Work Header

sweet sun, send me the moon

Work Text:

I thank my lucky stars that I discovered you

like the first man on the moon,

but you came out the blue.

I thank my lucky stars that you’re so close to me

like Venus and Mercury.

From the darkness to the deep,

I thank my lucky stars.


Iwaizumi and Oikawa are close. They’ve been a part of each other’s lives for almost as long as they can remember their consciousnesses coming into existence.

Iwaizumi understands Oikawa’s language, and Oikawa understands Iwaizumi’s.

They’re a tactile duo, especially on Oikawa’s end, and they almost always seem to be near one another or touching in some capacity. Oikawa is particularly fond of pressing his face into Iwaizumi’s shoulder or sliding his leg up against Iwaizumi’s on the train or on couches, just to have some sort of connection; Iwaizumi is the rougher sort of physical, constantly ruffling Oikawa’s hair or pinching his thighs or slapping him on the back, but occasionally he can be caught pressing his arm against Oikawa’s at the dinner table or sliding his cold nose against the warm skin of Oikawa’s neck when they have sleepovers and share the bed as they’ve done since they were four, even though they’re both far too big to be sharing a full-sized mattress anymore.

(Iwaizumi likes to spread out on his back when he sleeps, limbs splayed and wide; Oikawa tends to cling like a spider monkey, long legs draped around Iwaizumi’s, arms hugging the other boy or his pillow, but sometimes he splays out on his stomach, one hand partially covering Iwaizumi’s face and a knee folded up over Iwaizumi’s stomach. They somehow make it work, but it would be much more comfortable with a larger bed.

“I’m convinced you’re trying to smother me in my sleep, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi often says in the mornings, voice soft and heavy from sleep and unbridled morning affection.

Oikawa loves soft Iwaizumi. He tries to make excuses for them to share a bed as often as he can, and he pointedly ignores thinking about why.)

They don’t talk about it. They don’t talk about how there’s something between them, something that causes Oikawa to start rejecting confessions after years of entertaining them, something that makes Iwaizumi begin to frown when people flirt with Oikawa at the convenience store, something that makes Oikawa throw his arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulder possessively when girls and boys begin approaching Iwaizumi toward the end of their third year with confession letters – because Iwaizumi has filled out, all broad shoulders and thick thighs and beautiful biceps that make his kind heart and sweet, genuine smile and pretty blush all the more irresistible – to effectively deter the other students from continuing their pursuit.

(He’s not available, Oikawa’s body language always screams, he’s mine, even though we haven’t explicitly established that in any tangible or direct form.)

It’s something that burns between them and ruins their other romantic prospects completely. They both date a couple of people during their third year, but none of the relationships work out – always because you spend too much time playing volleyball or you spend too much time with your best friend.

(They both always splutter at those complaints – “It’s my last year in high school! Of course, I’m going to spend a lot of time playing volleyball and with my best friend – I might not get to do those things as often after it’s over.”)

It continues to build and to become so present that they can hardly be in a room alone together without gravitating toward each other, somehow ending up pressed against one another while they watch movies with Iwaizumi’s fingers in Oikawa’s hair and Oikawa’s own curled against the soft skin of Iwaizumi’s neck. When they’re studying, they often find themselves leaning against one another in bed, speaking in soft, hushed voices. Sometimes when Iwaizumi cooks them dinner on the nights where Oikawa crashes at his house when his parents are out of town, Oikawa snakes his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist and rests his chin on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, speaking softly into the boy’s ear about random topics.

But they still don’t talk about it.

So, perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that Iwaizumi and Oikawa start dating at the end of their third year of high school. Their friends certainly aren’t surprised when it happens – some are even mildly confused at the news – Wait, you guys weren’t already dating? – given how they’ve been living with the building tension for what seems like years, now.

And maybe Oikawa and Iwaizumi aren’t surprised by it, either.


It all comes to a peak on a Friday night when Iwaizumi is at Oikawa’s for a sleepover. Oikawa’s parents are out of town to visit Oikawa’s aunt a couple hours away. Oikawa stayed behind because their coach had arranged a practice match for them on Saturday afternoon. Iwaizumi often stays over when Oikawa’s parents are out of town because, if he doesn’t, Oikawa bombards his phone with texts of Iwa-chan, I’m so lonely and bored over here and won’t you come keep me company, Iwa-chan? and I’ll even put on your favorite Godzilla movie and make kettle corn.

Iwaizumi has learned throughout the years that Oikawa doesn’t handle being alone well. So, he has made it a habit of saving himself from the slew of needy text messages by just arranging to stay over before they can be sent.

They’re doing homework because, while they both adore volleyball, they both also know that volleyball isn’t necessarily going to get them into University and being a well-educated member of society is at least slightly important. It is a rare moment where they are in the same space but not pressed against one another or touching in some capacity – Iwaizumi is seated in Oikawa’s desk chair, math book open, calculator perched in front of him, and bowl of cherries next to his book. Oikawa is laying on his stomach on his bed, textbook in front of him and feet swinging in the air.

It is quiet other than the sound of pencils on paper and the occasional clicking of Iwaizumi’s calculator until the spiker says, “Can you tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue?”

