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Iwaizumi had always loved Oikawa.
He realized it one day in high school when Oikawa had glanced at him over the mouth of his current girlfriend, his eyes slanted with something that fueled Iwaizumi with a jealousy so strong, he asked to swap practice slots with Matsukawa. Iwaizumi still feels a pang of guilt about it, but it’s actually how he became good friends with Hanamaki.
Iwaizumi’s love for Oikawa appeared long before he’d realized it. It might have been that one summer day when a seven year old Oikawa had convinced Iwaizumi that they should sneak off from the block party and run into the woods behind their house to catch lightning bugs, his toothy grin and bandaged cheeks always ready for the next adventure. It struck an arrow through Iwaizumi’s chest, confirming what he had always known—Oikawa was beautiful.
Or it may have been the time they went to the Christmas Tree lighting in the city square when they were sixteen. The snow fell into Oikawa’s hair and he wrapped both himself and Iwaizumi in his giant scarf to keep them warm. He smelled like fresh pine and hot chocolate, and Iwaizumi committed the moment deep in his memory—Oikawa was sweet.
It was only at the end of high school that Iwaizumi became painfully aware of it.
It happened on the volleyball court—because of course it did—and Hanamaki didn’t letup for a week about it afterwards, unable to stop laughing at the way Iwaizumi could barely form a sentence.
Oikawa had done one of his jump serves, not unlike what Iwaizumi had seen practiced a million times over. But this time, it was different. He watched the way Oikawa’s muscles flexed in the air, back arching and snapping forward like a rubber band as he sent the ball spiraling to the other side of the court, the crack of thunder echoing throughout the gym.
Girls overhead squealed and shrieked his name as he landed, all sorts of we love yous and please date mes being whooped and hollered from the balcony.
When Oikawa lifted his head, he turned to look right at Iwaizumi with an expression that punched the air from his lungs and sent his stomach rolling out of the gym. Using the neck of his shirt to wipe sweat from his cheek, he tilted his head in a lopsided grin.
“Did I look cool, Iwa-chan?”
The answer is always yes, but in that moment, Iwaizumi struggled to breathe. His mind filled with an idea—he wanted to make Oikawa’s back arch in that same way, just off the court. To wipe that smug grin off Oikawa’s face and put spots in his vision. To love him so hard it left him dizzy and unable to think of anything but the way Iwaizumi knew him the way others didn’t.
The thought ripped through Iwaizumi’s nerves so viscerally his limbs were shaking. So he launched a volleyball with all his might right at the brunet and stormed off the court, hiding himself away in the locker room to try and calm his heart slamming against his chest.
Hanamaki found him later with a bottle of water and a protein bar as a peace offering. “You’ve got it bad,” he said through a mouthful of peanut butter crunch.
“Fuck off,” Iwaizumi growled in reply, but a moment later he was hiding his face into Hanamaki’s shoulder in an attempt to swallow the burning that clawed through his chest.
Hanamaki was safe, and calm, and despite how much he teased Iwaizumi about his recently discovered affliction, he always covered for him. It was easier to breathe around Makki, to laugh with him, to feel like he could be a normal eighteen year old kid.
See, the problem wasn’t just that Iwaizumi was in love. He could handle that much, having been close to Oikawa his entire life. Oikawa was bratty, impatient, stubborn and a list of other annoying traits that if Iwaizumi explained, people might think he hated him. But Oikawa was also strong willed and free spirited and it was one of the many things Iwaizumi loved about him. He never gave up, and despite his exhaustive personality, he was a kind soul, torn between wanting to please everyone and satisfy himself.
Iwaizumi loved him, irrevocably, unconditionally, and that would never change.
The issue was being near Oikawa made his brain swirl through all the ways he could reduce Oikawa to a puddle. To dominate his ego and pride and make him understand that Iwaizumi could satisfy him like no one else could.
Seeing Oikawa flirt with everyone, especially the new cute girl of the month that may or may not lead to one a failed relationship, pinched nerves in Iwaizumi that ruined his mood.
Iwaizumi always pocketed a twinge of pride whenever Oikawa dumped or was dumped, the claim always that he was too busy to juggle a relationship. He knew if Oikawa were fully his, that wouldn’t be an issue. He had always been content with knowing that he loved Oikawa in a way that he couldn’t fully explain, but when those feelings edged on desire, it dragged Iwaizumi towards recklessness.
University would be his savior, he thought while filling out his application forms. Surely he’d be able to squash this seemingly incurable ache and carry on.
“Wow, we really know how to stick together,” Matsukawa said as they all revealed their acceptance letters.
Iwaizumi teetered on jubilation and dread when he saw that they had all committed to the same school.
“Best friends forever,” Hanamaki cheesed.
“Iwa-chan, you look like you’re going to be sick,” Oikawa poked his finger at the center of his forehead.
Iwaizumi began to sweat. He had managed to keep his feelings at bay, and his urges even further down, locked behind the seal of friendship. Another four years of being around Oikawa was going to be tough—impossible, even.
“He’ll want to room with you,” Makki said one day as they filled out their dorm paperwork.
“Please room with me,” Iwaizumi blurted with eyes wide and chest so tight he might have required intubation. “Makki, I can’t.”
“Think you might just rev those engines, eh?”
“I will actually throttle you,” Iwaizumi groaned, and Hanamaki conceded with a heavy laugh, writing Iwaizumi’s name down.
They later told Matsukawa about the plan, who convinced Oikawa with a similar excuse.
“Mattsun says he wants to room with me because it’d be too hard to room with Makki.” Oikawa frowned over a bite of his milk bread, “are you mad?”
“No,” Iwaizumi sighed, “I understand. Let’s help them out. It’s not like we’ll be in our rooms much anyway.”
“We’ll probably all be together like usual anyway,” Oikawa shrugged, “right?”
“Right,” Iwaizumi agreed with a mirrored shrug.
Iwaizumi quickly buried himself in classes, ensuring that he chose all different time slots than Oikawa for anything they had a chance at taking together. Volleyball was the only place that he’d be forced to see Oikawa, which was fine, that was the place that Iwaizumi could think less and move more, shaking off lust by working out until his limbs turned to rubber.
Iwaizumi had found a rhythm that worked, but lust was a greedy mistress. It was getting worse, so much that Oikawa was infecting his every thought.
His knees weakened the day that Oikawa had snuck up on him in the hallway, fingers running along his back and up to his shoulders. It tingled in Iwaizumi’s spine and curved through his stomach, threatening the waistband of his slacks as he thought about the way Oikawa’s fingers might dig into him as he kissed down the length of his chest—
Iwaizumi abandoned the thought and high tailed it down the hall, disappearing into the bathroom to confirm his fears.
Sure enough, he was hard as a rock.
“Fuck,” Iwaizumi grunted, eyes sliding shut as he tried to calm himself down, but the feeling of Oikawa’s fingertips on his skin was like electricity.
The next time it happened, Oikawa straddled his lap in the locker room, a gesture that usually Iwaizumi didn’t mind—actually preferred. “Iwa-chan, you never play with me anymore,” Oikawa purred teasingly. Iwaizumi’s mind ran through a scenario of pulling Oikawa free from his jersey and laying him back across the bench, sinking their hips together in a rhythm that made Oikawa beg for Iwaizumi more than air.
“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa blinked, pulling his face into his hands and smiling his signature, lopsided grin, the one Iwaizumi wanted to kiss him through, pull moans out of, wrap around his length and suck his soul into.
Iwaizumi leapt from the bench and roughly dropped Oikawa to the ground, a hurried apology tossed over his shoulder as he sprinted back to his dorm. He dove into a cold shower until his nerves settled before climbing into bed, ignoring his phone blowing up by Oikawa and responding to Hanamaki that he was fine, that he just needed some time to think.
About that ass tho wwwww, Hanamaki replied.
I hope you die, Iwaizumi sent, and turned his phone off.
That was the first night Iwaizumi touched himself to the thought of Oikawa.
He had avoided it before now, not daring to let himself sink that low and leaning on gravure magazines and the good old internet, but he couldn’t resist it anymore.
He closed his eyes and let lust take over, guiding him through thoughts of how he’d take his time with Oikawa, unravel him slow, replace that smug grin with a slack jaw that called his name. It was easier than Iwaizumi thought, slipping his hand into his pants and conjuring up images of Oikawa that made the back of his skull prickle with pleasure.
And then, the idea passed through Iwaizumi’s head—more like Iwaizumi grabbed onto it with the same fervor as he held himself—and stayed there. Iwaizumi wanted to tear Oikawa apart with teeth and tongue, filling him full enough to feel himself through Oikawa’s stomach. Iwaizumi could hear it almost like it were real, the sounds Oikawa would make as he railed him senseless against the wall.
