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Sing For Me

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The last place Oikawa thought he would end up in would be a dingy bar covered in sweaty clothes and forced to stand around sweaty people; but here he is, standing under soft purple and red lights, body close to overheating and nothing to combat the exhaustion but a room temperature bottle of water. He side eyes his supposed best friend with a snarl in his lip, brows knit together in discomfort and irritation.

“Remind me why I’m here again?”

“I promised Tetsu that I would show up,” Suga nudges Oikawa’s shoulder, taking a swig from his own bottle. “Lighten up, I think you’ll like this one. You’ve never seen Tetsu’s band perform!”

“Have you?”

Suga winks. “I’ve been to a practice session or two before.”

Oikawa can sense the underlying message in there, but he leaves it alone, the sound of applause ending their conversation. He turns his attention to the stage, however small it is, and watches one guy cross the length to the opposite side and take a seat in his chair. He lifts his head and shoots a wink to the crowd, and Oikawa has to resist the urge to eye roll, hearing several screams reach dangerous octaves. When Oikawa sees Sugawara’s ears turn crimson, he does a double take.

That is ‘Tetsu’?”

“Kuroo Tetsurou, in the flesh,” he mumbles, wiggling his fingers towards the sole member on stage who is currently double checking his bass guitar. Alright, Oikawa will hand it to him, he is rather good looking, with sharp eyes and a slanted smile, messy bed hair somehow doing him a favor.

“How did you meet him again?” Oikawa asks, bitterly swallowing the somewhat warm water. It beats having to deal with the dry hiss in his throat.

“Daichi works with him. He holds a side job as a mechanic,” Suga explains, and Oikawa briefly recalls the time he saw Daichi poke out from underneath a car in a grease stained navy jumper and sheen with sweat. He imagines this guy in the same setting, and smiles slyly towards Suga.

“Oh,” is all he says. Suga punches his shoulder.

The next one to walk out has a little bit of a wilder look, hair shot straight up and amber eyes filled with almost too much excitement. Oikawa doesn’t miss the twinkle in his gaze, or in those pearly teeth that he’s so open about showing off with a grin that stretches from ear to ear. Another roar from the crowd ripples through Oikawa’s ears, and once it settles down, he leans towards Sugawara.

“Kou-chan, who is this one?”

“Funny, he calls me Kou-chan, too. Bokuto Koutarou. Probably the most energetic of them all. He’s the drummer.”

Oikawa looks around at giddy faces, and in the next moment there’s a wailing cry from someone to his left, and then another one, and when the last member walks out on stage, this small, intimate venue might be comparable to the Hollywood Bowl.

“And who, is that?” Oikawa winces at the high pitched shriek of I love you nearly busting his eardrums.

“Lead singer and guitar, Iwaizumi Hajime. He’s the one I really want you to see.”

“Why’s that?” Oikawa can’t suppress the smile on his face when Sugawara sends him a knowing look.

Oikawa looks back at Iwaizumi on stage, and snares his lip between his teeth, taking a good look at the entire reason why Suga brought Oikawa here. From head to toe, even beneath that loose t-shirt and dark denim, Oikawa can tell this guy is probably sculpted like a marble statue, judging from the definition of his forearms to his biceps that disappear beneath fabric. His hair is short, jagged, and for lack of a better analogy, just long enough to tug on. Oikawa is fixated on Iwaizumi’s tawny skin and crooked smile beneath mood lights, hands wrapped about a guitar and a microphone.

“I’m going to guess they’re regulars here?”

“To the area, yes, they’ve played this venue before. Now hush, just listen,” Suga tilts his head back towards the small stage.

“Thanks for coming out here tonight everyone, we really appreciate it. We’ve got something new for you, so uhm,” Iwaizumi shares a glance with both of his bandmates, looking anxious, “we hope you like it.”

Alright, Oikawa confesses, this guy is damn good looking and his voice already sounds kind of dreamy. The somewhat shy demeanor is interesting, it doesn’t match his look at all, but then, he could just be having a bit of stage fright. Oikawa withholds his judgment for after the small concert.

He has thought about what the sound might be like tonight, and after seeing Iwaizumi, he wonders what he might hear. Oikawa has a few guesses lined up. From what Suga says, apparently Oikawa is going to be blown away. He snorts, recalling the conversation. Oikawa isn’t blown away by too many things at all.

And then Iwaizumi opens his mouth.

If it weren’t for Oikawa’s vice-like grip around his water—the only thing keeping him upright—he might have dropped his bottle. Iwaizumi sounds sultry, voice deep in all the right places and soft in all of the rest, hand gripped around the mic like it might be a lover. His eyes scan the room in search of something, someone to latch onto, to expose the smallest part of his soul to before they slide shut, brows knit together to draw them in and let them feel the tremor of passion in his bones.

Oikawa may have been the first victim. As Iwaizumi looks at him, the words pour into his ears, flow into his bloodstream, and wheel him into a sensory euphoria. They’re just some small scale band clawing at bits and ends for a fighting chance, yet Oikawa is wondering how they aren’t in the pinnacle of stardom. There’s something so complicated about their sound, yet the raw emotion is splayed out for everyone, like they can do nothing else but leave it all on the stage.

Oikawa’s knees weaken just a bit—more than he’d like to admit—when Iwaizumi’s mouth slants upward into a smile that has much more meaning than just for show. This is his passion. That’s been made clear. It’s his life, the one thing he wants to do, maybe the only thing. From the way his lips brush the microphone, to his fingertips pressed into the neck of his guitar, to the sway of his body in rhythm, he looks radiant, lost between love and a high that Oikawa wants to feel.

He gets pretty damn close when their eyes lock again, and Oikawa finds himself storing up questions to answer later: eye color, scent, taste, laugh, feel. His eyes are sharp, intense, a trap Oikawa gladly lets himself fall into. They send something hot and dangerous coursing beneath Oikawa’s skin; he could care less if the room were filled with others, right now it’s the two of them and nothing but desire.

The room swirls with color as the stage lights change in hue and brightness. Earlier Oikawa was whining incessantly about the heat, but now he can’t even feel it as a nuisance. He feels warm, with the sound of this voice dancing across his skin, melting away everything but elation.

When the song is over, Oikawa actually pouts, the head rush and fusillade of colors dwindling into the background.

“So? What’d you think?”

Oikawa takes one look at Suga, and he’s guilty. Skin flushed and lips poorly fighting to contain a beaming smile.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirks, “wait right here, I’ll get us some real drinks, yeah?”

“Thanks,” Oikawa replies from the side, getting his eyes back to Iwaizumi as fast as he can when he hears him speak again.