The question comes right as Iwaizumi plucks a cherry out of the bowl on his desk. Iwaizumi has always had a fondness for the fruit and Oikawa has always had a fondness for Iwaizumi, and thus, he always makes sure they have cherries stocked in the house for when Iwaizumi visits.

(Oikawa’s mom has long since given up on trying to find out why Oikawa always insists that they purchase cherries when they go grocery shopping, but she has noticed that Iwaizumi seems to be the only person who really eats them.)

Oikawa looks up at his best friend from the bed and raises a brow. “I can’t say I’ve ever tried.” He says slowly, trying to make sense of the question. “Why?”

A soft blush filters into the sun-kissed skin of Iwaizumi’s cheeks, piquing Oikawa’s interest more. “Just curious.” He says gruffly. “Hanamaki was going on and on today at lunch about how being able to tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue is supposed to be indicative of kissing ability.”

Oikawa’s first thought is, I don’t remember that conversation happening, but then he remembers that he had been distracted at lunch by politely rejecting a few new confessions. His second thought is, I’m an excellent kisser, give me one of those cherries, but then he thinks up an entirely better idea.

“Iwa-chan! If you’re feeling insecure and want some kissing practice, you just have to ask!” Oikawa teases, lips pulled up into one of his pompous smirks, eyes lidded in the way that makes most men and women swoon. Iwaizumi likes to think that he’s immune to that expression, but he knows that’s a bald-faced lie.

(He’s just really good at hiding how it makes his heart jump up into his throat.

Or, he likes to think that he’s really good at hiding it. In reality, he’s really, really not.)

Iwaizumi’s features pull into an annoyed expression as he throws a pen at Oikawa’s head. Oikawa ducks and laughs airily, swinging his feet in the air in a carefree manner. Iwaizumi hates (adores) how cute he looks. “Shut up, Shittykawa. That’s not at all what I meant.” He mumbles, twirling around in the chair so that he is facing the desk again, intent on getting back to his homework. “Don’t act like I don’t have any experience.”

At that, Oikawa’s eyebrows raise, expression sobering slightly, though Iwaizumi doesn’t see it. “Ah, right, of course.” He murmurs, tapping his pencil against the book in front of him, laying open and forgotten on the bed. “How could I forget about your conquests.”

Iwaizumi spins back around in the chair. “What does that mean?

Oikawa shrugs nonchalantly, but Iwaizumi knows him well enough to understand that there is something simmering beneath that carefree expression he’s wearing. Oikawa’s mind always seemed to be cluttered and racing with things that lived far beneath the surface. “Just because you’ve kissed people before doesn’t mean you’re good at it, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa says it to rile him up, but he feels himself falling for it regardless. His gaze narrows into a glare. He wants to respond with, Shut up, Shittykawa, again and ignore the goad, get back to his homework, keep himself from falling into one of Oikawa’s traps.

And yet –

“I’ll have you know that I have had nothing but positive feedback, thank you. Just because I haven’t had as many prospects as you and because I don’t flaunt my experiences doesn’t mean that the ones that I have had haven’t been good.”

He steps right into the well-placed bear trap. Oikawa’s lips pull up and he pushes himself so he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, twirling his pencil between his fingers. “Mighty words, Iwa-chan. Why don’t you prove it, then?”

(This has been happening a lot – the blatant flirting, the teasing, the tiptoeing into warmer, choppier waters.

They still haven’t talked about it.)

The trap snaps around Iwaizumi’s ankle sharply, and Iwaizumi knows that he can’t get out of this one without severely damaging his pride. With a deep inhale, he decides that in order to free himself, he’s going to have to beat the hunter at his own game. “Okay. Fine.”

Oikawa has the decency to look surprised as Iwaizumi shoves himself out of the chair to stand. He had obviously been expecting Iwaizumi to call his bluff, roll his eyes, maybe throw another object at him, and get back to work. So, the sight of Iwaizumi standing and looming over him startles Oikawa a bit. Iwaizumi revels in being able to catch the setter off guard.

Oikawa doesn’t really know what he’s expecting now, so when Iwaizumi pads his bare feet against the wood floor to stand next to the bed, Oikawa doesn’t know what to do, other than carefully set his pencil in the crease of his opened and forgotten textbook.

(And to try and calm his frantically racing heart.

He doesn’t do a very good job at that.)

The bed dips slightly as one of Iwaizumi’s knees slides onto the mattress. He’s half standing, half kneeling, and Oikawa is still at a loss for what to do as Iwaizumi brings his arms up so his fingers slide against Oikawa’s jaw, cradling his face in his big, calloused hands. Oikawa thinks that he’s forgotten how to breathe as he gingerly wraps his fingers around Iwaizumi’s forearms.

Suddenly, they both feel the string of tension that has wrapped itself around the two of them for so long pull tight, vibrating with pressure.

“Remember that you got yourself into this mess, Tooru.” Iwaizumi says softly, words a little shaky and conveying his own nerves, hot breath dancing across Oikawa’s cheek, and –

Oh my God, Oikawa thinks, waiting for the punchline to indicate that this is a joke as he feels a flush rise up his neck and filter into his cheeks, this is actually happening.

