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Praise Be

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Oikawa is kind of surprised at himself for not noticing sooner.

He is in the middle of dragging a clean towel over his face, wiping off the sweat from practice when it happens for the first time. He unscrews the cap of his water and takes a long, refreshing gulp. He presses the cold bottle of water to his cheek, relishing in the feel of its coolness against his skin. Lazily, he lets his gaze trail over the gymnasium. The underclassmen, tossing balls into the ball bins. Hanamaki and Matsukawa, wrestling over something or another across the court, laughter ringing through the air. Iwaizumi, discussing plans with their coach like the good teammate he is.

Oikawa’s gaze trails over the spiker. He has grown into his body in an unfairly delicious manner. He is broad shoulders and taught, sinewy muscle beneath smooth, tanned skin. Strong, beautiful arms that Oikawa personally loves to trail his fingers over, teasing the sensitive skin at the underside of his biceps. Powerful legs that carry him high into the air for his spikes and quiver when Oikawa runs his tongue along his inner thigh.

Oikawa tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, thoughts wandering to the places that Oikawa would like to take Iwaizumi once they’re home and alone in their apartment.

“I’m proud of you, Iwaizumi.” Coach says, clapping a hand on the spiker’s shoulder. “The control of your spikes has been improving immensely. You’re doing a really great job.”

Fascination sparks in Oikawa’s brain as he watches Iwaizumi flush and sputter at the compliment. His ace, usually so composed and confident, his dependable pillar, looks flustered and embarrassed. Coach laughs it off and goes to talk to Hanamaki and Matsukawa – probably to yell at them to stop messing around – but Iwaizumi is still blushing as Oikawa approaches, towel around his neck and curiosity in his mind.

The flushed tint of his skin spreads all the way from the tips of his sensitive ears – Oikawa knows how sensitive they are – down below the safe cover of his shirt. He looks like he might actually cry. Oikawa memorizes the sight, completely enraptured by the response. “Iwa-chan,” He says, soft and slow as he steps up next to his best-friend-turned-boyfriend, “Are you feeling okay?”

Iwaizumi’s gaze turns toward Oikawa and the flush of embarrassment begins to fade, much to Oikawa’s disappointment. The spiker runs a towel over his face and down his neck, mopping up the sweat on his skin. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He says, but his voice is a little hoarser than normal.

Oikawa categorizes the moment into a file in his brain titled “Things to Investigate Further” and then he grins and snaps his towel at Iwaizumi’s backside, starting a war that Iwaizumi does not hesitate to jump into.


It happens again two days later in Oikawa’s childhood kitchen. They’re visiting Miyagi for the weekend, at the request of Oikawa’s mother, who insists that she just misses her two boys so much, Tooru, won’t you two come to visit? Oikawa leans against the kitchen counter, texting Hanamaki about some conspiracy theory they were discussing in their Psychology of Film course. Iwaizumi is sitting on one of the island stools. Oikawa’s mom slides a plate of curry in front of the spiker with a bright and charming smile that matches the one Oikawa often wears and then presses one into Oikawa’s hands.

“Oh, Hajime.” His mother says with a lamenting sigh, reaching out to run her fingers affectionately through Iwaizumi’s hair before patting him on the back. “You’ve really grown into quite the handsome young man, haven’t you? I remember when you boys were just tiny little things trying to catch bugs in the backyard. And now, look at you! So big and strong and I hardly get to see you anymore.”

She squeezes one of Iwaizumi’s arms teasingly. Oikawa can’t help the flutter of adoration that floods through his chest at the sight – his mother has always, always had a soft spot for Iwaizumi, and Oikawa is immensely grateful that Iwaizumi gets along with his family as if he’s actually a part of it.

Oikawa’s gaze settles on Iwaizumi throughout the exchange. He watches as the spiker laughs shyly, glancing down at the counter with a bashful smile. He scratches at the back of his neck as he murmurs out a soft, “Thank you, Auntie,” and the roses in his cheeks begin to bloom, the tint of pink dusting down his neck like it had two days ago in the gym.

Iwaizumi’s embarrassed gaze flickers over to Oikawa. Oikawa licks at suddenly dry lips as he sees the slight helplessness in Iwaizumi’s expression, the modest and demure tug of his mouth that Oikawa has a desperate need to kiss.

Oikawa snaps his gaze away, feeling oddly hot beneath the collar. His breathing is coming out a bit faster than normal, some sort of animalistic need rising up his throat. He takes a bite of curry to quell this unknown feeling, swallowing it down even though it’s still hot enough to burn the back of his throat. “Mom,” He whines, for no other reason than to halt his current train of thought, “You know that I’m your actual, real son, right?”

His mom coos, leaving Iwaizumi’s side to wrap her arms around the taller man. Oikawa smiles into the affection, reveling in his mother’s love, but he can’t stop his brain from returning to Iwaizumi’s response.


The third time it happens, Oikawa actually realizes what is going on.

Kindaichi is a sweet kid. He’s hardworking and thoughtful and kind. He takes the advice that his upperclassmen give him to heart. He kind of annoys Oikawa because of his very obvious crush on Iwaizumi that has persisted for years, but that’s a minor complaint. Oikawa, while admittedly possessive and protective, is relatively secure in his relationship with the ace.

