starlitcities
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One: Iwaizumi’s competitive edge was not going to let him back down from this challenge, which meant he was going to do his absolute best to prove that he was a manager that Oikawa was going to hate to lose.
Two: He was going to have to get some kind of drink carrier for his bike, and prepare to rack up a massive amount of points at the coffee shop.
Three: Despite the man’s unworldly beauty and ability to dazzle Iwaizumi into a tailspin, he absolutely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt, cannot stand Oikawa Tooru.
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If it’s all the same to you, I think I want our friendship to start when the sun comes up,” Iwaizumi whispers.
“I like that idea,” Oikawa whispers back.
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Atsumu takes a long swig from his glass before setting it in the sink with a light tap.
“Anyone could have walked in here and seen ya like this,” he says slowly, voice edging with something sinister as he takes three long strides to cross the room. “Ya realize that, right? Anyone?”
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“Baby,” Iwaizumi sighs, attempting to use the pet name as a last ditch effort to focus, “please stop moving.”
“That’s not fair,” Oikawa whispers, “you can’t call me baby and expect me to behave.”
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He’s told Iwaizumi before, how much he loves him, and adores him, and wants to consume him body and soul. Iwaizumi agreed to accept all his feelings, so long as Oikawa could keep a grip on himself in public, because people would never understand these kinds of feelings out loud of wanting to possess someone so much you’d lock them in a box.
But Oikawa can’t deny, he likes to test Iwaizumi’s will every now and again.
Just like he is right now.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says sweetly, “how does daddy’s cock taste?”
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It was that first time, just once, murmured against Sanji's mouth with his hand tight around Sanji’s cock that Zoro said, “Fuck, you're such a slut for it.”
And it was Sanji’s first fatal mistake to moan in response because it's only gone downhill from there.
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Zoro talks a lot in bed, but if that’s the only way he communicates, then of course no talking gets done at all.
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Sanji struggles with an injury that prevents him from cooking. Around the same time, Zoro starts to act strange.
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“Basset hound?” Oikawa asks, bending over to scratch behind Itchy’s ears.
“Basset hound,” Iwaizumi confirms. He’s suddenly forgot where he usually puts his arms when he's talking.
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“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” Iwaizumi clenches down harder on Oikawa’s neck, his nails biting into the flesh. The little shit moans, low enough for no one to hear outside of their little bubble.
“I have no clue what you mean,” he murmurs. He looks down at Hajime, the few centimeters he has on him is usually infuriating, but now, Hajime can’t complain. He can see how his lashes tremble, just asking to close over his blown out pupils.
“Brat.”
Or: Iwaizumi knows he's a tad too jealous and possessive, especially when someone flirts with his boyfriend. Oikawa doesn't seem to mind, quite the contrary. Sex ensues.
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Summary
Tooru, at nineteen, is a responsive lover. Much as he had been at eighteen, seventeen, sixteen — his whole life.
It hadn’t surprised Hajime the first time they had slept together. At least, not in the way he would have imagined.
Because under the covers, between the sheets, pinned still against a twin XL mattress that was probably older than both of them, Tooru was the same person he had known — loved — his entire life.
Loud and brash. Attention seeking and feisty and abrasive and brazen, above all. All the things Hajime knew came with loving someone whose intensity could rival the sun’s.
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Gone is that perfectly sensible boy. That put-together star athlete who always wore every part of his high school uniform perfectly, the obedient sweetheart who played by the book.
In its place remains a trembling horny mess. An angel desecrated by lust, by Hajime. One who cries for his best friend’s fingers, his mouth, his touch.
Hajime feels like he's losing his mind.
Series
- Part 3 of snapshots