#iwaoi | NSFW | Smut

It happens by accident.

They had been talking via skype after two weeks of just messaging, Hajime’s exams taking up all his time. He’d had the last one that same morning, and after getting home he’d collapsed on his bed and slept for 6 hours straight.

He’d woken up to Oikawa’s texts telling him that practice had already ended in case he wanted to talk, and so he had picked up his laptop, fixed a quick lunch-slash-dinner, and proceeded to catch up with him. They had ended up so engaged talking about Hajime’s visit next month

that they’d lost track of time until suddenly Oikawa had looked down at the corner of the screen, muttered “fuck. 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬, I’m late,” and scrambled to his feet.

Hajime had laughed and teased him as he watched Oikawa disappear from the sofa, listening to his hurried steps

and muffled insults when he’d heard Hajime laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Shittykawa. Have fun,” Hajime had said, a wry smile on his lips. “I will,” had been Oikawa’s response, coming from someplace inside his apartment, and then Hajime had half-closed the lid of his laptop,

yawned, looked at the hour (fuck. 2:15 am) and gone to sleep.

In retrospect, falling asleep in the middle of the day hasn’t been his brightest idea, because less than 4 hours after going to bed Hajime is wide awake again, eyes fixed on the ceiling and mind running at full speed

replaying formulas and diagrams even if he’s officially exams-free now. Rubbing a hand down his face he grunts and gets out of bed, dim grey light welcoming him when he enters the living room after a quick stop by the bathroom. With a sigh he picks up his laptop and sits down,

fully opening the lid. The screen comes to life automatically, white light blinding him, and it’s not until he’s fumbled with the keys to adjust the brightness that he realizes that his video call with Oikawa is somehow still going, images displaying on his monitor in real time.

It takes him a few seconds to process what he’s seeing━ Oikawa’s half naked body lying up on the sofa, large, captivating hands (hands Hajime could recognize anywhere) wrapping around the hips of the anonymous body sat on his lap, holding tightly over the crumpled clothes

and making the person (the 𝘮𝘢𝘯, Hajime realizes, something heavy sinking into his stomach) rub against Oikawa’s groin. All of Hajime’s blood seems to plummet south, a delicious vertigo clenching his insides.

He watches as those beautiful hands command the man to move

the way Oikawa wants him to, slow and mesmerizing, heavy pants as background noises accompanying them. He watches as Oikawa wriggles to pull his pants down his ass until they get stuck around his thighs, watches as he ruts unhurriedly against the man, pressing his obvious hard-on

against his ass, dragging out the slow motions of his thrusts as he pretends to fuck into him through their clothes, powerful hips tensing and pushing 𝘶𝘱━

A deep and throaty moan breaks through the screen and Hajime jolts, slapping the laptop close as if it burned,

heart beating hard and mouth completely dry. He feels the hand over the laptop trembling lightly, shallow breathing making his chest rise and fall in quick succession.

That was━

Oikawa was━

He closes his eyes, feeling heat crawl down the back of his neck,

hands growing uncomfortably warm, blood prickling under his skin. He forces himself to take a deep breath and to stop thinking about it, but somehow the next moment his hands are deep inside his pants and he’s jerking himself off dryly and fast.

He cums too quickly and too good,

hips thrusting up and lips stubbornly closed, swallowing Oikawa’s name as if not saying it would make this any less wrong.

“Fuck,” he wheezes. “𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬...!”
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His shame is hot and thick.

It clings to his flesh like a second, viscous skin,

and although Hajime tries with all his might he can’t get the images (and the sounds. God, that moan) out of his head.

He had never dared to imagine it until now ━not consciously, at least. It had crossed his mind before, sure, fast thoughts he’d ban as soon as they came up,

feverish fantasies he forced himself not to think about. Now, though, he has the images stuck in his brain, impossible to get rid of, and they are way better than everything that ever got to accidentally enter his thoughts.