And then the string and the tension snaps, and Iwaizumi is kissing him.

It’s just a soft press of lips at first, which is not surprising, but it still makes Oikawa’s skin tingle. Iwaizumi’s fingers brush over his cheeks as he pulls back and then presses another soft kiss to Oikawa’s lips, soft and gentle, before he’s tilting his head slightly to slide their lips together better, moving his mouth just enough to encourage Oikawa to do the same.

(Oikawa needed exactly zero (0) acts of encouragement, honestly, but he’s not complaining.)

Oikawa follows, letting Iwaizumi lead, which is – well, it’s odd, really, because Oikawa is usually the one leading these sorts of interactions. He’s the flirt, he’s the guy who’s been on the most dates, he’s the one who’s always been hard to tie down (because he’s been in love with his best friend for approximately six years and thirty-two days, but whatever). He usually calls the shots.

So, when Iwaizumi deepens the kiss and licks into his mouth, Oikawa, quite frankly, feels a little lost in his bubbling emotions and sudden loss of control.

His hands slide down Iwaizumi’s arms to grip at his waist, fingers itching to dip lower. He lets his fingers dip into Iwaizumi’s sides and gently tugs at his best friend, encouraging him to slide completely onto the bed. Iwaizumi’s body puts up little resistance, and Oikawa lets out a pleased hum when Iwaizumi settles himself on the taller boy’s lap, knees dipping into the mattress on either side of Oikawa’s body.

Oikawa’s hands wrap around Iwaizumi’s waist with more confidence as he resists the urge to slip his fingers down and grab onto globes of round flesh that years of volleyball have sculpted, itching to pull Iwaizumi even closer. Iwaizumi’s fingers slide over his jaw and curl into his hair, which feels familiar for both of them given the history of platonic cuddling and general closeness that they have built up between them.

The soft press of lips reminds them both that this is very far from what most people would define as platonic.

Iwaizumi’s nails scrape gently at Oikawa’s scalp, fingers tugging gently at the soft locks as his tongue curls against the roof of Oikawa’s mouth. Oikawa whimpers softly, head tilting back into Iwaizumi’s hands, mouth pliant and soft and open and wanting beneath Iwaizumi’s. Oikawa’s fingers press into the dimples of Iwaizumi’s lower back, tugging slightly at his shirt just because they need something to do that isn’t grabbing hold of Iwaizumi’s ass and kneading and purring like a happy, blissful cat.

Iwaizumi kisses like a slow burning fire. It’s languid and hot, surprisingly seductive and controlled for how aggressive and rowdy he is in most other aspects of his life. His body presses forward slightly, back arching into Oikawa’s touch. When he finally pulls away, he does so slowly, tongue swiping over Oikawa’s and teeth softly catching on the setter’s lower lip, gently tugging and leaving Oikawa panting.

Oikawa stares up at Iwaizumi with flushed cheeks, red lips, and wide eyes. Iwaizumi is blushing, his hands are still in Oikawa’s hair, and even though he knows he has definitely won this battle, he’s not really sure what to do now, now that his pride has been saved, now that he has kissed his best friend –

Now that the something that has been curling between them for so long has been dragged out into the open and dowsed in sunlight, forced to be acknowledged in some capacity.

Oikawa seems to find his wits first. His palms lie flat and warm against Iwaizumi’s lower back as if holding him to ensure Iwaizumi doesn’t try to suddenly flee.

(Which, honestly, is good thinking on Oikawa’s part, because Iwaizumi’s flight or fight instinct has switched completely from fight to flight in the span of 0.6 seconds now that he’s made his point.)

“Okay.” Oikawa exhales, eyes flicking down to Iwaizumi’s mouth as the boy’s tongue swipes over his lip subconsciously. “You’re a good kisser, I can admit that.”

Iwaizumi’s blush deepens and Oikawa wants to kiss every inch of skin that it covers. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Thanks, I guess.” He mumbles, embarrassed. His fingers are still pressed into Oikawa’s hair, and Oikawa absolutely adores him. Iwaizumi squirms a bit in Oikawa’s lap, very clearly moving to pull back off of the other boy, but Oikawa doesn’t let him.

“Oh, no –” Oikawa’s hands pull Iwaizumi closer as they slide around to rest on lean hips. “You don’t get to do that and then stop.” He murmurs, eyes lidded, control coming back to him. “I’m nowhere near done with you.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then Oikawa is pressing forward and capturing his lips again, and this time, Oikawa is the one conducting the show.

Oikawa draws Iwaizumi’s tongue back into his mouth quickly. One of his hands slides up to cup the back of Iwaizumi’s neck, gently guiding his spiker in the way he wants while his free hand slides down and under the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt, fingers teasing the hot, sun-kissed skin of the tanned boy’s back.

Iwaizumi makes a soft, pleased hum from the back of his throat at the feel of Oikawa’s fingers against his skin. Then, Oikawa swirls his tongue around Iwaizumi’s and sucks slightly, just enough to add a little bit of pressure, and –

Iwaizumi makes a broken sound that sends Oikawa’s heart into overdrive. He thinks, with incredible certainty, that if he had to listen to that sound on repeat for the rest of his life, he would die happy.

