Another, more recent writing sample.
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It's an unconventional approach, he knows despite the dense label often applied to him socially. There's no objective here, at least not one that makes itself immediately known; he's going through the motions the same as Kageyama. But he'd be lying if he said it felt like discussing the weather. It can't, not when he feels graphically aware of Kageyama in a way that has nothing to do with the pretty, rose-flushed tip of his dick.
They share such uniquely specific parallels, Kageyama's hands are just as rough as his own when they cinch tight around his wrist. They're both open, vulnerable; Kageyama could swing now with a closed fist and there wouldn't be a damn thing he could do about it. His vulnerabilities were clearly more obvious; his pants scrunched with his underwear around the middle of his thighs, but it's not just that either.
Kageyama at least has a relationship to mourn.
In all of his enjoyment, he'd never taken the time to stop and clarify the experience. He remembers all of the late-night calls, the way Oikawa would giggle after curling into his side because they'd gotten away with sneaking around again, how warm his nose felt brushing against his whenever they'd kissed on chilly nights. He isn't sentimental, he doesn't think he is anyways but he feels like he could be. He could be the kind of man who drenches his partners in gifts and lavish trips. He can dream of a day when it's Tooru on the sidelines, beaming at the nod he offers him as he steps out with the rest of his team. His sign to him. Their sign to one another. He's no tinman, he has a heart - something he's, unfortunately, all too aware of. As if on cue, lightning shoots through his chest, a sharp pang twisting at his insides with every hard thump of his pulse until he can't take it anymore. Until he has to breathe out hard, shaky, and way too audibly between them like he's holding back a sob but there's nothing there. And when that steady beating skyrockets, spilling molten adrenaline through his veins, he has no way to properly explain that either.
"I do not know how to turn it off." That ache, not the hard jut of Kageyama's cock, which he's decidedly interested in. His lips thin when he rolls his thumb down deep between the crook of those long thighs. He doesn't push against that grip on his wrist, his eyes darting to Kageyama's to gauge his reaction to the friction. Ushijima leans in, his exhale a reminder of how easy it'd be for him to shift between his thighs. How easy could it be for him to bob his head enough to feel him warm, skin shifting beneath the rub of his nose? He doesn't, but he could.
Another deep breath and he's closing his eyes, resting his chin on Kageyama's thigh while he collects his words. "You are right. It is hard to want without remembering. It has certainly left a few specific interactions feeling less attractive than they once were." He pauses, peeking up at him through only one of his eyes. "You've clearly found a way around it."
Or he's trying to.
Was this typical behavior for Kageyama? Was he always so easily distracted? Ushijima wonders how many close encounters they've missed since rooming together that aren't directly related to his own hookups.