Work Text:
Tobio has been staring at his phone like a fucking idiot for god knows how long. The screen is open to his text messages, specifically to the contact named Dumbass Hinata. The last message is from said dumbass, received about thirty minutes ago.
Guess that answers that particular question.
Dumbass Hinata: so i saw the final cut of our little movie
Dumbass Hinata: u look constipated in the first half but the second half is 🔥🔥🔥
Dumbass Hinata: also my agent says the numbers are insane. they want a sequel. maybe a whole series
Tobio scowls at the screen. He types back a response, deletes it, then types it again.
Me: I don't look constipated. I look focused.
He hits send before he can second-guess himself. His phone buzzes in response almost immediately.
Dumbass Hinata: lol focused on what? counting my fake orgasms?
A hot flush creeps up Tobio’s neck at the bullseye remark. Truth is, he hasn't been able to stop thinking about that day.
He’s rewatched the footage—not the official cut, but the raw files he’d requested from the editor. He’d watched the way Hinata’s face had changed, the moment the manufactured show of pleasure had given way to genuine, overwhelmed shock; the way his own cock had disappeared into Hinata’s body, the slick, shiny stretch of his pink, dripping hole taking him in.
He’d reviewed the videos more times than he would ever be willing to admit. So much that it’s becoming a problem.
Me: They weren't fake at the end.
Dumbass Hinata: aww is the stamina king admitting something? 🥺
Dumbass Hinata: anyway, they're offering us a contract for at least 5 more scenes. more money. you in?
Tobio’s thumb hovers over the screen’s keyboard for a moment. He should be thinking about the money, really, or his career.
Instead, his mind decides to ignore those priorities, and torture him instead of the way Hinata’s breath had hitched when he’d whispered, "You're insane”; the sharp, wicked grin he’d given Tobio, so much more interesting than the fake moans, and the tight, clenching heat of his ass around his dick.
Only what little is left of his self-preservation pulls him out of whatever spell that memory has on him, and drops him back to actual business.
Me: What are the terms?
Dumbass Hinata: i can have my agent send them over but basically we get more creative control. oh, and a bonus for every scene that breaks a million views in the first week.
Me: Fine. Tell them I'm in.
Dumbass Hinata: nice. wanna celebrate? 🍆
The emoji is so ridiculous Tobio actually laughs out loud. He’s alone in his apartment, though, making the sound somehow feel loud and alien in the quiet space. He suppresses it with a cough, a fake out for absolutely no one.
Me: I don't celebrate with porn stars
Dumbass Hinata: rude! ur a porn star too btw. and i'm a PERFORMANCE ARTIST
Dumbass Hinata: fine. i'll celebrate all by myself. with my hand. thinking about how u counted to five
Tobio throws his phone onto the couch with a grunt. He stands up, paces around to the kitchen and gets a glass of water, trying to calm the irregular drumbeat that is his heart. This is not professional. This is not what Sugawara would call "maintaining brand integrity."
But Tobio hasn't been able to get a proper night's sleep since the shoot. He keeps waking up hard, aching, with the ghost of Hinata’s nails on his shoulders and the memory of his real, breathy gasps in his ear right before he came.
He walks back to the couch and picks up his phone, furiously typing and letting his body do the work before his mind can stop him from the madness he has gotten himself into.
Me: Send me your address.
Tobio stands in front of a surprisingly nice apartment building, feeling out of place in his usual dark hoodie. He buzzes the apartment number Hinata texted him. The door clicks open.
Hinata’s apartment is exactly what Tobio would have expected, and also nothing like it. It’s bright and chaotic, with band posters on the walls and a gaming setup in the living room that probably cost more than Tobio’s car. It smells faintly of pineapple and something else, something warm and familiar that Tobio can't place. The smell of sex, maybe. His sex.
"Took you long enough," Hinata says, leaning against the doorframe. He's wearing soft grey sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s ridden up to show a sliver of toned stomach. He looks... normal. Real. Dare Tobio say, soft. "I was starting to think you got lost."
"Shut up," Tobio huffs, stepping inside, not waiting for Hinata to let him in. "Your place is a mess."
"It's organized chaos," Hinata defends, shutting the door behind him. "You want a beer? Or water? Or my dick?"