And it is Kindaichi, Oikawa thinks, that deserves a nice, solid reward for his unknown contribution to Oikawa’s attempt at solving the current mystery revolving around Iwaizumi’s embarrassed responses to compliments.

“Iwaizumi!” Kindaichi excitedly exclaims. “That was such a good spike! You’re so good!

Iwaizumi smiles that embarrassed, bashful smile. “Thanks.” He responds, the flush already rising on his cheeks. “You’re getting pretty good yourself, kid.”

Kindaichi – bless his heart – sputters out a, “No, you don’t understand. You’re the best. You’re, like – you just look so cool all the time. You really deserve the title of the team’s ace.”

The longer the praise continues, the deeper the embarrassed flush of Iwaizumi’s skin gets. Oikawa watches the entire exchange with thinly veiled fascination, his brain working a mile a minute to put all of the pieces together.

Practice passes by in a blur that Oikawa hardly notices. He goes through the rest of the motions on autopilot while his mind spends a whole lot of time in darker, more seductive places. By the time practice is over, there is a tight knot in his belly and a hum beneath his skin.

Iwaizumi is tossing a few balls into the ball bin when Oikawa approaches him from behind. The setter feels like a predator that has just zeroed in on the most desirable catch of prey it has seen in a long, long time. He sneaks up behind the spiker and jabs him in the ribs playfully. “Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi flinches and throws a ball in Oikawa’s direction out of instinct. Oikawa’s laugh, tinkling and light, dances around them. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but there is a small smile on his lips. “Why do you have to be such a pain in my ass all the time?”

Oikawa bites back the immediate, sexually charged joke of, “Well, I certainly could be a pain in your ass.” Instead, he picks up the ball Iwaizumi had tossed at him and places it into the bin. He turns a slow, lazy grin toward Iwaizumi, his gaze heavy. Then, he says, “I just wanted to tell you how good you did today.”

And there it is – Oikawa sees it as soon as it begins: the catch in Iwaizumi’s throat, the way his eyes widen and his lips part, just slightly, barely enough to be noticeable without seventeen years of continuous observation under the belt. The slight tinge of pink dusting across his cheeks. Iwaizumi raises his gaze to meet Oikawa’s, confused and obviously taken aback. When he speaks, he is slightly breathless. “What?”

Oikawa’s smile broadens. There is something powerful igniting in his chest, a deep, unbidden desire. He isn’t quite sure what it is about Iwaizumi’s reaction that makes him want to see more of it, makes him want to watch Iwaizumi melt into a puddle of embarrassed, needy want, but there is something so attractive about seeing one of the strongest people he has ever known so vulnerable.

“Today, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, slow and purposeful, “You did such a good job. I’m really proud of you. You make our team so much stronger.”

He watches the slow movement of Iwaizumi’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. Oikawa’s grin turns razor-sharp.

So, Iwaizumi Hajime has a praise kink.


He gives it a week, observing and plotting, before he decides to take action involving this new discovery.

He watches idly from the sidelines as a pretty, petite girl gushes over how sweet and kind and thoughtful and handsome Iwaizumi is, and how she just really wants to tell him how she feels. Iwaizumi bumbles his way through a soft rejection, tips of his ears and the back of his neck pink, as he says, “Sorry, I’m in a relationship with someone else.”

Oikawa pops some rice into his mouth, thinking, damn right, you are, smug and only slightly possessive in his thoughts.

He watches Iwaizumi’s lips curl into modest smiles when classmates ask him for help in their History general education class, fawning over how smart and hardworking he is. He watches their underclassmen smother him with attention on the court, watches as elderly women giggle about how cute he is at the grocery store.

When Saturday rolls around, a rare day of no practice and no other social obligations, Oikawa feels anticipation buzzing beneath his skin. He wakes without an alarm, languidly stirring and stretching, cat-like and lazy. He rolls over to see Iwaizumi still sound asleep next to him. He slips an arm around the man’s waist, nuzzling his nose into the nape of Iwaizumi’s neck.

Oikawa lets his fingers trail beneath his boyfriend’s shirt, light and lazy, appreciating the firm lines of muscle they find. He presses soft, open-mouthed kisses along Iwaizumi’s hairline to his ear. Iwaizumi begins to stir into wakefulness at the soft attention. “M’kawa?”

The setter chuckles softly, warm affection blossoming in his chest. He loves the sleepy and soft version of Iwaizumi that the morning brings. He nudges at Iwaizumi’s ear with his nose, breath ghosting over the sensitive flesh. “Good morning, handsome.” He coos, voice low.

In his sleep-addled state, Iwaizumi is always a bit more responsive, less reserved because the self-consciousness that comes with being fully awake is still hidden. He tilts his head into the pillow, allowing Oikawa more access to the soft skin of his neck, purring out a low moan from the back of his throat.

Arousal immediately spikes in Oikawa’s veins. His fingers trail over Iwaizumi’s hipbones and the taught muscle of his lower belly, the course hairs that trail beneath his boxers. He nips at Iwaizumi’s ear gently. “I don’t think I tell you that enough, do I?” Oikawa murmurs. “You’re so, so beautiful.”

