He moves his hand down his chest, a ghostly trail starkly contrasting the strong grip he uses as he takes his did in hand. It's so easy to fantasize here, with no eyes but his own to see, no ears to overhear. His mind is filled with scenes, situations made up in the middle of class, on the ride home, doing homework. It takes nearly no effort to change the hand holding himself in his mind: to change short fingers to long ones, callus covered from hours (days, month, years) of practice on court; to picture that black-haired boy above him, beside him, below him, slowly pumping his fist. Shouyou can barely control his urge to quicken his pace, to forget taking his time and just go until his vision turns white and everything feels good -
Ahh- He lets out a moan as his thumb presses into the tip, precum dribbling out and just adding to the sticky mess starting in his boxers. He can hear his breath vaguely over his thoughts, rough and rapid, and his mind starts to slip back into the fantasy, with Kageyama leaning over him, lungs working just as hard to deliver oxygen to his body. His hair would be in his face, black and silky. Shouyou would reach up and run his fingers through it, grab a handful and tug in an attempt to make Kageyama to release another soft sound. His face (scary, Shouyou often called it, but in all honesty so handsome it took his breath away) would be flushed a beautiful crimson.
Kageyama would blush for him, and that alone was a thought that had him gasping the boy's name, desperately moving his hand as the pressure curling in his stomach increased. His whole body was on fire; he could feel the heat in his toes, feel his face burn, feel the flames lick against his chest and down further, covering everything with a layer like live coals sitting on his bare skin. His hand was the spark for the fire, the struck match, the flicked lighter that lit his flames. He was a wildfire, from head to toe, and there was only one person to blame for the carnage.
Kageyama Tobio.
He splattered white across the red of his skin, chest heaving, vision speckled with more stars than he'd ever seen in the night sky. Pleasure raced through him, intense waves bashing and crashing along the shores of his nerves. He was still for a couple minutes, waiting for his breath to even out and his heart to stop racing before he got up to clean himself.
Tomorrow was another day to pretend like nothing had happened.