Oikawa feels his body erupt into heat. He sucks on Iwaizumi’s tongue again, and Iwaizumi arches his back subtly and instinctively, his body beginning to respond without conscious thought. Iwaizumi pulls away after a moment, breaths heavy and hot against Oikawa’s cheek, skin flushed, and fingers tangled tight in Oikawa’s hair.

Oikawa is so not ready to be finished with – by far – the hottest make out session he has experienced in his life, so he peppers hot, open-mouthed kisses along Iwaizumi’s jaw while he lets the other boy catch his breath.

(Oikawa absolutely thinks that seeing Iwaizumi beginning to fall apart beneath his lips is the sexiest thing he will ever witness.)

Iwaizumi’s head tips back and lolls to the side, giving Oikawa free range to the sensitive skin of his neck. The setter’s lips tease his skin, nose brushing against the lobe of Iwaizumi’s ear. He flicks his tongue over the appendage playfully, taking it between his teeth and tugging gently.

Iwaizumi’s hips buck suddenly in response, a soft cry leaving his lips that sounds suspiciously like a whimper.

Oh heavens, Oikawa thinks, what did I do to deserve this bliss?

Oikawa smiles into the skin of Iwaizumi’s neck, placing a soft kiss beneath his ear before speaking, lips brushing the appendage again and setting goosebumps to Iwaizumi’s skin. “You’re so sensitive, Hajime.”

He tries to make the words sound like a teasing remark, but they come out sort of reverent, as if he’s in awe. He knows Iwaizumi is probably embarrassed, but Oikawa just sort of wants to devour him, to trail his tongue along every inch of skin and whisper soft praises of adoration into his flesh. He wants to watch Iwaizumi melt, wants to worship him.

Iwaizumi huffs a laugh and presses his chest flush to Oikawa’s. “Asshole.” He mutters, but it is laced with affection. Oikawa smiles again as he feels warmth and adoration expand from deep within his chest. He leans forward again and mouths against the skin of Iwaizumi’s ear, fingers tracing soft circles over the skin of Iwaizumi’s back.

“Is this your weakness?” Oikawa teases, voice low, tongue flicking over Iwaizumi’s ear again. Iwaizumi tugs harshly at his hair, and Oikawa moans hotly into the boy’s ear in response.

Iwaizumi groans softly, head falling forward at the sound so that his forehead rests against the side of Oikawa’s. “Fuck, Tooru.” Iwaizumi’s voice is breathy and hot and deep and just a little bit on the side of whining, something more akin to how Oikawa would speak.

Oikawa’s eyes widen at the response, arousal coursing through his veins at the sound of his name said like that. He wants to hear it again and again and again. His fingers slide up into Iwaizumi’s hair and pull at the soft locks gently as he presses his lips back to Iwaizumi’s ear. “Want you to do that again.” He murmurs softly, earnestly, and Iwaizumi flushes at the words. “What is it that does it for you the most?” He asks, voice on the edge of frantic and desperate. “The words or the sounds or the touch?” He tugs at his lobe again.

Iwaizumi is panting softly. “I – Jesus, how do you say things like that?” He swallows, nerves suddenly flaring in his stomach with embarrassment. Oikawa can sense it and splays his fingers across Iwaizumi’s back comfortingly and cards his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair gently, encouragingly until Iwaizumi is able to mumble out an answer. “Sounds.” He admits.

Oikawa licks at his lips, a moan coming unbidden from his throat into Iwaizumi’s ear again, and Iwaizumi shivers, hips suddenly swirling downward, his arousal apparent through the thin material of his gym shorts. His hips grind down onto Oikawa’s own erection, and this time Oikawa arches, both hands falling down to grip at Iwaizumi’s ass, a delicious, wanton sound filtering right into Iwaizumi’s ear.

“Jesus Christ.” Iwaizumi breathes. “Tooru, you’re going to kill me.”

Oikawa wants to snarl, wants to lick into Iwaizumi’s mouth and steal his breath away, but also wants to keep hearing his words, hearing his name. The setter feels a bit like he’s drowning in fire.

He slides his hips up to meet Iwaizumi’s, groans, nips at Iwaizumi’s neck. “My name,” He murmurs, feeling weak and hot and needy, yet demanding. “Keep saying it.”

There’s a breathy chuckle in his ear, and then – “Of course you would still be narcissistic in bed.” Iwaizumi teases, but there is no bite. “Gonna have to make me say your name if that’s what you want.” He challenges – like he hasn’t just said it twice in the past two minutes – ever the one to make Oikawa work for what he wants and places a sloppy kiss on Oikawa’s neck. “Tooru.”

Oikawa snaps.

He groans loudly, almost growling, really, and suddenly maneuvers them so that Iwaizumi is on his back and Oikawa is hovering over him. They are both flushed, breathing heavily with dazed eyes and glossy lips. Iwaizumi looks surprised by the change in position only momentarily before he’s raising an eyebrow.

Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi is about to say something gruff and aggressively affectionate like the brute he is, but Oikawa doesn’t really want to hear it right now. All he wants to hear and see is Iwaizumi absolutely falling apart.