Oikawa can feel it when Iwaizumi’s skin begins to flush. When he swallows, Oikawa feels it where his skin is pressed to Iwaizumi’s throat. He has to bite his lip to keep himself from squealing in absolute delight. He wraps his long setter fingers around one of Iwaizumi’s hips and squeezes affectionately.

Then, he rolls away.

It is only the morning, and Oikawa has plans. Plans to drag this out. Plans to see how far he can push Iwaizumi, how much of a mess he can make him fall into by the end of the day. It is hard because Oikawa has been thinking about this for days, and he wants nothing more than to ravish his boyfriend right now, but – but – the wait will be worth it.

Iwaizumi lets out a sleepy noise that is caught somewhere between confusion and disappointment. Oikawa traps his bottom lip between his teeth before sitting up and then leaning over to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek sweetly. “I’m going to make breakfast.”

At this, Iwaizumi finally rolls over, blinking slowly in the morning light, still not completely coherent. “Wha’?” He murmurs, looking at Oikawa suspiciously. To be fair, Oikawa rarely offers to make breakfast without Iwaizumi there, too.

Oikawa smiles, his own cheeks heating up with affection. He reaches over and runs his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair and knows that the expression on his face is completely smitten, entirely too fond. He doesn’t offer an explanation though, and instead asks, “You want eggs or pancakes?”

Iwaizumi catches Oikawa’s wrist and brings his hand to his lips. He kisses the knuckles, and Oikawa has to stop himself from completely swooning and melting into a pile of love-sick adoration. Iwaizumi has always loved Oikawa’s hands. Oikawa thinks it has something to do with the sentimentality of their setter-spiker relationship on the court and how Oikawa’s hands are what keeps everything in the proper flow of action.

Iwaizumi offers Oikawa a lopsided, lost-boy smile that makes Oikawa’s heart leap into his throat even more so than it already is. “What kind of dumb question is that?” He jibes, giving Oikawa’s fingers a squeeze. “If you’re cooking, I want both.”

Oikawa hits him with a pillow but can’t stop himself from laughing on his way to the kitchen.


Iwaizumi emerges from the bedroom fifteen minutes later, teeth freshly brushed and sleep completely purged from his system. Oikawa is humming to himself and flipping a pancake onto a stack when Iwaizumi approaches from behind, slipping his arms around his waist. Oikawa does not hesitate to lean back into the embrace.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Iwaizumi questions, voice quiet in the still of the morning. He presses his face into Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa smiles to himself.

“No occasion.” Oikawa responds with light ease. He adjusts the heat of the pan for the eggs. He cracks a couple into the pan and tosses the shells into the bin by the stove that they use for compost before he turns around in Iwaizumi’s arms. He twines his hands up around Iwaizumi’s neck and pulls him in for a slow kiss. When he pulls away, he says, “I just thought I’d spoil you a little as a reward for all your hard work this week.” He leans in and kisses Iwaizumi on the cheek. “You’ve really been pushing yourself so hard at practice and in class. You deserve a treat.”

Oikawa feels hot all over when Iwaizumi offers him a tiny, sheepish smile. The tips of his ears glow pink. Oikawa runs his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair and pulls him into a slow-burning kiss, languid and lazy and warm. Then, he pulls away and turns back around, giving his attention back to the eggs. Over his shoulder, he says, “Now go be a good boy and pick a show to watch with breakfast.”

Iwaizumi’s breath catches in his throat just as Oikawa anticipated, and the rush of power feels heady in Oikawa’s veins. His own toes curl against the wooden floor beneath him.

It’s going to be a long day.


The day stretches out long and slow. They don’t do a whole lot of anything but lounge around the house, really. They catch up on a couple TV shows on the couch and kiss and kiss and kiss, slow and unhurried. Oikawa tends to their tiny porch garden. Iwaizumi plays a video game that he hasn’t really had much time to play in the past few weeks but gives up when he dies three times in a row on the same boss fight. They order pizza for dinner because it’s easy, curling up in their shared bed with the box on one nightstand and a couple glasses of wine on the other.

Throughout the day, he had riddled his speech with random and seemingly innocuous praise toward Iwaizumi. When Iwaizumi beat a level in his game, Oikawa had kissed him on the forehead and said, “My strong Iwa-chan!”; when they were cuddling on the couch, Iwaizumi’s fingers in his hair and Oikawa’s head on his chest, he had murmured, “You’re so warm and comfortable, Iwa-chan.”; when Iwaizumi had slowly taken Oikawa’s fingers in his own, pressing his digits into Oikawa’s with practiced movements, massaging the kinks and aches away from years of use, Oikawa had melted into him and doted, “You’re the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me, Hajime.” Each and every time, Iwaizumi had flushed and tried to turn the attention back to something else.

Now, Oikawa is wound up. Iwaizumi is warm against his side. He twists so that he is facing the spiker, reaching over so he can run his fingers over Iwaizumi’s jaw. The action immediately pulls Iwaizumi’s attention to Oikawa, who smiles lazily. “Hi.” Oikawa says, voice soft.

Iwaizumi raises a brow and chuckles softly, pressing his face further into Oikawa’s palm. They are so domestic that Oikawa sometimes doesn’t know what to do about it. “Hey.”

Oikawa rolls his lips into his mouth before leaning forward and skimming his nose against Iwaizumi’s cheek. “You know that you’re the love of my life, right?” Oikawa murmurs, emotion apparent in his voice.