Iwaizumi came so hard he audibly cried out, his vision blurring and hips twitching through waves of euphoria. The feeling was so good it scared him out of his wits. It was normal for young adults to be sex crazed, wasn’t it?
Okay, so maybe not everyone thought about sex this much, but Iwaizumi couldn’t seem to carve out of the folds of his brain—especially when it came to Oikawa.
After that, Iwaizumi switched gears. He started noticing the attention he was getting in University from peering eyes over shoulders and hair tucked bashfully behind ears. He threw caution to the wind and entertained the idea that while he wasn’t some walking deity the way Oikawa gleamed in crowds, he had his own appeal—rugged, steady, uncomplicated.
It worked. Iwaizumi found someone willing—a nameless face—and explored what he’d only ever seen through paper and screens. It didn’t matter who, but Iwaizumi found what he liked rather quickly. And he liked to dominate, to please, to leave the other a shivering mess.
He filed his desire for Oikawa in the back of his mind and buried his frustration into bodies whenever he got an itch. And he got the itch…frequently. He apologized to Hanamaki when he told him he couldn’t come back to the room as he poured himself into a girl he’d met through one of his electives.
He apologized again when the guy he met in a coffee shop was a bit louder than he’d bargained for.
“I’m going to start calling you Usagi-chan,” Hanamaki guffawed into his bowl of ramen, damn near choking on bean sprouts when Iwaizumi kicked his shin.
“Who knew you were such a pervert, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa grinned over the rim of his glass, waggling his eyebrows.
“Shut up,” Iwaizumi face flushed.
This became Iwaizumi’s newest, and safest, routine for keeping his ache—his need—for Oikawa at bay.
It made it easier to remain collected whenever Oikawa reached for him, smelling like wind and sunshine and sugar, hands passing over Iwaizumi’s skin in light touches of comfort.
It stayed this way for most of the first year. Iwaizumi gained a reputation for having a voracious sexual appetite, and his friends teased him until they happened to bump into a few of his brief encounters, learning that they all had nothing but incredible things to say.
Iwaizumi never used it as a bragging right, so he didn’t think that anyone would care. He had to swallow his pride the day Matsukawa sent him a sour look when he overheard a girl—Kimi was her name, maybe—gushing to her friends about Iwaizumi’s sexual prowess.
“I could get addicted to him,” she sighed dreamily, unaware that Iwaizumi was within earshot.
“I hope it falls off,” Mattsun flipped him the bird behind his notebook.
Iwaizumi laughed, but noted that he wouldn’t be calling her again. He had only called her in the first place because she had large brown eyes similar to Oikawa’s.
He should have felt bad for subconsciously finding partners that had some slight resemblance to Oikawa, but he really couldn’t find it in him to care.
“You might catch something,” Oikawa said one day over his shoulder during practice. His eyes were hollow, void of emotion as he stretched his arms over his head. Iwaizumi didn’t really notice it at the time, too busy tying his shoe and not looking at the way Oikawa looked really good in their Uni’s jersey.
“Thanks mom,” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, “I know what I’m doing.”
“So…found a favorite yet?”
“Favorite what?”
“Position, dummy,” Oikawa stuck his tongue out playfully, sending Iwaizumi an amused grin.
Iwaizumi’s face burned, not because he was ashamed to answer, but because immediately he pictured Oikawa in his lap, legs wobbly and unable to hold himself up as he seated himself full on Iwaizumi’s length.
He found someone with the same slope of Oikawa’s nose and fulfilled that fantasy.
Iwaizumi’s control was slowly, steadily spiraling, even worse when the next school year rolled around. He couldn’t avoid living with Oikawa this time, as the latter suggested the four musketeers just get a house together. And with Makki and Mattsun having evened out their make believe issues to spare Iwaizumi a year of rooming with Oikawa, there was no excuse.
What was already painful became torture. Oikawa was comfortable around him—too comfortable. Iwaizumi wondered if Oikawa had caught on to how much he yearned for him one day when he entered the kitchen to find the brunet sat on the kitchen countertop in nothing but briefs, mouth wrapped around a banana. The look on Iwaizumi’s face sent Oikawa into a raucous laughter that sent him tumbling off the countertop.
Iwaizumi confirmed his suspicions when he caught onto Oikawa messing with him intentionally. During practice, he’d eyefuck him from across the court until Iwaizumi had to sprint to the bathroom and focus on flexing a muscle—any muscle—until he calmed down. Oikawa would blow air into his ear over his shoulder while he studied in his room, or walk around the house practically naked.
The worst was food. If Iwaizumi was around, Oikawa ate and drank everything seductively. Iwaizumi didn’t even it was possible to eat noodles like that.
“If I have to watch him eat again I’m going to hurl, please do something,” Hanamaki begged.
“Like what?” Iwaizumi snapped, “he’s messing with me.”
“And you’re not taking it as a sign,” Hanamaki deadpanned.
“It’s Oikawa. There is no sign,” Iwaizumi growled. Hanamaki dropped it with a shrug.
Iwaizumi was certain Oikawa was messing with him out of pure curiosity. How funny it was that a single puff of air in Iwaizumi’s ear would send him scrambling through his phone to call someone, anyone that was free to help him clear his mind.
“It’s too easy to tease you, Iwa-chan. Your mind is lost to the gutter.” Oikawa was stretching during practice once and folded into a position that damn near made Iwaizumi’s nose bleed.
Iwaizumi shot a glare to Hanamaki as if to say “I told you he’s just messing with me”. Makki rolled his eyes and aimed a volleyball at Oikawa’s ass with precision.
Iwaizumi would have been annoyed that Oikawa was incessantly teasing him, making his head spin, his lungs collapse, his pants tight. Though because Iwaizumi couldn’t think straight, and he’d surrendered himself to being lewd and perverted, he enjoyed it. There was a thrill in it that made his thoughts that much better.
His only saving grace outside of sex with strangers was Hanamaki.
Iwaizumi had come to enjoy being around Makki more than her bargained for, especially after living with him for a year. Makki was easygoing, honest, and witty when it counted. Whenever Iwaizumi needed an escape, Hanamaki would answer—not without teasing him about it, but that’s the kind of person he was.
Matsukawa had drifted closer to Oikawa, because Oikawa was bratty and petulant and Mattsun had a patience that none of the others possessed. That’s how it went—Makki with Iwaizumi, Mattsun with Oikawa. It worked out whenever there was some kind of squabble in the home, although Makki and Mattsun almost never squabbled.
Oikawa was always the jealous type, though, the way his mouth would twist and his eyes would hollow when he’d catch Iwaizumi spending lunch with Hanamaki, or studying, or cackling like hyenas over some stupid online meme. He never said anything about it. He’d fix his face and brush it off or trot his way over to Mattsun, calling his name in a sing song voice. Iwaizumi chalked it up to Oikawa’s usual antics, because whenever Oikawa wasn’t feeling put out about Makki, he was finding ways to light Iwaizumi’s skin on fire.
There was one time Iwaizumi almost slipped.
He was on the couch fiddling on his phone, when Oikawa seated himself into his lap in nothing but a loose t-shirt and five inch inseams. “Iwa-chan!” He chirped, and Iwaizumi groaned at the sight of lips and tongue stained over a cherry flavored lollipop stuck between Oikawa’s teeth.
“We’re going to a party tomorrow night and you have to come.”
“I do not,” Iwaizumi sighed, dropping his phone into his lap between them.
“You do,” Oikawa insisted, “you’re not bailing on another one of Tetsu’s parties. I forbid it.”
Iwaizumi had done a solid job of dodging parties thus far, because alcohol pushed desire to the brink of insanity, and Iwaizumi wasn’t sure he could contain himself around Oikawa in a place like that.
Oikawa made a loud, seductive pop off the tip of his lollipop and leaned forward, folding his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck. “You don’t wanna party with me, Iwa-chan?” His voice was low, sultry, and tugged something deep in Iwaizumi’s groin. The scent of Oikawa smelling like cherries and fresh soap made Iwaizumi dizzy, his fingers twitching towards Oikawa’s hips.
It pulsed through his mind, sucking the remaining sugar off his tongue while he fucked him senseless on the couch. Matsukawa would kill him for it later, because “this couch cost more than you two are worth on a good day” but Iwaizumi could feel restraint slipping.
Oikawa hovered above him dangerously close, and Iwaizumi almost pulled himself free of his own boundaries, until the front door clicked open. Oikawa leaned back to greet Hanamaki and Matsukawa casually, but Iwaizumi looked like a deer in headlights.
