When Shimada had asked him how old he was, Yamaguchi hadn't thought much of it.
It made sense, after all. He was going to teach Yamaguchi in private, which meant he had no information about him save for what he told Shimada himself.
Yamaguchi had stared down at his feet with some modicum of embarrassment, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe before muttering 'sixteen,' voice low.
And that had been that. Shimada had smiled, and the lessons had begun.
Shimada was always kind. Pushy at times, perhaps, but never once did he raise his voice with anger or annoyance. It'd taken some coaxing from him, but eventually Yamaguchi had relaxed in his presence, finally letting some of his anxiety go in favor of improvement.
He liked Shimada. He was funny, and kind, always patient and caring enough to walk Yamaguchi through the steps of their lessons, no matter how long it took. That, he appreciated: the softness in Shimada's voice, the gentleness of his hands as he showed Yamaguchi just how to move - 'no, not there, move your stance like this - good, now square your shoulders' - and it wasn't long until Shimada's praise made him glow with pride.
It'd been forever since he'd felt that way. Tsukishima, as much as Yamaguchi liked him, often put a damper on his excitement whenever he got too fired up - and given that Tsukishima was his constant companion, it was almost instinctual for him to hide his energy, by now.
Shimada, though - Shimada made him feel special.
He'd seen nothing wrong with his attraction, at first. Shimada was handsome, what with his smile and gentle eyes, glasses perched on strong features (Yamaguchi had always had a thing for glasses, the origin of his attraction being something he'd always refuse to admit), voice soft and encouraging.
It was just a crush on his end. Nothing more. Yamaguchi was used to unrequited affections, having trailed after Tsukishima for so many years, so he'd brushed it off as a passing fancy with a brief pang in his heart.
It wasn't a passing fancy, though. Every time Shimada's hands brushed his he felt heat rise to his face, skin suddenly prickling under his scrutiny. He'd thought Shimada wouldn't notice - the hitches in his breath, the stumbling words, the tensing of his shoulders whenever Shimada drew near - Yamaguchi had thought he'd hidden it well.
That hadn't been the case, apparently.
The night was warm, pressing in indigo around Yamaguchi as the solid weight of a volleyball nestled between his palms.
"That's not right," he hears Shimada say from behind him, a gentle tsk as he draws in close behind Yamaguchi. He tenses without realizing it, heartbeat ratcheting up a few notches as Shimada's hands reach around him.
"Your fingers," he hears him say, distantly, "should be like this."
Yamaguchi's attention suddenly zeroes in on the feel of Shimada's fingers against his, warm and guiding his hands along the soft cloth of the volleyball's surface. He swallows hard. Shimada's hovering just behind his shoulder, chest pressed against his back, arms brushing against his, palms smoothing against the back of his hands - it sends a rush of heat through him, the proximity, and he barely manages to not shiver.
"Tadashi?" Shimada says, questioning. Yamaguchi does shiver, then, hair standing on end as he hears that voice so close to his ear. Without thinking, he grips the volleyball tight, head turning ever-so-slowly towards the sound of Shimada's voice.
He freezes, breath stopping as he realizes just how close they are - Shimada's face is barely centimeters away, glasses glinting briefly in the light emanating from the shop's front.
Yamaguchi feels heat rise to his cheeks, eyes dropping conspicuously to Shimada's mouth. He wants to kiss him - he's right there, so close, body almost caging him in - but before he can make any sort of decision on the matter, Shimada clears his throat and pulls back.
For a moment, Yamaguchi doesn't look at him, face burning with humiliation.
"I think," Shimada says delicately, and Yamaguchi's gaze flicks to him, "we should continue this tomorrow, Tadashi." His expression is thoughtful, but otherwise unreadable, eyes boring into Yamaguchi's.
"O-- okay," Yamaguchi squeaks. With a sudden movement, he shoves the volleyball back into Shimada's arms before pivoting on his heel and bolting, trying very hard not to think of the intensity of Shimada's gaze on him.
-
When he returns the next evening, Shimada is as kind as ever, as if nothing had happened. And perhaps nothing had happened - perhaps Yamaguchi was overthinking things, as usual. He relaxes as he draws close, hand lifted in a wave.
"Tadashi," Shimada calls, smile friendly, "let's pick up where we were yesterday, okay?"
And they do. It's normal at first, how it usually is, Shimada walking him through the steps with dutiful patience. Yamaguchi almost forgets about the incident, until Shimada circles behind him once more, audibly fretting.
