Archive of Our Own

Iwaizumi lets out a small groan when the shrill alarm jolts his body awake. He smashes his face further into the pillow, grumbling out a string of curses as exhaustion pulls at his eyelids, trying to force him back into a slumber. He’s tired. He always is, and always has been ever since he and his setter parted ways. He refuses to refer to him as anything but his high school captain and setter, because if he begins to delve into the intimacy of their friendship, recall all of the nitty gritty details, the lingering touches, the midnight secrets, the way he always smelled of vanilla and a rather feminine shampoo…

Well, to be honest, if Iwaizumi thinks of him, he gets sad. Not the kind of sad that brings tears to your eyes, or the type of sad that keeps you in bed for days--no. That type of sadness was left behind for his very fragile and very hormonal heart during his 3rd year. He’s 27 now. He's got a full-time job, he pays his bills and he does his taxes, and he’s even set up a retirement fund. He can’t afford to be that type of sad anymore. Nowadays, his sadness takes shape as a sort of emptiness; a longing. Because again, he wakes up, and then he goes to work, and then he comes home, and then he showers, and he eats, checks the mail, pays his bills, does his taxes, invests into his retirement fund, and then he sleeps.

But because of the emptiness that comes with the thought of soft brown hair and milky skin and strong, calloused hands, his sleep is never restful. No matter how many hours he sleeps, he wakes up just as exhausted as when his head hit the pillow. No amount of sleep will ever be enough when it is your soul that is tired.

Iwaizumi does not cry anymore. Instead; he works, and he pays the government, and he sleeps, and all of that. It gets quite repetitious, mundane, boring. But it distracts him from his thoughts, and that is more than enough. And sure, he misses his captain. He misses him more than he’s ever missed anything in his life. That stupidly gorgeous boy ripped a hole in his heart, and he took it with him too. So even after nine years--nine grueling, tortuous years--he still falls back into his old habits. Sometimes, when he used to visit his hometown, he’d walk past that old park with the tattered volleyball net, and he'd look over his shoulder, only to find his captain was no longer behind him. When he passes a ramen shop or a cafe that looks particularly promising, he still finds himself pulling out his phone to message him about it. He never sends the message, of course. He hasn’t sent anything in years.

And it’s not that Iwaizumi is avoiding him. Of course not. He’s only...growing older. He’s matured a lot since high school, and with maturity comes regret. He regrets how he treated Oikawa during their last couple years of high school. He regrets how much he shouted at him, and ignored him, and scolded him. Now that he is older, he realizes that it was a sort of coping mechanism--albeit a toxic one, and one that he will never be proud of. Because it is easier to be angry, than it is to be sad. And because he was sad, so terribly, hopelessly sad that he and Oikawa would eventually part ways, he tried his damndest to push Oikawa away. He didn’t want his setter to suffer the pain Iwaizumi is suffering today. But that damn idiot never gave up on him, never walked away no matter how loud he yelled, no matter how quickly he snapped. Because Oikawa was nothing if not stubborn.

Even when Iwaizumi’s words did hurt him, even when Iwaizumi did go a little too far, got too caught up in his own feelings, Oikawa was still at his front door every morning, ready to walk to school and start anew. And if the smiles Oikawa offered him each morning slowly grew wider, and faker, and sadder, Iwaizumi never said a word.

Because Oikawa is stubborn, he would still text Iwaizumi every day from the minute Iwaizumi got on that plane to California, and Oikawa on the train to a rehab hospital. And Iwaizumi did his best to reply every chance he got, he really did. But unfortunately, time zones exist, and school exists, and unforgiving professors exist, and part-time jobs exist, and physical therapy exists, and practice exists, and tryouts exist, and every damn thing meant to tear the two teammates apart exists.