Tobio chokes on his own spit, heat flushing up his neck. What the fuck is wrong with him?
"Water."
Hinata grins like a menace and pads into the kitchen. Tobio watches him go, his eyes tracing the line of his back, the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips, hinting at the curve of his ass. The idiot is not even wearing underwear. He feels an insistent, familiar pull in his gut, a mix of annoyance and desire that has become uncomfortably common whenever he thinks about the other man.
Hinata comes back with two bottles of water, tossing one to Tobio, which he fumbles to catch as he’s still distracted by the swell of Hinata’s underwear-less ass.
Get it fucking together.
"So," Hinata starts, leaning against the counter, voice lilting into a coy, devious tone. "You came here to what? Negotiate contract terms in person? Very professional."
"I came here to..." Tobio trails off.
Why did he come here? He told himself it was to establish dominance, to make sure Hinata knew who was in charge for their next series of scenes. But now, standing in Hinata’s ridiculously bright living room, looking at the other man as he tips his head to drink out of his water bottle, pink lips latching on the bottle’s rim that have no business being so damn erotic, amber gold-flecked eyes never leaving Tobio’s as he takes slow gulps, that excuse feels flimsy.
"To talk,” he finishes clumsily, gaze still fixed as Hinata wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Talk," Hinata repeats, expression unreadable as if he didn’t just make a damn thirst trap five seconds ago. "Okay. Let's talk."
He leaves the water bottle as he pushes off the counter and closes the distance between them. He stops just inches away, tilting his head back to look up at Tobio.
"What do you want to talk about, Tobio?"
The use of his first name sends a jolt straight through him, directly to his slowly hardening cock. So much for getting it together.
"Don't call me that," he warns, trying to gain some modicum of upperhand in the conversation.
"Why not?" Hinata challenges, voice dropping to a low murmur, as his hand comes up to twirl one enticing finger on the string of Tobio’s hoodie. "You seemed to like it when I was screaming it on set."
All thoughts of self-preservation and professionalism and whatever the fuck that is still holding Tobio back abandon him in a split second as he lets his simmering desire for the man in front of him take over, decimating what little space there is between them when he fists a hand in the front of Hinata’s t-shirt to crash their mouths together.
It's nothing like the first one they’d shared on set. There's no acting, no camera, no crew, no contract to dictate Tobio on what he should or should not do. So if he wants to devour this infuriating man, then that’s exactly what he’ll do.
It’s frantic and messy, all teeth and frustration and a desperate, clawing need that Tobio has been trying to stoically ignore for weeks; a punishment for whatever the hell Hinata did to him to make Tobio lose his shit after just one encounter.
Hinata responds instantly, sending a moan right down Tobio’s throat that sounds suspiciously like ‘fucking finally’ as his arms wrap around Tobio’s neck, one hand weaving through his hair. He kisses back with the same ferocity and aggression, nipping at Tobio’s bottom lip, sucking his tongue and entangling it with his own. He tastes like pineapple and sparkling water and something uniquely Hinata.
Tobio is so engrossed with mapping every inch of Hinata’s mouth that he doesn’t even realize they’re moving until Hinata’s back hits the wall, pinning him there with his body. He breaks the kiss with a gasp, panting, resting his forehead against Hinata’s, their lips still brushing against each other.
"You're infuriating," Tobio breathes.
"And you're obsessed," Hinata shoots back, voice just as breathless as Tobio’s. His pink tongue peeks out of glossy, swollen lips to lick at Tobio’s chin. "Admit it."
"Shut up." Tobio murmurs as he kisses him again; but it’s softer this time, purposeful, capturing Hinata’s soft lips with the intent to savor them properly, to feel the warmth of his slick tongue, relishing in the noises of every smack, every slide of their mouths over each other.
But with each taste, he craves for more. He slides his hands down Hinata’s sides, gripping his hips and pulling him flush against him and his own straining erection. The friction of their sweatpants is maddening; Hinata is so fucking hard against him, and with him being commando, Tobio can feel the damp patch where his cockhead rests against his own stiffness.