When Iwaizumi swallows, it is audible. His breath hitches in his throat as he turns his face to nudge his nose against Oikawa’s. “I – yeah.” He admits, slightly breathless. “I love you, too.” He murmurs, words soft. “What’s gotten into you today? You’re awfully affectionate.”

Oikawa shrugs in an air of fake nonchalance, but his chest aches with adoration and desire. He presses closer. “Dunno. It’s been a while since we’ve had a day to ourselves like this.” He answers candidly. “I just want to take care of you.” He pulls back just as his lips graze over Iwaizumi’s own, taunting the ghost of something more. “Will you let me do that?”

Iwaizumi’s brows pull together in confusion, but his pupils are blown wide with interest, his cheeks flushed from Oikawa’s closeness. He’s been a bit flustered all day. Oikawa loves it. “What do you mean?” Iwaizumi questions, licking at his lips.

Oikawa maneuvers himself so that he can straddle Iwaizumi’s hips, sitting on his lap comfortably, knees pressing into their plush mattress. Iwaizumi’s back is supported by their headboard and nest of pillows. His hands come up to rest on Oikawa’s hips naturally. Oikawa wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, nimble fingers teasing the soft hairs at his nape. “Exactly what it sounds like.” Oikawa answers, voice low and eyes hooded. “Let me take care of you tonight, handsome. You’ve been so good for me, it’s the least I can do.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, the embarrassed, uncertain expression that Oikawa has come to be a little obsessed with lately showing itself on his features. His fingers fiddle with the cloth of Oikawa’s shirt and Oikawa presses closer. “Can I?” Oikawa asks again.

Iwaizumi licks at his dry lips. He nods slightly. “I – Sure. Yeah.” He breathes out, obviously hesitant of this dynamic. It’s not that Oikawa is not usually affectionate; he is just usually affectionate in a different way. More subtle. Sometimes a bit selfishly. Definitely less verbally. Oikawa is more of a show than a tell kind of person when it comes to his affection.

Oikawa’s smile is sharp and dangerous as he leans forward. He kisses Iwaizumi, soft and chaste, and then presses warm open-mouth kisses down his jaw. He slides his fingers down Iwaizumi’s neck, over his biceps and down his arms until he reaches the hands resting at his hips. Intertwining their fingers, he pulls them up so he can press them against the headboard, grip tight and solid, conveying all of the graceful strength that he commands on the court.

He brushes his lips against the sensitive flesh of Iwaizumi’s earlobe, takes it between his teeth and tugs. Iwaizumi groans softly, his ears being particularly sensitive. Oikawa presses closer and then, releasing the appendage from his teeth, asks, “Hajime, do you know what you do to me?”

His voice is low and seductive. Iwaizumi’s fingers flex in Oikawa’s grasp. “What?” He sputters, a hot blush dancing across his skin. Oikawa grins deviously, though Iwaizumi can’t see if in this position.

“You just – I’ve been so hot all week, thinking about you. Watching you.” Oikawa murmurs, the words coming unbidden and true to his lips. They unfurl from the confines of his chest where he has caged them, rushing out for freedom. “You’re so unfairly attractive, Hajime. This jaw – “ He turns his head slightly so he can nudge his nose against the sharp cut of Iwaizumi’s jaw. “Your arms – ” He squeezes Iwaizumi’s hands in his own. “The raw power in your legs.” He swirls his hips down, groaning hotly right into Iwaizumi’s ear when his own obvious erection brushes against something hot and hard beneath Iwaizumi’s own clothing. “God, you’re perfect.”

Iwaizumi’s head falls back against the headboard, eyes fluttering closed. He lets out a strangled sound between a whimper and a groan, and it lights Oikawa up inside, makes him feel absolutely invincible in the way that only Iwaizumi can manage. Iwaizumi’s hands struggle slightly in Oikawa’s grasp, obviously itching to touch. “Tooru,” He croaks, swallowing thickly, “What are you doing?”

The power that Oikawa feels is intoxicating. Iwaizumi sounds helpless, already sounds out of breath and a bit needy, and Oikawa is just getting started. He hums against Iwaizumi’s skin. “I told you, I’m going to take care of you tonight.” Oikawa repeats, voice light and teasing.

Then, his tone drops again as he drags his lips beneath Iwaizumi’s ear, trailing them along the column of his throat. “You’re so perfect. So good. You should see yourself on the court, Hajime. You think I command the ball? Not at all. I have nothing on you. You have so much power, so much raw strength. Sometimes I just want to push you up against the bleachers in front of everyone and fuck into you nice and slow, let them watch as you fall to pieces. Let them watch how good you take me, how beautiful you are when you come.”

Iwaizumi’s hips arch upward, seeking friction, but Oikawa raises his slightly, keeping them just out of reach. Oikawa glances down, can see the way the flush of his skin dips all the way down his chest beneath Iwaizumi’s shirt. Iwaizumi whimpers quietly, the sound a combination of hot embarrassment and want. “Shit.” The spiker hisses, breath coming out in hot pants. “Shit, Tooru, I – “

Oikawa moans softly, the tension between them making him high with desire, the power spiking adrenaline and arousal in his veins. “Oh ho?” Oikawa chuckles teasingly. “Would you like that? I bet you would. The entire team would go home, hot and horny, would touch themselves while thinking of you and how gorgeous you are. All the while knowing that they can’t touch you because you’re mine.”