It’s part of growing up, Iwaizumi reminds himself more days than not. People grow up, and move on with their lives, and that is just part of the suck of life. It’s shitty, and it’s unfair, and it really, really, really hurts. But at least Oikawa is okay. He’s happy, and he’s finally healthy, and he’s living his dream. Iwaizumi could ask for nothing more. And he knows all of this, because he sees it. Not in person, obviously. He sees it through social media, mutual friends, news articles and promo shots. In fact, Oikawa texted him after he was signed onto the Argentina National Volleyball team, and he told him first. It took Iwaizumi three days to respond.

That was about two and a half years ago, to the day. Iwaizumi has heard through the grapevine that Oikawa’s team has made it to the Olympics this year, and that he’ll most likely be going against Japan for the gold. That’ll be an interesting sight to see, and secretly--deep, deep down--Iwaizumi is glad he’ll get to see it. From the sidelines and in the shadows, of course. Iwaizumi is an athletic trainer for the team, afterall. He’s only going because it’s his job.

At least, that’s what he says into his cup of black coffee as he slips into his shoes and heads to the train station.

He shoves his earphones into his ears and slumps against that little corner between the door and the seats. He scrolls through his social media feed and sips at his coffee as the train begins to move. There’s nothing interesting happening, there never is. But then he swipes up and he sees Hinata’s most recent post, and his heart does that awful flippy thing it does whenever he thinks of Oikawa. Hinata is standing beside Oikawa on the beach, the two of them doing that stupid pose with their tongues out that Oikawa has been doing since middle school. Iwaizumi takes a second to burn the image into his mind, to allow his eyes to trace over the smooth skin of Oikawa’s cheeks, the faintest appearance of wrinkles where he smiles the widest.

Eventually, the pixels start to hurt his tired eyes just as he finishes memorizing every centimeter of Oikawa that is visible through the small box he calls his phone screen. He double taps to like the photo, then shuts off his phone. His approaching station is announced over the loudspeaker, so he readjusts the bag hanging from his shoulder and sips the last drops of his coffee.

He feels a bit better. Now that the sun has fully risen in the sky and his traitorous dreams have slowly begun to fade into the back of his mind, he feels as close to peaceful as he will get. People crowd by the doors as they slide open with a hiss. Iwaizumi weaves through the bodies and mumbles out half-assed apologies when he bumps into a few passengers. Just as he’s about to step out of the train car, a tall man bumps into him, causing Iwaizumi to almost drop his phone. He looks up with a dangerous glare, about to spew obscenities to express his irritation, when his stomach drops to the floor.

“Ah, sorry, sorry!” That voice. Iwaizumi hears it in his dreams every night and hears it in his thoughts every morning. He could never forget it. He blinks twice just to make sure. Oikawa is standing on the platform, staring back at him with those large brown orbs of his, eyes sparkling like the stars. He’s scratching at his hair, that same perfectly styled and voluminous hair. Iwaizumi has to be seeing things. They aren’t even on the same continent right now. He rubs at his eyes, tries to rid of any lingering drowsiness, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s faced with a short woman staring back at him with a look of perplexity.

Iwaizumi bows apologetically before stepping off the train. This is bad. This is really bad. His thoughts are actually starting to manifest into hallucinations. He’s officially lost it.

He’s thinking about his voice the entire time it takes him to get to the gymnasium. Iwaizumi absolutely swears he heard it. He’s heard things related to Oikawa before, has heard the whisper of ‘Iwa-Chan’ in a large gust of wind, but the voice has never been as clear as it just was.

His thoughts are interrupted by the squeaking of shoes on wood and the satisfying echo of volleyballs slamming into walls. The gymnasium is bustling with life and palpable energy, the team in full swing as they prepare for the Olympic games just two measly weeks away. The training regimen has become stricter, the practices have run longer, and his players are being worked to the bone. As a byproduct of it all, Iwaizumi’s hours have increased and his work has doubled.

“Oi, Hajime!” A deep voice calls out from the sidelines. He sees Kuroo waving him down, so he hurries past the coaches and managers to stand by his side. Iwaizumi does a quick scan of the court and finds that a particular pair is missing. He notices the absence of jet black hair and the small tuft of orange that always seems to be trailing behind.