“Shit," Tobio groans in between kisses as his hands finally, finally, grab those ample ass cheeks as he yanks Hinata closer. At his touch, Hinata lets out the filthiest moan, a keening, breathless sigh that's so unlike the fake high-pitched moans he’s so famous for, and it makes Tobio’s stomach clench hard and burn with unfiltered desire, his cock twitching almost angrily.
"Bedroom," Tobio demands against his lips, taking agency on what is obviously what they both want. What they need.
Hinata just nods, and he looks so wrecked already; honey eyes glazed, cheeks rosy, and lips red with smears of their combined saliva. He grabs Tobio’s hand and pulls him down a short hallway, Tobio silently lamenting the interruption; his annoyance only appeased by the thought of the prize awaiting at the end of this ten-second walk.
The bedroom is just as charmingly chaotic as the living room, but Tobio doesn't spend much time noticing, nor does he care. Hinata is already tugging at his hoodie, his hands hot and insistent against Tobio’s skin.
He lets Hinata strip him, his own hands busy as he rids Hinata of his shirt as well, doing his own exploration as he maps the expanse of Hinata’s chest, his toned stomach, the feel of his smooth skin, the hard muscle underneath, the way Hinata trembles when he brushes his thumb over a hardening, pink nipple.
"On the bed," Tobio orders.
Hinata complies, scrambling back onto the messy duvet. He looks up at Tobio through lidded eyelashes, slick lips parted in shallow breaths, rosy hue to his softly heaving chest, legs spread gently, almost shy.
Right here, right now, there's no sign of the Golden Boy porn star. This is just Hinata.
And Tobio wants him more than he's ever wanted anything, anyone in life.
He crawls onto the bed, covering Hinata’s body with his own, the other man welcoming him in a warm embrace, hands tangling into Tobio’s hair as they kiss again—slowly, deeply, taking their time, memorizing each other’s taste, the sounds each make when there's no one to perform for.
Tobio rocks his hips down against Hinata’s, feeling their cocks slide together through the fabric of their sweatpants. Hinata whines, arching up into the friction.
"Kageyama," he whispers. "Please."
"Please what?" Tobio asks, nipping gently at his jaw. "Use your words."
"Touch me," Hinata begs. "I want you to touch me. For real, this time."
Tobio’s heart does a painful little flip at the words, at whatever this all means, but he’s too lost in the need and lust for this man to give it any proper thought right now.
He sits back, pulling Hinata’s sweatpants down and away in one go, watching hungrily as Hinata’s cock springs free, hard and leaking and so fucking perfect. Tobio wraps a hand around it, stroking slowly from base to tip, smearing the pre-come over the head in slow, circling motions with his thumb.
Hinata’s breath hitches. "Yeah. Like that."
Not wanting to deny both of them any longer, Tobio leans down, taking the flushed pink head into his mouth. He swirls his tongue and suckles on the tip, tasting the salty precum. He tastes fucking exquisite.
Hinata gasps, hands flying to Tobio’s hair, hips twitching up, fucking up into Tobio’s mouth instinctively.
"Fuck," Hinata breathes, voice ragged. "You're—you're so good at that."
Tobio hums in response, mouth still full of Hinata’s cock, and the vibration makes Hinata curse again. He takes him in deeper, relaxing his throat until his nose is pressed flush against the coarse hair at Hinata’s base.
“Oh, shit! Kageyama—you—fuck—!”
If it’s possible to smirk with a mouth full of dick, Tobio does so as he sets a slow, torturous pace, pulling back until just the tip is trapped between his lips, sucking the head softly, before swallowing down again. He uses every trick in his arsenal to drive the other man crazy—suck, slurp, lick, swallow—, watching eagerly for Hinata to fall apart wholly, irrevocably, in a way that no one has done before.
He wants to be the one to do it, to be the only one to make Hinata feel this way.
When Hinata’s cock starts throbbing in his mouth, he pulls off with a slurp, but not before leaving a soft kiss on the tip. Hinata doesn’t even argue with him for not letting him come; he just lies there, panting, glassy eyes half-open, cheeks and neck flushed a beautiful shade of pink, his cock wet and shiny with spit and precum, twitching against his stomach.
He only whines, a soft, wheezy little “...Yama…” and it does something funny to Tobio’s chest; hearing Hinata call him like that.