They are 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭.

Now Hajime knows the way Oikawa moans, the way his voice breaks the heated silence, the way his hands close around the hips of a stranger knowing and searching for what he wants, and this sudden rush of information unleash other questions he’s never dared to think before.

(Is he loud, while fucking? Dirty words, his partner’s name, maybe sweet nothings against a sensitive ear? Or does he keep quiet, too lost in pleasure and lust to even think about talking? Does he like to give up control? Or does he enjoy dictating every movement,

exploiting every weak and vulnerable point as he does on the court, seeking pleasure and overwhelming his partner in a wave of lust and daze?)

𝘎𝘰𝘥, Hajime thinks bucking his hips up in the air, sweaty back pressed to his mattress, fingers closing around the base of his cock.

Part of him wishes he had kept watching a little longer, getting the answers for all the questions he has now, but he knows it would have been wrong for so many reasons that he can’t even begin to count them.

Still, Hajime can’t help it━

He’s had a peek and now he can’t help but 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬, building in his mind the whole picture and patching up the missing scenes as best as he can━ changing scenarios that depend on whatever mood he is in at the moment.

Sometimes, like today, slowly fucking into his fist,

he thinks about Oikawa between his legs, sliding into him with the same hoarse and deep moan he heard that day leaving his mouth as he fills him easily and 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬, and imagines him fucking him slowly, so slowly, eyes dark and want all over his face, building their orgasms

piece by piece with their bodies tense and slippery with sweat, enduring every slow and endless thrust until Hajime’s body gives in and comes (in his fantasy, in the real world) ━long ropes of cum falling over his chest and abs.

Other days he imagines it the other way around;

him opening Oikawa thoroughly and good, burying his head into Oikawa’s nape and mumbling dark secrets into his skin, into his hair, teeth scraping against the back of his neck as Oikawa pants and clenches around his fingers, ready for more.

On those days Hajime lies face down

on his bed and sinks his hips into the mattress, biting down into his pillow, imagining it’s Oikawa’s body what lies under him (that it’s his muscular back what he’s biting, his sturdy thighs what he’s fucking into) and thrusts and thrusts and thrusts (his red and sore cock

rubbing almost painfully against the sheets) until he comes without even touching himself.

“God⎼ 𝘠𝘦𝘴⎼” he cries those times into the pillow, still thrusting against his own mess of warm and sticky cum. “Hah⎼ So fucking good, so fucking⎼ Hah, 𝘖𝘪𝘬𝘢𝘸𝘢⎼”

Other times it’s neither one thing nor the other. Sometimes he just thinks about Oikawa and his laughing eyes and his winning smirk and, standing under the shower head, water running down his face, Hajime slides his fingers into his mouth and pretends they are Oikawa’s,

long and beautiful and slim, and comes with a muffled gasp and trembling legs.

It’s like a dam has been broken and even if Hajime tries to, he just can’t rebuild it. His feelings run so deep, so strong, since so long ago, that it feels like there’s no going back now

(it feels as if he can finally 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦, and even though he still feels ashamed and a little stiff every time they speak, Hajime thinks it’s a relief he didn’t know he needed to finally have a way to let his feelings out even if it’s like this).

Sometimes he wonders about the man, about his relationship with Oikawa, he wonders if there’s a relationship at all. He wants to believe that Oikawa would tell him if he were seeing someone but, Hajime thinks, Oikawa hasn’t even told him that he likes men too,

so him having a serious relationship is a possibility he can’t rule out.

Less than ten days before he flies to Argentina he’s talking with Makki on the phone about uni and their respective courses and about how Kunimi and Kindaichi are leading Seijoh now,

and when Makki brings Oikawa up, Hajime decides to ask him.

“Hey,” he says, and the small pause between his next words is almost undetectable. “Do you know if Oikawa’s seeing someone?”

Makki’s pause is definitely longer, and stretches for what seems to be a long, long time.