“Where’s the dynamic duo?”

Kuroo snorts as he peers down at him. “Chibi-chan just got back from his week-long vacation. Where do you think they are?”

Iwaizumi mentally face palms. “Well, I’m supposed to work with Tobio-chan on his shoulder mobility in ten minutes, but I’m not about to walk into that locker room to see some... ungodly sights. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll just send Bokuto in. He loves interrupting things. Hey, Bokuto!”

The two-toned hitter whips his head around at the call. His golden eyes sparkle when he spots the two standing on the sidelines. He ducks beneath the net and skips over. “Yeah?” He tilts his side so far to the side his ear touches his shoulder.

“Can you go get Shrimpy and His Majesty from the locker room for me? Hajime needs to work on Kageyama’s shoulder, and I need Hinata to take some promo shots for our flyers.”

Bokuto’s entire presence lights up at the idea of being given a task. An important task, too. He brings a hand up to his brow, giving Kuroo a salute. “On it!” The large man darts toward the locker room.

Iwaizumi chortles. “You guys have been best friends for what…12 years now? Why does he still look at you like you hold the world in your hands? You’re just a nerdy bastard with perpetual bedhead.”

“First of all, that’s rude. Who pissed in your coffee this morning? Second of all, this is not bedhead. It’s my natural style. And lastly, it’s because I do his taxes. That motherfucker owes me his life. Without his husband and I, he would probably be in jail.”

“Makes sense. Or a zoo. Bokuto reminds me of a zoo animal.”

Kuroo nods in complete agreement.

Bokuto returns with red cheeks and a lopsided grin. He rubs at his neck awkwardly before throwing the two a thumbs up and returning to the court. Kageyama and Hinata are trailing behind him with swollen lips and wrinkled shirts. Disgusting.

“Hey,” Kageyama greets, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Hinata approaches them, a large smile beaming on his face. He gives Iwaizumi a high five, and then a low five, and then he gives Kuroo a jumping high five, and Kageyama a kiss on the cheek. The setter’s cheeks are the color of strawberries when the small man dashes onto the court.

“Ready for your stretching?” Iwaizumi asks. Kageyama nods tiredly.

“Bedhead,” Iwaizumi comments before rising on his toes to slap the back of Kuroo’s head. Before the larger man can pounce on him, Iwaizumi is scurrying away in the direction of his office, Kageyama quick on his heels. Iwaizumi pushes the double doors open and gestures Kageyama toward the exam table in the center. Kageyama takes his usual seat, legs swinging back and forth just a bit.

Iwaizumi sets his bag down behind his desk and cracks his knuckles before gathering his supplies. He starts Kageyama off with a heating pad to his shoulder blade, a few jolts of electricity to the muscles surrounding it, and then he grabs some elastic bands for Kageyama to stretch back and forth. You runs the setter through the routine a couple of times until he’s gotten it down on his own. Iwaizumi leans against the counter, taking mental notes of any signs of discomfort or pain.

After Kageyama finishes his third set of stretches, he stares up at the trainer. Iwaizumi can tell he has something on his mind.

“What?”

“Shouyou saw him. In Brazil, I mean.”

Iwaizumi gulps.

“What happened between you two, Iwa? You’ve never told me.”

What happened? Nothing happened. That’s the only reason he feels the pain that he feels now. Nothing happened, and that’s why they don’t speak anymore. Iwaizumi stopped answering his calls and left his messages unopened and stopped replying to his emails and stopped sending him letters, because nothing happened. Nothing happened, and Iwaizumi spends every minute of his life regretting it.

“Nothing, we just lost contact,” is his reply. Kageyama quirks a thin brow, lips downturned in his permanent frown. Over the years, he and Kageyama had gotten very close. He sees the younger man like a little brother, and Iwaizumi knows Kageyama thinks the same--that’s why he can read the usually stoic trainer’s face like a book. It’s funny how he lost one setter, but gained a new one. Oikawa would probably give him an earful if he found out about his close bond with his junior and oldest, biggest rival (apart from Iwaizumi himself, of course).