The words come out a bit more possessive than Oikawa means them to, but he really, really can’t help it. Iwaizumi is an absolute catch, and Oikawa is, honestly, sometimes astounded that the man continues to choose Oikawa over all else. Oikawa nips at Iwaizumi’s neck and dips his hips back down so he can very purposefully grind against Iwaizumi. They both groan hotly at the friction, and Oikawa can’t help himself when he brings his head back up so he can kiss Iwaizumi, hot and full on the lips.

Iwaizumi moans into Oikawa’s mouth, his hips pushing up against Oikawa’s. They have experimented with some kinks before, have teased and denied and delayed gratification, both falling into muddle piles of hot desire at the end of the night, but nothing, nothing has gotten Iwaizumi this riled up and needy so quickly. Oikawa licks into his mouth with purpose, running his tongue over his sensitive upper palate as he pulls away, panting. When he meets Iwaizumi’s gaze, it is hot and searing.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi begins, voice an obvious pleading tenor, but Oikawa cuts him off.

“Ah,” He says, disappointment evident in his tone, “C’mon now, Hajime. We’re a bit too intimate for such formality, wouldn’t you say?”

Iwaizumi swallows. He opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again, only to close it and swallow wants more. Oikawa waits, patient and expectant. Iwaizumi closes his eyes, the weight of Oikawa’s gaze too heavy. “Tooru,” The man says, after a moment, “Please.”

Oikawa’s brows jump up, not expecting Iwaizumi to resort to begging so soon. Delight and hot desire unfurl in Oikawa’s belly. He smiles, eyes gleaming with glee. “Oh, Hajime. Good, good boy.”

Oikawa feels Iwaizumi shift beneath him, feels the way his legs flex as his toes curl. Iwaizumi moans quietly, head falling back against the headboard as arousal flashes through him at Oikawa’s words. He is hot and hard and wanting, and Oikawa loves him so much.

“You really like this, don’t you?” Oikawa breathes out, pressing his hips down. “God, this is so hot. You’re so hot. So good, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi groans, squirming beneath Oikawa again. “Jesus, stop.” He pants out, snapping his gaze down to try to glare at Oikawa, but he’s too flustered to look anywhere near intimidating. “Shit, you’re driving me crazy.”

Desire twists up through Oikawa’s throat. He chuckles lowly. “Oh, baby. We’re just getting started.” He grins slowly, fingers flexing against Iwaizumi’s. “I’m going to let go of your hands now, okay?”

Iwaizumi looks pleased with this turn of events. Everyone knows that Oikawa is a handsy person, but Iwaizumi is just as tactile – maybe even more so, especially when it comes to physical intimacy. Sometimes, Oikawa thinks he has a kink with seeing the way his fingers press into Oikawa’s soft flesh. Oikawa almost, almost, feels bad for the next words out of his mouth. “But you’re not allowed to touch me yet.”


Oikawa can’t help the laugh that escapes his throat. He releases Iwaizumi’s hands just as he promised and cups Iwaizumi’s jaw with his own. He leans in and kisses Iwaizumi slowly and surely. “I don’t want you to touch me yet.” He says again, smiling. “You can do that for me, right?”

Iwaizumi looks – he looks like he’s actually, truly at war with that question. He looks debauched and pink and a little bit lost. His hands slowly come down to settle on the sheets next to Oikawa’s legs, but not touching. “And what if I do touch you?” He finally asks.

Oikawa pauses, looking as if he’s in thought. Then, he hums and says, “Well, if you can’t follow simple directions, then I guess you don’t get to come.” Oikawa’s tone is light, but the undercurrent of warning is there. “But I know you can follow directions. You do such a good job of it on the court. Always doing exactly what I want you to.”

He watches as Iwaizumi screws his eyes shut and swallows. He seems incredibly on edge. Oikawa really just wants to devour him, honestly. A tug of affection pulls Oikawa in to press his lips against Iwaizumi’s softly, and the spiker relaxes a bit beneath him.

When Oikawa pulls back, he leans his forehead against Iwaizumi’s and breathes him in for a moment. Then, he opens his eyes to capture Iwaizumi’s gaze. “Okay?”

It is more than just a question of do you understand these terms and conditions. It is also Oikawa checking in, asking are you okay, saying, you can trust me, I’ve got you.

Iwaizumi exhales harshly. Then, he gives a shaky nod. “Okay.”

Oikawa smiles and kisses him again, full and open-mouthed. Then, he slides down and away. He tugs his shirt over his head and motions toward Iwaizumi to do the same. In moments, they are both naked.

Oikawa slides close again, letting his gaze rove appreciatively over his boyfriend’s body. His fingers trail over his collarbones, down between the cleft of his pectorals. They teasingly drift over a nipple, leaving Iwaizumi squirming, and then over the dips of his abdomen. They splay out over his hips, thumbs pressing into the creases where thigh meets pelvis, and then dance down over his inner thighs. He purposefully avoids the flushed and red erection that curves up against Iwaizumi’s belly tantalizingly and brushes his fingers all the way down to his inner knees, over his calves, tickling his feet.

