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“You should take a break.”
Oikawa all but jumps on the library’s uncomfortable chair, heart galloping inside his chest as if running from something (or, more likely, right into a heart attack).
He has good reasons to be startled.
First of all, he hadn’t been expecting anyone. The last time he checked his phone it was almost nine o’clock, too late for the few people who haven’t gone home for the holidays to linger on, and even if it had been a regular day or a normal hour, he’d been too absorbed in the army of notes spread over the table to notice the person silently sliding on the chair in front of him.
Second of all, it’s not just any person.
It’s Iwaizumi.
Oikawa’s rival slash pain in the ass slash maybe friend slash probably crush.
It’s been weeks since the sight of him alone makes Oikawa’s pulse beat hard, so seeing him so suddenly, when Oikawa least expected it, is enough reason for his heart to fucking kick his ribcage and do a ridiculous backflip.
He had no idea Iwaizumi would be returning before the end of the holidays. Not that he had any reason to know, if he’s being honest. They aren’t that kind of friends (if you could call them friends at all, which sometimes he doubts).
They didn’t get off on the right foot, Iwaizumi being a bit too harsh and Oikawa too quick to lash out in response. Things have improved a lot since then, though, and they’ve got to know each other whenever their paths cross — discovering that Iwaizumi’s not an insensitive asshole and that Oikawa isn’t a conceited jerk and building up a relationship based on quick quips and comforting banter and, more often than not, lopsided smiles and amused eyes.
Still, they’ve never exchanged numbers. They’ve never purposely met up. And it’s kind of fucked up, because every time they come across each other because of similar schedules or same interests or mutual friends, it’s hard to tear them apart. They’re drawn to each other. They click. As simple as that. And maybe they’ve never said it out loud, but they can’t deny it. Just the same way, Oikawa thinks, they haven’t acknowledged what’s been brewing between them for a while now even though they definitely know.
It’s in the way they search each other out; in the way conversation flows so easily no matter the topic or the people present or the time; in the way they sometimes snort at the other after a teasing remark and then press their shoulders together, the rough touch lasting now more than it used to.
It’s in the quiet things too, Oikawa thinks, in the things they weren’t supposed to know but they know— in the way a late night at the gym means a short nod without further interaction, because Iwaizumi only stays this late if he has some frustrations or stress to work off; or in the way Oikawa’s paid close attention and always lets his tongue run a little more sharply when Iwaizumi has a cup of coffee in his hand because he’s learnt that he only drinks coffee when he’s stressed, and a good harmless verbal quarrel always helps him loosen up.
It’s, also, in the way Iwaizumi seems to know with just a look that Oikawa’s been at it way too long, back rigid and eyes tired, notes turning blurry now that he’s torn his eyes away from them for the first time in more than two hours.
Iwaizumi’s stormy eyes are looking intently at him through his glasses and—
That’s the third (and probably the biggest) reason why Oikawa’s heart has almost jumped out of his chest.
Glasses.
Iwaizumi’s wearing glasses.
Iwaizumi’s wearing a fucking pair of—
“Glasses,” Oikawa says stupidly. “You’re wearing glasses.”
Iwaizumi makes a gesture as if he were to touch the glasses, stopping midair and then putting his arm back down.
“Ah,” he says a little sheepishly, as if he’d just remembered he was wearing them. “Yeah, I got them during the holidays. Ordered some contacts too but they still have to come in.”
Oikawa can’t stop staring.
They’re rectangular, narrow, surrounded by a black frame.
Iwaizumi’s angular face looks even sharper now, jaw cutting like a razorblade, cheekbones high and powerful, eyes piercing and alert behind the glass.
He’d been handsome before.
Now one single look from him could fucking melt you to the ground.
“You came back early,” Oikawa says through a dry throat, trying to change the subject and get a grip of himself.
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, frowning slightly in a pensive way. It’s a gesture Oikawa’s seen a hundred times before (a gesture he’s learnt to tell apart from his amused frown and his angry frown and his tired frown and his teasing frown and his careful-there-shittykawa frown). It looks different now, though, highlighted by the black rimmed glasses, polished in a fresh and hot way, and Oikawa needs to get out of here about right fucking now.
“Actually, I wanted–”
“You know what?” he asks, putting his hands down on the table at the same time he stands up. “You’re right. I do need a break. Be nice and keep an eye on my things, okay, Iwa-chan?”
An then he flees.
The bathroom is (unsurprisingly) empty.