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“But you are.”

“Jesus, Tobio! I’m not lying! Nothing fucking happened, alright? I was so scared of falling in love with him that I drove him away, and by the time my dumbass realized that oh shit, I already am in love with him, he was halfway across the goddamn world.”

“So something did happen.”

“What? No, nothing happened. That’s the whole fucking point.”

“I’m lost,” Kageyama huffs. Iwaizumi clenches and unclenches his jaw, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“You always are.”

“Hey! I’m just trying to understand! You always look like you’re carrying…this weight on your shoulders. I never thought too much of it, but these past few months you look so tired, that even breathing seems like too much of an effort to you. You never smile at work, or at dinner, or when the team goes out for drinks. Whenever Oikawa-san would visit during the holidays or the off-season, you would lock yourself up at home and never answer any of our calls. It’s been years, Iwa, and you’ve never opened up to me about him. Why? Do you not trust me?”

Iwaizumi finally meets his searching eyes. It’s astonishing how much Kageyama has grown over the years. He used to be a pretentious, arrogant, snot-nosed brat with not the slightest hint of what a social cue was. Now he’s all… sappy. The shrimp really made him soft.

“Of course I trust you, Tobio. It’s not like I’m hiding anything from you. I haven’t even admitted half of this shit to myself. It--” Iwaizumi takes a deep breath. “It hurts.” The last sentence comes out as a whisper.

“Iwa…” Kageyama begins, and Iwaizumi snaps.

“Don’t! Just-- don’t. I don’t want or need your pity. It’s not a big deal. It was ages ago, and we don’t talk anymore. I don’t know what went wrong or why I did the things I did, or why I said the things I did, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s in the past, and he lives like...12,000 miles away, and I never have to see him again. It’s better this way. He doesn’t need me in his life anymore--hasn’t needed me for a while.”

“Hajime, don’t say that! You two were inseparable, always arguing like an old married couple. Everyone on Seijoh and Karasuno could see how close you two were. You two were-- You-- You were best friends!”

“Yeah, we were. But like I said, he doesn’t need someone like me anymore. He doesn’t need my shitty excuse of a friendship. It was nine goddamn years ago, Tobio. Just let it go. I can promise you that he doesn’t think of me anymore and hasn’t thought of me for years.”

Kageyama looks down at his knees, and for the first time in his life, he looks sad. There isn’t a hint of anger or frustration in his pinched brows. Just sadness. Iwaizumi hates it. He strides forward and snatches the exercise band from his hands before tossing it on the counter. Thankfully, Kageyama gets the hint, and he makes his way to the door.

Iwaizumi plops down in his chair, pretending to be engrossed in whatever is on his computer screen. Kageyama pulls the door open and glances back at both his trainer and his best friend, shoulders slumped. Iwaizumi refuses to meet his blue eyes.

“He asks about you, Hajime. You might have convinced yourself that he doesn’t think of you anymore, but I can promise you, he does. Probably more than you think of him.” And with that, Kageyama shuts the doors behind him. Iwaizumi can hear Hinata’s muffled shouts of curiosity through the thick wood of the door.

The brick that has formed in his throat refuses to go down. It feels like a sob is trying to claw its way up and out, but as he said before, Iwaizumi refuses to cry. He’s not sad anymore, just… empty. Plus, it’s positively impossible for Oikawa to be thinking of him more than he thinks of Oikawa, because the setter has never once left his mind.

Two weeks fly by much faster than Iwaizumi would’ve liked. He’s been so busy with work, so caught up in preparing his athletes for their games that he hasn’t had any time to prepare both his mind and his heart for today. Today, the Olympics start, and he will see that face in person again. From afar, of course. He’d be caught dead before he lets Oikawa see him.

One benefit of the hustle and bustle that has been these fourteen days, is that Iwaizumi has also not had any time to indulge in his emotions. He gets home late, the exhaustion sinking deep into his bones, and crashes so hard that not even dreams of a soft voice and even softer heart dare to disturb him.