He grabs the lube from the bedside table—it's right there, next to a half-eaten bag of pineapple gummies, and again Tobio feels another of those weird, affectionate pangs in his chest. He slicks up his fingers, coaxing Hinata’s legs a little wider apart.
"Look at me," Tobio says, voice coming out coarser than he intends.
Hinata’s amber eyes, dark and hazy, flutter open and focus on him at the command. Never letting his gaze leave those mesmerizing golden orbs, Tobio presses one digit inside, watching rapturously for every single reaction from Hinata—the way his mouth falls open, how his breath catches in his throat as he lets out a little hiccup.
There’s no performance here, no over-the-top moans or squirming for the camera. Just raw, unfiltered pleasure as Tobio sinks his finger knuckle-deep into Hinata’s tight, perfect heat.
“Shit, did you finger yourself before I arrived?” Tobio asks when he finds Hinata’s insides already wet, squelching as Tobio’s lubed up finger adds even more slickness.
Hinata answers him with a lopsided grin, as if he’s somehow proud of Tobio’s very astute observation. “I told you I’d celebrate on my own.”
Well, fuck, if Tobio wasn’t already losing his shit thinking about how much he wants to take the dumbass again until neither of them is able to walk, then that admission just might do it.
“Too bad then, ‘cause I’m still gonna play with you," Tobio smirks as he adds a second finger in without warning and all traces of smugness dissolve from Hinata’s pretty face, first into shock and then to immediate pleasure.
Tobio curls and thrusts his fingers in and out of Hinata’s hole in slow, deliberate movements, exploring, learning where and how to prod to fully unravel Hinata, working him until he’s nothing but a bliss-filled vessel under Tobio’s caress.
He angles his fingertips just so, rubbing gently, and when Hinata lurches, arching off the bed and gripping onto the yellow bedsheets for dear life, it’s Tobio’s turn to be smug.
Gotcha.
"Oh, god, right there, Tobio, right there! Oh—shit!”
The sound of his first name falling from Hinata’s lips like that, broken and desperate, makes Tobio’s own cock throb within the confines of his pants. He rubs again, a little harder, circling the pads of his fingers on the bundle of nerves, drinking in the sight of Hinata’s face contorting in absolute ecstasy, lashes fluttering as his eyes roll back, mouth dropping open in a silent 'o'.
Tobio feels a surge of intense satisfaction at seeing Hinata Shouyou, porn superstar, the ultimate faker, lose and surrender himself to the clutches of real pleasure.
But this is different from the feeling he had on set. This isn't about proving a point. It's about giving Hinata what he wants. What he needs.
And Tobio is more than willing to give him that, and so much more.
"Another one," Hinata gasps, hips rolling down onto Tobio’s fingers, and damn, it’s so much hotter than any scenes Hinata has ever done in the entirety of his career, and Tobio has seen them all.
"Please, Kageyama, I need more."
Tobio willingly continues, just as he’d intended to, stretching Hinata’s tight, reddened hole with a third finger, swallowing the broken moan that filters out of Hinata at the intrusion with a messy, open-mouthed kiss as he works him open, tasting Hinata’s desperation, feeling the frantic beat of his heart against his chest.
"Ready?" Tobio asks against his lips.
Hinata just nods, eyes wide and pleading, glistening in the semi-dark of the room as dusk sets outside the windows. He’s so beautiful like this, so willing and compliant, and shit, there it is again—that warm, floaty feeling spreading across his chest.
"Fuck me. Please, ‘Yama, just fuck me."
Within seconds, Tobio finally releases his angry, straining cock from the confines of its fabric prison, quickly rolling on a condom and lining himself up. There’s a very brief pause, a teeny, tiny part of his brain making him hesitate.
He has never fraternized with a scene partner before, ever. It’s his only cardinal rule, some semblance of taking agency designed with the intent to separate his professional and personal sex lives, to prevent jeopardizing his career by falling for the rookie mistake of not establishing safe emotional boundaries.
But, if he’s being truthful with himself, said boundaries had already disintegrated the minute he had entered Hinata’s apartment. Hell, they might have probably disappeared even before that, as Tobio slowly lost every last thread of self-control that held his logic together, when he could not stop obsessing over his scene with Hinata.
Or maybe it was never the scene that he was obsessed with.