Iwaizumi laughs even though he is clearly frustrated with the light touches. “Shittykawa.” He huffs, flicking a foot at Oikawa playfully. Oikawa giggles, wrapping his fingers around an ankle and then pressing a soft kiss to the inside of his shin. Iwaizumi releases a raspy breath as he begins trailing his lips back up over where his fingers had tracked down. He nips at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, teeth sinking in to plush, toned muscle. Iwaizumi groans, hips bucking involuntarily, his neglected cock wet and hard, bobbing slightly with the motion.

Oikawa grins against Iwaizumi’s skin. He loves teasing Iwaizumi. He trails his nose upward, nudging at the crease of Iwaizumi’s inner thigh, letting his breath ghost over hot flesh. Iwaizumi’s fingers twitch against the sheets. Oikawa chuckles softly, ghosting his lips up the side of Iwaizumi’s length, trailing them up teasingly until he reaches the head. A bead of precum slips down the side when Iwaizumi swirls his hips upward unintentionally, and Oikawa flicks his tongue out to catch it, following the trail up so he can teasingly lick at the slit. Iwaizumi’s toes curl in anticipation of hot, wet heat to relieve his aching tension.

But Oikawa pulls away, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Iwaizumi’s abdomen. The noise that Iwaizumi lets out is somewhere between a growl and a whimper, and it makes Oikawa’s blood burn with desire. Iwaizumi is breathing hard, body squirming with frustration and desire.

Oikawa grins. “Oh, yes.” He murmurs, catching Iwaizumi’s hot, hot gaze with his own. He slides his hands up Iwaizumi’s thighs, over his hips, up his chest. Slow and torturous. “That’s my very well-behaved Hajime.”

Iwaizumi’s fingers fist in the sheets, a soft whimper falling from his lips. His pupils are so blown that the hazel irises of his eyes are barely noticeable. He looks delectable. “Tooru.”

Oikawa cups Iwaizumi’s jaw again. “All in good time, handsome.” He murmurs. “Roll over onto your stomach for me, yeah?” He requests, leaning in to kiss him.

Ordinarily, Iwaizumi would have protested or questioned Oikawa’s intentions, but right now, he is too far gone to care. When Oikawa gives him space to move, he flips over without complaint, settling himself comfortable on the mattress. Oikawa hums in approval, unable to stop himself as his hands reach out and knead the mounds of Iwaizumi’s ass.

It’s a nice ass.

Iwaizumi groans, forehead falling into the pillows. Oikawa smiles and presses soft kisses to Iwaizumi’s toned back, over the backs of his arms, the dimples at the base of his spine. He trails his lips languidly over the flesh of Iwaizumi’s cheeks, hot breath ghosting over sensitive skin. Iwaizumi twitches beneath him and Oikawa sighs pleasantly against his skin.

“Prop your hips up for me, Hajime.” Oikawa murmurs, a soft and reverent command. Iwaizumi’s breath hitches because he knows what’s coming. He does as requested, and Oikawa presses a kiss to the soft skin of his hamstring.

“Thank you, Hajime.” Oikawa says. “Good boy.”

Iwaizumi groans, too far gone to fight at this point, and Oikawa uses his fingers to press flesh apart, tongue licking a hot swipe over Iwaizumi’s entrance.

Iwaizumi’s body jolts forward, his fingers fisting into the pillow by his face. Oikawa steadies his hips to keep him from moving and then flicks his tongue inward, pressing against the rings of muscle that twitch against him. He licks into Iwaizumi like a parched man, and maybe that’s a suitable description because Oikawa is thirsty.

Iwaizumi’s entrance has always been particularly sensitive – Oikawa loves teasing the ring of muscle gently when he fingers him open, pushing in and pulling all the way out nice and slowly, the burning stretch around his fingers every time he pushes back in always turning Iwaizumi into a hot, bumbling mess. This is no different, though perhaps it’s a worse sort of torture, because Iwaizumi can at least come from Oikawa’s fingers, but his tongue isn’t quite enough stimulation to do anything other than make him increasingly more aroused. Oikawa’s tongue teases the sensitive flesh, slipping in and out with ease, and Iwaizumi’s body trembles before him. Iwaizumi mutters incoherently against the pillow, hips searching desperately for any friction they can find.

Oikawa’s own erection throbs hard and painful between his own legs, neglected and weeping for attention. He continues to neglect it, instead choosing to use one hand to wrap around and fondle Iwaizumi’s own. He wraps his fingers around the length with just enough pressure to relieve a tiny amount of the torture, but not enough to lead to any sort of release.

Iwaizumi keens into the sheets. It is when he begins to mumble, over and over again, Tooru, Tooru, please, please, please, fuck me, please, that Oikawa has to pull away, moaning against the hot flesh of Iwaizumi’s back. He gasps for air, mind hazy with desire. Iwaizumi’s hips continue to sway in the air, searching, and Oikawa feels the last bit of his control slipping.

He releases Iwaizumi’s cock, earning himself a distressed groan, and slides up his lover’s back, peppering hot, wanton kisses along the way. His breath is shaky against Iwaizumi’s ear when he says, “You’re perfect.” He kisses beneath Iwaizumi’s ear when the spiker moans softly. “How would you like to come?”