“Not. On. The. Couch,” Mattsun clipped.
“Got you that protein powder you were asking about,” Makki shook the grocery bag in his hand with a devious smile.
Iwaizumi glanced back at Oikawa whose expression had turned blank. “Makki’s coming tomorrow, too,” he said quietly, popping the sucker into his cheek, “so you can’t bail.”
“Totally thought you were gonna bail,” said Kuroo over the sound of thumping music. Kuroo had gotten lucky with a wealthy roommate whose parents agreed to cosign the rent on the house if he filled it with bodies he trusted, and Kuroo happened to make the list. They quickly gained a reputation for being the party house, with rules to keep things from getting out of hand.
“Almost did,” Oikawa clucked his tongue, sending Iwaizumi a pointed look.
“Usagi-chan is afraid to party?” Kuroo snorted, and Iwaizumi sent a murderous glare to Hanamaki, who surrendered Matsukawa as the reason Kuroo had caught on to the nickname.
“Hey, I’m not judging,” Kuroo pushed solo cups filled with something strong into each of their hands. “Bedrooms are off limits, but bathrooms and closets we can turn a blind eye to. Just don’t make a mess.”
“Hear that, Iwa-chan? Bathrooms and closets.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Iwaziumi laughed and let alcohol soothe his nerves. He found a seat on the giant couch in the living room and chained himself to it, watching Oikawa across the room be introduced to a group of Kuroo’s friends. He never thought he’d see the day he was jealous of light wash denim, but the way they hugged Oikawa’s hips and thighs made him chug through his first drink and quickly find a second.
Hanamaki looped an arm around him from behind and leaned into his ear. “Heads up,” he said, loud enough to break through the music , “Oikawa is a handsy drunk. So, be careful.” His lips split into a dark grin and gave Iwaizumi a pat on his shoulder. “Or don’t.”
“Fuck you,” Iwaizumi snapped, followed by, “please save me.”
“Not a chance in hell. Go get ‘im, Usagi-chan.” Hanamaki laughed and shook his head, which meant Iwaizumi was absolutely on his own tonight. He peered over the rim of his cup to find Oikawa staring at him from across the room, before knocking his head back with a shot someone had offered him.
Iwaizumi was only able to keep himself on the couch for about thirty minutes before Oikawa had pulled him into the kitchen for the slew of drinking games. By then, enough liquid courage had seeped into his veins and convinced him that it couldn’t be that bad to have a bit of fun, so long as he didn’t look at Oikawa for too long.
Truthfully, Iwaizumi wasn’t much of a drinker. He and Oikawa had tried beer a few times in high school, where he found the taste to be bitter. Spiky, was the word he’d used then. He preferred hard liquor—discovered while the four musketeers hung out inside of Oikawa and Matsukawa’s dorm one evening—but with the way this party was going, he was beyond preference as he finished his second drink.
He teamed up with Oikawa for a game of beer pong, erupting into cheers when they put Kuroo and Matsukawa to shame. When they won again, Oikawa jumped into his arms and sloshed liquid out of their cups in an overly aggressive roar, which Iwaizumi followed, because they would always be an unstoppable force as a team.
Iwaizumi blatantly ignored the warning signs in his body as the cheap thrill of winning synced with the bottom of his third drink.
Already buzzing, the fourth drink went down with ease alongside two shots that made him throw caution to the wind, hysterically laughing as Hanamaki crashed out over losing a game of King’s Cup.
“I’m so fucked,” Makki groaned, hearing the rowdy “chug chug chug” around him.
And then, Iwaizumi fucked up.
In his drunken stupor, he absentmindedly reached for Oikawa who had stumbled towards him and splayed his hands across his chest. Iwaizumi should have let it end there, but his body moved on its own as he curled an arm around Oikawa’s waist with a tilted smirk.
And then Oikawa tossed his head back and laughed, exposing the skin of his throat, his grin slanted and cheeks rouged scarlet. He attempted to hide his face behind the rim of his cup, eyes bleary and hiccups jumping from his chest, and it all rammed into Iwaizumi like a freight train.
The seal that Iwaizumi had carefully crafted before tonight popped like a champagne cork.
Oh god did he love him, and oh god did he want to taste him.
He almost did when their eyes met, mere centimeters away from closing the gap and tasting peaches and cream, but a look of confusion crossed Oikawa’s face and Iwaizumi panicked.
He craned his neck away from Oikawa’s face and pulled him free of wandering hands with what little control he had left.
“Iwa-chan, are you gonna be sick?” Oikawa asked through slurred speech.
“No,” Iwaizumi hissed, feeling a heat creep through his throat rendering it dry as the Sahara.
He bolted out of the kitchen and around the corner, down the hallway where he passed Kuroo with a back of ice tucked under his arm. “Gonna be sick?” Kuroo echoed, cat like eyes wide with concern. He pointed to the bathroom on the right.
Iwaizumi didn’t respond and slid through the door, faintly hearing Kuroo say something behind him about “having fun”—likely to the handsy couple he passed on the way. He shut the door and squeezed his eyes closed, dropping his drink onto the countertop and pressing his palms flat into the marble.
He tried to shake it off, but alcohol made his limbs heavy and his brain heavier.
Bathrooms and closets.
Bathroom, Iwaizumi thought. Definitely. He’d pin Oikawa between him and the counter and make him hold his gaze through the mirror until it fogged. Iwaizumi clutched the chest of his shirt and inhaled, trying to find his breath as if the room was somehow void of oxygen.
He didn’t get more than ten seconds of peace when the bathroom door kicked open a second later and Oikawa came bursting through it, because of course he would, probably to check and see if Iwaizumi was still alive.
“Oikawa get out—!”
Iwaizumi’s world tilted on its axis when Oikawa locked the door with one hand and shoved Iwaizumi into the opposite wall with the other, knocking their drinks to the floor in the process.
“Dammit, what are you doing?!” Iwaizumi yelled when his skull smacked the drywall. They both tumbled to the floor but that didn’t stop Oikawa from crashing their mouths together and climbing into Iwaizumi’s lap.
Oh.
“Don’t tell me no,” Oikawa growled into his mouth.
Whatever mantras and routines Iwaizumi had practiced consistently to keep his lust for Oikawa at bay vaporized on the spot. He didn’t question why Oikawa was in here, sucking any rational thought through his tongue and into the air, nails raking over the skin of his chest and pulling his shirt hard enough it might tear.
“Iwa-chan, I’ve never…” Oikawa paused for a moment, face flushed a deep carmine as he dug the heel of his palm into his forehead, fingers curling into his bangs, “I’ve never done anything with a guy before.”
“And you suddenly want to?” Iwaizumi blinked through the haze of alcohol.
“With you,” Oikawa purred, leaning forward to meld their mouths together. “I want to help you. You’re insatiable,” the words spill out, garbled through drunken speech, “and you wouldn’t have to leave me alone as often. So… do it with me.”
Iwaizumi wondered for a split second if the bathroom door he walked through was a portal to another reality. Oikawa, of all people—the one Iwaizumi longs for—wanted to be under him, simply because he missed him? The logic isn’t there, but Iwaizumi didn’t care about logic, or maybe he was too drunk to attempt to understand. Either way, his lungs rejected oxygen—they wanted to breathe in Oikawa, smelling like wind and peppermint and desire.
They were both drunk, and this might make for an awkward conversation in the morning, but the music pulsing through the floor and walls and Oikawa writhing in his lap took away Iwaizumi’s reasoning.
So he said yes. He pulled Oikawa apart through teeth and tongue in that bathroom, the way he’d dreamt of doing so many times over. He’d gotten off to the thoughts for more than two years, stored it in his mind when he wanted to float away with a nameless body, and now here he was actually living his dreams.
And just as he thought, Oikawa was sensitive and vocal.
He pulled sounds from Oikawa that someone outside the door definitely heard, letting carnal salacity latch onto all of his senses. He sucked spots on Oikawa’s skin purple and let his hands commit every curve of his body to memory.
As much as he wanted to, he wasn’t going to let Oikawa’s first time be in a random bathroom.
Instead he folded Oikawa against the wall in his lap and slid their cocks together in his hand, rutting hips together in a way that made the back of his skull prickle underneath Oikawa’s fingertips. He greedily swallowed Oikawa’s moans as he made them both shiny and slick, his free hand finding its way to the length of Oikawa’s throat and wrapping just enough to hold him steady.
He was losing control—hell he’d already lost it—seeing Oikawa red as a berry and covered in marks he’d left, chest heaving, body trembling all because Iwaizumi knew he could love Oikawa better than anyone.
“I-Iwa-chan that feels—!”