It’s the ass crack of dawn, the sky a blueish black by the time he arrives at the arena. It’s massive. It seats at least 15,000 people. But currently, it houses about three hundred. Some staff and camera crews are walking around the perimeter of the court, careful not to disturb the teams in the middle of meetings or group warm-ups or strange, superstitious pre-game rituals.

Iwaizumi makes his way to the left most court where he easily finds his team. You cannot miss Hinata’s hair even if you tried.

“Zumi!” Bokuto shrieks in excitement when he spots the grumpy trainer. He runs up to Iwaizumi, leaping at him with way too much enthusiasm for five o’clock in the morning. “Can you help me stretch? Can you, can you?”

Iwaizumi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Bokuto, I am not a stretch therapist, I’m an athletic trainer. Ask one of your teammates to stretch you.”

Bokuto gives the biggest pout he can muster, and even his hair starts to droop a bit.

“But Zumi! You’re the best stretcher here! Chibi-chan is too short to stretch my neck in all the right places, and Omi-san says my pre-game ritual grosses him out too much and he refuses to touch me!”

“You don’t shower for three days prior, Bokuto. That’s fucking disgusting,” the perpetually bored hitter says with a hint of revulsion in his low voice.

Bokuto whimpers.

“Come on, Kou. I’ll help you stretch.”

Bokuto’s body perks up at the gentle voice of his beloved husband. Akaashi steps onto the court, and Bokuto’s teammates greet him with warm smiles. Bokuto pounces on his significantly smaller husband, clinging onto him like a child would to their mother. His head knocks Akaashi’s glasses astray, and Iwaizumi holds back a laugh when Akaashi seems to get a whiff of Bokuto’s hair, and tries his hardest not to gag.

Once Bokuto seems to be thoroughly occupied and content with all of the praise Akaashi is showering him in, Iwaizumi sneaks off to drop his large bags of supplies beside the other duffel bags tucked away on the sidelines. He busies himself with pulling out and organizing his bandages and braces by color and function, when he hears that voice again. It’s faint and far away, and at first Iwaizumi dismisses it as another distant memory, but then Hinata’s shrill scream echoes off the spacious walls of the arena.

“Oikawa-san!”

Iwaizumi freezes in place. He listens intently, trying to catch every sound, every topic of discussion, but it’s difficult to hear anything over the dozens of players in the arena and the sound of the announcers setting up. He catches the sound of shoes squeaking against the floors, until the steps slowly start to get closer and closer.

A large hand grips onto his shoulder, and Iwaizumi swears he’s going to faint. He slowly--painfully slowly--turns his head, and relief hits him like a wave when his eyes meet blue. Kageyama stares down at him with a stern expression as if he’s trying to telepathically communicate. It’s too early in the morning for Iwaizumi to decipher the miniscule changes in his face.

“Yama! Yama, Yama, Yama!” Hinata calls, and the two men tense. “Yama! Get over here, Oikawa-san is here! Iwa, you too!”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck fuck! This can’t be happening! Absolutely not. Unlike his boyfriend, Hinata has not yet learned to pick up on social cues. He can barely read a book, it makes sense that he can’t read a goddamn room. Iwaizumi is going to strangle him, he swears. He’s already picturing his decapitation in his head.

Kageyama looks at him, and they exchange a panicked look, before Hinata is whining for the two again.

“Helloooo? Are you two deaf? Oikawa-san is here!”

Iwaizumi’s knees are beginning to turn into jelly. Kageyama gives him a sincerely apologetic glance before jogging over to his impatient boyfriend. The smallest, barest hint of satisfaction bubbles up when Kageyama slaps Hinata on the head.