"I thought we went over this." he reprimands, though there's no real fire to it. Again, Yamaguchi goes stock still as he feels Shimada grow close once more, sweeping in behind him. Just like the other night, he presses in close, hand smoothing down Yamaguchi's arm and down to his hand once more.
His other hand, however - it doesn't follow suit. Instead, Shimada's hand skims down over his elbow, passing over his arm entirely to settle at Yamaguchi's hip. His breath catches at the steady weight there, firm at his waist, and his heart kicks up a staccato rhythm.
"Um," Yamaguchi stutters, tongue thick with sudden nerves, "um, Shimada- Shimada-sensei, your hand..." he finally manages weakly, shuddering as Shimada digs his fingers into his hip.
"My hand?" Shimada repeats quietly, lips pressed against Yamaguchi's ear - he wants to whine, almost, slow heat curling in his chest as he shivers. "Is there a problem, Tadashi?"
Yamaguchi swallows hard, racking his brain for an answer - but before he can respond, Shimada presses a kiss just under his ear, and he utters a soft whimper instead. The volleyball falls from his hands, forgotten, arms frozen in place as Shimada's lips brush the side of his neck.
"N - no." he stammers, breath catching as Shimada grips his waist with both hands. When Shimada slides a palm smoothly over his torso and down, skimming past his navel to rub slow circles against Yamaguchi's thigh, he moans outright, starting with the sudden wave of aching heat that hits him.
Yamaguchi still doesn't know what to do with his hands, but Shimada doesn't seem to mind, preoccupied as he is with kissing down Yamaguchi's throat, breath washing hot over his skin as he palms Yamaguchi through the front of his jeans.
"Was I wrong?" Shimada murmurs against his skin, hand finding the outline of Yamaguchi's dick and squeezing gently, relishing in the gasp that follows, "that you were looking at me? And thinking of this?"
Yamaguchi lets his head fall back, hips jerking forward into Shimada's touch. He feels dirty like this, frozen as Shimada toys with him, making him shiver and moan, but he - he likes it, almost, relinquishing control to an adult.
Fuck. An adult. Shimada is ten years older than him, a full decade - and that thought, more than any of the others, makes his cock twitch. He bites back a whimper.
"Tadashi." Shimada speaks again, his name low on his lips, "go inside the shop."
And then he pulls his hands away, leaving Yamaguchi hot and flustered. For a moment, he flounders, before casting a glance over his shoulder - Shimada looks composed as ever, a smile quirking his mouth as he stares down at Yamaguchi.
"Okay," he manages, voice cracking, before turning and darting into the shop's side door.
It's quiet inside. Yamaguchi can hear his heart hammering in his ears even over the sound of Shimada following, door clicking as it closes behind them.
He turns slowly, apprehensive, and then Shimada's on him.
It's more domineering than it is rough - he pushes Yamaguchi back against the counter, hands firm on his waist, a thigh shifting between Yamaguchi's legs. Then, he kisses him, hot and rough, palm sliding under Yamaguchi's shirt and up the curve of his spine. Without thinking, Yamaguchi's hips jerk forward, rocking down against him, and he lets out a soft noise.
"Do you," Shimada begins, kissing Yamaguchi breathless between words, "want this, Tadashi? Do you want me to fuck you?"
Yamaguchi's knees go weak, and he utters a broken noise, seemingly incapable of forming sentences. Yes, he wants, wants so badly something he'd never had before, so much that he forgets his inhibitions and reaches up, curling clumsy fingers into Shimada's hair to yank him down into another kiss.
Shimada laughs into his mouth, taking a lip between his teeth and tugging, hands shifting down to fumble with Yamaguchi's pants. It takes him only a moment, licking into Yamaguchi's mouth as he unfastens the button and pushes his jeans and briefs down, letting the fabric pool around his knees.
Yamaguchi pants as Shimada pulls away, feeling hot, stomach and chest aching and tight with want.
"Turn around." Shimada orders, eyes snapping back up to Yamaguchi's face. He swallows, and complies, turning uncertainly so his back is to Shimada.
He hears the click of some sort of cap, then a wet noise - and then he jumps about a foot in the air, squeaking as Shimada trails slick fingers down his ass - then he's spreading him apart, fingertip finding the furl of muscle there before pushing in, gentle but insistent.
Yamaguchi's mouth falls open, skin burning as he focuses on the foreign sensation - it's not overwhelmingly pleasurable in itself, but when Shimada places a firm hand on his back and pins him down against the counter, he lets his head fall forward with a helpless groan.