He leans down and nudges his nose against Iwaizumi’s. “I’m going to turn you into one hell of a mess, Hajime.” He promises, like a prayer.

Iwaizumi’s pupils are blown wide, his pretty eyes almost completely black, and Oikawa takes a half second to revel in the sight.

Then, he’s devouring Iwaizumi’s mouth again.

The motions are more frantic this time, messier, less controlled, like the dam that has been holding back the surge of feelings between them has finally been broken. Oikawa’s teeth nip at the skin of Iwaizumi’s jaw as one of his hands trails down his side until he’s gripping the back of one of Iwaizumi’s thighs. He moans lowly at the feel of tight, lean muscle beneath his fingers, at the strain of skin as he encourages that leg upward to hitch around his hip. The change in position allows for Oikawa to slot their bodies together better, his hips sliding easily over Iwaizumi’s so that he can grind himself down with slow, calculated swirls of his hips intended completely to drive Iwaizumi a little bit crazy without giving him the full friction that he’s craving.

Iwaizumi’s head tilts back with a soft groan, his eyes rolling shut and one hand coming up to grip at the pillow behind his head. Oikawa feels a little feral at the sight.

Oikawa licks down Iwaizumi’s neck, moans hotly into his ear, and slides a hand beneath Iwaizumi’s shirt so that his fingers can tease the tight skin of his abdomen. Iwaizumi arches slightly and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, likely to keep himself from saying anything embarrassing because he is well aware that Oikawa is trying to get him to say his name again, and Iwaizumi is nothing if not stubborn. That’s something the two of them have in common, though they’re typically stubborn and headstrong about different things.

Oikawa is going to destroy him.

With lust driving his actions, he traces his fingers up to Iwaizumi’s chest until they brush against one of his nipples teasingly. Iwaizumi gasps softly in response, and Oikawa takes the sensitive nub between his fingers to tweak it.

“Fuck.” Iwaizumi murmurs as Oikawa rolls the sensitive nub between his fingers at the same time he grinds down to meet Iwaizumi’s hips in a delicious manner that leaves them both moaning. Iwaizumi’s eyes snap up to Oikawa’s sharply, something dark shimmering beneath their surface. He reaches up so that he can slide his fingers beneath Oikawa’s shirt, too, and his hands press into Oikawa’s hips. “You don’t get to call all the shots, you know.” He grinds out.

Oikawa smirks slightly and leans down to suck a small mark into the skin of Iwaizumi’s neck. “Oh yeah?”

He can practically hear Iwaizumi rolling his eyes. “Shirt. Off.” The spiker demands, tugging at the loose material hanging over Oikawa’s torso. Oikawa is reluctant to pull away, but he does as he’s told. He sits back on his thighs and disrobes his shirt, tossing it off the side of the bed.

He is about to pull at Iwaizumi’s shirt as well – because it’s only fair, Iwa-chan, he has prepared on his tongue – but Iwaizumi is quick to take advantage of the newly exposed skin, his hands sliding up Oikawa’s back to his shoulders, pulling Oikawa down slightly. Iwaizumi lifts his upper back slightly in a manner that Oikawa knows must be all core strength – because Iwaizumi’s arms are currently occupied with other things that are not lifting him from the bed, and that thought alone makes Oikawa’s mouth water – so that he can wrap his lips around one of Oikawa’s nipples and suck.

Oikawa almost shouts at the sudden overstimulation, his hips bucking down, back arching, and his fingers gaining a mind of their own as they slide into Iwaizumi’s hair. He finds himself falling forward so that Iwaizumi can lay down again, sliding so he’s sitting more on Iwaizumi’s stomach, his chest in the perfect position for Iwaizumi’s oral assault.

There are teeth teasing a nipple, and then Iwaizumi pulls away just long enough to say, mockingly, “You’re so sensitive, Tooru. Is this your weakness?” The words a direct echo of what Oikawa had said to him earlier.

Oikawa moans and tugs at his hair harshly in punishment, but Iwaizumi hums in appreciation, tongue flicking over Oikawa’s abused nipple. “Someone’s feeling like hot shit.” The setter mutters, his cheeks hot and his body lit with arousal.

Iwaizumi chuckles softly and moves to the neglected nipple, much to Oikawa’s delight and dismay. “I’m not the one who promised to turn someone into a mess.”

Oikawa smirks softly in response, fingers tugging at Iwaizumi’s hair. “I guess I should get on that, huh?”

Before Iwaizumi can continue his own onslaught of Oikawa’s body, Oikawa reaches down and tugs at Iwaizumi’s shirt. Iwaizumi lets Oikawa disregard the garment without complaint, but suddenly finds himself being pinned to the bed again. Oikawa catches him into a hot kiss before pulling away and dropping his lips to Iwaizumi’s ear. “I would like to blow you, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi makes a broken noise that sounds a bit like what and Oikawa grins when he pulls back to look at Iwaizumi. The spiker is dappled in a pretty pink flush with wide eyes that clearly display that he did not think this is what his Friday night was going to turn into. “Is that okay for me to do?” Oikawa presses, nudging Iwaizumi’s nose with his own.