Oikawa lets out a loud sigh of frustration, running his hands through his hair. He’s trying to keep his mind away from Iwaizumi, but the harder he tries, the more he thinks about him, about those goddamn glasses, about the sharp-looking eyes following him as he stood up and left barely three minutes ago.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, pressing his palms to his eyes. His nape is burning, a telling sign of arousal completely unnecessary since he can feel himself half hard inside his pants.
He can do it.
It’s been a while since he’s been with someone and Iwaizumi’s sudden presence with his nice jaw and hot glasses and all those liquid feelings that set Oikawa’s blood alight has been a bit too much, but it’s fine.
He’ll just walk out, pick up his things, bid Iwaizumi goodnight and make a beeline home where he can jack off to the thoughts of all the things he’d like to do to him, a song he’s been singing quite frequently during the last few months.
Yep. He can do this.
He just needs to calm the fuck down and get his cool back.
He’s splashing water on his face when the bathroom’s door opens and Iwaizumi walks in.
“Hey. You okay?”
Oikawa dries his face and then he straightens his back and turns to him, droplets of water hanging from his eyelashes and hair.
He pulls his wet bangs back with his fingers, feeling the heat on his cheeks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks coolly.
“Because you’re acting fucking weird,” Iwaizumi faces him, brash as always in his honesty.
Oikawa shuts his mouth with an audible clash of teeth, and pulls back when Iwaizumi takes a step forward. He’s raised a hand as if he were to check Oikawa’s temperature but he stops before he gets to touch his forehead, taken aback by Oikawa’s movement.
Slowly, he brings his arm down.
Even more slowly, he furrows his brow into his confused frown. He looks intensely at Oikawa through his glasses, scanning his face, searching for something, eyes noticing his heated cheekbones and lingering a second too long on his lips before taking in the general tension of his body.
Oikawa can tell the exact moment Iwaizumi figures it out, because his frown turns into a surprised one and then into a hesitant one, and then he trails his eyes up until he’s staring right into Oikawa’s, looking for the answer that would tell him he hasn’t read it wrong. He leans in imperceptibly, stopping almost immediately, his body betraying his want, and that’s when Oikawa saves the distance between them and kisses him hard. A sharp breath escapes Iwaizumi’s mouth, and the next second he’s parting his lips and kissing back just as hard.
There’s no hesitation, mouths meeting hungry and intent, clicking perfectly even in this. Iwaizumi bites his lower lip before slowly dragging his tongue over it and Oikawa exhales, arousal going through the roof. Cupping Iwaizumi’s face he tilts his head back and then he licks slowly and hot into his mouth, Iwaizumi’s fingertips brushing the sliver of skin under his t-shirt with the slowest of touches, sending a shiver up his spine.
Oikawa can feel his wet hair sticking to Iwaizumi’s face every time they pull back to breathe, can feel Iwaizumi’s glasses getting a little in the way every time they dive in for another kiss. Iwaizumi must have noticed too, because bringing an arm up he tries to take them off.
“Don’t,” Oikawa mumbles, softly circling his wrist.
Their breaths come out ragged and humid, a perfect murmur just for them to hear.
“Let them on,” he adds, kissing under Iwaizumi’s jaw. “I want to see them.”
“You want to see, huh,” Iwaizumi asks under his breath. His keen eyes are once again focused on him, sharp and intense, and before Oikawa can utter a word, Iwaizumi makes him walk backwards into one of the bathroom’s stalls and closes the door.
“Are you gonna be good?” he asks as he goes down on his knees, the movement fluid and smooth.
Air leaves Oikawa’s lungs all at once.
“What,” he asks hoarsely, pulse impossibly hot.
Iwaizumi looks up at him, the black frame of the glasses reflecting for a moment the white bathroom lights, Iwaizumi’s cutting pupils searching his.
“Oikawa,” he says, closing a hand around his knee, thumb drawing small, intimate circles over it. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” Oikawa hisses. He’s been hard just looking at Iwaizumi. Having him down on his knees between his legs is a dream come true.
Iwaizumi chuckles, a sound that comes out drier than two seconds ago.
“Alright,” he says, voice dipping and dexterous fingers working around the pants’ buttons. He unzips them slowly, the sound rising obscenely in the air. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
Oikawa does nothing to suppress the smug smile that tugs at his lips when his cock comes free, thick and heavy and almost full-hard.
“Well?” he asks, unable to resist the basic impulse to tease Iwaizumi. “Like what you see?”
