Deadly|Kagehina

Chapter 3

For the next several nights, Hinata lingers.

He lingers at the security monitor in the office, dawdling as he retrieves change boxes or garbage bags and keeping one eye on the screen at all times. Either that or he’s pulling some spin move to catch any shadows lurking in the feed off guard. But any visible shadows are far from lurking and more often than not, aren’t even shadows. He’s got an overly active wishful imagination.

He lingers outside the laundromat at close, after the doors are locked and the streets are quiet – too late for even the most dedicated night owls, too early for the early-rising workaholics. Too late and too early for busses and trains. Too early for the sun.

It’s the dead time of the city. Merging seamlessly with the dead time of his own, when the laundromat is quiet, empty, and dull.

But, now, this dead time is precisely when Hinata feels the most alive.

It has been about two weeks since the attack; and no, Hinata certainly doesn’t feel like he was attacked (though his dick might feel somewhat different, as he’s played the event over and over and over again in his head; with the fresh sensations of Kageyama’s lips and teeth at his throat, his cock has barely gotten a moment’s peace from his restless hands since the most erotic night of his life – and that’s really saying something you know! He had a bit of a licentious streak his first couple years of college, and while those times may have been a bit sluttier than erotic, per say, and far far behind him, he’s no stranger to sexual pleasure. And, shit, Kageyama didn’t even kiss him and he still feels like he was sucked fucked and played like some horny fiddle), and the thrill of it still has him all charged up, tingling from head to toe in the wispy chill of the early-autumn air as he lingers, fidgeting in front of the dark, plate-glass window and letting his mind stray to the most far off places, to the absurdly romantic, to the irrationally sensual; every night and ever-manically hopeful that Kageyama will swoop down on him again and just…

Just…

See, that’s the thing.

Hinata doesn’t even know. He has no idea what the hell Kageyama’s intentions were or what he even did to him that night – least of all why. But, fuck, he wants it again so goddamn badly he fucking lingers – pride and dignity be damned. But there’s only so many times he can pretend to have forgotten something back inside the laundromat and only so many shoelaces he can feign need tying and only so many extra minutes he can putter around acting as exceedingly vulnerable as possible—

“Oooops~ dropped my keys!” He calls loudly one night to the empty street. “Sure hope nothing descends on me while I’m all bent over…”

Don’t worry – he’s plenty embarrassed for himself after that. But it doesn’t stop him from tossing his keys onto the ground a couple more times as he makes his way down the street, taking care to waggle his butt in the air an extra little bit when he retrieves them.

Because whatever that was, whatever Kageyama did to his body – to his fucking soul – felt so spectacularly, immeasurably, fantastically, and immaculately dangerous that Hinata is willing to do almost anything to fall prey again. His heart has never beat with such excitement and his skin had never flushed with such need. The impression the man left is a strong one, and Hinata doubts that he’ll ever reform around the deep etchings.

Not that he wants to.

And even though Kageyama hasn’t yet reappeared, that burning anticipation never loses even an ounce of power. In fact, his longing only grows.