Iwaizumi groans softly in embarrassment, but manages to say, “Shit, yes.”

Oikawa kisses down Iwaizumi’s body, takes particular time to mouth at his sensitive nipples, lets his fingers memorize the dips of smooth muscle. He takes little time in removing the remainder of Iwaizumi’s clothes (and rids himself of his own while he’s at it), and once they are both naked and flushed, he lets himself take in the sight of Iwaizumi on his bed.

It’s a sight he’s imagined more than once in many different situations. Sometimes, he imagines it reversed with Iwaizumi hovering over him, pressing those tan fingers of his into Oikawa’s paler skin. With a soft smile, Oikawa thinks, maybe next time.

(But maybe not until the time after next time, really, because Oikawa is selfish and really enjoys seeing Iwaizumi like this.)

He leans down over Iwaizumi again and presses a soft kiss to Iwaizumi’s hip. Iwaizumi watches him with lidded eyes, head tilted on the pillow in a lopsided manner, and reaches down to card his fingers through Oikawa’s bangs. Oikawa turns his head slightly to press a kiss to Iwaizumi’s palm. It all feels so intimate and warm, as if this isn’t the first time they’ve kissed, isn’t the first time they’ve laid like this together, and Oikawa tries not to think too hard about what that might mean.

Instead, he gives a sharp-toothed grin and then wraps his lips around Iwaizumi’s shaft.

Oikawa has never given a blowjob before, just as he’s certain Iwaizumi has never received one, though neither of them are innocent. They’re both eighteen-year old boys with healthy libidos, they’ve both had their fair share of relationships, though Oikawa has gone through more than Iwaizumi has, and they’ve both experienced heated kisses in the backseats of cars and slippery, uncoordinated handjobs in bathroom stalls. Oikawa knows the feeling of lips wrapped around his cock only from one brief stint that he had with a boy on their school’s baseball team, and while he remembers it being fantastic, he also remembers the sting in Iwaizumi’s expression when he had found out that he was dating the boy.

(They only dated for a month and a half, and during that time, Iwaizumi refused to be around the two when they were together. Oikawa hated it, and, at the time, feared that it was because Iwaizumi was disgusted by the thought of Oikawa liking another boy. But then Oikawa saw Iwaizumi kissing a boy at a party a few weeks after he and baseball-boyfriend broke up and felt the hard sting of unbidden betrayal and jealousy that he had no right to feel, and he realized that Iwaizumi probably felt something like that when Oikawa had been dating baseball-boyfriend.

Oikawa may have purposefully accidentally spilled his drink on the boy Iwaizumi was kissing in an act of faux inebriation to make them stop, and while Iwaizumi had looked mildly annoyed at the interruption, Oikawa didn’t miss the look of pleased satisfaction at knowing that Oikawa, too, didn’t like seeing him with someone else.

Oikawa had glued himself to Iwaizumi’s side for the rest of the night, claiming his territory anytime anyone else got too close. Iwaizumi hadn’t stopped him.)

Iwaizumi’s fingers press into Oikawa’s hair tentatively and Oikawa’s eyes flutter closed in response. He’s not quite sure what he’s doing, but he’s careful to avoid letting his teeth scrape against Iwaizumi’s sensitive skin and Iwaizumi makes a beautiful sound when he sucks on the head and slides his tongue along the slit, and the noise fuels Oikawa’s desire even more, pushing him to find all of the things that make Iwaizumi melt.

It’s not long until Oikawa feels Iwaizumi’s hips buck slightly, a breathy moan on the spiker’s lips that sounds suspiciously like, fuck, I’m close. Oikawa gags slightly and looks back up at Iwaizumi. His best friend is breathing heavily, chest mottled with a red flush, fingers pressed into his own hair to ground himself. Oikawa keeps his eyes trained on Iwaizumi’s face when he gives a particularly hard suck to the tip and relishes in the way Iwaizumi’s body bucks again, fingers tightening in Oikawa’s hair and tugging.

As much as Oikawa wants to continue, as much as he wants to let Iwaizumi continue to fuck up into his mouth, he really, really wants to kiss him again.

Oikawa moans around Iwaizumi’s cock before he pops off. He runs his tongue along the underside of the erection before slowly kissing his way back up Iwaizumi’s body. Iwaizumi looks just as boneless as he does tense, looks strung out and coiled tightly in anticipation.

He looks beautiful and Oikawa thinks, for not the first time in his life, that Iwaizumi should be worshipped.

He kisses Iwaizumi deeply, licking into his mouth and pulling out a wet, messy moan from deep within his chest. When he pulls away, Oikawa slides their erections together easily before curling his long setter fingers around both of them and begins to pull them both close to orgasm.

Oikawa’s hand works them both fast. Everything is hot and wet and messy, slippery from precome and the remnants of saliva, and Oikawa finds that he can’t keep his lips to himself. He’s close, and he knows Iwaizumi’s close, too, by the way his hips begin bucking out of sync with Oikawa’s movements, by the way his fingers push into the flesh of Oikawa’s ass.