His heart jumps into his throat when Iwaizumi laughs. Genuine, loud, clear, the crinkle around his eyes. It’s bashful, it’s adorable, and Oikawa is completely smitten.



“Would you dial down those ‘vibes’?” Suga glares at Oikawa and the air around him, like he might be decorated in excessive sparkles.

“I’m not doing anything!” Oikawa whines.

That’s a lie.

He’s about to step inside a house full of strangers, but more importantly, the band members, whom he spent the better part of the night watching, will be there. Or more specifically, he’s about to enter the same house as that vocalist.

Of course Suga got the hookup with the after party location, and right now, Oikawa is more than thankful that he can call Suga his best friend.

Point is, Oikawa can’t deny that he’s totally taken by this guy, for knowing nothing more than his name and his voice. So right now he is emitting every bit of charm he can to look irresistible. Sue him for being selfish, but once he sees something he wants, his determination to get it is incomparable.

Suga pushes the door open and takes a peek around, waving at a familiar face or two as he steps inside. Oikawa shuts the door behind him, and before he manages to get even a foot further in the door, Sugawara has a pair of arms around him and a face full of fabric.

“Ow, Tetsu, my nose,” Suga mumbles into his chest.

“Sorry, sorry. Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

Suga pulls back and smiles at Oikawa, gesturing between the two in form of introduction. “Let’s get the intro out of the way, huh? Tetsu, this is Oikawa, Tooru, this is Te—er, Kuroo.” Suga’s ears burn a little with the slip of the name, but both Oikawa and Kuroo dismiss it with a friendly handshake and smile.

“C’mon, Daichi and the others are in the kitchen.” Kuroo casually laces his fingers through Suga’s—a move Oikawa clearly does not miss—and tugs him through the crowd.

Oikawa sees Daichi first, one hand curled around a drink, the other reaching to pull Suga close once he’s within distance. “Oikawa, you came too!” Daichi smiles over Suga’s shoulder.

“Kou-chan insisted,” Oikawa tilts his head, “but I’m glad I’m here.”

“And you met this guy,” Daichi casually references Kuroo with a slight wrinkle in his nose, teasing, but it’s enough to earn a dejected expression from the latter.

“Daichi, that hurts. Don’t paint me in a bad light to newcomers.”

Oikawa holds the conversation, eyes traveling elsewhere in search of the one face he really came here to see. There are enough people around that he could just be blended with the crowd, but Oikawa spent a good forty five minutes watching his face back at that venue, so he’s positive that he won’t miss him.

“Looking for someone?”

Oikawa spins his attention back to Kuroo, and bites the inside of his cheek when he gets a glimpse of that smug expression. Before he can come up with a decent answer, a loud voice paired with a strong arm wraps around Kuroo, startling the both of them.

Bokuto. As energetic off the stage as he was on it, probably even more than that. Inebriation is apparent on his face with rosy cheeks and glassy eyes and a lopsided smile, but he’s friendly, introducing himself to Oikawa, despite his words being a tad slurred.

“Forgive him, his alcohol tolerance is surprisingly low,” a softer voice appears next to Oikawa. Oikawa could be concerned with the fact that he seemed to appeared out of thin air, but he is more focused on almond shaped eyes and skin too fair to be legal.

“Oikawa-san, was it? Akaashi,” he introduces, lips curving into the smallest of greeting smiles. Oikawa resists the urge to look back at Sugawara and ask just how he knows a bundle full of beauties and why he never made it a point of conversation before.

“Likewise,” Oikawa responds,suppressing any feeling of intimidation. Oikawa knows he’s attractive, he won’t deny that about himself, but this Akaashi could definitely give him a run for his money.

Akaashi peels Bokuto off of Kuroo’s shoulder with ease, catching him when he falls into Akaashi’s arms with a loud laugh. Clearly Akaashi has done this before. “He’ll probably hit the pillow inside of the next hour. Sorry to cut the night short, but I think I’ll take him upstairs.” Akaashi holds Bokuto at a safe distance as the latter puckers his lips with a whiny, “I don’t wanna.”

Oikawa would have continued to watch the comedy skit in front of him, but his eyes, just by chance, happened to land upon the one person he’d been searching for since he got in here. He is leaning against a side wall with a drink in his hand, looking rather engaged in a conversation with a person Oikawa can’t see. Oikawa’s determination isn’t swayed that easily, so he’s not worried about that extra body currently taking up Iwaizumi’s time, but he would like to somehow convince Iwaizumi to come his way, and quickly.

Lucky for him, Iwaizumi happens to look his way, and Oikawa feels something in his stomach drop. He smiles, slow and alluring, giving himself mental praise when Iwaizumi shifts away from the wall, body turned towards Oikawa’s direction.

He quickly reaches for Suga and snags him out of Kuroo’s grip. Suga is about to ask for an explanation when he sees Iwaizumi weaving through a crowd of people.

“You really need me to introdu—okay then,” Suga drops it when Oikawa sends him a look that could kill.

“Iwaizumi, you looked good out there tonight,” Suga says when he’s stopped right before the both of them.

“Thanks. And thanks for coming, really.” His reply is kind of bashful. It tugs at Oikawa’s heartstrings in a way that can’t be safe.

“I want you to meet my friend who came with me. I’ve only been telling him about your band nonstop for a while.” Suga gestures back towards Oikawa, sending him a look when Oikawa’s charm radiates at a whole new level.



Suga looks down at Iwaizumi’s hands, seeing two drinks instead of one, and sends a glare towards Oikawa. Clearly he didn’t need to be here for an introduction. The two of them look lost in each other already, practically dismissing Suga to go back to whatever he was doing before.

“I’ll just...leave you two to it, then.” Suga pats Oikawa’s shoulder, finding a way to slip out of their space and back towards his prior conversation.

Oikawa glances down at the extra cup in Iwaizumi’s hand and points to it. “That for me?”

“If you want.” Iwaizumi holds it out to him. Oikawa catches his lower lip barely snagged between teeth and he smirks, fingers curling around the cup and bringing it to his lips.

It tastes sweet, Oikawa raises his brows in surprise.

“Lucky guess,” Iwaizumi finally smiles. It’s a small upward curve, but it’s enough for Oikawa’s senses to nearly overload.

“I really liked your set tonight. I’m glad Kou-chan brought me along. How long have you all been together?”

“Just about two years now? It was kind of by chance, and we were lucky we found Bokuto when we did,” Iwaizumi chuckles, probably a small moment of reminiscence. Oikawa holds onto that bit of information—it’ll make for great conversation sometime later.

“Y’know, you guys are incredible,” Oikawa says.

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi sputters, only catching ingenuity in the compliment.