“Look at me,” Iwaizumi demanded, stroking them faster in his grip, pumping up, down, steady, hard. “Just like that,” he smirked when Oikawa obeyed, brown eyes droopy and lust blown, jaw slack as he rocked into Iwaizumi’s hand. “I will stop if you close your eyes.”
“Trying,” Oikawa wheezed.
It was delicious, the ecstasy magnified from having Oikawa this pliant under him; no arguments, no backtalk, just the sounds of pleasure that only Iwaizumi could give him.
Iwaizumi’s grip around Oikawa’s throat tightened, just enough to control his air supply. Oikawa’s hands clenched tight through Iwaizumi’s hair and tugged. “Fuck, Iwa-chan I’m gonna come,” his moans began to stutter, eyes growing heavy as he vibrated in Iwaizumi’s lap.
“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” Iwaizumi reminded him, feeling his own release building.
“Oh god, oh my god,” Oikawa gurgled. His whole body seized, coming apart at the seams with a tremble through his middle. Watching Oikawa obediently hold his gaze as Iwaizumi stroked him through his orgasm sent him over the edge, turning his vision white.
They both shot white hot across Oikawa’s chest and stomach, hips spasming and jerking as Iwaizumi thrusted them through the last few waves of pleasure, before collapsing in a boneless heap.
It took a whole five minutes before either of them spoke, letting oxygen course its way back through their chests and slowly cooling off the tingling that danced through their skin.
“Holy fuck, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa finally broke the silence.
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi replied, still shaking out the spots in his vision.
“I want to go home.”
“You said I couldn’t bail,” Iwaizumi laughed gently.
“That was before…” Oikawa waved into the air, unable to finish the sentence.
“Before I jerked you off in Kuroo’s bathroom?” Iwaizumi snagged his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress laughter, watching Oikawa flush vermillion.
“How do you get embarrassed over stupid shit and then say something like that with a straight face?”
Iwaizumi shrugged and pressed a kiss beneath Oikawa’s eye. It was a valid point that Oikawa made, and he wasn’t sure why himself, but somehow his lust made him abandon shame.
Eventually they cleaned up their messes and decided they should probably reenter the realm of the party. The conversation around what they had just done wasn’t going to happen in the same night, not while they were still drinking in the afterglow.
Kuroo gave them a devious look as they emerged from the hallway. “Oh you definitely had fun.”
Iwaizumi flipped him off and pulled Oikawa to the kitchen for fresh drinks. Makki and Mattsun were both near the fridge with ear to ear grins.
“Usagi-chan!” They crowed.
Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, and when Makki poked his tongue into his cheek he launched an empty plastic bottle at him. Oikawa hooked the waistband of his jeans and pulled him forward for lazy, inebriated kisses. “Look at me tonight or I’ll be mad.”
That was fine with him, Oikawa being needy and jealous was actually kind of adorable. Iwaizumi could wonder where all this attention was coming from later. He wanted to enjoy that Oikawa was choosing him too, because after the alcohol wore off, he might not want to again, and Iwaizumi had to be prepared to lose what he had barely had a taste of.
At the early hours, they regrouped with Mattsun and Makki and decided to head home, tumbling into the apartment in a drunken mess. Oikawa pulled himself out of clothes on the way to the bedroom, complaining about being exhausted. Iwaizumi was right behind him, eyes thick with sleep and the come down of too much alcohol in his system.
“Don’t undress in the hallways, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi yawned, scooping his clothes off the floor and following him upstairs.
“I dunno if I’m going to class in the morning,” Hanamaki groaned, digging his palms into his eye sockets. “Hajime?”
At some point Iwaizumi and Hanamaki had graduated to a first name basis. It was casual how it happened, Makki one day decided they were friends enough to not be so formal, and Iwaizumi paused over calling him Takahiro and shortening it to a nickname.
“I’m not taking notes for you,” Iwaizumi slurred, which was a lie, because Iwaizumi definitely would have taken notes.
“Boo you whore,” Makki called from the bottom of the stairs.
“Fuck off, Taka.”
When he got into the room and shut the door, Oikawa was already tucked under his covers and rolled over, clearly not in the mood to talk, or likely asleep. Iwaizumi was too tired to consider if maybe Oikawa was beginning to regret what happened earlier, so he stripped himself out of his clothes and plonked into bed, staring at the ceiling until his bedding cradled him to sleep.
He almost drifted off when he found Oikawa squirming on top of him, hands roaming across Iwaizumi’s skin, desperately attempting to recreate what they’d done back at the party.
“I thought you were tired?” The craving to touch Oikawa replaced the drowsiness in his limbs.
“Do you want me to go away?” Oikawa whispered, his expression marred with worry, lips snagged between his teeth in anticipation.
Iwaizumi wanted to ask Oikawa why the sudden change, wondering if he was just trying to scratch an itch, or if this might be something more than that, but it didn’t seem like Oikawa wanted to talk about it. He knew Oikawa well enough that if he wasn’t in the mood to talk, Iwaizumi would have better luck moving a brick wall.
He shook his head and instead guided his hands along his thighs and his hips, along the curve of his back, lowering Oikawa towards him. “Use your hands this time,” he crooned and grabbed the round of Oikawa’s ass with a want that crackled through his nerves, wrapping his fingers around his throat and swallowing moans to keep them quiet.
They edged each other into a release so good it left them spent and sticky. They lazily cleaned each other off and Oikawa fell asleep tucked into his chest. Iwaizumi played with the curls at the base of his neck and considered what was in front of him.
Originally, he’d been doing anything and everything to fight off his intense cravings of having Oikawa. Now that he’d had him, Iwaizumi learned that he had a new problem.
Addiction.
The first time they tried to have sex, Iwaizumi showed restraint, because even though Oikawa insisted on not being “handled like a flower” he finally surrendered to Iwaizumi’s advice that faster was not always better, especially when he took a long, hard look at the truth that Iwaizumi actually was larger than average, and that he might need to work up his courage—and experience—to handle him.
Oikawa always seemed like he was in some kind of rush to be consumed whole by Iwaizumi, and the latter was devoted on ensuring that Oikawa burned every frame and feeling deep into his bones.
The second time, Iwaizumi sucked Oikawa’s soul out the tip of his cockhead before he fucked him full and left him seeing stars.
“Built in planetarium,” Oikawa giggled with his eyes shut.
“Dumbass,” Iwaizumi yawned.
The third time, Iwaizumi almost lost control. Oikawa was adamant. “I want to touch you too,” he argued, and Iwaizumi caved, because he was curious, and because Oikawa had been teasing him by choosing any edible object he could suck for the better part of two days.
Iwaizumi’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of Oikawa swallowing him. He held his gaze, warm brown eyes lust blown and drooling sloppily over a mix of precome and spit, and watched Oikawa greedily, hungrily force Iwaizumi’s length deeper into his throat. Iwaizumi ripped a pillow open trying not to fuck himself into Oikawa’s mouth.
“Let me do it,” Iwaizumi whined.
“My throat would never recover,” Oikawa shook his head.
So Iwaizumi pushed Oikawa’s face into the same pillow he’d torn and slammed their hips together until they both couldn’t move. Matsukawa sent Iwaizumi a payment request for the pillow, and Iwaizumi learned that day that pillows were considered a luxury.
It was easier for Iwaizumi to be around Oikawa again. He’d walk through campus with him, sit together at lunch sometimes, linger after practice. It felt domestic, the way they had been their whole lives before all this. Iwaizumi’s lungs didn’t constantly feel the same squeeze, and he stopped calling any of his go to’s, always choosing—and by some miracle, being chosen by—Oikawa.
Oikawa seemed like he was in a better mood, too. His jealousy was gone when Iwaizumi would spend time away from him, especially around Hanamaki.
Almost gone, that is.
Iwaizumi spaced out over his lunch as he remembered the way Oikawa’s lips folded around the base of his length, wondering if he’d actually let him do it once. Lay him flat on the bed and thrust his hips forward, fingertips around his neck to feel his length slide in and out, in and—
“You two make me sick, actually,” Hanamaki smacked Iwaizumi across the back of his head and pulled him from his trance.
“Then don’t look,” Iwaizumi rubbed his noggin, grumpy that Hanamaki yanked his daydream out from under him like a rug.
“Short of gouging my eyes out or rupturing my own eardrums, I have tried,” Hanamaki popped his straw into his juice carton. “I’m glad you’re having fun, and all… but have you thought about what happens next?”
Iwaizumi glanced sideways at him, drawing his fingers in lazy circles on the table coffee stains. “Not really,” he shrugged, more to end the conversation than to answer the question.
“Hajime,” Makki began. “You should tell him how you feel.”