"You're so good," Shimada breathes, working the single digit in and out of him in steady motions, "such a good boy, Tadashi, listening so well -" Yamaguchi shivers again, biting his lip to keep another noise back.
He can feel himself shaking, knees almost buckling as Shimada tentatively presses another fingertip alongside the first - then he's nudging both in, slick and insistent, and Yamaguchi lets himself whine, heat briefly overwhelming him.
Shimada's fingers make him feel full as they pump steadily in and out of him, dragging along his insides, sparking pleasure along his nerves. Shimada leans forward again, mouthing against his jaw as he fucks him with his fingers.
"Shima-- Shimada-sensei," Yamaguchi finally manages, panting as his head falls to the side, "please-- please. Put it in me." The words come out before he can stop them, and he flushes a dark red, lip quivering with embarrassment.
"Polite." Shimada breathes against his throat, fingers never once stopping as they thrust into him, "just one thing, Tadashi-san." Yamaguchi nods jerkily, body suddenly convulsing with a whimper as Shimada crooks his fingers and pushes in hard, hitting something achingly deep and sweet.
"I want you to call me... daddy. Is that okay with you?" With that, he bites down at the juncture of Yamaguchi's neck and shoulder, tongue laving at the resulting mark. He cries out.
Daddy? It sounds like some bad porno, but as Yamaguchi goes over the prospect in his head, it sounds... hot, almost, and he gasps, eyelashes fluttering as Shimada's fingers keep pumping in and out of him.
"Okay." he finally manages, biting his lip in sudden disappointment as Shimada suddenly shifts back, fingers pulling out of him.
"Okay... what?" Shimada prompts, a hand grabbing his hip once more. Yamaguchi feels the blunt head of his cock slide over him, then, slick and hard, and he shudders again, head clouding his thoughts and vision.
"Okay... daddy." he answers, voice shaking with embarrassment.
Shimada's breath catches, and he grabs Yamaguchi's hips with renewed vigor, dick pressing against tight heat and wet --
-- and then he pushes in, sinking into Yamaguchi, mindful of his wail of surprise and want. Shimada pulls him back, forcing him down onto his cock and bottoming out, Yamaguchi quivering tight and wet around him.
fill: creature fear (shimada/yamaguchi, underage, daddy kink)(1/2)
op, i'm so sorry
------
When Shimada had asked him how old he was, Yamaguchi hadn't thought much of it.
It made sense, after all. He was going to teach Yamaguchi in private, which meant he had no information about him save for what he told Shimada himself.
Yamaguchi had stared down at his feet with some modicum of embarrassment, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe before muttering 'sixteen,' voice low.
And that had been that. Shimada had smiled, and the lessons had begun.
Shimada was always kind. Pushy at times, perhaps, but never once did he raise his voice with anger or annoyance. It'd taken some coaxing from him, but eventually Yamaguchi had relaxed in his presence, finally letting some of his anxiety go in favor of improvement.
He liked Shimada. He was funny, and kind, always patient and caring enough to walk Yamaguchi through the steps of their lessons, no matter how long it took. That, he appreciated: the softness in Shimada's voice, the gentleness of his hands as he showed Yamaguchi just how to move - 'no, not there, move your stance like this - good, now square your shoulders' - and it wasn't long until Shimada's praise made him glow with pride.
It'd been forever since he'd felt that way. Tsukishima, as much as Yamaguchi liked him, often put a damper on his excitement whenever he got too fired up - and given that Tsukishima was his constant companion, it was almost instinctual for him to hide his energy, by now.
Shimada, though - Shimada made him feel special.
He'd seen nothing wrong with his attraction, at first. Shimada was handsome, what with his smile and gentle eyes, glasses perched on strong features (Yamaguchi had always had a thing for glasses, the origin of his attraction being something he'd always refuse to admit), voice soft and encouraging.
It was just a crush on his end. Nothing more. Yamaguchi was used to unrequited affections, having trailed after Tsukishima for so many years, so he'd brushed it off as a passing fancy with a brief pang in his heart.
It wasn't a passing fancy, though. Every time Shimada's hands brushed his he felt heat rise to his face, skin suddenly prickling under his scrutiny. He'd thought Shimada wouldn't notice - the hitches in his breath, the stumbling words, the tensing of his shoulders whenever Shimada drew near - Yamaguchi had thought he'd hidden it well.
That hadn't been the case, apparently.
The night was warm, pressing in indigo around Yamaguchi as the solid weight of a volleyball nestled between his palms.