“No, really, I’m an honest guy,” Oikawa combats with a grin, “I mean it.”

“Well, I had you wrapped up in it, so maybe you’re right.” Iwaizumi side eyes him from the rim of his cup. “You sure you weren’t caught in the moment?”

Oikawa’s eyes darken, lips curling back over teeth in a razor sharp smirk. He hides his smile behind the red of his cup. “Maybe a little,” he admits, “so was all that eye fucking just for the mood?”

“Not...all of it,” Iwaizumi answers carefully, eyes rolling away, “You looked like you were enjoying it. You looked good, and well…” He picks at loose fabric on the hem of his shirt.

“And well…?” Oikawa leans closer to him against the wall.

“You caught my eye,” Iwaizumi shrugs, void of any pretenses or ulterior motive. While Oikawa is standing here trying to lure Iwaizumi into something, close along the lines to a hook up in the bathroom upstairs, this guy is just holding conversation.

He actually has an interest in Oikawa, and he’s making pure small talk.

Oikawa feels a little guilty about his ‘honest guy’ comment a few moments ago.

“It was your voice,” Oikawa says quietly, taking a bigger sip of his drink than he normally would, forcing alcohol to help break the last bit of tension. “Well, all of it, but mostly your voice.”

“My voice…?”

“You’re really expressive up there, and your voice is captivating, like you’ve got a story to tell. You don’t see that too often,” Oikawa sniffs, giving Iwaizumi a cheesy, lopsided smile. “Was that mushy enough for you?”

Iwaizumi looks down into his drink, tips of his ears red and lips mashed into a thin line. “Yeah… thank you. I’ve never gotten a compliment like that before.” Iwaizumi takes a moment to contain the fluttering in his chest, before he adds, “I like you more without the pretenses. The nice guy routine is kind of... “

“I am a nice guy,” Oikawa tilts himself towards Iwaizumi, “if I like you.”

Oikawa keeps his back pressed against the wall, but he’s close enough that if Iwaizumi takes one small step, they’ll look like they are sharing an intimate moment versus having a small conversation. Iwaizumi does it, he leans forward just enough to lower his voice for Oikawa’s ears only.

Oikawa’s gaze maps across Iwaizumi’s face until he meets his eyes. Dark hazel. Oikawa stares into them, mostly brown with little droplets of green, the kind that change through the seasons and moods, under the sun or moon and always, always beautiful.

“That’s good for me then, huh?”

“Mhm,” Oikawa breathes. He smells good, warm and musky, amber and something woodsy that did no favors in keeping Oikawa from closing in on him.

“We should go...somewhere else,” Iwaizumi offers, and before Oikawa can even think about a response, Iwaizumi already has one of his hands, empty cup abandoned on the counter. He grabs a small bottle as he sweeps through the kitchen, and heads for the staircase.

Oikawa should have told Suga he was going to disappear, but the last thing on his mind is being responsible. Iwaizumi’s hand is like fire in his own, grip strong, fingers calloused, yet with a gentleness in his touch that Oikawa can easily imagine comfort in.

They turn up the stairs and head down a hallway to the furthest left corner. Iwaizumi digs a key out from his pocket.

“Wait, you live here?”

“Yeah. Me and the guys,” he answers, “C’mon. I got the room with a view.” He pushes the door open and lets Oikawa in, shutting it behind him with a click of the lock.

“You trapping me in here?”

“Do you mind?” Iwaizumi teases, but the joke doesn’t last. “We learned early not to leave our doors unlocked during parties.” He shifts his weight and sets the key down on the dresser, padding across the length of the room to the balcony door.

Oikawa glances down at the bottle in his hand—vodka, nice—before he follows him out to the cool air of the patio.

The deck is all dark, save for a small set of lights in the corner. There’s a set of cushioned chairs facing outward, dark beige and soft beneath Oikawa’s fingers.

“Cold?” Iwaizumi asks, watching Oikawa curl into the chair.

“Not yet.” Oikawa watches Iwaizumi take his seat and twist the top off of the bottle. “Do you always bring your important guests up here?”

“Just the ones I like,” Iwaizumi answers, tongue gliding across his lower lip to catch a drop of liquor. Oikawa uses a good portion of his willpower to keep from staring longer than necessary, and reaches for the bottle.

“You go first,” Oikawa suddenly says. Iwaizumi shoots him a confused look. “You know how this goes. You ask one, I ask one, and we go until we’re satisfied and…” Oikawa glances at the bottle, “completely tossed.”

“Alright, I’ll play along.” Iwaizumi pauses for a moment to reach for a blanket out of a box in the corner, handing it to Oikawa. “Trust me, you’re going to want that.”

Oikawa takes it with a thank you. He’s not sure what gave him away, or if anything did, but the cold was starting to bite at his fingertips. He was counting on the alcohol to keep him afloat for a while.

This guy really is sweet.


“Iwaizumi, you really go for gold, don’t you?” Oikawa teases, and then his nose wrinkles.

“You didn’t specify what kind of question. And...what?”

“It sounds weird when I say your name.”

“It’s my name, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi arches a brow upward, because most people don’t attempt to break the ice by telling them they don’t like the sound of their name. At least Oikawa stands out amongst the crowd.

“I know, it’s not that, just the way it sounds on the lips.” Oikawa shrugs. “I’ll think of something. So, hobbies, huh?” Oikawa folds the blanket around him, breathing in more of Iwaizumi’s cologne, faintly woven into the fabric. “Stargazing,” he brings the blanket up to his mouth, pressing cold fingertips to warm cheeks, “puzzles, origami.”


“It’s harder than it looks. And it’s a neat little party trick,” Oikawa chuckles. “Oh, also, you know drink coasters?”

Iwaizumi mashes his lips together, trying not to laugh. “You collect drink coasters?”

“Hey! It’s like a free little memento of places I’ve been, especially if they have great food.”

Iwaizumi considers it for a moment, and nods in understanding, laughter ebbing just enough to get word in. “Okay, I’ll bite. But, stargazing, huh?”

Oikawa hands the bottle back to Iwaizumi and looks skyward. “Yeah. Light pollution makes it kind of hard around here, but there’s a spot about thirty minutes from here, void of nothing but starlight and navy skies.” His head drops back against the cushion of the chair, exhaling the disappointment that he hasn’t been in a while.

Iwaizumi tilts the bottle back a little longer this time. “Your turn,” he coughs.

“What got you into music?”

Oikawa is thankful the bottle is between Iwaizumi’s fingers. The smile that spreads across Iwaizumi’s face is bright enough to illuminate the entire deck and tug hard at something deep in Oikawa’s core, shaking him further from his self control.