“How I feel,” Iwaizumi echoed, shaking the ice in his coffee—cold brew, splash of cream. Oikawa called him a psychopath for this order, preferring so much sugar it couldn’t really be called coffee.
“You could do it during sex,” Hanamaki suggested, arms draped over the back of his chair. “Oikawa,” he sighed, mimicking Iwaizumi as he rattled the backrest, “I’ve always loved you—ahn!”
“Oh fuck off,” Iwaizumi snapped, half laughing as he swatted away Hanamaki’s hands reaching for him.
He spotted Oikawa across the hall, eyes blank and lips set in a thin line, clearly upset that they were having lunch without him. So later that night, Iwaizumi didn’t exactly tell Oikawa he loved him, but he did press him against the wall, fold his head between his knees and made sure he knew there was nothing to be jealous about.
“Hey, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asked into the quiet after they were done, gently drawing lazy circles into his shoulder blades.
“Hmm?” Oikawa hummed against the spot beneath Iwaizumi’s ear.
“We’ve been at this for a bit, and… I was wondering…”
“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan. It’s just sex,” Oikawa sighed and propped up on an elbow with his signature slanted grin.
Iwaizumi’s chest deflated a tad, not because he was surprised, but because he wanted Oikawa to say something different. Before he could pry for more, his phone lit up with a text from Makki.
Study hall?
“Oh shit,” Iwaizumi groaned.
“What is it?”
“I left Taka at the study hall. I forgot,” he swiped a hand across his face.
“Oh, don’t keep him waiting then,” Oikawa disentangled himself from Iwaizumi and into a shower.
That was the first time Iwaizumi caught on that he might be the reason for Oikawa being evasive. Was it possible, that maybe Iwaizumi wasn’t the only lovesick idiot in the room?
If it were, Oikawa definitely didn’t show it. When they were normal, Oikawa was his usual self, jubilant and full of whimsy, overly affectionate. During sex, Oikawa was obedient and yielding, letting Iwaizumi bring him to an earth shattering orgasm each time through hands, teeth, tongue, words.
In between, though, Oikawa was evasive. Absent. Avoiding any conversation that could be considered emotional, dodging anything that teetered on intimate.
There was a day where Oikawa pushed him into the room, tore them out of their clothes, and seated himself full on Iwaizumi’s shaft. He soaked in the sight of Oikawa bouncing and rolling in his lap, hand wrapped about Oikawa’s cock and pulling noises from him that holed blotches in his vision.
“Just like that,” Iwaizumi sighed, reaching to cradle Oikawa’s carmine cheek, eyes glassy with tears.
Oikawa kissed the palm of his hand and bowed into him, finding his release just before Iwaizumi followed him through it. That was one thing Iwaizumi loved most, how pretty Oikawa was at the peak of his pleasure, when his senses were overloaded by Iwaizumi filling him full.
Usually, after they were done, they’d snuggle and exchange kisses along skin and through fingertips, but more recently Oikawa had been leaving like he had somewhere to be.
“Where ya headed?” Iwaizumi yawned and tucked an arm behind his head, a bit put out Oikawa didn’t give him the tingly afterglow kisses he usually did.
“Meeting Issei,” Oikawa slid a shirt over head and pulled himself into a pair of jeans.
“Where at?”
“You’re full of questions today,” Oikawa shot him a tight smile over his shoulder and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Iwa-chan.”
The words stung like he’d been slapped across the face, suddenly recalling Makki’s words from earlier in the year.
Have you thought about what happens next?
Now Iwaizumi was forced to think about it. It pissed him off and hurt his feelings all at once. He felt stupid, and petty, and all things childish, because he had subjected himself to the life of being Oikawa’s crutch with a side of sloppy sex and hadn’t once considered what that might do to him.
“I fucked up, Taka,” Iwaizumi hung his head on Hanamaki’s shoulder in a drunken stupor one night.
“Correction: you are currently fucking up,” Makki patted the top of his head.
Iwaizumi slid his eyes shut and let alcohol fill the silence, because Makki was right, and Iwaizumi was afraid—terrified of withdrawals if Oikawa actually did start telling Iwaizumi he didn’t want to do this anymore.
“You need to talk to him,” Matsukawa’s eyes are focused on peeling the pith away from tangerine slices. “This has gone on long enough.”
He passes a small handful to Makki with a gentle smile.
Iwaizumi finds himself envious of their relationship. They’ve been steadily moving through life since committing to each other closer to the end of their first year of Uni, meanwhile Iwaizumi at his wits end because Oikawa keeps running from him—when they aren’t having mind blowing sex, that is.
“He thinks you’re stealing Takahiro from me.”
Makki pops a slice between his teeth and loops his arms playfully around Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “Maybe he is,” he purrs playfully.
“Stealing?” Iwaizumi says in disbelief.
He knew Oikawa was jealous of moments with Hanamaki, but he’d always assumed it was just Oikawa’s usual antics, because Oikawa was a possessive person, and it made sense that he’d covet his best friend since childhood.
Iwaizumi ran through all his memories with Hanamaki and tried to find one that would make Oikawa actually believe that this was anything more than friendship, and came up empty.
“Where on earth would he get something like that?”
“Maybe because for the last two and a half years you two have been running to one of us when things get tight.”
Iwaizumi takes a beat to recognize how casual the friendship is between the four of them as Makki says “aah” for another tangerine slice, still leaning over Iwaizumi’s shoulder. But even then, Makki may as well be like a brother than anything else.
“You said us,” Iwaizumi points to Matsukawa, “He also runs to you too.”
“And I stand by my statement that you’re both bumbling idiots,” Mattsun curves his lip, sliding another slice into his mouth. “Thinks you’re hopelessly trapped in unrequited feelings for my Makki.”
“Oh my god,” Iwaizumi groans, dragging a hand across his face, when a pang of realization hits him. “Wait, so you mean he—?!”
“Has had feelings for you all this time? Yes. Idiot. And before you ask, yes, I told him how you felt, and he didn’t believe me,” Mattsun moves to peel another tangerine. “Idiot.”
Iwaizumi normally would tell someone to fuck off or throw hands for calling him an idiot three times in less than ten seconds, but he deserved it, and so did Oikawa. They’d been running circles around each other this entire time, when a simple conversation could have handled it all. Why hadn’t Iwaizumi just forced the topic on Oikawa after one of the many times they had rolled around?
“Told you, shoulda confessed during sex,” Makki lectures, “We tried to stay out of it as much as we could. Issei, could you imagine if we were this chaotic?” Makki reaches for his water bottle.
“No,” Mattsun bites, recoiling from the thought. “It’s exhausting enough watching them. Which by the way, we are not living with you two again next year.”
“Ya got that right.”
“Sorry,” Iwaizumi apologizes, raking his fingers across his scalp. “I’m still just… how could he think I would have feelings for you of all people?” He gestures to Hanamaki with a throw of his wrist.
“Why do you say it like that?” Hanamaki glares and pinches Iwaizumi’s cheek. “Issei, defend my honor!”
“Can’t, Tooru and I are on a first name basis now. I gotta start making Iwaizumi jealous,” Matsukawa mockingly clenches his fist in victory, looking into empty space as though it were a lifetime honor to earn first name basis with Oikawa.
Iwaizumi does feel a pang of jealousy in his gut, especially because he knows Matsukawa is messing with him.
Hanamaki’s eyes widen in mock surprise. “Hajime we gotta catch up. C’mere give your Taka-chan some kisses.” He playfully reaches to grab Iwaizumi’s face in his hands and makes smooching sounds.
“Fuck both of you,” Iwaizumi bats Hanamaki’s hands away through a tangled laugh. “This isn’t funny!”
“Ohhh I’m in trouble,” Matsukawa suddenly looks skyward and closes his eyes.
“Oh boy,” Makki sighs as he looks to his left, immediately releasing Iwaizumi’s face with a yield.
Iwaizumi’s blood runs cold when he looks over to see Oikawa across the courtyard, carton of milk in his hand crushed, a fury in his eyes that strikes like lightning across the three of them.
He drops his empty carton into the trash and swivels on his heel, bolting down the stairs and out of sight.
“Hajime is in more trouble,” Makki shrugs, “if it makes you feel any better.”
“It does,” Matsukawa grins, “Sorry.”
“Fucking hell,” Iwaizumi growls and pulls his bag over his shoulder, sweeping his legs across the bench. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“Go get your man, Usagi-chan!” They cheer at his back as he takes off down the stairs after Oikawa.