Iwaizumi seems so far gone that Oikawa almost thinks he didn’t even hear the question. But Iwaizumi turns his head, lids so heavy-lidded that they’re almost closed, and says, “Don’t care, as long as you let me touch you.”

Affection blossoms in Oikawa’s chest, tight and hot and strong. He kisses along Iwaizumi’s jaw. “Okay. Deal.” He murmurs. “I want you to come on my fingers, and then I want to fuck you.”

Iwaizumi buries his face in the crook of his elbow, muffling the strangled sound that leaves his lips. “Shit, Tooru.” He hisses. Oikawa laughs softly, kissing his shoulder.

“Roll back over for me, baby.”

Iwaizumi does as instructed. Oikawa wastes no time in grabbing the lube from their bedside drawer. He pours a liberal amount over his fingers. His own cock throbs as he reaches down between them, leaning forward to capture Iwaizumi’s lips in a kiss. He presses one finger against Iwaizumi’s sensitive entrance and says, “I love you so fucking much.”

Iwaizumi’s expression is soft. He reaches up to curl his fingers in Oikawa’s hair, now that the no-touch rule is relieved. Oikawa shivers into the touch, relishing in it. “I love you, too, Tooru.”

At that, Oikawa pushes into Iwaizumi. The first finger meets some resistance but is accommodated softly and slowly. Iwaizumi moans at the intrusion, at the hot stretch, and Oikawa feels like he’s drowning in the way Iwaizumi’s expression falls open and wanting for him.

He takes his time opening Iwaizumi up, slow and teasing, adding a second and third finger after Iwaizumi has been ready for them for a while. Iwaizumi melts beneath him, becomes an incoherent, wanton mess of desire. His cock smears precum against his belly where it bounces as his hips move in tandem with Oikawa’s fingers.

He is beautiful and Oikawa adores him.

Oikawa curls his fingers into the rough patch of sensitive flesh that makes Iwaizumi nearly sob.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi pants, gaze unfocused, “Please let me touch myself.”

Oikawa’s response is immediate. “No.” He snaps, harsher than he means to. He kisses at Iwaizumi’s jaw tenderly, crooking his fingers. “No, baby.” He repeats, gentler. “You can come from just my fingers. I know you can.”

And he does know – because he’s led Iwaizumi to orgasm with just his fingers many times before.

Iwaizumi releases a frustrated sound, fingers scrambling for purchase over Oikawa’s sweaty skin. “Tooru.” He pleads.

Oikawa scowls in disapproval, his fingers slowing. “Hajime, you’ve been so good all night. Do you really want to fight me now?”

No.” Iwaizumi huffs, frustrated. He is so red. “No, Tooru, just – “ He nearly sobs when Oikawa scissors his fingers, stretching him open. Oikawa loves seeing him like this, needy and open and all his. “Please, talk to me.”

The breath leaves Oikawa’s lungs in a flourish. He groans into Iwaizumi’s shoulder, his hips bucking because shit, he almost came from Iwaizumi’s begging. Hajime,” He murmurs, reverent and breathy, “Oh, Hajime. Of course.”

And he’s not one to refuse such a candid and open request, so he does as asked. His fingers pick up the pace, his lips kissing over Iwaizumi’s neck before he speaks. “You’ve been so good, Hajime. You take me so well. You always make me feel like this – like I can take on the world with you by my side. I want to watch you fall apart, I want to be the one to pick you up and put you back together. You’re so beautiful and perfect, baby. I want you to come for me, my perfect man. Please, Hajime. I love you so, so much.”

There really is no stopping Iwaizumi’s orgasm. His body reels in on itself, his legs flexing as Oikawa works him through it. He cries out, low and long and achingly beautiful, and for the second time that night, Oikawa almost comes completely untouched just by the sight and sounds that this man makes. Cum splatters across Iwaizumi’s belly and he collapses into a pile of mush, twitching when Oikawa’s fingers pull out.

Oikawa kisses him, long and deep and languid. Iwaizumi, though boneless, slides his fingers up Oikawa’s back and kisses him back with fervor. When he pulls away, he gives Oikawa a lopsided smile. With every bit of stubborn pride he has left, even though he’s already fucked out and could easily slip into sleep, he says, “Aren’t you going to fuck me, Tooru?”

Oikawa gazes at the man beneath him, the only man he’s ever loved, and feels his heart squeeze in his chest. He leans down and nudges his nose against Iwaizumi’s. “You are really, truly amazing, you know? You’re something else, Iwaizumi Hajime.” He breathes out, a reverent prayer.

Iwaizumi’s eyelashes flutter, a flush of embarrassment washing over him. Before he can respond, before he can tell Oikawa to stop, already, Oikawa pulls back with a sharp grin. “And yes, my sweet Hajime, I certainly am going to fuck you.”

The spiker’s breath catches in his throat as Oikawa’s tone, the air between them charged again with sexual tension. Oikawa pours a bit more lube on his fingers and takes a moment to slick them over himself, foregoing a condom since they have long agreed they both prefer sex without it. It’s the first bit of true stimulation he’s had all night, and it almost stings with how good it feels. His head lolls to the side as he lazily strokes himself, gaze falling over to Iwaizumi. The other man watches Oikawa touch himself with hooded eyes, his breath coming out deeper, the clear course of interest in his eyes, even though he just came. Oikawa moans hotly as he runs his thumb over the sensitive head of his own cock, hot desire and desperation suddenly flaring through his chest.