The admission erases all lingering traces of hesitation from his mind as he accepts his fate and enters the point of no return, and fuck, that point sure is tight, even with all the attention Tobio has laved on it.
He pushes in carefully, inch by agonizing inch, savoring the overwhelming feeling of warmth and perfection, a slick, velvety grip that threatens to undo him completely. He stops, breathing heavily, hands braced on either side of Hinata’s head, willing himself to not come right then and there.
Holy shit, what has this idiot done to him?
"Move," Hinata pleads, voice strained by need as he hooks his legs around Tobio’s waist, pulling him closer insistently, and they chorus a groan when Tobio inches deeper. "Don't you dare stop."
“The hell I will," Tobio positively growls as he finally collects his wits and begins to move, setting a deep, slow rhythm. He's not holding back, but he's not going punishingly hard, either.
He's just... feeling. Feeling the slide of their bodies, the heat between them, the way Hinata’s breath hitches every time he pushes in deep and the head of his cock brushes against that sensitive spot inside him.
Holding himself up with one elbow, Tobio reaches between them, wrapping a hand around the other man’s neglected cock and stroking him in time with his thrusts, smearing the precum that beads at the tip with his thumb.
"Kageyama," Hinata whines pitifully, head thrown back against the pillows, exposing the long line of his throat. "M’not gonna last. Fuck, I'm gonna come."
"Good," Tobio grunts, suddenly picking up the pace, driving into him harder, down to the hilt, his balls slapping noisily against Hinata’s ass cheeks. "I want to see you come. I want to see all of it. I want to see you lose it."
He changes the angle, and he knows he’s hit Hinata’s prostate dead-on when the other lets out a strangled cry, his whole body tensing.
"Oh, fuck, right there, don't stop, please don't stop—"
Not that Tobio has any intention to, as he pounds into that spot over and over, each thrust more brutal than the last, his fist flying over Hinata’s cock. He can feel his own orgasm building, the familiar pressure coiling in his gut, his balls drawing up tight.
"Come for me, Hinata," he growls, voice ragged with their frantic movements. "Let me see it. Come all over yourself."
At his order, Hinata obliges; so, so beautifully, back bowing an impossible curve, a silent scream tearing from his throat as his cock pulses in Tobio’s grip when he comes, hard, spurting all over his own stomach and chest in thick, white ropes of cum.
It's even messier and more unglamorous than it was on set, and Tobio stands corrected—this is the hottest thing Tobio has ever seen.
And the sight of Hinata completely and utterly ruined, face slack with pleasure and wet from tears, hole clenching greedily around Tobio’s dick, gives Tobio the final push into his own free fall, uncaring of what he’ll find at the end of it, or if there will even be an end at all.
Grabbing Hinata’s hips into a bruising hold, Tobio’s own hips lose rhythm as he throws everything into instinct, letting out a guttural groan as he buries himself one last time deep inside Hinata, and in-between the heavenly feeling of that gorgeous hole squeezing his cock and the heat burning low within his core, his own orgasm ravages through him, emptying himself into the condom in heavy rivulets.
Both of them go limp then, just a tangle of limbs, heavy breathing and various bodily fluids. Tobio rests his forehead against Hinata’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath, heart hammering against his ribs, a strong melody that Hinata’s own chest seems to echo.
"Wow," Hinata whispers, voice hoarse and wrecked, and the quiet laugh he lets out sends fucking elephants stampeding in Tobio’s stomach. "You really, really know what you're doing."
Tobio doesn’t reply, too spent to form a coherent response; too overwhelmed to trust himself with what could come out of his mouth if he does.
They lie there against each other for what seems like hours, taking time to settle their breathing and their heartbeat until Tobio is cognizant enough to move, pulling out carefully. He doesn’t miss the slight wince and hiss from Hinata at the movement, or the vision of Hinata’s slobbery, gaping hole in the shape of Tobio’s dick.
He looks away, weirdly embarrassed and self-conscious, and busies himself with the condom, disposing of it somewhere on the floor before collapsing onto the bed beside Hinata. Silence settles around them, the air palpable with the smell of sweat and sex and unspoken words.
Tobio can feel the post-orgasm haze starting to set in, but it's mixed with a growing sense of panic and apprehension. What the fuck happens now? He came here to establish control, to pacify his hunger for the man beside him, but now—now he has no fucking clue how to handle what comes after.