Iwaizumi tightens his backpack straps and breaks into a run. Knowing Oikawa, he’s probably headed home for a brief stint to drop anything unnecessary before finding somewhere to disappear to. When Oikawa was hurt, or sad, or angry, he would hide. Even as a kid, he’d find a shrub in the forest or the tunnel at the park and curl into a ball, attempting to disappear until he sorted his feelings enough to be his usual self again.
Matsukawa was right. They were both idiots and Iwaizumi wanted to apologize for ever giving Oikawa the idea that anyone else was in his vision, when he’d been spending the last several months in absolute bliss. He also wanted to smack Oikawa for thinking that Iwaizumi could ever love anyone but him.
Stupid, he called himself repeatedly as he ran across campus, vaulting over a fence and crossing the street between traffic. Selfish, he cursed as he tugged his keys from his pocket, dropping them clumsily in a rush to get to the door.
His heart dropped into his stomach when he burst through the front door to find Oikawa in the kitchen, eyes trained over a cup of water and keys tucked firmly into his palm, bag slung across his body.
“You’re home,” Iwaizumi gasps.
“About to head out,” Oikawa clips over the rim of the glass, showing his back to him and facing the kitchen sink.
“Can’t let you do that,” Iwaizumi releases the straps on his bag and drops it by the door, kicking out of his shoes.
“You don’t get to be demanding all the time,” Oikawa takes a giant swig of water, still avoiding Iwaizumi’s eyes. “It only works during sex.”
“Oikawa I’m serious—”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Oikawa whips his head around so fast his bag slides across his frame, teary eyes hostile.
Iwaizumi forces the tension from his shoulders in a slow exhale, his jaw tight. He moves to the opposite edge of the kitchen counter, carefully putting himself between Oikawa and the door. “You’re not leaving until we talk about this.”
Oikawa’s lips curl into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Talk about what, Iwa-chan? How you feel bad that I’m just your pity fuck? I asked for that, remember?”
Iwaizumi’s nostrils flare. “Oikawa you’re not—”
“You’ve got some fucking nerve to stand there and tell me otherwise,” he snarls, slamming his cup into the sink. “Always running after Makki,” he gulps, eyes searching the walls of the kitchen for anything to look at other than Iwaizumi. “Sorry, Taka, now, isn’t it?”
“You really believe I’ve got feelings for him,” Iwaizumi gapes. It isn’t a question so much as it is a confirmation of Mattsun’s urgency. Oikawa really wouldn’t hear him out.
“You’re really going to sit here and deny it? It took months before you were okay with my nickname—which I gave you when we were kids by the way. He gave you one and calls you by your first name, no argument,” Oikawa crosses his arms to make his point. “You weren’t going that stupid party until I said Makki was going too. You spend most of your free time with him when you’re done using me.”
Iwaizumi’s mind races as Oikawa hits him with evidence like a lawyer to the jury.
Oikawa uses the back of his sweater sleeve to scrub at his cheek, both in attempt to hide his face and keep any tears from threatening his lashes. “I roomed with Mattsun during our first year because I knew you wanted to room with Makki instead. He says I’m crazy, that nothing will ever happen, and that’s just it, Iwa-chan. Nothing will ever happen, and I can’t fix that for you. I tried—!” He hiccups, and guilt drops like a stone in Iwaizumi’s stomach.
Oikawa’s offer at the party was for Iwaizumi’s sake. He thought he might be able to fit in the space between as the runner up, to mend the void Iwaizumi had, thinking it was for someone else.
Even in the midst of it all, Oikawa was trying to take care of his best friend.
“I tried to fill that gap for you, but I can’t, anymore. So go call someone else,” Oikawa resigns with a shaky sigh.
Iwaizumi stares at him, unmoving, trying to find what to say next. Oikawa had convinced himself that this was the closest he was ever going to get, assuming that Iwaizumi would always be just out of reach, just as Iwaizumi tried to fill the void in his ribs with nameless faces just to keep himself from pushing Oikawa away.
They really were a pair of idiots.
Iwaizumi’s mouth opens to say something, but Oikawa shakes his head. “If you apologize Iwa-chan I’m going to actually hurl this glass at your head.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” Iwaizumi affirms.
Oikawa trembles with anger, fist turning knuckles white. “Oh, fuck you, asshole.”
“Oikawa just let me explain.” Iwaizumi moves towards him without thinking. Oikawa reels back, eyes wide, hands out with a warning that if Iwaizumi came any closer he might lose it.
Iwaizumi feels it building in his chest, the anxiety forcing the truth to the tip of his tongue.
“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say right now,” Oikawa exhales an unsteady, pained laugh.
“That’s not fair—”
“Just shut up—!”
“I love you!!” Iwaizumi roars.
His confession lands like a slap, slicing through Oikawa’s disdain. Silence sweeps through the room heavy, the hum of the fridge suddenly deafening as Oikawa freezes mid-breath.
Iwaizumi finally says the words he’d buried deep in his chest and locked away, thinking he’d never get the chance, nor have a need to say them out loud. But Oikawa needed to hear it from him, that all of this was because they had grown too accustomed to reading the other’s mind that they never thought to just stop and ask.
Before Oikawa can say anything else, Iwaizumi pushes the apprehension from his chest in a huff and holds his hands up in surrender. “I love you,” he repeats, softer now, “I have loved you. For years, Oikawa.”
Oikawa stares at him, jaw slack and eyes tightening with disbelief and something fragile. “You—!” He hiccups, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Shut up,” Iwaizumi says without edge, because if he stops now, the words are going to tangle in his throat and be overrun by the glossiness forming in his eyes. “Let me finish.” He takes a step towards Oikawa. “It’s never been Makki. We’re just friends. I can be around him without feeling…” he can’t find the word, clutching his stomach through his shirt.
“He told me to say it. For ages. But I didn’t think…” Iwaizumi swallows his apprehension and slowly exhales, meeting Oikawa’s gaze, “I would have taken my feelings to the grave so I wouldn’t lose you.”
The rigidity in Oikawa’s shoulders somewhat softens when Iwaizumi takes another step towards him. “It’s hard for me to be around you without feeling like I can’t breathe. All I want, all I think about, is you.”
Iwaizumi slowly closes the gap, eyes tracing Oikawa’s hands and arms. He’s trembling, lips chapped and chewed, eyes rimmed with a glassy film.
“I’m not sorry for anything we did,” Iwaizumi mumbles, “but I am sorry I made you feel like I used you. I messed up by doing this all backwards, but I was never going to choose anyone but you.”
Oikawa’s breath shudders, eyes searching Iwaizumi’s face for something. His fingers twitch as he takes a step forward, enough that Iwaizumi can feel the warmth of him.
“You’re an idiot,” Oikawa whispers, but there’s no venom.
“I know,” Iwaizumi says, voice low.
“So am I."
“Mhm."
And then Oikawa is moving—sharp push to Iwaizumi’s chest that turns into a tight grip in his shirt, dragging him close to seal the space between them. Their mouths crash together messily, teeth knocking, hands flying to pull even closer as if to phase into the other. It’s not unlike the many times they’d kissed before, only this is different. There’s no room for doubt here. The desperation in the way they cling to each other is visceral, a confirmation of something they’d both always known for years.
Iwaizumi feels his scalp prickle, the ache he’d grown accustomed to pulling at every thread in his body spreading like wildfire underneath his skin. He thought he’d lost control before, but knowing Oikawa knew how he felt, and even more, that Oikawa might feel the same, turns his mind blank save for the feel of Oikawa in his grasp.
Oikawa pauses for air with a sharp breath, fingers curled into the nape of Iwaizumi’s neck.
“Still have somewhere to be?” Iwaizumi husks.
“Would you really let me leave?”
“No,” Iwaizumi hums as Oikawa’s grip tightens, tugging hair at his scalp.
Then Oikawa’s eyes fill with something like longing. “Show me,” he breathes.
Iwaizumi doesn’t spare a second. He hoists Oikawa off the ground and is headed upstairs, kicking the bedroom door shut. He kisses Oikawa dizzy, tugging him out of his clothes the way he’d done over and over the last few months, only this time, the rush of desire slows time to a crawl as they take in every touch, every hitch of breath. Oikawa twitches and writhes but follows him through it, hands chasing after Iwaizumi’s to rip free of his sweater, jointly working his jeans off the silk-smooth curve of his ass and moaning into his kiss.
Lightning strikes through his stomach and chest when Oikawa pulls his shirt from over his head, tossing it to some obsolete corner of the room.
Iwaizumi buries his nose into the spot beneath Oikawa’s ear and breathes in, the smell of jasmine and white tea turning his throat dry with thirst. He sucks at a spot just beneath that as his hands meander across Oikawa’s skin, committing every curve, every angle deep into the grooves of his palms.