"That's not right," he hears Shimada say from behind him, a gentle tsk as he draws in close behind Yamaguchi. He tenses without realizing it, heartbeat ratcheting up a few notches as Shimada's hands reach around him.
"Your fingers," he hears him say, distantly, "should be like this."
Yamaguchi's attention suddenly zeroes in on the feel of Shimada's fingers against his, warm and guiding his hands along the soft cloth of the volleyball's surface. He swallows hard. Shimada's hovering just behind his shoulder, chest pressed against his back, arms brushing against his, palms smoothing against the back of his hands - it sends a rush of heat through him, the proximity, and he barely manages to not shiver.
"Tadashi?" Shimada says, questioning. Yamaguchi does shiver, then, hair standing on end as he hears that voice so close to his ear. Without thinking, he grips the volleyball tight, head turning ever-so-slowly towards the sound of Shimada's voice.
He freezes, breath stopping as he realizes just how close they are - Shimada's face is barely centimeters away, glasses glinting briefly in the light emanating from the shop's front.
Yamaguchi feels heat rise to his cheeks, eyes dropping conspicuously to Shimada's mouth. He wants to kiss him - he's right there, so close, body almost caging him in - but before he can make any sort of decision on the matter, Shimada clears his throat and pulls back.
For a moment, Yamaguchi doesn't look at him, face burning with humiliation.
"I think," Shimada says delicately, and Yamaguchi's gaze flicks to him, "we should continue this tomorrow, Tadashi." His expression is thoughtful, but otherwise unreadable, eyes boring into Yamaguchi's.
"O-- okay," Yamaguchi squeaks. With a sudden movement, he shoves the volleyball back into Shimada's arms before pivoting on his heel and bolting, trying very hard not to think of the intensity of Shimada's gaze on him.
-
When he returns the next evening, Shimada is as kind as ever, as if nothing had happened. And perhaps nothing had happened - perhaps Yamaguchi was overthinking things, as usual. He relaxes as he draws close, hand lifted in a wave.
"Tadashi," Shimada calls, smile friendly, "let's pick up where we were yesterday, okay?"
And they do. It's normal at first, how it usually is, Shimada walking him through the steps with dutiful patience. Yamaguchi almost forgets about the incident, until Shimada circles behind him once more, audibly fretting.
"I thought we went over this." he reprimands, though there's no real fire to it. Again, Yamaguchi goes stock still as he feels Shimada grow close once more, sweeping in behind him. Just like the other night, he presses in close, hand smoothing down Yamaguchi's arm and down to his hand once more.
His other hand, however - it doesn't follow suit. Instead, Shimada's hand skims down over his elbow, passing over his arm entirely to settle at Yamaguchi's hip. His breath catches at the steady weight there, firm at his waist, and his heart kicks up a staccato rhythm.
"Um," Yamaguchi stutters, tongue thick with sudden nerves, "um, Shimada- Shimada-sensei, your hand..." he finally manages weakly, shuddering as Shimada digs his fingers into his hip.
"My hand?" Shimada repeats quietly, lips pressed against Yamaguchi's ear - he wants to whine, almost, slow heat curling in his chest as he shivers. "Is there a problem, Tadashi?"
Yamaguchi swallows hard, racking his brain for an answer - but before he can respond, Shimada presses a kiss just under his ear, and he utters a soft whimper instead. The volleyball falls from his hands, forgotten, arms frozen in place as Shimada's lips brush the side of his neck.
"N - no." he stammers, breath catching as Shimada grips his waist with both hands. When Shimada slides a palm smoothly over his torso and down, skimming past his navel to rub slow circles against Yamaguchi's thigh, he moans outright, starting with the sudden wave of aching heat that hits him.
Yamaguchi still doesn't know what to do with his hands, but Shimada doesn't seem to mind, preoccupied as he is with kissing down Yamaguchi's throat, breath washing hot over his skin as he palms Yamaguchi through the front of his jeans.
"Was I wrong?" Shimada murmurs against his skin, hand finding the outline of Yamaguchi's dick and squeezing gently, relishing in the gasp that follows, "that you were looking at me? And thinking of this?"
Yamaguchi lets his head fall back, hips jerking forward into Shimada's touch. He feels dirty like this, frozen as Shimada toys with him, making him shiver and moan, but he - he likes it, almost, relinquishing control to an adult.
Fuck. An adult. Shimada is ten years older than him, a full decade - and that thought, more than any of the others, makes his cock twitch. He bites back a whimper.