"So," Hinata says, his raspy voice cutting through the quiet. "About that sequel."
Tobio turns his head to look at him. Hinata is propped up on one elbow, a lazy, satisfied grin on his face. He looks... happy. Satiated. Content, even.
"What about it?"
"I have one condition," Hinata elaborates, expression turning serious. "No more counting. No more fake moans. No more scripts. Just... us. No cameras. No performance. Just this."
Tobio’s heart does that painful little flip again. Maybe that’s the answer to what happens after. Maybe what he wants is something more than a triple paycheck, more than the royalties, more than a collab that could take both their careers into new heights. Maybe he wants this.
No, not maybe.
He wants us.
"Okay," he agrees, voice barely a whisper.
"Okay?" Hinata repeats, a wide grin splitting his face again, amber eyes sparkling with something Tobio can’t quite place. Surprise? Joy? A mix of both? "Just like that? No argument?"
"Do you want me to argue?" Tobio grumbles, a hint of his usual irritation returning.
"As hot as you are when you’re annoyed—no," Hinata laughs, leaning down to kiss him. "I really don't."
The kiss is soft and sweet, so different from all the earlier franticness and desperation. Tobio cups the back of Hinata’s neck, deepening the kiss, pouring all the things he can't say into it.
When they finally break apart with a quiet smack and a shared gasp, Hinata is looking at him quizzically, in a way Tobio can't quite decipher.
"What?" he asks, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing," Hinata says, shaking his head. His gaze roams all over Tobio’s face, as if it’s the first time he’s truly seeing him. "It's just... you're not as constipated when you're not on camera."
Tobio snorts as he shoves Hinata back onto the pillow, but he's smiling, a wobbly thing he can’t seem to suppress.
"Shut up, dumbass."
"Make me," Hinata challenges, his eyes twinkling.
Tobio has a feeling he's going to be doing just that for a very long time.
The first time they have to shoot with other people, Tobio nearly calls it off.
He’s standing on a set that smells too much of cheap air freshener and disinfectant, watching Hinata laugh at something his scene partner, a tall, lanky guy named Tsukishima, is saying. The guy has that arrogant, ‘I’m better than everyone else’ vibes going on and he swears the blonde bastard throws a smirk or two at Tobio’s way as his hand deliberately and purposely drifts on Hinata’s waist.
Tobio is one second away from punching that guy’s stupid glasses off his stupid face, and knocking a few teeth out of that smug mouth while he’s at it.
"Hey, you're going to vibrate out of your skin if you keep clenching like that," Sugawara murmurs beside him, sipping a coffee. "Relax. It's just a job."
Tobio lets out an exasperated sigh. Sugawara is the only person Tobio had told about this unforeseen dynamic change he has with Hinata. His agent’s response? Laughed his ass off until he turned purple and could barely breathe. Tobio is still contemplating whether he should find a new agent or not (mostly leaning on not, considering the hassle to find an agent as good as Sugawara, even if he’s a raging menace and a pain on Tobio's ass most of the time).
"It was just a job,” Tobio mutters, eyes narrowing into a death glare as Tsukishima’s hand now blatantly resting on Hinata’s hip, moving closer. Meanwhile, Hinata is just babbling away, mouth running a mile a minute. Either he doesn’t notice that his scene partner is obviously flirting with him or that he knows and he doesn’t mind. Tobio doesn’t know which is worse. "Now it's... this."
"This" is the complicated, tangled mess they'd fallen into. After that first night at Hinata's apartment, they find themselves stuck in a routine—texting all day, eating takeout on Hinata’s couch, fucking until they were both too sore to move. It’s domestic and weird and Tobio had never been happier. Or more annoyed.
He'd also never been more jealous. Seeing Hinata’s hand on Tsukishima’s arm—or on any other man’s arm to be honest—even for a scene, unearths something primal and ugly in him, something he has never felt before.
This is exactly why he doesn’t involve himself with a coworker outside of the professional boundaries. Much less date one.
"Action!" the director calls.
Some sadistic part of Tobio forces him to watch, telling himself it's professional reconnaissance. He needs to see how Hinata acts with other partners now, if the old Hinata, the faker, is still in there.