He trails kisses along his jaw, down his throat, his chest, his stomach, fingertips following every mark left to retrace where his lips have been. Iwaizumi slides him free of his briefs and glides his teeth along Oikawa’s inner thigh, sucking a spot cherry red and another, and again in a jagged line. He digs fingers into thighs and drags the flat of his tongue along the curve of his hip.
Oikawa shivers at the flurry of touches, cock jumping in Iwaizumi’s hand as he holds him steady. He walks his fingertips along Oikawa’s shaft from base to tip, thumb swirling a bead of precome around the head. Oikawa shivers, rocking his hips into Iwaizumi’s touch. Iwaizumi swirls his thumb around again, and again in a practiced motion, something he knew would send Oikawa wheeling.
It’s so much better than all the times before, where he’d suppressed the words and feelings balled tight and hardened like diamond in the pit of his stomach. There was nothing keeping him from showing Oikawa just how badly he needed him, how badly he craved him.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs when he climbs back up to kiss him, moaning under his hand. Iwaizumi lets him go, earning a tangled noise from Oikawa, and smiles into his mouth. He shifts backwards enough to undo the button on his jeans, eyes drinking in a completely naked and trembling Oikawa leaned back against his pillow.
Out of all the times they’d done this, Iwaizumi was afraid to take too long to soak him in like sunlight. How he had wished he could relive all those moments. Oikawa is gorgeous, ethereal, born from the sun and carefully crafted by starlight, burning passion into Iwaizumi’s skin with every touch.
“Stop staring,” Oikawa mumbles bashfully, bringing hands up to cover his face.
Iwaizumi tugs himself free of the last of his clothing, discarding them at his feet and crawls over Oikawa, pulling hands away from his face. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against Oikawa’s palm. The brunet’s face flushes a deep crimson. Iwaizumi wedges Oikawa’s legs open with his knee. “I’ve waited years to tell you what you already know.”
Oikawa squirms, squeezing his eyes shut, embarrassment spreading scarlet from the tips of his ears down to his chest. Iwaizumi presses a kiss just beneath his eye and reaches over head for the bottle of lube at the head of his bed. He pops the cap and drizzles a fair amount onto his fingers, tossing the bottle and using his dry hand to pull Oikawa into another sloppy, open mouthed kiss.
Iwaizumi works him open slow and deliberate with slick fingers, not failing to miss any chance to leave a kiss and bite on Oikawa that would remind him that he knew exactly where to suck, to tease, to love him until he forgot how to think. He brings Oikawa to the brink by vibrating his wrist, and just before he gets him to the edge, he reaches for his own length, heavy and throbbing in his hand and aligns it with his entrance, other hand steady on the junction of Oikawa’s hip and thigh.
With one swift push, he fills him to the hilt and sucks in a tight breath as Oikawa squeezes tight around him, snapping back against the mattress and arching into the air with a sharp cry.
Iwaizumi waits impatiently as Oikawa quakes through an orgasm around his cock. Lust tugs on the back of his eyes and seethes, begging him to move as he watches Oikawa roll through his release. “I love watching you come for me,” he inhales, “because of me.”
He presses his palm down against the base of Oikawa’s stomach and pistons his hips forward. “I’ve thought about every which way I can fuck you until the only thing you think you need is me.”
Oikawa’s hands fly up to hide, overstimulated and still finding a way back down from his first of many, but Iwaizumi’s free hand weaves their fingers together and pins them into the pillow above his head. “Don’t hide from me,” he growls, eyes wild with a visceral greed. “I want to see every part of you.”
“Iwa-chan, it’s too much—!”
“Believe me,” Iwaizumi grunts, sinking himself into Oikawa until his hips meet the back of his thighs. “You wanted me to show you, didn’t you?”
He trembles with excitement as he feels himself through the flat planes of Oikawa’s stomach, crashing into that spot that hazards to unseat Oikawa from reality. “Always asking for more than you can handle,” he grimaces.
Iwaizumi changes rhythm, ramming into Oikawa and letting the sounds of his moans and cries bounce throughout the walls of the room. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—!”
“That’s the idea,” Iwaizumi smirks and fucks him through his second, feeling Oikawa squeeze around him. A deep squelch pours liquid fire into his nerves, feeling the thick pulse and slide of his own sex deep within the panes of Oikawa’s belly. As much as he loves the feeling, he brings his hand to wrap gently around Oikawa’s throat and holds him there, slowing his pace to a deep, torturous grind.
Oikawa can barely form words, tears spilling into his temples, eyes still filmy with the wake of his finish. “I can’t anymore,” he wheezes. “I’m at my limit, Iwa-chan.”
“Hajime,” Iwaizumi instructs, slanting their mouths together.
“H-Haj-Hajime,” Oikawa submits, scarlet flush deepening in a ribbon across his nose.
The sound of his name in Oikawa’s sexed out voice turns his lust into a carnal ache, the need to find his own release growing quickly, bursting from the seams. “Say it again,” Iwaizumi hums against Oikawa’s temple, pressing a trail of kisses along the curve of his cheek, slanting their mouths together.
“Hajime,” Oikawa repeats with fervor, also finding a thrill in the way it sounds, in the way Iwaizumi swells inside of him.
“I love you,” Iwaizumi groans, pressing the words into his mouth. “I love you, Tooru.”
Oikawa shivers at the name, a newborn energy wriggling through him enough to wrap his arms around Iwaizumi, fingers burying into his hair and the skin across his back.
Iwaizumi increases his rhythm until it becomes lost between his promise and his need to meet Oikawa at the edge. “Tooru,” he echoes, “I love you so much I can’t bear it.”
Oikawa clings to him like a lifeline, letting him brand the words into his skin, into the very core of him.
Iwaizumi lets his senses take over, hips angling at the spot that makes Oikawa drool and feeling the tight squeeze around his cock splinter his vision.
“Hajime I’m—Oh!”
“Fuck, Tooru I can’t hold on any longer,” he moans, and when Oikawa gurgles into a shout that breaks through the window, it’s enough to kaleidoscope a galaxy behind his eyes. He ducks his face into the crook of Oikawa’s neck and ascends into the curve of the earth.
“Gods,” Iwaizumi hisses into his throat, twitching through the ripples of pleasure walking the length of his back to the base of his neck.
They collapse into a heap, grasping for air amongst the sweet, sticky heat emanating from their skin. An eternity could have passed and neither of them might have noticed.
Iwaizumi finally sits up and tilts his head skyward, blinking fractals of light into his vision. When that doesn’t entirely work, he uses his hands to map the lines of Oikawa’s figure until he finds his cheek, feeling a series of kisses pressed into his palm.
“You okay?” He asks softly.
“Yeah,” Oikawa mutters into the quiet, “I can’t move.”
A blurry image comes into focus of a blissed out Oikawa beneath him—his tousled chestnut hair sticks to his forehead, chest shiny and slick with the aftermath, bites and bruises cascading from the top of his throat down to the hollows of his thighs. “Beautiful,” he whispers, swiping his thumb along the curve of Oikawa’s signature crooked grin.
“Iwa—Hajime,” Oikawa corrects, turning pink. “About earlier… I—”
“Let’s shower first. Then we’ll talk,” Iwaizumi offers. Oikawa nods, biting his lower lip demurely, seemingly happy with that answer.
It would be a waste to let the afterglow die off so soon after probably—definitely—the best sex either of them have had, and in any case, he doesn’t want Oikawa to think that this was just something to prove.
Iwaizumi slides back, a soft moan pulling from both of them as they untangle. “Holy fuck,” he laughs, a low rumble in his chest, as he wobbles towards the window, forcing it open with a push to let fresh air in.
“Ya got that right,” Oikawa puffs. Iwaizumi takes a second to find his footing, before he scoops Oikawa from the bed and carries him to the shower, where he takes his time cleaning him off with gentle touches and butterfly kisses that earn him the sweetest of giggles.
Post shower, Iwaizumi pushes one of his shirts into Oikawa’s chest and tugs himself into a pair of sweats, weaving their fingers together as they head downstairs. Oikawa curls into the couch and keeps his eyes trained on the way Iwaizumi’s sweats hug at the curve of his waistline, only breaking eye contact when he pushes a water bottle between his fingers.
Iwaizumi sinks into the couch with a heavy sigh and chews on his lips to fight the grin that tugs towards his ears.
“You seem happy,” Oikawa comments over the round of his bottle.
“I am,” Iwaizumi blinks, glancing towards him, “should I not be?”
“No… I mean… I’m happy you’re happy,” Oikawa leans into his arm on the backrest of the couch.
“Are you… happy?” Iwaizumi asks carefully.
Oikawa turns the color of the cherry lollipops he loves so much and sinks into the crook of his arm with a nod.