“I’ve been into music since I was born. I can’t count the number of notebooks I have filled with lyrics—I stopped keeping track. Music is… an escape. It’s alive, energy that I can take and amplify. I can tell everyone how I feel with sound, and just the right words, sometimes without them at all and—oh.” Iwaizumi’s face flushes carmine, stopping right in his tracks when he sees the look on Oikawa’s face. “Sorry, I didnt mean to—”

“No please, I enjoyed your little tangent. It’s important to you.”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi hands Oikawa the bottle, clearing his throat.

Oikawa tilts forward on the chair, eyes becoming glassy as the alcohol kicks in. “Your turn,” he says quietly.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you pick?”

“Sheesh,” Oikawa giggles. Somewhere in between his laughter and another small sip, Iwaizumi moved closer. Not that he minds, of course. “I don’t think I can pick one place… I want to see the world. But I guess, as long as it’s somewhere I can see the clear skies as much as possible.”

“I know what you mean.” Iwaizumi takes the bottle, watching Oikawa’s head fall against his shoulder.

“If you could change one thing in your life, what would you change?” Oikawa walks his fingertips across the back of Iwaizumi’s hand.



“Really,” Iwaizumi laughs. “Everything got me where I am today, and I’m pretty satisfied with that. Besides, the thought of reliving some of those bad times just to change them is… well, I’d rather not.” Iwaizumi shakes his head. “What about you?”

They’ve abandoned the rules of the game, but neither of them care.

“When you put it that way, it makes me want to answer the same.” Oikawa pulls his fingers through his hair and tousles it. “But, I might change the way I was,” Oikawa makes it a point to answer in past tense, “a few years ago. I regret some of my misplaced anger, I think.”

“You think?”

“I’m still coming to terms with things, spare me.” Oikawa tilts his head upward, eyes running along Iwaizumi’s jawline. Their cheeks are rosy from the cold and the alcohol, smiles lopsided and eyes lazy but the mood is right.

“So, what made you bring me up here?” Oikawa asks, biting on his lip when Iwaizumi smiles down at the half empty bottle in his lap. That smile is going to be the death of Oikawa sooner or later.

“You looked at me like I had shown you something amazing back at that bar. Your reaction is exactly what I want from my music, I couldn’t resist.”

“Not because I’m extremely good looking?”

“Cocky,” Iwaizumi mutters, “isn’t that implied, though?”

Oikawa gives an anything but innocent shrug, eyes wandering down to Iwaizumi’s lips.

“Why did you come with me?” Iwaizumi asks in a quiet voice, thick with intoxication from both liquor and ambience, intention teetering on the tips of his words.

“You showed me something special during that set of yours, and I decided right there that I wanted you.”

His breath smells like liquor and sweet, and Oikawa wants to leave those lips swollen and kissed red. He presses his forehead against Iwaizumi’s, and with his voice barely above a whisper, he sighs, “Got another question for me?”

Half lidded gazes and a sliver of space are the only thing separating them now. “Mhm,” Iwaizumi hums, the sound floating across Oikawa’s skin and tingling. He hopes this question is easy.

“Can I kiss you?”

Oikawa shouldn’t be this excited, his heart is beating like a hummingbird’s. But he’s drunk, the mood is right, the question is cute, and Iwaizumi is something like perfection within arm’s reach.

“Yeah,” Oikawa whispers. “Please,” he adds, because there’s no need for facades with Iwaizumi, and he’s been desperate to have a moment like this since Iwaizumi put his lips to the microphone back at that dingy little bar.

Iwaizumi does it. He slants their mouths together, chaste melting into wanton as fingers lace together. Oikawa’s free hand tangles into the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt. It’s an explosion of colors beneath stars that has Oikawa’s brow furrowing the longer he keeps this lip lock. Somewhere he gains enough coherence to come up for air.

“Can that again?”

“Yes,” Oikawa slides out of his chair and into Iwaizumi’s lap in one fell swoop, hands sliding against Iwaizumi’s jaw and pulling their mouths together. Iwaizumi catches the blanket off Oikawa’s shoulders and pulls it around them. Oikawa’s fingers are cold on his skin but they feel good, a grip that says I want you and come closer all in his palms.

Oikawa tilts his head and bites down on Iwaizumi’s bottom lip, sliding his tongue across in apology and permission. Iwaizumi accepts both and drops his jaw. Oikawa revels in the simple truth that Iwaizumi tastes as good as he thought he would, if not better. Tongues move together in fervor, alcohol diluting as each kiss deepens.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi breathes, his voice like silk on Oikawa’s skin, drawing a small whimper out of him.

Iwaizumi reclines further in the chair, hands running along Oikawa’s thighs, thumbs pressing down and kneading their way to his hips. Oikawa jumps when they hit his skin, feeling like ice, but it isn’t enough to break from the kiss they’re so madly stuck in. Iwaizumi’s mouth curves upward against Oikawa’s as his hands slide beneath his shirt and feel across his skin, warm and smooth. Oikawa’s mind clouds as Iwaizumi’s lips part from his and leave open mouthed, hot pecks along his jawline and down his throat. Oikawa’s hands shift from his jaw to over Iwaizumi’s shoulders, holding the blanket in tact and arching over him, letting out a soft sigh when Iwaizumi’s mouth butterflies across his skin, hot breath and cold air leaving a pleasant sensation.

An unfamiliar noise involuntarily leaps out of Oikawa’s throat when Iwaizumi’s thumbs—still somewhat cold—roll across his nipples, sparking pleasure and peaking them almost instantly. “Sensitive, good,” Iwaizumi growls, rolling thumbs in place, enjoying the sounds Oikawa keeps making, and the way he fidgets and squirms.

Oikawa feels it, the pulse that shoots from his chest down to his pants and spreads, creating an ache in the friction of his jeans. A small bout of anxiety courses through him—if he moves a certain way, Iwaizumi is definitely going to feel it. He pulls Iwaizumi away from his neck and back to kiss his red lips, moaning into his mouth when Iwaizumi pinches a pink bud between his fingers.

Oikawa can’t help it, the movement makes him shudder, and his hips drop, excitement grinding against Iwaizumi’s thigh.

Iwaizumi tips his head back, away from Oikawa, lungs heaving for air. He takes a good look at him, disheveled and riddled in scarlet, eyes blown and lips slightly swollen, and moves one hand from his chest down to his waist, getting dangerously close to the culprit resting on his leg. He shoots a look upwards at Oikawa, something that shows interest versus secondhand embarrassment. He gauges Oikawa’s expression as his hands drop from his chest down to his hips and dance around the seams of the dark denim.