Hinata is good. Of course he is. But it's different now, somehow. It’s subtle, the kind of nuances that only someone who knows the difference can only tell. Hinata’s moans are still performative—it’s his brand, after all—but there's a new layer of authenticity to them. His reactions are more measured, more believable. He's not entirely faking it, but he's not fully giving himself over either. It's like watching a masterclass in controlled performance and Hinata fucking performs.
Tobio hates it.
When the scene ends and the director doesn’t call for a retake (thank fuck), Tobio is already waiting by the showers, pulling out a towel from Hinata’s bag.
Hinata walks in a few minutes later, sweat dotting his face and slicking his toned body, but there’s a satisfied smile curling in his face. He jumps when he sees Tobio leaning against the wall.
"What the fuck—you scared me! What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you," Tobio says, voice flat as he hands the towel. "You were good."
"Thanks," Hinata says, beaming as he grabs the offered towel. "Tsukishima’s nice. Snarky, but nice. He knows a lot about dinosaurs."
"I don't care about dinosaurs," Tobio grumbles, stepping forward and crowding Hinata against the row of lockers. "I care about you."
He doesn't give Hinata a chance to respond before he's kissing him, hard and possessive, both of his hands firmly holding Hinata’s face in place. It’s a repossession, a need to erase the phantom touch of another man from Hinata’s skin.
"Whoa, okay," Hinata gasps when Tobio finally lets him breathe. "Someone's feeling territorial."
"You laughed at his joke," Tobio accuses, voice low.
"It was a funny joke! Something about raptors and—ah—Tobio—”
He doesn’t let Hinata finish as he leans in again, nipping at Hinata’s jaw then trailing soft kisses down the side of his neck, giving a small nibble on that soft spot he knows makes Hinata shiver.
And he does, a slight tremble of his skin as Tobio continues his ministrations, his hands now skimming all over Hinata’s soft, sweaty skin, the expanse of his chest, the taut lines and ridges of his abs, a covetous touch to reclaim the warmth that is rightfully his.
Hinata arches towards him, hands coming up to tangle in Tobio’s hair as he angles his neck, inviting Tobio in.
“Mine,” Tobio groans against Hinata’s skin, the word coming up unbidden.
“Yours,” Hinata answers in a breathless whisper. But then he pushes Tobio off, keeping him at arms length and away from where Tobio would rather be. “Wait, wait a second.”
When Tobio glares at him and makes an attempt to dive right back in, Hinata stops him with a palm on his face. Tobio swats it away with a growl and a frown.
“What the hell, Hinata—”
"Oh my god,” Hinata says slowly, amber eyes seeking something in Tobio’s face, going wide when he finally finds it. “You're actually jealous."
Tobio freezes, glare sharpening. "Shut up."
"You’re adorable," Hinata grins, but his eyes soften. He reaches up and cups Tobio’s cheek. "Kageyama. I'm at work. It's acting. You know that."
"I know," Tobio grumbles, but he leans into the touch. "I still don't like it."
"Tell you what," Hinata says, his thumb stroking Tobio’s jaw. "After my scene tomorrow, you come over. And you can remind me exactly who I belong to. Deal?"
Tobio considers it. It's a temporary solution, but it's something. "Deal."
Navigating their new reality is a constant series of compromises. Compromises that demand the establishment of rules.
Rule number one: no talking about work in bed. Rule number two: what happens on set, stays on set—unless one of them is genuinely uncomfortable, in which case they can veto the partner or the scene. Rule number three: they always go home together at the end of the day.
It works, mostly. Hinata, who’s not the biggest rule follower, surprisingly sticks to them like a religion.
Until the day Sugawara calls Tobio with news about the proposed sequel.
"They want a five-part series," Sugawara says, his voice buzzing with excitement over the phone. "Just you two. The 'King and the Crow' they want to call it. They're offering an insane amount of money, Kageyama. Insane."
Tobio is standing in Hinata’s kitchen, watching Hinata try to flip a pancake and fail spectacularly, a mutter of colorful curses following. "And?"
"And what? That's it! This is a career-making deal! Are you not listening to me?"