He knows he’s long and thick enough to guarantee more than a good time, and, on top of that, he knows how to use what he’s got. With the excuse of getting more comfortable against the wall he rolls his hips forward, the movement sinuous and controlled. Iwaizumi’s eyes follow it with intent focus, amusement shining briefly in the dark hunger inside his eyes.
“Not bad,” he agrees. “I think you’d be… pleasantly surprised too.”
Oikawa’s eyes slide down to Iwaizumi’s groin and the visible bulge under his sweatpants.
“Yeah,” he admits, licking his lower lip. “I think I would.”
Iwaizumi smirks, and it looks darker with those glasses on. More cunning.
More dangerous.
Without a word, he leans closer in.
He starts off with his hand, wrapping it around Oikawa’s length and jerking him slowly, intimately, getting acquainted with his shape, his pulsing blood, the softness of his skin. He slides his thumb up to the tip and presses against the slit making Oikawa pant.
“Fuck–” Oikawa curses, biting his tongue.
“Don’t hold back,” Iwaizumi says, moving his wrist. “I want to hear you.”
“I thought– you wanted me to be good,” Oikawa rasps out through his closed teeth.
“I do,” Iwaizumi hums tightly against the feverish skin over his hip. “And that means if I make you moan, then you moan.”
“Hah,” Oikawa pants with a lopsided grin, “maybe you’ve done nothing to make me moan yet, Iwa-chan.”
Iwaizumi leaves a scorching kiss there and then he pulls back and smirks at him, teeth shining white.
“I’ll have to fix that, then.”
His palm, rough and warm, closes tightly around Oikawa’s dick. He strokes him long and with the perfect amount of pressure, and then, without warning, he opens his mouth and swallows him.
Oikawa’s moan is instantaneous, ripped from the deepest part of him, broken and hoarse. His knees tremble, and it’s a miracle they don’t give out.
He can’t think. He can’t breathe.
He just knows he wants to become one with that heated mouth, to live forever inside that warm and perfect tightness, with Iwaizumi bobbing his head and taking him deeper and faster—
“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi calls, pulling back and jerking him off with a tight fist. Oikawa realizes he’s closed his eyes, and opens them to the vision of Iwaizumi looking at him with dark want swirling inside his stormy eyes.
“You wanted to see,” he says, slowly savoring every word. “Then look.”
Precum oozes from Oikawa’s cock and he moans from the back of his throat, animal and ablaze.
“Good. Just like that, Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, moving his hand along his cock, spreading his precum all over his length. “That’s it. Eyes on me,” he says before taking him back in.
This time Oikawa doesn’t glance away from him and, in turn, Iwaizumi doesn’t look away either, hooded eyes boring into him as he squeezes around the base of his cock and blows him.
Oikawa’s breathing hard, letting out wet pants through his parted lips. Sweat gathers over the back of his neck and runs down his back, making his t-shirt stick to his skin and to the bathroom’s tiles.
“Hah–”
He can’t talk.
His mind’s spinning dizzyingly, his body’s burning up.
“Hah–”
It’s too good.
“Nh–”
It’s too much.
“Hah–”
It’s not enough.
Oikawa brushes Iwaizumi’s soft, spiky hair, and then runs his fingers down his face. He places his thumb under his chin, gently tipping his head back, and then he adjusts his palm to the side of his neck and buries his long fingers into the short hairs at the back of his neck.
He needs to touch. He needs to ground himself. He needs more friction, more tightness, more of Iwaizumi’s hot mouth. Carefully, he thrusts his hips up.
Iwaizumi closes his eyes for a second, throat trembling pleasurably with a low groan, and then he drops his hand and stays still, a clear sign that he’s letting Oikawa fuck into him. Oikawa pants and thrusts again, fumbling a little until he finds a good pace, with light and shallow thrusts inside that perfect heat.
He feels a small spark igniting inside of him, the first real hint of an approaching orgasm, and he bites his lip, need growing corrosive inside his marrowbone. All of a sudden Iwaizumi turns his head to the side, and the next moment Oikawa finds himself stumbling, hips uselessly bucking up in the air.
“Fuck, Iwa-chan,” he says hastily, cupping his cheek. “Are you alr–?” but before he can finish asking, Iwaizumi sinks his nails into the hard muscles at the back of his thighs, an electric jolt traveling all the way up to the head of his cock.
“Don’t go gentle on me,” he says, voice rough and white-hot, “because I sure as hell won’t be going gentle on you.”
