm," Tsukishima hums noncommittally. The smile that he offers is more of a smirk. "It's good that I'm here then, isn't it?" Kageyama's scowl only grows more intense.
"I'm doing this for you, you know," Kageyama says. "Don't make fun of me."
"Of course not," Tsukishima replies, only slightly mocking. "I wouldn't dream of it."
He reties the bow first, tilting Kageyama's chin out of the way with a nudge of his fingers. He's not sure what the girls at school do to keep the ones on their uniforms so perky, but Tsukishima's figured he's done a passable job at least. The finished product is neater, at least, and centered at the base of Kageyama's throat, like he's a present waiting to be unwrapped. Tsukishima resolutely chooses to ignore the implications of that.
Taking Kageyama's arm, he buttons the cuffs of the shirt next, smoothing out the fabric until it lies flat against his wrists. As he finishes, Tsukishima rubs a thumb over Kageyama's pulse point. There's a brief jump in the tempo each time he does it, and Tsukishima smirks a little at the feeling under his fingers.
After that is the shirt itself; Kageyama's left the shirt hanging loose, messy, and it drapes over his hips. Tsukishima touches a hand to the bottom of the shirt, where it meets the gray material of the skirt. A skirt that Tsukishima bought and asked, politely even, for Kageyama to wear. A skirt that Kageyama is currently wearing. It's a bit much, if he's being honest.
Stalling for time, he lets himself be distracted by Kageyama's chest for a moment, a dark tan now from the summer sun that's still just visible from underneath the slightly sheer white fabric. There's a faint bitemark just at the curve of his ribcage; he left it there last weekend.
"Hurry up," Kageyama complains after Tsukishima does nothing but watch him for a solid minute. He nudges a leg against Tsukishima. "Stop being weird."
"I want you to look good," Tsukishima says with a click of his tongue to cover up his hesitation. "Have some patience, King."
Steeling himself, he quickly tucks the shirt in under the elastic band of the skirt, fingers pushing down the fabric at Kageyama's stomach and back. Adjusting the skirt, he pulls it up a little higher so that the elastic band cinches in at Kageyama's waist instead of at his hips. The gray fabric is slightly rough against his hands as he smoothes it down Kageyama's sides and hips.
"Done?" Kageyama asks when Tsukishima looks up again. They're so close that Tsukishima can see the disappearing blue of Kageyama's irises, the dark sweep of his lashes. He'll never admit it out loud, but there's a distinct prettiness to Kageyama's features that he can't help but be attracted to.
"Yeah." It's tempting to kiss him - to push forward and cover Kageyama's body with his own more thoroughly - but Tsukishima resists for now, instead only offering one last brief squeeze to his waist before stepping back. There will be time for all that later, but for now, he wants to see how Kageyama looks.
Tsukishima swallows, feeling his mouth run dry as he finally looks at Kageyama - really looks at him, head to toe, since he first changed into this outfit. There's nothing soft about Kageyama; even the elegant line of his neck that Tsukishima admires so much is sharp. It shouldn't work - Kageyama's too tall, too broad-shouldered, too irritating - but right now, quietly waiting and with his posture open and expectant, it does. The bright white of the shirt against his tan skin, the skirt long against his legs, falling all the way to his knees - it's better than Tsukishima thought would be possible.
I love you, Tsukishima thinks, not for the first time, but certainly the first time about something so mundane. Usually it's a product of being high off endorphins - during a tumble in bed together or after a particularly good match - but today, alone in his bedroom together and not even touching, it's probably the most sincere so far.
Kageyama shifts underneath Tsukishima's assessing gaze, uneasy in the silence. The skirt moves along with him, a slide of smooth fabric against his thighs, and he pats it down in an effort to keep it still. The feeling is still strange, but the clothing is comfortable enough. "How do I look?" Absently, he wonders if he could still play volleyball while wearing this, but quickly dismisses the thought; the skirt's extra fabric might be too much of a hindrance when he has to jump.