“Ah – fuck, fuck – I’m going –” Iwaizumi’s sentence is a jumble of broken words. Oikawa desperately wants to see him come, desperately wants to watch him fall over the edge, but –

He did say he was going to make Iwaizumi into a mess. He’s close to one, but he’s not quite there, yet.

So, he stops. The movements of his hand completely freeze the next time his fingers wrap around the heads of their cocks, which are flushed and dripping with precum. He forces his hips still and groans into Iwaizumi’s neck because this is as much torture for him as it is for Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi makes a noise that is something between a distressed growl and a needy whimper. His teeth nip at Oikawa’s shoulder – the first thing they manage to reach. “What.” He snaps, voice breathy and irritated.

Oikawa doesn’t answer directly. Instead, he smiles against Iwaizumi’s neck before taking the lobe of Iwaizumi’s ear in between his lips and sucking gently, purposefully teasing the other boy. Iwaizumi’s fingers scramble for purchase on Oikawa’s skin, his head falling to the side with a soft, frustrated groan. “Oikawa.”

Oikawa’s fingers pulse around the head of Iwaizumi’s erection and Iwaizumi’s body jolts.

Oikawa.” Iwaizumi repeats, voice just on the side of desperate.

Oikawa releases Iwaizumi’s ear and lets out a soft, sinful moan right by it that has Iwaizumi squirming and panting. “Yes, Hajime?”

“I hate you.” Iwaizumi mutters. “I hate you. I hate you. I –”

Oikawa chuckles softly in Iwaizumi’s ear, tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive flesh. “No, you don’t~” He teases, hand slowly pumping over their straining members to relieve just a little bit of the torture.

“I really, really do.” Iwaizumi combats. “You’re the worst person I know. You’re such a goddamn tease, fuck.” His hips are rising to try and chase some sort of friction, and Oikawa thinks he may come just from watching Iwaizumi like this.

“I could stop completely, you know.” Oikawa speaks as a threat, but Iwaizumi knows it’s an empty one. “I could leave you here like this and just get myself off. I’ve half a mind to, you know.”

Iwaizumi bites back a whine and digs his nails into Oikawa’s skin. “You wouldn’t.” He calls his bluff. “You’re too selfish to stop what you’ve started now.”

(Oikawa wants to be mad that Iwaizumi is right, but he’s certain he can’t be mad about anything right now, honestly.)

Even though they both know Oikawa is absolutely set on finishing what he’s started, Oikawa isn’t going to give in that easily. “And what have I started, Iwa-chan?” He murmurs, voice flirtatious. “What is it that you want me to finish?”

“We’re not playing this game – ah –” Iwaizumi tries to bite out a response that is full of his typical tsundere personality, but Oikawa thumbs over the leaking head of his erection, teases the slit, and Iwaizumi temporarily loses the words that were on his lips.

Oikawa grins wickedly, pupils blown wide and head feeling a little dizzy with the power currently – literally – in his hands. “What game is that?”

The thing is – they’re both athletes. They’re both competitive, and they both like to steal the rug out from beneath their opponent’s feet. So, it shouldn’t be surprising that Iwaizumi would hold onto his stubborn pride now, too.

Iwaizumi knows what Oikawa wants. He knows that Oikawa will finish the job if only he says, Tooru, let me come, goddamnit. Hell, he probably would only need to say please, and Oikawa would snap.

Iwaizumi knows, but he’s not about to just roll over and give in. What kind of ace would he be if he didn’t put up a good fight?

So, he does the one thing he knows will always pull Oikawa in without fail: he praises him.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi murmurs softly, still purposefully avoiding using his first name. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Oikawa’s eyes widen slightly at the purr, his throat feeling a bit like it’s coated in honey. When he speaks, it’s with a thick, deep voice. “What?” The word comes out in a reverent breath.

Iwaizumi noses at Oikawa’s cheek, hot breath fanning over flushed skin. “You drive me crazy. God, you’re so pretty, you know? So pretty, and so capable. You make me so mad sometimes with how determined you can be to destroy yourself, but damnit, I couldn’t ask for a better setter. And the way you look when you throw a particularly good set, so proud of yourself, and then I get to hit it and you look so proud of me,” Iwaizumi’s words flutter from between his lips, freezing Oikawa in time. “You make me feel invincible.

(The significance of Iwaizumi’s words is not lost on either of them.)

Oikawa makes a sound that is half breathy moan and half strangled sob. “Oh my fucking god, Hajime.” He murmurs like a prayer, capturing Iwaizumi in the deepest kiss they’ve shared yet. For a moment, their neglected erections remain forgotten in favor of the feel of Oikawa’s tongue swirling around Iwaizumi’s. When Oikawa pulls back, he says, “I really, really love you.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen at the sudden confession, even though he knows that already – he knows the depth of Oikawa’s feelings and he knows the depth of his own. Hearing it out loud makes it very real, makes his chest constrict with unrestrained affection, makes his heart feel as if it’s going to thump right through his chest, and before he can gather his wits about him to reply, Oikawa reaches back between them, grasping their erections and distracting them both temporarily from words.