But just as quickly as the satisfaction comes, it’s gone. Because Oikawa is here, like, right there, and even worse, he’s staring straight at him! He’s not even acknowledging Hinata or his precious protege--no. He’s staring so deeply into Iwaizumi’s soul that he’s never felt so naked while being fully-clothed. There is absolutely no way he can get out of this. He was planning on taking his feelings to the grave and never facing this man again for as long as he shall live, but of course, because the world fucking hates his guts, he will never be allowed to have anything ever.

Oikawa opens his mouth to say something, but another voice interrupts him.

“Iwaizumi-san,” a deep voice calls. Iwaizumi turns his head so fast he gets whiplash. Ushijima is standing beside him. “Will you help me with my knee, please?”

Oh god, Iwaizumi never thought he would stoop so low. But he wants to fucking kiss this boulder of a man. Thank god for Ushijima. He’s got even worse social skills than Hinata. If there was a room right in front of him, and in the middle of the room a big sign said ‘read it,’ Ushijima would simply walk straight into the sign and never once get the hint, no matter how painfully obvious and thick the tension was. God bless him. Seriously, Ushijima is such an angel. How has Iwaizumi never noticed before?

“Yes! Haha, yes! Yes! Of course I will help you with your knee!”

Ushijima’s brows pinch together in confusion at Iwaizumi’s enthusiasm, but he simply nods once and walks back to the bench on the other side of the court. Iwaizumi whips his head to look at Oikawa and Kageyama and Hinata, and sees that Oikawa’s mouth has downturned into a deep frown. And Iwaizumi shocks himself with this realization, but Iwaizumi can tell that it’s a genuine one. He isn’t frowning the same way he would whenever he didn’t understand a math problem, or when the convenience store ran out of his favorite milk bread. No. He’s frowning the same way he frowned when his first and only girlfriend broke up with him in high school. He’s frowning the same way he frowned when Kageyama joined their team, the same way he frowned at the ramen shop after they lost to Karasuno. He’s frowning the same way he did at the airport. He’s frowning the same way he did when Iwaizumi left him.

Because Iwaizumi knows Oikawa better than he knows himself, and despite spending nine torturous years trying to forget, he could never forget something as significant as this. Oikawa is frowning in the way he does when something breaks his heart just that much more. A little piece, the tiniest shard, has just broken off from his fragile heart and shattered beyond repair.

Iwaizumi tears his gaze away before 1. He crumples onto the floor in a pile of pity and pain and regret, or 2. Actually goes to Oikawa and kisses the frown off his lips. Option two would be far worse.

When Iwaizumi finishes wrapping Ushijima’s knee and returns to his bags, he’s flooded with relief to find that Kageyama and Hinata are back on the court with their team, and Oikawa is nowhere to be seen. His heart feels at ease.

But of-fucking-course, the feeling doesn’t last long.

“Iwaizumi.” That gentle, sickly sweet voice is right in his ear. He jolts so hard his neck cracks. Iwaizumi turns to face Oikawa, his infuriatingly beautiful face a few measly inches away. This man never did understand the concept of personal space.

“I-- Uhm, I’m, you-- Huh? I-I mean, yes?”

Oikawa leans back on his heels, hands on his hips. God, he’s tall. And he’s tanner than when he left him. Prettier, too. If that’s even possible.

Oikawa takes a few seconds to reply. It seems as if he’s trying to muster the courage to say what’s on his mind, and Iwaizumi prays that he doesn’t.

“You didn’t greet me,” is all the setter says. Iwaizumi stands up straighter and shoves his hands in his pockets to stop his anxious fiddling.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I had to take care of Ushiwaka.”

“Oh, so you’ve taken a liking to him now?” Oikawa snaps, face contorting into something a little less pretty. Iwaizumi is quite taken aback by his harsh tone. He’s heard it a thousand times, that condescending lilt, but never has it been directed at him.

“I’m sorry? Of course I like Ushijima. He’s one of my athletes, and I’ve been taking care of him for years.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “I see. So what, you two are besties now?”

“What? No! And even if we were, I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Right, you’re right. It isn’t my business. I mean, how could it be? You haven’t spoken to me in years, so of course it isn’t my business. My fucking bad.”