"Good," Tsukishima says without hesitation. "You're perfect." The last part is whisper quiet, like Kageyama wasn't meant to hear it. He does anyway, and feels a flush of warmth creeping up the back of his neck.
Kageyama can feel Tsukishima's gaze lingering on certain areas, almost a touch in and of itself. His throat where the bow sits, neat now thanks to Tsukishima's hands. His waist, his hips, and even further down where the skirt ends right above his knees.
The first touch is gentle, just a hand on Kageyama's waist to pull him closer, until they're pressed flush to one another again. Tsukishima gives into temptation then and kisses him, chastely at first, until Kageyama deepens the kiss, wrapping his arms around Tsukishima's neck and pressing forward eagerly.
He pulls away to let them catch their breath and just hugs Kageyama close to him, trying to keep them together as much as possible. I love you, he thinks again, but doesn't say. I want to keep you like this. I want to make a mess out of you and put you back to together again. A shiver of desire runs through his body, and he presses a kiss to Kageyama's cheek, his nose, under his eye, anywhere he can reach it seems. "Come to bed with me."
"We're going to make a mess," Kageyama protests, after Tsukishima pushes him down onto the bed. All of that careful adjusting to his outfit was pointless it seems; everything is already skewed and disheveled again. "Let me take this stuff off first, at least."
"Leave it on." Tsukishima says, stilling Kageyama's hands where they're trying to unbutton the shirt. Moving down Kageyama's body, Tsukishima situates himself between his spread legs. "I like it." Ducking his head under the skirt, he places a kiss against the soft skin of Kageyama's thigh, which quickly turns into a bite.
If Kageyama had a retort, it's quickly forgotten in a haze of hands and mouths.
"Hey," Kageyama says, after they're done. The A/C hasn't kicked on yet, and it's too hot to be cuddled up against each other unfortunately, so they're lying side-by-side instead, naked skin cooling slowly. Kageyama nudges a knee against Tsukishima when he doesn't respond. "Oi." He turns on his side to face Tsukishima and winces a little as he does so. He's definitely going to be sore during practice on Monday.
"What?" Tsukishima doesn't turn to face him, but there's a slight inclination of his head in Kageyama's general direction.
Kageyama's distracted by Tsukishima's bare face, losing his train of thought. Despite everything, seeing him without his glasses, either pair, is still something of a rarity for Kageyama.
"Kageyama." Tsukishima's voice is vaguely irritated, the same tone he gets when confronted with Hinata accosting him in the hallway during lunch. Right, Kageyama thinks, snapping out of his reverie, what was I saying.
"Next time," Kageyama says, vaguely thinking of the outfit Rumi, his favorite character in the drama he's watching, wore on her date. "Do you think you could get a shorter skirt?"
Tsukishima's fingers, which had been idly rubbing a bruise on Kageyama's hip, still for the briefest second before resuming their gentle sweep. "Did you have one in mind, or can I just pick one out?"
Kageyama thinks about it for a second before dismissing the thought outright. Tsukishima's not going to know what Rumi's skirt in last week's episode looks like anyway. "I'll leave it up to you again. This one wasn't too bad."
"Yeah?" Tsukishima turns over so that they're nose to nose now. His hair is a mess. "How do you feel about tights, then?"
Kageyama wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Too hot."
"In the winter though?" There's a lazy sort of affection in Tsukishima's eyes now, and it makes Kageyama a little shy, pushing his face into the pillow they're sharing so he doesn't have to look at Tsukishima in the eye.
"Sure," he agrees, albeit a little muffled, "I'll even get something for you, too." Tsukishima's got nice enough legs to pull off a mini-skirt, he thinks. "Maybe we can even match, hmm?"
Tsukshima's quiet for a moment before he exhales a long sigh. "Alright," he says. He sounds pained, but there's an undercurrent of warmth in his voice, too. It's too hot to be cuddling, but he curls an arm around Kageyama's waist and pulls him close anyway. "Whatever you want, king."