Iwaizumi finds himself climbing back to the edge very quickly, almost embarrassingly so, as he feels overwhelmed with emotion and desire. One of his hands claws at Oikawa’s shoulder while the other grips the pillow beside his head. He arches and tenses, breath stuttering between his lips. “Oikawa,” He murmurs, breathless. “Oikawa, Tooru, fuck, I’m – “

Oikawa kisses him and then ducks his head to Iwaizumi’s ear. He feels dizzy with the desire to come, but he wants to see Iwaizumi fall first. He moans softly in Iwaizumi’s ear and revels in the full-body shudder Iwaizumi gives him in return. “That’s it, Hajime,” He murmurs, moaning again. “That’s my good boy. Come for me?”

Tooru.” Iwaizumi gasps, face flushed at Oikawa’s words, and just as Oikawa gives one more tug to the sensitive, swollen head of his cock, he’s coming. He throws his head back with a slack jaw, and the sound he makes while he comes makes Oikawa’s hips stutter and pushes him over the edge himself.

It is quiet in the stillness of the after, save for their frantically beating hearts and the loudness of the affection that settles within the room. After catching his breath, Iwaizumi gathers enough energy to paw at Oikawa’s dresser for the tissues he keeps there to gently clean them both up. He manages to pull a blanket over them even though Oikawa’s parents are out of town for the weekend, and they both fall asleep within minutes, silently agreeing that they will deal with the aftermath of this event in the morning.


There are stars on the ceiling of Oikawa’s bedroom that have been there since Iwaizumi helped Oikawa put them up when they were six.

One of them has the name Iwaizumi Hajime written across the middle of it with black sharpie, the letters blocky and messy because Iwaizumi has never had good handwriting, and that was especially true at the ripe young age of six years old.

Oikawa had smiled so brightly when Iwaizumi had handed him the star with his name scribbled on it that Iwaizumi had blurted out, “You smile like a star.”

(Iwaizumi has always been, and will always be, a big, affectionate softie, even though he struggles with expressing it most of the time. When he was younger, he was more candid with his words and his feelings. Oikawa likes to remind him of some of the silly or sweet things he has said in the days of his youth often.

“Iwa-chan, remember that time you told me that your favorite bug was a dragonfly because their big, round eyes reminded you of mine?”

“Aw, Iwa-chan! You act so mean, but don’t think I’ve forgotten that time you gave me a tiny bouquet of forget-me-nots when you had to go out of town with your family for the whole summer when we were eight. I’m irreplaceable!”

“Iwa-chan, you act like such a brute, but you always remember that I don’t like carrots in my ramen, don’t you? I noticed your mom always gives me a bowl that doesn’t have any, but everyone else’s does.”

Iwaizumi always gets flustered when Oikawa brings these things up, but Oikawa is just as bad, really. There is a file in his brain labeled Possible Things to Blackmail Shittykawa with if Needed that is filled with embarrassingly sweet and affectionate moments that Oikawa would sputter and try to play off casually if they were brought up.)

Iwaizumi wakes before Oikawa the morning after and finds himself staring at the star with his name on it. Oikawa had insisted that the star had to be placed right above his head where he would see it every night before he went to bed and know that even when Iwaizumi was far away, he’d still be there to watch over him.

(Iwaizumi is his pillar of strength, after all.)

Oikawa is naked and curled into his side with his arms and legs wrapped around him in typical spider monkey fashion. Iwaizumi feels like he should be at least a little bit uncomfortable or embarrassed by the current predicament.

He’s not.

Oikawa stirs in his sleep and his eyes blink open slowly as if he unconsciously sensed Iwaizumi’s consciousness awakening. He presses his face into Iwaizumi’s pectoral and mutters, “Am I dreaming?”

Iwaizumi barks out a laugh that is far too loud for the early morning light. “No, Shittykawa.” He lets his fingers lazily play with Oikawa’s hair. Oikawa has awful bedhead and Iwaizumi has always delighted in making it worse whenever he gets the chance.

“Wait.” Oikawa says, voice still a little bewildered. He lifts his head slightly and squints at Iwaizumi in the low light of his bedroom. “Really? Last night wasn’t a dream?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and knocks Oikawa on the head lightly with his knuckles. “No, idiot. I’m very real. Last night was also very real.” He can feel heat flushing into his cheeks, his heart thudding heavily in his chest.

Oikawa breaks into the brightest smile that Iwaizumi has ever seen, then. He giggles and lets his face drop back to press his lips to Iwaizumi’s skin, and Iwaizumi thinks his heart might leap right out of his throat from how fucking cute he is.

“The gods have always shined down on me with how I’ve been graced with my shockingly good looks and stellar personality,” Oikawa murmurs, in complete and total seriousness, and Iwaizumi snorts with exasperation. It’s too early for Oikawa’s narcissistic bullshit, really. “But they have really outdone themselves this time with giving me you.

Iwaizumi feels butterflies erupt in his stomach. He swallows the sudden surge of emotion welling in his chest. “Shut up, Tooru. That’s so damn cheesy.”

Oikawa has the brightest of blushes dusting his cheekbones when he smiles and kisses him, all morning breath and bedhead and sticky skin that Iwaizumi wouldn’t change for the world. “I love you, too, Hajime.”