“What possible reason,” he finally says, “would make Oikawa tell me something like that and keep it from you?”

It’s not a rhetorical question. Hajime chooses not to answer.

“...Forget it,” is what he says.

He certainly forgets it the moment he sets foot in San Juan and Oikawa is right 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, holding up a card with a stupid joke in Japanese, tall and tan, with a lopsided smile that turns into a full grin when Hajime walks up to him. They meet in a hard hug, laughing,

and it’s invigorating in this cool air.

“How was your flight?” Asks Oikawa pulling back, still smiling. “You tired?”

“Nah,” Hajime says smiling too. “Just fucking hungry.”

“Well, it seems like it’s your lucky day then, Iwa-chan.”

It’s not his lucky day, objectively speaking,

since the small restaurant Oikawa takes him to opens every day, but the home-cooked food is tasty and freshly made, and warms him up after the cold he was expecting but wasn’t really prepared for.

They eat and toast and laugh, and when they reach Oikawa’s home it’s past 4pm.

Oikawa shows him the place even if Hajime’s already seen it when they video call, and then he plops down onto the sofa with a pleasant hum.

“Do you want to rest a little? You can sleep on the bed,” he offers.

Hajime’s not listening. He’s eyeing the sofa with a dry throat,

and he joins him carefully, thinking about Oikawa’s naked torso and tight underwear and touching with trembling fingers the place where he’s lied down, and got hard, and most likely fuc━

“Iwa-chan.”

Hajime snaps back to reality, hands closing over the seat cushion.

“No, no, it’s⎼ I’m fine,” he says, looking down.

It shouldn’t, but it’s arousing being here. Heat smolders his guts, tongues of fire slowly licking up his chest.

“Great,” Oikawa says. “Then we can finally talk about why you’ve been acting off these past weeks.”

Fuck.

His lungs run out of air for a few painful seconds until he inhales again.

Fuck.

He knew their conversations had become slightly strained on his end, but since Oikawa hadn’t said anything about it, Hajime had thought he hadn’t picked up on it or blamed it on something else.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“What⎼”

Oikawa snorts.

“It’s all in your face, Iwa-chan. I saw it. Sometimes you even had to force yourself to look me in the eye.”

As if proving him right, Hajime looks up at him facing for the first time since they sat

Oikawa’s piercing and searching gaze.

“Well. Maybe it’s something 𝘐 have done,” Hajime mutters humorlessly.

Oikawa doesn’t budge.

“Is it?”

Hajime sighs, running a hand through his hair. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then sighs again.

𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬.

Okay.

Okay.

“Remember the night we called when I finished my exams?” he asks, meeting his eyes again. Oikawa’s chin moves the tiniest bit, nodding. “Well, I⎼ We⎼ I guessed we didn’t end the call, and then I woke up and I saw⎼” he says, swallowing down. “I saw you⎼ You were⎼”

He sees realization shining in Oikawa’s darkening eyes. He hums, and Hajime’s never heard such a low sound coming from him.

“So it was because of me,” he says with an unreadable expression and an even tone. “Were you disgusted?”

“𝘕𝘰,” Hajime says, throaty and sure. He swallows and his voice comes out rough and true. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it ever since.”

Oikawa keeps looking at him, dark eyes boring into his, keeping him in place just with the intensity they hold. He’s breathing soundlessly

but heavily, Hajime can see in his peripheral vision the way his broad chest moves. Slowly he sees him opening his mouth and licking his lower lip before letting his next cutting words out.

“Are you thinking about it now?”

“Yes,” Hajime says, tongue thick in his mouth.

Oikawa’s gaze drops to his lips and Hajime feels his own want grow, uncontainable and famished, threatening to explode. He blinks trying to cool down his mind, and in that millisecond lapse Oikawa moves smoothly forward, pausing just five centimeters away from his mouth.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispers hotly against him.