Oikawa does absolutely nothing.

Well, if nothing means smiling slyly and watching Iwaizumi’s fingers intently as they move closer to the button of his jeans.

Oikawa’s eyes flicker from Iwaizumi’s hands to his eyes, watching the warm hazel—now dark and twinkling with moonlight—look back at him, filled with questions.

Oikawa answers all of them in one fell swoop, lifting his hips from Iwaizumi’s thigh and shifting forward, slanting his mouth on Iwaizumi’s and pushing hips further into his hands.

Permission granted: Do whatever you want to.

Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate after that. With fingertips gone cold to warm, after having roamed across the expanse of Oikawa’s skin, he pulls the button loose with a small snap and drags the zipper south, chuckling against Oikawa’s lips when the other gasps softly.

Iwaizumi’s fingertips trail across the fabric, finding the tented cloth with his index finger and thumb. Oikawa shudders, cool air slipping between the space between them and the gaps in the blanket. He drops his hips back down and rolls them, more for show than for anything else, but he gets lucky, and meets another package of excitement right under him.

Oikawa suddenly questions why he didn’t give any thought to what Iwaizumi sounded like in bed.

He’s nonetheless thankful for the surprise though. The low groan that pops out of Iwaizumi’s throat and trickles into his ear only entices Oikawa to move his hips again, and again, grinding friction and heat into something almost intolerable without trying to devour each other through teeth and tongue. And the noises, the way Iwaizumi sounds when pressure coils and sparks a flame low in his belly, Oikawa could listen to it all night. No, he wants to listen to it all night.

Oikawa learns a few things in their heated make out against a dingy patio chair.

Vodka is a very nice ice breaker.

With the right buttons pushed, Iwaizumi can be pretty vocal. Oikawa still takes the cake on noise, however.

Hickeys, love bites, and hair pulling are definitely okay. Definitely.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi breathes, pulling back far enough to admire a disheveled Oikawa, sprinkled with two to three red blotches on his neck, shirt pushed up, hair tousled, lip snagged between teeth in both lust and a bit of disappointment. He didn’t get to turn the mark on Iwaizumi’s throat as purple as he wanted to.

“Did you...want to move this inside?”

Fuck, Oikawa thinks. This guy’s name would be a reference to Godsend in the dictionary.

Yes—ah!” Oikawa feels Iwaizumi tear the blanket off of them, discarding it to Oikawa’s abandoned chair. He pushes them both to their feet and spins around, tugging Oikawa inside and sliding the door shut behind him. Oikawa stumbles in, and the second Iwaizumi spins around from the glass door, he’s already yanked him towards the adjacent wall, lips and teeth attacking the spot he previously had a latch on.

Oikawa doesn’t stay there long, he wants something else, something cupped against his palm. He presses down, Iwaizumi grunts and reaches for him.

Polite. He’s an equal opportunity lover.

Oikawa bats his hands away gently and mouths along his jaw. “Can I?” he asks, surprised at himself for being so polite. Iwaizumi might be rubbing off on him a bit. It’s only right he apply a bit of reciprocity here.

Iwaizumi nods, watching Oikawa push up his shirt enough so he can descend a trail of kisses down towards the hem of his pants. Iwaizumi decides the shirt isn’t necessary and pulls it from his shoulders, a move that Oikawa lets out a giggle at.



“Shut up,” Iwaizumi cracks a grin, watching Oikawa rake blunt nails and teeth down the divots of his abdomen, memorizing the contours thoroughly. His lips stop where two lines dive into a v shape. Oikawa drags his tongue across the warm skin there, taking in Iwaizumi’s heady sigh.

While he is gentle with his mouth against the flat of Iwaizumi’s lower stomach, his hands are making quick work of rolling pants off his hips far enough to let his prize free.

Oikawa snags the elastic of Iwaizumi’s waistband with his teeth and snaps it hard against his skin, sinking completely onto his knees and pulling the cloth covered erection between his lips. There is a certain restriction that can’t let Oikawa do all that he wants, but he’s doing a fine job of teasing Iwaizumi as he rolls his tongue across the fabric, soaking it in both spit and leaking precome.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi strains, hips flexing forward.

Oikawa complies and peels back the shorts, watching Iwaizumi’s cock pop free and hang hard and heavy in the palm of his hand.

Big, is the first word that comes to mind.

“Feel free to move,” Oikawa murmurs. He sinks his mouth over Iwaizumi’s shaft, sucking at the head in slow, torturous movements.

Iwaizumi sighs and weaves his hands through Oikawa’s hair. Oikawa has half a mind to shock him right now and feel that tug against his scalp, but he also wants to torture him with slow, languid sucks that bring Iwaizumi within sight of orgasm, but not close enough to reach it.

Oikawa gives a pornographic pop off the tip and cradles the underside with hot, open mouthed kisses, his fingers digging into Iwaizumi’s thighs. He works his pants low enough until they hover around his knees, appreciating nothing but tawny warmth and muscle underneath his palms.

“H-Hey, Oikawa— !” Iwaizumi sucks in air sharp as a razor, words dying on his tongue and speaking through his fingers that pull taught on Oikawa’s locks.

Oikawa is anything but gentle. Even his slow movements are torturous, jaw slack and forcing Iwaizumi to the back of his throat until the throb resonates in his entire body.

To Iwaizumi, honestly, blow jobs are anything but pretty. Slick with spit and precome and loud, lewd noises, Iwaizumi focuses on the feeling rather than the sight and sound, yet somehow when Oikawa does it his knees weaken and he wants more. It feels amazing, tight and hot, and it pulls at Iwaizumi’s stamina every chance it gets. And while he normally blocks out the sound of someone slurping on his cock, right now he’s relishing in it.

He bucks his hips forward almost involuntarily, just out of pure desire. “Sh-shit—sorry—” he retreats, loosening his grip in Oikawa’s hair as he does.

Finally,” Oikawa snorts. “Did you think I’d be fragile?”

“Wait, you want me to?”

“Well, I didn’t come up here to be handled like a flower.” Oikawa smooths his thumb across the head, smearing a pearlescent bead over the tip before gliding his palm across Iwaizumi’s length entirely. “Do your worst, Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa still hates the way that name slides off his tongue, but for now it will work. He’s more interested in demonstrating his lack of gag reflex and earning more pleasant reactions out of this vocalist. He slides his mouth over Iwaizumi’s length again, moving quicker, sloppier, ruthless in ways that has Iwaizumi’s fingers twitching against the back of Oikawa’s scalp.