"I'm listening," Tobio says, his eyes still on Hinata. He’s trying a different maneuver now and by some miracle or dumb luck, it works, the pancake flopping over. Hinata busts out a celebratory dance that involves a lot of hips. Such a dumbass. "What are the terms?"
"It's a long-term exclusive contract for the series. You two would be a 'brand.' They want to market you as a couple. On-screen and off."
Tobio’s stomach flips like Hinata’s pancake. "Off-screen? What does that mean?"
"It means they want to do behind-the-scenes content. Interviews. Maybe a joint social media account.” There’s a brief pause on the other line, Sugawara’s voice muffled as he talks to someone before he goes back to Tobio. “They want to sell the fantasy, Kageyama. The real-life romance between the two biggest stars in the industry."
Hinata finally gets the last pancake onto a plate, his batter-smeared face breaking into a triumphant grin but it falters when he sees Tobio’s sour expression. "What's wrong?"
Tobio holds up a finger, turning away from Hinata. "We'll think about it," he says to his agent, then hangs up.
"What was that about?" Hinata asks, walking over with the plate of slightly burnt pancakes.
"They want us to do a series together," Tobio says as he turns to face the other man. "They want to sell us as a real couple."
Hinata’s face lights up. "Really? That's amazing! Think of the money, the exposure—"
"They want to sell our relationship, Hinata," Tobio cuts in. He gives a quick rundown of the offer Sugawara just told him. "They want to put cameras in our faces when we're not working. They want to turn us into a product."
The smile fades from Hinata’s face. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh," Tobio says, running a hand through his hair. "I don't... I don't think I can do that. What we have... it's not for them. It's not for sale."
Hinata puts the plate down on the counter, his expression thoughtful. "Okay. Yeah. I get that." He's quiet for a moment, then looks up at Tobio, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But... what if we give them something else?"
"What do you mean?"
"We do the series," Hinata explains, voice low and conspiratorial as if they’re discussing something illegal instead of a porn series. "We give them the best porn of their lives. We take their money. But we give them a fake relationship. A performance. We give them the 'King and the Crow' on-screen. And we keep the real thing for us. A secret."
Tobio looks at him, at the earnest, excited expression lighting Hinata’s face. It's a terrible idea, a recipe for disaster that Tobio can practically taste.
"You'd be okay with that? Lying to everyone?"
Hinata laughs. "Tobio, we’re porn stars. Our whole job is lying. But this... this would be different. This would be us, lying together. For us."
Tobio feels a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. "You're a dumbass"
"I'm your dumbass," Hinata corrects, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Tobio’s waist, staring up at him with those glittering amber eyes. "So? We in?"
Tobio looks down at him, at the man who had driven him crazy, who had challenged him, who had somehow become the most important person in his life by some twisted work of fate.
"Okay," he says, leaning down to kiss him. "Let's give them a show."
The first day of the ‘King and the Crow’ shoot is different. The energy is higher, the budget bigger, the anticipation stronger. There are more cameras, more crew—there’s even a buffet table at the lounge area. They even have a new director, a woman named Seiko who has a reputation for being an innovative genius—whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean as a porn director.
"Alright, boys," she says, clapping her hands together. "This isn't just a scene. This is the beginning of a story. I want passion. I want intensity. I want to believe you two are actually in love."
Tobio looks at Hinata, who is already staring at him, eyes glimmering with determination and silent agreement, but beyond that, Tobio sees the flame that burns just for him, the one that bypasses the deal they made to fake it for the sake of performance, because he knows as well as Hinata that there are things they do not have to fake to sell the fantasy.
But they have a career-defining job to do and this is their stage.
"Action!"
The kiss is electrifying, always this buzzing feeling running through Tobio whenever he touches Hinata, but it’s also a performance, a perfect, choreographed dance of lips and tongues and hands. But underneath it, there's a current of real affection, a private joke that only they understand, and shit, it’s fucking hot as hell.
Tobio lays Hinata down on the silk sheets, his movements practiced but infused with a new tenderness, a new purpose. Hinata’s molten gaze finds his, and for a moment, Tobio forgets about the cameras, forgets about the performance, forgets about everything. All he sees is Hinata. Stupid, dumbass Hinata.
And he knows, with a certainty that scares him a little, that this is going to be the best work of his life.