hands of victory

There’s a thousand smiling faces in the dark and all of them want to kill you. The sky is lit, it’s lit with color and laughter, but nobody seems to mind the taste of gunpowder as much as you. You duck behind a car, a little confused why all the screams sound happy, and your eye meets another brave soul hiding on the floor. He nods at you like he understands and lifts what used to be his left arm to his temple and mouths something that looks disturbingly like “Thank you for your service.” Your mouth goes even drier because you don’t know how to say you were never even in the fucking army, so you sink a little lower in the dirt and beg the ground to take you, and you hear yourself laughing madly as you raise your shaking hands in victory, a true warrior indeed.

from my twitter prompts! for @kaworuj !!

kagehina + things you said after it was over + aged-up + olympic boys

So this is it.

The game is over- the Olympic finals are over- and they’ve won. Kageyama has always had confidence in their team but having the medal, holding it with his own two hands, is a surreal experience. Victory hasn’t felt real until now, a few hours after the awards ceremony, as the players finishes their celebration dinner and prepare to return to the hotel.

Kageyama hesitates near the restaurant entrance, fingers fiddling with his medal. The excitement of the day lingers in his bones, and, for some odd reason, he doesn’t want to be alone.

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” a voice abruptly pipes up from beside Kageyama. He startles, subconsciously clutching the medal closer. His head swivels to face the source of the annoyance: Hinata Shouyou.

“Of course we did, dumbass,” Kageyama bites back. Even after all these years together, their banter hasn’t changed. Most conversations sound frighteningly similar to those of their high school days. “Did you really think we’d lose?”

“Wh- No!”

“Sure,” Kageyama snorts, shaking his head.

“Shut up!” Hinata no longer has to stand on his tiptoes to be level with Kageyama. He comes up to Kageyama’s nose, but is still the shortest attacker on the team. “I mean that… like… it didn’t feel real until now, ya know?”

Kageyama squeezes his medal on reflex and lets it drop back against his chest. “Whatever,” he huffs. Because of course he can’t have Hinata knowing he feels the same way.

“Are you heading back to your room now?”

Kageyama jerks his head in Hinata’s direction, surprised by his tone of voice. It’s soft and almost… shy. Well, shy for Hinata, at least. And, like Kageyama, he plays with the solid gold weight around his neck. Hinata zeroes in on the medal as if it’s the only thing that matters in the world. Which Kageyama understands.

“Obviously,” Kageyama quips and turns, taking a purposeful step in the direction of the nearest bus stop. “Where else would I go?”

“A… bar?”

Kageyama simply glares.

“The gym?”


“No,” Hinata says. Maybe it’s the poor lighting, but his cheeks look a little pink. “I was kidding. I just…” He pauses, and Kageyama waits for an explanation, eyebrows creeping up into his hairline the longer Hinata stalls. Finally, he blurts, “Let’s go back then!”

He grabs Kageyama’s hand and yanks him roughly in the direction of the bus stop. Kageyama protests but doesn’t actually try to stop Hinata from dragging him. He follows with minimal interference.

They only have to wait fifteen minutes for the next bus to arrive. The ride back to their hotel is uneventful, especially with very few passengers on board. A couple sitting across from them, however, smirks when they notice Kageyama and Hinata’s joined hands in the space between them. Kageyama is too flustered and confused to snap at the nosy bastards.

The walk to their room is equally quiet. Only a handful of words are exchanged on the elevator. And Kageyama doesn’t even question Hinata when he trails along, stopping in front of Kageyama’s door rather than his own.

Throughout the whole journey, their hands never separate. Not even once.

Hinata leads him into Kageyama’s room (because that makes sense) and doesn’t let go until they’re both sitting on the edge of his bed. Something about the expression Hinata wears urges Kageyama not to comment or fill the silence with insults. At his side, Hinata fidgets, restless now that he let go of Kageyama’s hand.

He’s getting antsier and antsier and antsier and Kageyama is five seconds away from telling Hinata to leave if he’s going to act like this.

“We’re not gonna-“ Hinata wets his lips- “go back to not talking to each other now, right?”


“Well, we stopped talking for a couple years and… the only reason we’re hanging out again is because of the Olympics so- I don’t know, I just figured-“

“Dumbass,” Kageyama interrupts. Because, really, this guy is ridiculous. “I told you. Things are gonna be different from now on.”


Kageyama steels his nerves and reaches over to reclaim Hinata’s hand. His palms are sweaty, calloused palm twitching against his own. “Different,” he reiterates.

He’s never been good with words and, quite honestly, neither has Hinata. Even as they grew older, like many things concerning the two of them, that simple fact hasn’t changed. So Kageyama does the only thing he can think of.

Before he can think better of it, Kageyama leans over and gives Hinata the sloppiest, worst excuse for a first kiss ever. Thankfully, Hinata reads the situation, just like he would on the court, and reciprocates with a similarly awful press of lips and clashing of teeth.

It isn’t over yet.

Celebrate even the smallest victory

The light of Crete slipped through Apollo’s hands
(Icarus gasped, a silent defeat)
Death to a Greek boy was always gloriful
(Icarus’s lips curved at the irony)
Red and thick and slick between hands and ribs
a prideful victory, or a prideful death
(Icarus’s fingers still felt the sky falling through them,
a breath away from that taunting gold)
Not eyelids fluttering and a current tugging,
(Icarus’s last bubbles whispered of the sun god,
even as Poseidon dragged him down)
—  c.h.g.
A story.

First time I’m seeing his face so close. Eyes the color of steel, features equally as cold and stiff. Fear starting to spread across my body. His hands are pinning down my wrists onto the wooden floor. I start shivering under his glance. Can’t control it. Makes me feel so weak. I hate it He is exhilarated. Almost ready to laugh. Can he even laugh? I spit in his face. The most handsome, meanest face I’ve seen. Instant change. Each face muscle tense, every vein visible, jaw clenching. He is lifting his right hand. Wiping it. I’m quickly using my freedom to explore his skin. Eagerly touching, getting dizzy by the victory. By his scent. no time  He is pushing two fingers into my mouth. Forcing his whole spit covered hand. My victory is over. It’s hurting. Grotesquely open mouth still can’t fit him. Weird sounds, moans and cries coming from my own throat. I’m trying to escape, wiggling underneath and pushing his shoulders. His hand is out. He is rubbing it all over my face. Moving it down to grab my throat. My legs are forcefully open by his knee. The grip around my neck is tightening. Can’t breathe, I can’t breathe. I’m trying to tell him with my eyes. begging All is blurry. He is saying something. No idea in what language anymore. I’m responding with snarls. He is pushing his way inside me. My body is squirming, trying to fit him desperately. Fingers are clenching my thigh. throbbing burning dripping All the way. Completely. I’m trying to find release. The bone crushing weight of his body is falling upon me. No escape. I can’t move. My bones are cutting into his. Merging together. The throat grip loosens. Fighting for air. One second. Two seconds. Sudden hard thrust. And another. My breath is coming out in synchronized rapid gasps. Struggling to move beneath him. Not searching for escape but ultimate surrender. To let him deeper. To make him part of myself. To be part of him. moaning screaming crying  My nails are digging into flesh. squeezing hitting pushing His lips are searcing across my face for mine. Not a kiss. assault Only another way to get inside. Warm tears are dripping down mixing with saliva. My body is crying, breaking, my soul and mind are somewhere else. He is sinking. I’m looking into the cold eyes. hazy There’s finally something human in his glance. pain And something beyond human. I am Him. He is Me. We are Beyond.