A beat of silence passes between the two of them. Iwaizumi leans his head back and rolls to look at Oikawa. “You were really convinced I had feelings for that moron,” he says.
Oikawa bobs his head, a flash of shame crossing his face. “You chose to room with him during first year.”
Iwaizumi exhales, smiling when Oikawa’s eyes scan the expanse of his tanned chest. “I felt like I couldn’t control myself around you. Thought it might be safer that way.”
“And the nicknames?”
“We are friends, Oikawa. Good ones. Same as you and Mattsun. Or, Issei, isn’t it?”
Oikawa considers it with a twist of his mouth, gears turning, putting it together that Matsukawa may have been right after all. He sends Iwaizumi a skeptical look, one that’s held together by fibers of doubt. “I’d see you two talk about sex. And earlier today…”
“He was—and always has been—making fun of me for being obsessed with you,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “You really think Mattsun would have let all that happen right in front of him?”
“I thought Makki might have been toying with your feelings,” Oikawa wrinkles his nose. “He can be a moron sometimes.”
“We’re the morons,” Iwaizumi laughs, “chasing each other in circles.”
“And all those people you slept with?”
“I really do have a huge…appetite,” Iwaizumi chooses his words carefully when Oikawa sends him a pointed smirk, “it helped, for a while. But I always ended up finding someone that reminded me of you.”
Oikawa holds his gaze for a moment, tucking the water bottle into the crook of his neck. His eyes lower to his knees to search for something. “You…” he starts, peeking at Iwaizumi through thick lashes.
Iwaizumi feels his heart skip a beat.
“You love me,” Oikawa tastes the words for himself.
“Yes,” Iwaizumi answers just as calmly.
“Since when?”
Iwaizumi looks to the ceiling in thought, considering all the moments he felt like the words might just jump out of his throat. “I… dunno exactly. Sometimes I think… I might have been created to love you.”
Oikawa’s eyes are wide, blush climbing from his neck to the tips of his ears. An ugly noise catches in his throat. “Th-that’s not an answer!”
“Yeah it is. And it got you good,” Iwaizumi snickers, resting the cold of his bottle against the flat of his stomach.
“How do you say stuff like that so shamelessly?”
“Dunno,” Iwaizumi shrugs, sending Oikawa a toothy grin.
Oikawa rakes his fingers through his hair and to the back of his neck, sending Iwaizumi a shy glance. “Aren’t you… gonna ask if I love you too?”
Iwaizumi angles himself towards Oikawa, heart thudding steady in his chest. Anytime before this moment, Iwaizumi might have felt like he had before, unable to breathe or think or focus. But here in the quiet of their house, after pouring the depth of his feelings into Oikawa upstairs, he can’t find it in him to be anything but calm, and patient.
“Do you?” Iwaizumi whispers.
Oikawa scoots himself closer like he’s going to tell Iwaizumi a secret. “Do you remember the day I fell into the stream when the tree branch broke?”
Iwaizumi remembers it clearly. They were eight. Iwaizumi felt his heart race as he dug Oikawa out from the stream, sopping wet and trying his best not to cry as Iwaizumi carried him home, refusing to leave his side even through the hospital visit.
“You sprained your ankle,” Iwaizumi recalls. He slept over at Oikawa’s that night, doing whatever to take his mind off of his injury. Oikawa hated being bedridden, much as he loved to sleep.
“That morning,” Oikawa reaches to walk his fingertips across the bridge of Iwaizumi’s nose and to his cheeks, “you looked like you had freckles made of sunlight. And I thought, this is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
An ache pulses through Iwaizumi’s chest and into his limbs, curving butterflies through his stomach. Oikawa smiles sheepishly, eyes glossy with the same feeling. “I knew I was gonna spend the rest of my life with you no matter what.”
“Oh my god,” Iwaizumi brings a hand over his eyes.
“Are you crying?”
“Shut up, who wouldn’t with an answer like that?! Just say it properly like everyone else!”
Iwaizumi swallows the tug in his chest when he hears Oikawa laugh musically and reach to pull his hand from his eyes. “I love you,” he grins.
It doesn’t help. Iwaizumi slides his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Actually, just don’t say it.”
“Hey!” Oikawa yelps, a giddy laugh bursting from his lungs as Iwaizumi rolls over and scoops him into a hug, burying his face into his neck. “What happened to I was created to love you,” Oikawa drops his voice to match Iwaizumi’s in a gentle mock.
“I was,” Iwaizumi grunts, “Will you let me do that?”
He lifts his head and sighs into Oikawa’s hands, letting his thumbs swipe tears from his eyes. There’s a catharsis in finally letting out what he had been bottling for years, so much that he can’t seem to get a grip on the way it manifests in crying. Iwaizumi hated it, how he was always quicker to cry than Oikawa was, but if it meant he’d get to fit himself into the curve of Oikawa’s grip, he’d find a way to get over it.
Oikawa gives him his signature, lopsided grin. “So long as you let me, too.”
Matsukawa and Hanamaki enter through the front door with arms full of takeout, a celebratory gesture that the two numbskulls had finally stopped dancing around each other. As they pass through the door, their eyes both land on Oikawa with swollen lips and covered in red and purple splotches.
“My god,” Matsukawa begins, about to rip them a new one for the sanctity of his five piece modular set.
“It wasn’t on the couch,” they both say in unison, quickly, exhaling relief when Matsukawa visibly relaxes.
“I’m assuming you’re skipping class tomorrow, Tooru,” Matsukawa tosses over his shoulder, dropping his things at the doorway.
“Most likely,” Oikawa wrings his hands into the hem of his shirt with a cheeky smile.
“We figured you two had finally sorted your shit, so, surprise!” Makki gestures to the bags full of warm food. He moves to set them down on the table, calling for Matsukawa and Iwaizumi to pick their movie for the night.
“Kind of you,” Iwaizumi says it with a kindness, because truthfully he had texted the two of them a thumbs up, but it also served as their apology to Oikawa, so he would let them have it.
Oikawa peels himself away from Iwaizumi and motions towards Hanamaki in the kitchen. “Makki… I just… I wanted to…” he starts, unsure of where to go from there.
Iwaizumi glances to Matsukawa, who gives him a reassuring wink.
Hanamaki turns around to look at Oikawa with a blank expression, watching him fidget and squirm.
“I wanted to say I’m so—”
“If you wanted to spend more time with me, Tooru, you could have just asked,” Makki reaches teasingly for Oikawa’s face, lips splitting into a devious grin.
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes skyward as Oikawa’s face turns red. It’s sweet, somehow, his way of telling Oikawa that he didn’t have to apologize for being a fool in love, but Makki’s antics always gave Iwaizumi something short of a headache.
He spins around to look at Iwaizumi with wide eyes. “I understand what you mean now.”
“Who knew I’d have so much competition?” Matsukawa scrolls through the digital library, category: horror.
“Don’t encourage him,” Iwaizumi growls through a laugh and points to The Conjuring on the screen, something that would certainly scare both him and Oikawa into the same bed—as if he needed to do that.
“There’s plenty of me to go around, don’t be so jealous,” Makki says as he loops his arms over Oikawa’s shoulders and grabs his chin, “I get to sit next to Tooru tonight!”
Iwaizumi rockets his water bottle straight into Hanamaki’s kisser. “Fat chance, fuckwad.”
Hanamaki sputters water from his mouth and nose, sending Matsukawa into a howl of laughter so infectious it bleeds into the rest of them. They all gather around the couch—Oikawa insisting on sitting between Iwaizumi and Hanamaki to seal his apology, much to Iwaizumi’s distaste—and dim the lights. Food is passed, comments are tossed, and the room hums with the familiar brand of chaos that only feels good when it’s theirs.
They scare themselves out of their wits during the movie, but when it’s over, Iwaizumi goes to lift a sleeping Oikawa into his arms to carry him to bed.
He stops at the foot of the stairs and looks back to Mattsun and Makki. “Thank you both,” he says into the quiet room, dimly lit by the blue of the television.
They both lean their heads back to see the gratitude written in his face. “For putting up with us.”
“That’s what family does,” Matsukawa says it like it’s a matter of fact and turns back to the TV. Hanamaki grins over his shoulder. “But you owe us both for the rest of your lives and we’ll never let you hear the end of it.”
Matsukawa reaches back with a snap of his fingers and points to Iwaizumi without looking at him.
Iwaizumi huffs a quiet laugh, feeling Oikawa unconsciously nestle into the crook of his neck. He begins to climb the stairs, Oikawa’s weight easy in his hold, like he was carrying something he was always meant to keep.
And for the first time in years, he knows he will.