“Yes,” Hajime says, voice deep. “You have no idea how much⎼ for how long⎼”

Oikawa kisses him. It’s hot, and slow, an open-mouthed kiss that unrolls languidly, giving them time to lick and sigh and explore.

“Are you⎼”

“Yes,” Hajime says, once again. “Yes, fuck⎼” he moans when Oikawa bites under his jaw and up to his ear, the tip of his tongue touching sensitive spots and making him quietly pant.

It’s slow and heated, desire quickly pooling on their stomachs.

Hajime sucks in Oikawa’s lower lip and then they kiss hotly, mouths opening against each other, slow hands running over warm and eager bodies, hugging and pulling and pressing their chests together. Oikawa holds Hajime’s face in his hands and kisses him deeply,

towering over him when he kneels on the sofa, making him throw his head back and stand still when Oikawa passes a leg over Hajime’s lap and straddles him. He rubs their half-hard cocks together and Hajime pants out breaking the kiss, hands coming to Oikawa’s lower back,

pushing him forward again, bucking up his own hips to meet him halfway.

“Oikawa,” he pants, fingers finding the belt loops of his jeans and hooking on there. Oikawa bites at his throat, and then at his lips.

“Tooru,” Oikawa corrects in a hot breath against him, hips thrusting up again. “It’s 𝘛𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘶. I’m gonna make you cum on this sofa and when you do, that’s what I wanna hear you scream.”

Hajime stills for a second and then he moans low and long, voice breaking in a hoarse note.

He brings a hand to Oikawa’s nape to make him bend and then he kisses him hungrily, blindly, flatting his tongue against Oikawa’s palate and sucking at his teeth, his other hand letting go of the belt loops and sliding into his jeans.

This time when Hajime pushes him forward is with his hand closing fervently around the curve of his ass, making him sigh.

“Again,” Oikawa says, and Hajime obeys watching as Oikawa’s hands come to the front of his jeans, swift fingers unbuttoning them, hissing when he relieves

the pressure over his dick. Hajime can see it now ━it’s perfectly outlined shape tightly pressed against his briefs━ and angles his hips to frottage against it, biting down on his lip to stifle a moan.

Oikawa’s hands come to his groin next, unzipping his pants

and also freeing him. He doesn’t stop there, though━ instead he palms him over his underwear, and then he wraps his fingers around him and starts pumping him, tightly and hot, his hips still moving against him and it’s━ it’s too much━ too 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥━

“Tooru,” Hajime aches, and Oikawa closes his eyes and groans, the throaty, low and deep sound that made Hajime lose his mind all those weeks ago.

“Again. Say it again, Hajime,” he urges darkly, but all Hajime can do when he hears his name and that moan is bury his face

in Oikawa’s collarbone, hips jolting and hot precum spurting from his cock wetting his briefs. He’s panting heavily through his mouth, warm breath damping the fabric of Oikawa’s sweatshirt.

Oikawa loosens the fingers around his shaft and wraps his free hand around his nape.

“Tell me what you want,” he mutters closing his fist around his hair, slowly moving his hips. Hajime feels the vibration of his low voice all through his body, a gut-melting sound that makes his blood sting.

“Lube,” he rasps finding once again Oikawa’s lips.

“Don’t move,” is all Oikawa says when he pulls back, giving him one last scorching kiss before he stands and disappears to his bedroom. He comes back a second later and Hajime watches transfixed as he throws the lube and the condom into the sofa and then strips revealing the

powerful form of his arms, his pecs, his abs, the soft looking trail that disappears under his briefs and then the strong cords of muscle in his thighs, and his long legs, and then, finally, when he takes off his briefs, his hard and flushed cock.

Hajime undresses too, Oikawa’s hands helping him get rid of his hoodie and his shirt and then his pants and underwear too, touching and caressing him as they do so.

They sigh when Oikawa straddles him again, elbows resting on Hajime’s shoulders and arms framing his head.