Looks like his little encouragement worked. Iwaizumi finds a rhythm and pitches forward, discovering Oikawa is more than happy to oblige him. Ignoring the drool that slides down his chin, he moans around Iwaizumi’s heat, taking him into the back of his throat once more. The sound he makes around Iwaizumi has the latter bowing forward, pulling Oikawa clean off his cock and gasping for anything to fill his lungs and clear his mind; he might be beyond oxygen at this point.

Oikawa uses the hem of his shirt to clean off his mouth and smiles up at the dark brunet. “Like that?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes are pitch dark, twinkling with something hungry, sending excitement straight into Oikawa’s bloodstream. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he growls hotly against the corner of Oikawa’s mouth.

Oikawa feels his body leave the ground and land with a heave onto the bed. He barely has time to scoot back towards the headboard or grab air with Iwaizumi pressing his weight over him, attacking Oikawa with lips and teeth and fervor in each kiss, each bite. Oikawa keens, feeling Iwaizumi grind their hips together, moving Oikawa’s shorts low enough to curl his fingers around his cock. His hand is slow, and all of him is in constant rhythm. Oikawa doesn’t have to find it, Iwaizumi already has it, and it’s good. He bites down in Iwaizumi’s lip and tugs, jerking hips upward into Iwaizumi’s hand, not missing his own length pressed hot and hard against his hip.

“Wait.” Iwaizumi pulls back enough to lean to his left, fishing through the top drawer and dropping a bottle and string of aluminum to their side.

Oikawa keys in on the amount of wrappers strung together. “Plan on usin’ all of those?”

Iwaizumi twirls the bottle of lube between his fingers like an oversized drumstick. “We’ll see how long you can last.”

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to make Oikawa shake and quiver. He slides back and pulls Oikawa free from anything still hanging on his lower half, giving him a moment to pull his shirt off and toss it to some corner of the bed. A wanton sigh slides out of Oikawa as kisses butterfly across his chest and head south, leaving a warm tingle in their wake until they reach the base of his cock.

Iwaizumi ignores it.

Oikawa picks his head off of the pillow, about to complain, when suddenly Iwaizumi sucks hard at a spot on his inner thigh, thumbs smoothing across the dips of his hipbones. At first it hurts, Iwaizumi is ruthless about it, sucking hard and breaking capillaries fast enough to turn the spot a deep purple, but soon it turns into a heat that shoots straight to Oikawa’s dick and twitches. Iwaizumi glides his tongue flat across the spot when he’s done, and moves to a new spot, repeating the same process until Oikawa has a constellation of hickeys across his each of his thighs.

Oikawa is hard as a rock, and he goes to reach for his own, hands being pushed away by Iwaizumi. “Nope,” Iwaizumi shakes his head, and raises Oikawa’s legs over his shoulders, hands gripping the silk-smooth curve of Oikawa’s ass. It’s almost too perfect to leave any marks on, so Iwaizumi allows himself just one on the right cheek, closer to the base of his spine.

“Iwaizumi, if you keep ignoring my—oh. Oh my god,” Oikawa turns his face into the pillow and drops his gripe when a warm tongue turns hot against his hole.

“You were saying something?” Iwaizumi pauses.

Oikawa just shakes his head and sloppily waves a hand at him.

His mind turns blank when Iwaizumi runs his tongue across the tight skin again, pushing his tongue past the tight ring and sending a lightning strike straight through Oikawa’s body, head to toe. It draws out a raw gasp, which turns to desperate pleas as hips wiggle further back against Iwaizumi’s face. “M-more, more!”

Iwaizumi obliges, thrusting pink and wet repeatedly into the tight slot until his jaw is sore. Oikawa is whimpering and dripping against his own thighs and the bed spread. He stops and pulls away to reach for the bottle, smoothing a hand over Oikawa’s cheek when the brunet whines and twitches his hips in need. He drizzles a fair amount over his fingers and works it across Oikawa’s perineum, sliding in one finger slowly.

He takes Oikawa’s cock into his other free hand and matches both of them to a beat, working in a second finger shortly after.

Oikawa arches his hips off the bed and pleads, tossing out all his pride and ego and existing only under pleasure and desire. “Iwa—Iwai—wait!” He can barely finish Iwaizumi’s name let alone an actual coherent sentence. Oikawa shakes from deep in his bones as Iwaizumi works in a third finger and slides across his prostate.

“Here, huh?”

“Yes, there, right there,” Oikawa bites.

Oikawa can’t speak, he can’t think, he can barely move, save for thrusting his hips further into Iwaizumi’s mercy. He’s beyond turned on, if there is such a thing, with orgasm in sight and growing closer as Iwaizumi vibrates his wrist violently against Oikawa’s prize spot, sinking lips over his cock and hollowing cheeks out enough to suck the life of out of him straight through his dick. Oikawa never thought it possible but he might just die right here, and almost every part of him is absolutely okay with that.

Oikawa gasps, cheeks red, eyes glassy, hips riding into Iwaizumi’s mouth and hand, a flame of pleasure burning hot in his core. His stamina has always been above par, he knows that, but with the way Iwaizumi is working him open, he feels like a virgin all over again.

Iwaizumi pulls his mouth off with a pop, and good timing too. Oikawa is too sexed out to speak, and a moment later he’s shooting white hot across his chest and letting out a string of moans surely loud enough that someone on this floor can hear. His hips jerk forward onto Iwaizumi’s fingers and up to the ceiling. “Oh fuck, fuck!” he curses—the only word coming to mind—loud and clear. The words turn into garbled cries as Iwaizumi abuses the spot by finger fucking him through orgasm until he’s shivering with overstimulation.

His chest heaves in agony, trying to scramble enough air to clear the spots in his vision and the burning in his legs. Iwaizumi runs his thumb across Oikawa’s cock and smiles in apology when Oikawa does nothing but whine and squirm beneath him. “You okay?”

For two fuckers that are drunk on vodka and sex, Iwaizumi is pretty coherent.

Iwaizumi waits patiently, leaving tender kisses across Oikawa’s throat, hands massaging at thighs until Oikawa regains his control over comprehensible speech. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

“I’m a pleaser,” Iwaizumi murmurs proudly.

“No kidding.” Oikawa blinks the last bit of stars from his eyes, smiling warm and inviting Iwaizumi to kiss him slow.

“Liked it?”

“I’m not usually that sensitive.”

“Someone hasn’t been doing you right. You’re extremely sensitive.” Iwaizumi bites at Oikawa’s collarbone gently.

“S’ that right?”

“I can do it again y’know,” Iwaizumi hums.

“I’d rather you show me what this can do,” Oikawa wedges his knee between Iwaizumi’s legs, a light shiver running through him when Iwaizumi’s smile turns indulgent, hidden intention beneath a crooked curve. “Just how sensitive am I?”