"Tadashi." Shimada speaks again, his name low on his lips, "go inside the shop."
And then he pulls his hands away, leaving Yamaguchi hot and flustered. For a moment, he flounders, before casting a glance over his shoulder - Shimada looks composed as ever, a smile quirking his mouth as he stares down at Yamaguchi.
"Okay," he manages, voice cracking, before turning and darting into the shop's side door.
It's quiet inside. Yamaguchi can hear his heart hammering in his ears even over the sound of Shimada following, door clicking as it closes behind them.
He turns slowly, apprehensive, and then Shimada's on him.
It's more domineering than it is rough - he pushes Yamaguchi back against the counter, hands firm on his waist, a thigh shifting between Yamaguchi's legs. Then, he kisses him, hot and rough, palm sliding under Yamaguchi's shirt and up the curve of his spine. Without thinking, Yamaguchi's hips jerk forward, rocking down against him, and he lets out a soft noise.
"Do you," Shimada begins, kissing Yamaguchi breathless between words, "want this, Tadashi? Do you want me to fuck you?"
Yamaguchi's knees go weak, and he utters a broken noise, seemingly incapable of forming sentences. Yes, he wants, wants so badly something he'd never had before, so much that he forgets his inhibitions and reaches up, curling clumsy fingers into Shimada's hair to yank him down into another kiss.
Shimada laughs into his mouth, taking a lip between his teeth and tugging, hands shifting down to fumble with Yamaguchi's pants. It takes him only a moment, licking into Yamaguchi's mouth as he unfastens the button and pushes his jeans and briefs down, letting the fabric pool around his knees.
Yamaguchi pants as Shimada pulls away, feeling hot, stomach and chest aching and tight with want.
"Turn around." Shimada orders, eyes snapping back up to Yamaguchi's face. He swallows, and complies, turning uncertainly so his back is to Shimada.
He hears the click of some sort of cap, then a wet noise - and then he jumps about a foot in the air, squeaking as Shimada trails slick fingers down his ass - then he's spreading him apart, fingertip finding the furl of muscle there before pushing in, gentle but insistent.
Yamaguchi's mouth falls open, skin burning as he focuses on the foreign sensation - it's not overwhelmingly pleasurable in itself, but when Shimada places a firm hand on his back and pins him down against the counter, he lets his head fall forward with a helpless groan.
"You're so good," Shimada breathes, working the single digit in and out of him in steady motions, "such a good boy, Tadashi, listening so well -" Yamaguchi shivers again, biting his lip to keep another noise back.
He can feel himself shaking, knees almost buckling as Shimada tentatively presses another fingertip alongside the first - then he's nudging both in, slick and insistent, and Yamaguchi lets himself whine, heat briefly overwhelming him.
Shimada's fingers make him feel full as they pump steadily in and out of him, dragging along his insides, sparking pleasure along his nerves. Shimada leans forward again, mouthing against his jaw as he fucks him with his fingers.
"Shima-- Shimada-sensei," Yamaguchi finally manages, panting as his head falls to the side, "please-- please. Put it in me." The words come out before he can stop them, and he flushes a dark red, lip quivering with embarrassment.
"Polite." Shimada breathes against his throat, fingers never once stopping as they thrust into him, "just one thing, Tadashi-san." Yamaguchi nods jerkily, body suddenly convulsing with a whimper as Shimada crooks his fingers and pushes in hard, hitting something achingly deep and sweet.
"I want you to call me... daddy. Is that okay with you?" With that, he bites down at the juncture of Yamaguchi's neck and shoulder, tongue laving at the resulting mark. He cries out.
Daddy? It sounds like some bad porno, but as Yamaguchi goes over the prospect in his head, it sounds... hot, almost, and he gasps, eyelashes fluttering as Shimada's fingers keep pumping in and out of him.
"Okay." he finally manages, biting his lip in sudden disappointment as Shimada suddenly shifts back, fingers pulling out of him.
"Okay... what?" Shimada prompts, a hand grabbing his hip once more. Yamaguchi feels the blunt head of his cock slide over him, then, slick and hard, and he shudders again, head clouding his thoughts and vision.
"Okay... daddy." he answers, voice shaking with embarrassment.
Shimada's breath catches, and he grabs Yamaguchi's hips with renewed vigor, dick pressing against tight heat and wet --
-- and then he pushes in, sinking into Yamaguchi, mindful of his wail of surprise and want. Shimada pulls him back, forcing him down onto his cock and bottoming out, Yamaguchi quivering tight and wet around him.