The ball slams into the court, just outside of the back line, just as the six before. Iwaizumi exhales sharply as Oikawa lands tiredly back on his feet. He reaches for the ball cart, pulling out another ball. “One more,” he mutters when he catches Iwaizumi’s challenging glare.
“You said ‘one more’ three serves ago,” Iwaizumi says. It’s late, the rest of the team left over an hour ago, and Oikawa is running himself into the ground like he’s so prone to do.
“I meant one more good one. The last six have been out.”
“And they’re going to more and more out if you keep pushing yourself past your limit like this.”
“I’m not past my limit,” Oikawa protests.
He steps back behind the line. Iwaizumi watches, resigned, as he spins the ball a few times in his long fingers, bounces it once, twice, then takes a deep breath. On the exhale, he tosses the ball up. He strides forward, each step precise, well practiced, instinctual. He jumps. He swings.
The ball slams into the wood a hair behind the back line.
“Fuck me,” Oikawa grumbles as he lands.
“Sure,” Iwaizumi replies. “If it’ll get you off this damn court for an hour.”
Oikawa nearly trips over his own feet, his eyes snapping up to meet Iwaizumi’s. Iwaizumi holds his glare, keeping his expression neutral, serious. It’s not exactly how he had been planning to confess to Oikawa, but sometimes, extreme measures must be taken.
Gaby’s skin is soft, her embraces even softer, and it’s hard to get up from under the covers, from her warmth. The floor is cold under his feet when he reaches to grab his underwear.
“Stay over,” Gaby asks softly.
“I can’t,” Illya says. “No sleeping over. Your rule.”
Gaby hums. “Stay,” she asks again. “Let’s forget about that rule.”
Illya lets the fabric fell back on the floor but stays on the edge of the bed. “If you are going to forget about that rule are you going to forget all the others too?” He twist his head to see her over his shoulder.
Gaby crawls up, the rumpled sheet under her knees, pressing herself against Illya’s back. Her arms wrap around him; one around his shoulder, the other under his arm, smoothing it’s way across his abdomen. She buries her face on his neck, inhales his scent, bites his earlobe gently. She squeezes Illya closer, purring like a happy cat.
“Yes. Let’s forget all the rules,” she promises, muttering the words against his skin, lips pressing warm kisses on him. “Stay,” she purrs.
“Those are your rules,” Illya reminds, letting her pull him back to the bed, eager to explore the opportunity to stay a bit longer with her. “Tomorrow you are going to reinstate those.” He can barely get the words out from between her kisses.
“Then enjoy this while it lasts,” Gaby mutters, pulling him under the covers with her, back to her warmth, under her deep kisses and caresses, enjoying when there is no rules. At least tonight.
I’d like to believe that the reason that the Amazons have the most EXTRA fighting style in existence is because they’re a warrior people with no war to fight so instead of just doing basic training like normal people, Antiope is like, “And now I’m going to teach you how to BACKFLIP off of a MOVING HORSE,” because they have to fill their time somehow.