Iwaizumi hovers over him, eyes moving slow down Oikawa’s body, taking in the marks he’s already left, the splotches of red and purple, Oikawa lightly flushed pink, stretched open and waiting for him to do anything he wants to. Oikawa can’t find it in him to really move, nor does he want to.

He licks his lips and watches Iwaizumi rip a package open with his teeth and work a condom on. Oikawa shifts and gives a body roll, more to entice Iwaizumi than for adjustment, smiling against Iwaizumi’s mouth as he locks them together.

With one swift push Iwaizumi is inside him, knocking the gathered air out of Oikawa’s lungs.

Oikawa figured he had mentally prepared himself for Iwaizumi’s size when he was forcing him into the back of his throat with a widened jaw and a decent amount of saliva, but it could also be that he’s still tense from the orgasm that had him shivering moments ago. He’s still surprised that Iwaizumi dragged one out of him that quickly. Regardless, Iwaizumi feels good, thick, and the slide has Oikawa whining out of one wet cavern and into another.

“Ah, you feel good,” Iwaizumi mumbles, moving one hand to press Oikawa’s hips flat to the mattress, the other laced through Oikawa’s fingers and pinned over his head. “So...good, ngh…!”

Oikawa doesn’t have time or gumption to play confident, not with the heat of Iwaizumi’s rhythm rolling between his legs and just right, hot enough to bring Oikawa back down from the previous high and start him over on a brand new one with just as much intensity, if not more.

The second he thinks it, faster, slower, harder, deeper, Iwaizumi has already switched it up, like he knows what Oikawa wants without ever needing a word. Oikawa comes again and Iwaizumi swallows some of the sound greedily, allowing the rest to slip through and bounce around the walls of the room, because who can deny the pleasure in moans like sweet music?

Oikawa’s mind has tossed out everything but Iwaizumi, the way his mouth pases over his skin in waves of hot turned cold turned warm between teeth, tongue and lips, the feeling of his fingers digging hard into Oikawa’s hips cock pulsing in contrast to the smooth slide as Iwaizumi’s hips roll and buck against his. Oikawa can’t remember any words outside of Iwaizumi’s name and a string of curses and praises that only feed Iwaizumi’s ego, and his cadence.

Fuck, Oikawa…”

Iwaizumi has him on his knees, face pushed into a pillow to drown out sound—not that effective—hands pressed hard against the curve of Oikawa’s ass and mouth latched onto the sweet spot of Oikawa’s neck, pressing sweet nothings between erotic noises into Oikawa’s skin that tickle and melt warm enough to tug Oikawa’s lips into a smile.

“Just back into it, babe,” Iwaizumi murmurs, “just like this.”

“I want it harder,” Oikawa sighs as Iwaizumi bites gently at his shoulder, “deeper.” Oikawa rolls his hips back into Iwaizumi, working over his length with a little bit of renewed vigor.

Iwaizumi slams against his prostate and Oikawa forgets how to breathe, every nerve coming to life, licking a flame across each love bite on his body. Oikawa’s thighs quiver the most underneath Iwaizumi’s hands as he pads his fingers across each mark.

“Shit, Iwa—good, so good…!”

“Mhm, you taste so sweet,” Iwaizumi nips at the shell of Oikawa’s ear. He smiles and pulls Oikawa’s earlobe between his teeth.

It’s not that Iwaizumi is fucking him hard enough to rack his brain around and wreck him from inside out (not that he hasn’t given Oikawa a few thrusts like that).

Iwaizumi could just rely on using his cock to leave Oikawa a slippery, shaking mess, but he isn’t. He keeps every inch of Oikawa on edge, from head to toe, underneath his intense gaze, eyes flickering with a lust that cuts through Oikawa and leaves him exposed. Under his lips, kisses, and bites, licking across already placed hickeys and reigniting their burn. Under his hands, massaging across his shoulders and his hips, digging fingers into Oikawa’s skin and dragging blunt nails across his body to show him he wants him, he wants to devour him as much as he can.

As if Oikawa is too intoxicating to bear.

Iwaizumi pistons his hips in a different tempo, dragging out the pleasure for the both of them, like he wants it to be near endless until they both can’t take it anymore.

It’s not just a power fuck to leave them sated.

Iwaizumi is giving him more than that. Like what he gave him up on that stage: a story, a feeling, a craving. Showing Oikawa what he wants to do, what he wants to feel.

“There…! I’ll come if you do that a—”

“Here?” Iwaizumi has Oikawa pressed tight against the headboard now, one leg thrown across his shoulder, faces so close together their lips touch with every word.

Oikawa nods quickly, his desperation for release written all over him. Iwaizumi has fucked him raw. He can’t remember how many times he’s come, or how many times Iwaizumi has. His eyes are glassy and his body is exhausted, only surviving on the excitement that whatever Iwaizumi does to him will make him violently shake with a feeling so good he could ride out the high for another round after that.

Iwaizumi moans against Oikawa’s cheek as his peak draws near, the sound of him losing control running over Oikawa’s skin.

“Don’t stop, please,” Oikawa begs, fingers sliding into Iwaizumi’s hair, slanting their mouths together because he can’t think of anything else to do but hold onto him with all of the strength left in his bones.

“Can’t. Oikawa, Oikawa—!”

Iwa—god, oh god!”

Oikawa starts to shiver, body pressed against the headboard, too pinned down to let the orgasm shake him as violently as it wants to, but it’s a good thing, because Iwaizumi follows shortly after him, cock throbbing against tight walls and Iwaizumi’s jaw dropped against his throat and whimpering, hips slowing to a stop deep against Oikawa’s thighs.

They slump down against the flat of the mattress, lying in a heap and scrambling for air. Iwaizumi gives a small grunt of apology when his sliding out nearly makes Oikawa cry.

Neither of them move for what feels like an eternity, bones turned to jelly and minds to mush and every inch of them too sensitive to even twitch.

Iwaizumi finds enough energy to sit up after a while, and then to at least grab something to wipe them both off with, and toss the tied up condoms into the trash bin by the drawer.

He comes back and shifts Oikawa underneath the covers, curling in beside him and tucking Oikawa against him, head resting on his arm. Oikawa curls against him and nuzzles in close, the warmth emitting from Iwaizumi dragging his fatigue over his eyelids.

“Feel okay?” Iwaizumi asks.

“That’s an understatement. Where...did you learn to do any of this?”

Iwaizumi smiles. “I told you, you’re sensitive.”

“No kidding,” Oikawa yawns, a dreamy sigh on the exhale when Iwaizumi’s hands roam along his back. “I should have had Kou-chan bring me to a show earlier.”