Oikawa bites his tongue, liquid lava spreading inside his guts.
“Understood?”
“Yeah. Fuck, yeah–”
This time when Oikawa fucks into him he’s a little rougher, a little harder, testing the limits and trusting Iwaizumi to stop him if it becomes too much.
He doesn’t.
Soon Oikawa’s sliding in and out of him at a fast pace, groaning every time Iwaizumi’s throat closes around him with a gurgling sound, thick saliva and precum coating his cock, moaning when those fierce eyes look up at him and seem to pierce through his very soul, seeing everything he is and every hidden thought and fear and wish he’s ever had.
It should be scary but in this moment all Oikawa feels is blinding urgency and high-pressure want.
The small, quivering flame inside of him has turned into wild tongues of fire now that he’s let himself go, and his orgasm grows raging, unstoppable, ready to burst and devastate him at any moment now.
“I’m gonna cum,” he warns in a scratchy voice. Out of the corner of his eye, below the glorious sight of his cock disappearing inside Iwaizumi’s mouth, he sees that Iwaizumi’s jerking off, fist moving with firm pulse and fast moves. Groaning, Oikawa locks eyes with him again to confirm that this is okay, that this is allowed— and then he throws his head back, eyes never leaving Iwaizumi’s face, and pulling his cock out he jerks off with a furious hand, missing the warmth of Iwaizumi’s throat but wanting this even more.
The first rope of cum falls across his face, long and thick over the glasses and his nose and the corner of his lips. The second one falls on his cheek, splashing the glasses’ frame, and then one last thin and sticky thread falls into his chin, pooling there and keeping them joined until Oikawa’s dick twitches and the thin thread breaks.
He pants breathlessly, admiring Iwaizumi’s face covered in his cum and this time, when his knees buckle from exertion, he lets himself slide down to the bathroom’s floor.
He confirms with a quick glance that Iwaizumi’s come too, and then he presses his head back against the stall’s wall and tries to catch his breath.
“Tooru.”
Oikawa opens his eyes and takes the piece of toilet paper Iwaizumi’s handing him. He realizes a little dumbfoundingly that he doesn’t know at which moment he’s stopped being Oikawa to become Tooru, but it doesn’t matter.
It sounds right.
It sounds dangerously close to everything he’s wanted for the last three months.
They clean themselves and the mess they’ve made on the floor, and then, a little self-conscious, Oikawa rinses Iwaizumi’s glasses while Iwaizumi washes his face.
They end up in front of each other, looking for the words they want to say. Iwaizumi opens his mouth first, but Oikawa beats him to it.
“I want things to change,” he begins, going all or nothing, as hard and merciless as he is on the court. “I want you. I’ve wanted that for a while now. I want to joke and bicker with you but I also want you to tell me about your day, to learn about your classes, to touch your hand and fuck you on my couch. I want to watch those godzilla movies with you and take you to my favorite restaurant and kiss you until you learn how to tilt your head so your glasses don’t get in the way and then kiss you a little more just because.”
He makes a pause and then his heart throbs when he sees Iwaizumi give him a crooked smile, hair disheveled and eyes shining deeply behind the black rimmed glasses.
“I want all that too,” he says roughly. “Fuck, I came back early because I knew you hadn’t gone home. I came in the hope of finding an excuse to spend time with you– to bump into you during your morning run, or at the gym, or–”
“At the library,” Oikawa finishes arching an eyebrow. “At 11 pm.”
Iwaizumi’s crooked smile grows, charming and disarming and just the tiniest bit mean. He looks unrepentant, feeling no embarrassment for knowing that Oikawa prefers to study late at night —something that, by all means, he had no reasons to know.
“Was I wrong?” he asks, arching an eyebrow too.
Oikawa huffs, but it’s fond and he ends up with a soft smile. He lets himself lean against the wall, the cool tiles a pleasant contrast to the still hot flesh of his back. Iwaizumi follows suit, so close to him they can almost feel the low electricity crackling between their bodies.
After a couple of comfortable and slightly charged minutes, Oikawa turns his head to look at him.
“Do you want to come over?” he offers, fingers brushing against his. He feels expectant and wide awake, blood pumping steadily through his veins after all the things that have transpired between them in the last half hour. “We can have a late dinner and talk more. We can do whatever you want to do.”
Iwaizumi interlaces their fingers together, electricity cracking, and then turns to look at him too, offering him one of his crooked grins.
“Yeah. Sounds great.”