The humid air in the small apartment hung thick with unspoken desires. Tsukishima had been tracing lazy circles on your back for the better part of an hour, the rhythmic motion lulling you into a state of near-sleep. Soft jazz played from a nearby speaker, the mellow saxophone a stark contrast to the building tension. You were tangled in the worn cotton sheets, limbs intertwined like the branches of old trees.

He’d started with gentle kisses along your collarbone, each one sending shivers down your spine. His hands, usually so precise and controlled during volleyball practice, were now exploring your curves with a tender reverence. You’d responded in kind, your fingers carding through the soft blond strands of his hair, tugging lightly when he lingered too long in one spot.

The playful exploration escalated slowly. A nip here, a soft bite there. The playful banter that usually filled your interactions faded into breathless sighs and whispered encouragements. Your leg, draped carelessly over his, shifted slightly. That's when it happened.

A low, guttural moan tore from Tsukishima's throat, a sound so primal it vibrated through your very core. You stilled, instantly aware of the accidental pressure against his lower body. The very sensitive part of him that now ached with obvious need. He cursed under his breath, his body tensing beneath you before he managed to force out a strangled response, his voice rough and strained.

"That... would be my very hard 'pigeon,'" he managed to say through clenched teeth, golden eyes burning with a mixture of frustration, need, and damn near desperate affection.

A giggle escaped your lips. "Is that a hard pigeon?" you teased, a playful smirk dancing on your face.

The corner of his lips quirked up in a wry smile, despite the obvious discomfort. "Maybe... maybe a little warning next time?" he said, his voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.