Iwaizumi groans from his place on the bed. He reaches out and runs one of his big, calloused hands over the smooth skin of Oikawa’s thigh. When he opens his mouth, the only thing that comes out is, “Tooru.”

Oikawa groans. That’s the only motivation he needs to position himself, the head of his cock nudging against Iwaizumi’s sensitive entrance. Iwaizumi’s hand moves up to his hip, thumb smoothing over the hip bone it finds there, but his free hand comes up so that he can press the back of it to his mouth.

Iwaizumi is very, very sensitive after an orgasm. It is one of Oikawa’s favorite things about fucking him. Oikawa presses forward, the tip of his length only meeting slight resistance against the ring of muscle, but stops when Iwaizumi groans behind his hand, as much torture as it is to resist pushing completely into the tight, wet heat before him.

“No, baby.” Oikawa murmurs, reaching up to take Iwaizumi’s hand from his mouth. He intertwines their fingers and presses them against the pillow by Iwaizumi’s head. He pushes his hips forward, pressing further into Iwaizumi slowly, and when he does, the man beneath him gasps, his back arching slightly, body automatically responding to the oversensitivity. “I want to hear you.”

Iwaizumi nearly chokes on a sob when Oikawa finally, finally pushes all the way in. Oikawa himself is no better off, knowing he won’t last long because he already feels so, so close with all of that slick heat around him. Iwaizumi’s free hand slides up and tangles in Oikawa’s hair. He pulls the setter close to him so he can nip at his ear. “If you want to hear me,” He murmurs, talking a much bigger game than he feels prepared to play, but their competitive streaks would never let them rest, “Then give me a reason to make some noise, Tooru.”

Oikawa’s laugh is breathy against Iwaizumi’s cheek as hot arousal rushes through him. “Damnit, I really fucking love you.” He murmurs against Iwaizumi’s skin, and then he does as commanded, pulls his hips back, and snaps them forward with no mercy.

They both moan out, loud and long, and Oikawa sets a brutal pace. Iwaizumi’s fingers remain in Oikawa’s hair, pulling the soft strands tight, stinging his scalp, because really, that’s all Iwaizumi can do as his body tries to curl in on itself from oversensitivity. Oikawa buries his face in Iwaizumi’s neck, teeth scraping against skin with no purpose, his body completely driving his actions as he chases his own release.

Fuck,” Iwaizumi mutters, his head falling back against the pillows, his hand slipping from Oikawa’s hair to paw at the headboard behind him, trying to both push himself as close as possible and also crawl away because too much, too much, too much. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He hisses, his voice cracking and breath stalling in his throat. There are tears prickling at the corners of his eyes from the oversensitivity. “Shit, fuck, Tooru, I need you to come, damnit.”

Oikawa glances up at Iwaizumi’s face, watches the tears escape the corners of his eyes, and fuck, that shouldn’t be so hot, but seeing Iwaizumi so vulnerable – and vulnerable for him and him only – really, really makes Oikawa feel heated. He moans hotly against Iwaizumi’s throat, and then he’s coming, hard and long, and Iwaizumi groans above him, fingers scrambling against the headboard and flexing in Oikawa’s hand.

They are both breathing hard in the aftermath. Oikawa slowly pulls out, kissing Iwaizumi’s jaw when the man hisses at the loss. He nearly collapses atop of Iwaizumi, but manages to fall to the side, giving himself a brief moment of rest before he gets up to clean them. He nuzzles against Iwaizumi, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing him tight. “Hajime,” He sighs, happy, “That was fucking great.”

Iwaizumi, completely spent, manages to huff out a laugh against him. He reaches over and runs a hand through Oikawa’s hair. “Yeah, I can’t say it wasn’t.” He agrees. “I love you.”

Oikawa smiles, soft and genuine and full of affection. He kisses Iwaizumi’s shoulder and then gets up to grab a warm washcloth. He wipes Iwaizumi off first, gently cleaning him and occasionally leaning in close to press his lips to warm skin. He wipes himself off, too, even though he’s not nearly as covered in fluids as Iwaizumi, and then he gets them both a glass of water. Iwaizumi grumbles when Oikawa forces him to sit up to drink some of it, but he does it anyway, and then he collapses back into the bed, Oikawa in tow.


The Monday after, Oikawa skips up to Iwaizumi as he’s picking up a couple balls to toss into the ball bin. He tucks his arms behind his back and offers his boyfriend the most saccharine smile that he can manage. He knows Iwaizumi is immediately suspicious, but Oikawa doesn’t really care. “Iwa-chan,” He coos, voice light and teasing, “You did such a good job today – exactly what I hoped for!”

Iwaizumi chucks a ball at him with all of the strength in his beautiful arms, red-faced and flustered as he yells, “Shittykawa!” Oikawa dodges it easily, years of getting himself out of harm’s way when Iwaizumi throws something in his direction having primed him for moments like these. He laughs, light and full of affection. He hops over to the ball and scoops it up, tossing it back into the bin. “Now, now, handsome,” He winks, “Be a good boy and keep those balls where they belong.”

Iwaizumi throws two more balls at him for good measure. Oikawa dodges them both.