Iwaizumi presses his lips to Oikawa’s forehead, and that’s the last thing Oikawa recalls before he’s out like a light.



Oikawa stretches out of sleep, body reminding him he’s still sore and tired from the night before. He takes a few minutes to adjust to being awake, eyes roaming across his body once they’ve blinked the fuzzy sleep away. He ignores the disgusting feeling of leftover sweat and come stuck to his skin and in between his legs. He tries not to think about the dryness in his mouth and instead looks down at the blooming, purple-red bites across his skin, hand prints and scratch marks on his hips and shoulders.

He looks like he was mauled.

Oikawa grins to himself.

He rolls and sits up, stretching over his head to push the rest of the drowsiness from his limbs and wake himself up enough to find the person who isn’t sleeping beside him.

He doesn’t have to look too hard.

Oikawa hears Iwaizumi, out on the balcony, a guitar lazily placed in his lap body wrapped in casual clothes and the blanket from last night. His head is tilted back and eyes rolled shut, singing something Oikawa can’t recognize—it could be a personal project—but still just as beautiful, voice still carrying that little rasp that Oikawa remembers from last night.

He pulls himself out of bed and tiptoes into the bathroom unnoticed—holy shit his hips are sore—shoulders slumping when he finds a set of spare clothes and bathroom product for Oikawa to clean himself up brand new.

“What is he, prince charming…?” Oikawa mutters. He showers quick, scrubbing hard enough to clean every bit of him, using the spare toothbrush—seriously, this guy gave him everything—to scrub out anything that might reject a good morning kiss.

Iwaizumi’s clothes are a little big on him, hanging nicely on his shoulders and exposing a good amount of those bites. Oikawa keeps the shirt and the jacket, ditching the pants after he decides that he can wiggle out of them too easily. Besides, legs that look this good deserve to be on display.

When he steps out, Iwaizumi is tucking his guitar away in the closet.

Oikawa isn’t sure why he feels bashful, but his cheeks heat up when Iwaizumi looks at him, and even more when he smiles.


“Morning,” Oikawa mumbles. “Thanks, for the clothes, and… the shower stuff.”

“Don’t sweat it. Your clothes are in the laundry already. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all… are you always this catering?” Oikawa leans against the wall, hands curling into the hem of the shirt.

Iwaizumi’s smile grows wider, and he shrugs his shoulders. “If I like you,” he pushes away from the closet door and moves closer.

Oikawa’s smile broadens as well. “That’s good for me then, huh?”

Iwaizumi slides his hands against Oikawa’s jaw and slants their mouths together seamlessly. Oikawa knots his hands into Iwaizumi’s shirt and pulls him closer, sighing into the kiss and breathing Iwaizumi in. He smells like fresh air and sunshine, soap and a hint of mint on his tongue that makes Oikawa’s knees weak.

Iwaizumi draws back before the kiss turns to something more, the two of them bringing hands back from their little exploration. “Sore?” He asks, pushing up Oikawa’s shirt enough to see his handy work, thumbs kneading at Oikawa’s hips gently.

“Yes, but it’s a good sore.”


“You pride yourself on this, huh?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes flicker up from admiring Oikawa’s thighs. “I absolutely pride myself on the idea that I’d fuck you better than anyone.”

Oikawa wasn’t expecting such a blunt answer. “So bold.”

“S’ that a bad thing?”

“Not at all. I’m pretty sure my ass agrees,” Oikawa grins. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and steps back, grabbing Oikawa by the hand and pulling him towards the bedroom door.

“I think Sawamura already started on breakfast for the house. You hungry?”

Oikawa blinks. He’d forgotten they were in a shared house. Which means someone has a room next to Iwaizumi. Which means someone heard them clawing at each other like sex deprived animals last night.

Oikawa shivers with dread at the thought that Sugawara could hear him through the walls.

“I could eat,” Oikawa responds absentmindedly.

Iwaizumi goes to head for the staircase, giving Oikawa’s hand a squeeze. He stops short of descending, whirls around and presses their mouths together in a kiss that zaps Oikawa’s air supply. “You’re a beautiful sight in the mornings y’know,” he says quietly.

“That is really corny.”


“I saw you on the balcony… singing. If I hadn’t been so gross I would have gone out there first,” Oikawa’s smile is slow, indolent. They both talk in hushed voices in the corner at the top of the staircase, like they might still be a secret.

“You should have,” the raspy edge to Iwaizumi’s voice gives Oikawa pleasant shivers, especially when Iwaizumi says his name.

“Iwai—” Oikawa pauses. He still doesn’t like the taste of that damn name. He racks his brain the best he can without being distracted by Iwaizumi’s scent, and the slow smile as he presses Oikawa against the wall and mouths across his jawline, warm hands caressing Oikawa in places that make him forget how to think.

“Hey, remember how I told you I didn’t like the way I said your name?”

Iwaizumi pulls back, brows knit together in confusion. This isn’t exactly the kind of conversation someone brings up while they’re being pampered in the morning. “Yeah…?” he replies carefully.

“I thought of a nickname!”

“A nick...okay,” Iwaizumi smiles at the thought. Maybe having a nickname would be kind of nice, especially after all the good things that went down last night.

Oikawa tilts his head and flashes Iwaizumi one of his million volt smiles. “Iwa-chan!”

Silence deadpans between them for what feels like a minute.

Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose and leans away from Oikawa, shaking his head rather quickly. “Absolutely not.”

“Wh—but it’s cute! Iwa-chan, I like the way it sounds—”

“No. Denied.” Iwaizumi pulls away from Oikawa. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve ever heard. Find a new one.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“You sound like you’re talking about a three year old,” Iwaizumi snips.

Oikawa paws at Iwaizumi’s broad back, a whine high on his voice as he chases Iwaizumi down the stairs. “Iwa-chan don’t be stingy—”

“Oh my god, stop using it, you’ll make it stick!”

Iwaizumi has a flash of regret as Oikawa circles his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck from behind and pulls him tight to his chest, using his height advantage to keep Iwaizumi locked to his body. “You’re going to let a cute little nickname get in the way of all we had last night?”

Iwaizumi exhales wearily, shoulders slumping, even more so when Oikawa starts to pepper kisses along his throat. “I wanna say your name, I want it to feel good when I say it. Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hums, nipping at Iwaizumi’s earlobe.

The dark brunet turns his head just enough to side eye Oikawa. “On one condition.”


“Never use that in bed.”

Oikawa snorts.

“Seriously, I’ll go soft so fast if you try and say that erotically.”

“Whatever you say, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi learns later on that day that he could never have been more wrong.