“I wanna fuck you⎼” he says in a low voice, and Hajime inhales sharply, hot desire dripping inside him, mumbling ‘yes’ and already imagining it━ “⎼but I wanna ride you first.”

It takes him a few seconds to reorganize his thoughts, but when he does his answer doesn’t change.

“𝘠𝘦𝘴,” he says hoarsely, and it’s as easy as that.

Hajime smears lube over his fingers and massages Oikawa’s rim. The first one slides easily in, and soon after he’s pressing the second one in, kissing and panting into Oikawa’s lips when Oikawa wraps a hand around his cock

and presses his thumb to its slit, precum slowly coming out and falling down its head. Their bodies move together, riding the waves of their desire and taking, giving, building a rhythm that placates their hunger but that is not enough. Hajime finds Oikawa’s prostate and

presses his fingertips against it watching his body jerk and precum run down his cock. He scissors his fingers and then, with more lube, shoves them back in adding a third one. Oikawa tenses lightly, breathing heavily, and then sinks into them with a strangled sound.

He doesn’t want to wait.

With steady hands he picks up the condom and rips it open and then rolls it down Hajime’s cock. Hajime removes his fingers and coats his cock with lube and then tosses his sweaty nape over the back of the sofa and groans when Oikawa sinks down,

feeling the flesh open to take him in, throbbing and hot and so, so tight.

“Tooru,” he moans, and clenches his teeth when Oikawa leans in pressing their foreheads together, Hajime’s cock sinking further in. “𝘛𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘶⎼”

Oikawa moves his hips, rocking backwards and forwards,

and then starts riding him with fast moves, standing on his knees before falling back into Hajime’s cock, undulating his hips as if he were riding the tidal waves of a raging sea, lean body moving smoothly and tirelessly and with burning want.

Hajime closes his eyes and wraps his arms around his waist following his pace, responding to his lead, pushing his hips up every time Oikawa sinks down. He spreads a warm palm over his skin and traces his spine up, relearning the arch of his sweaty back anytime Oikawa shifts.

They move and breathe together, gasps and fucked-out sounds that leave their mouths and tangle in the air as one, lost words that make no sense and that say it all. Lube runs down Oikawa’s thighs onto Hajime’s balls, and every time he fucks himself into Hajime’s cock

it makes a wet sound, something vulgar and terribly dirty that echoes all around the room.

“Tooru,” Hajime calls tightening his arms around him, a drop of sweat falling down his temple, hips faltering and losing their rhythm. “I’m gonna⎼hah, I’m gonna come⎼”

“Do it,” Oikawa says, hips rolling down hard into him, sweat shining over his throat.

Hajime moans already have gone, and once again uses his hands to help the powerful moves of Oikawa’s hips. He feels his orgasm deep in his guts, feels it rising like a seaquake, climbing fast

up his body until it burst in a long and piercing cry in his mouth and between his legs━

“Tooru⎼”

In shaking bones and trembling legs━

“Hah, Tooru⎼”

In white lights behind his eyelids and one single, unique name.

“𝘛𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘶…!”

He opens his eyes just in time to see raw pleasure in Oikawa’s face, to see him wrapping a hand over the head of his cock and moving it up and down, to see him coming too, broken voice joining Hajime’s and also calling his name.

Oikawa stays still for a second, keeping his back straight all the way up and his head thrown back, showing off his prominent Adam’s apple and a faint blush that crawls from his cheeks down to his chest. Then he stands on his knees and winces slightly when Hajime’s cock

slides out of him, and then he bends down and leaves an open-mouthed kiss against Hajime’s neck, and his lips, and after that he nuzzles Hajime’s sweaty hair over his temple and inhales deeply.

Hajime hugs him closer, turning his face towards him.

He can’t believe this is real.

“Hajime,” Oikawa murmurs in his ear, as if he could read Hajime’s thoughts.

Hajime smiles, and answers him.

“Yeah,” he says.

(It is).
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