Iwaizumi takes a step back when Oikawa subconsciously takes a step forward. He has never felt so small compared to this man until now.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Iwaizumi spits, teeth grinding in irritation.

“Sorry, Iwaizumi, but you can’t tell me what to do anymore. In case you haven’t noticed, we aren’t friends. You made that perfectly clear.” Oikawa’s expression morphs into something sadder. His shoulders sag a bit and his normally shining eyes are dull. He looks just as exhausted as Iwaizumi feels.

“Oikawa, I--”

“I gotta go. At least my team needs me. Tell the others I said good luck.” Oikawa turns on his heels and stomps off across the long courts, so far away Iwaizumi can’t even make out the number on his jersey.

Iwaizumi turns toward his team, moving so slowly he appears to be in a daze. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, can see the questions floating in the air, but like most things, he ignores them. He kneels down beside his bag and goes back to organizing his bandages. First by size, and then by color, and then by function. It’s all he can do to combat the overwhelming regret and heartache and sorrow coursing through his veins and sinking right into his broken heart.

The arena is buzzing with both the energy from the fans and from the players. Iwaizumi is leaning against the railing, waiting for his team to walk onto the center court. Earlier in the week they managed to blow through both the American and Canadian teams, and yesterday they beat out Italy and Brazil. Oikawa’s team won their matches against France, Poland, Russia, and South Korea as well--not that Iwaizumi was keeping track. Which leaves the two finalists: Japan versus Argentina. Although Iwaizumi was expecting this outcome, his heart never did manage to catch up to his brain.

The announcers finish announcing his team and its players, and after a few minutes of waving at fans and Bokuto, Atsumu, and Hinata striking far too many poses, their coaches and managers wave them off the court and toward him. He does his best to focus on warming up his team, making sure all the correct players have the correct equipment and those that need support, have support. Iwaizumi is massaging Kageyama’s shoulder when a particular name cuts through his heart like a shard of glass.

“Number 13, Tooru Oikawa, setter!” The crowd erupts with cheers, and Oikawa does his signature wink. Several fangirls shout at the top of their lungs, and Iwaizumi barely manages to hold back a smile at the thought of him still being such a ladies man despite him being a very proud and very openly gay man.

“Iwa,” Kageyama snaps him back to attention.

“Sorry.” Iwaizumi continues to knead at the tense muscle before taping it up and adding a pain patch over his shoulder. Kageyama mutters his thanks, then jogs off to find his firecracker of a boyfriend.

The rest of his athletes stand in line while Iwaizumi, one of their managers, and an athletic trainer intern tend to their needs. Iwaizumi tapes muscle after muscle, wraps limb after limb, and hands out pain patches like they’re candy. His athletes worked hard, he sees it first hand and is in charge of dealing with the after effects of it all. His team deserves to be here, and they deserve to win.

So Iwaizumi does his best impression of cement and fills the cracks that the wall around his heart has endured where it’s been striked and hammered and punched over and over again. When the whistle is blown, and the starters step onto the court, Iwaizumi is thinking of nothing but the game and watching out for his team.

It’s as if he blinks, and the scoreboard changes, and his team gets match point for their final set, and then the crowd is booming and cheering and chanting his player’s names. Confetti pops, fans scream, tears are shed, and Japan takes the gold.

As soon as his players are done shaking hands with Argentina, all of their significant others are clamoring over the railing and dashing toward their sweaty and snotty lovers without a care in the world. Iwaizumi has to dart around to avoid getting plowed by Ushijima’s egg-headed fiancé.

He leans back against the bench and watches their cries and their embraces and their kisses of joy. Kageyama and Hinata have somehow managed to land on the floor in a sweaty pile of snotty kisses, Bokuto is definitely holding Akaashi up way too high, Iwaizumi can’t even see Yaku with how freakishly tall his lover is, and Ushijima and his fiancé are… well Iwaizumi doesn’t really know what his fiancé is doing. Dancing, maybe? Ushijima is staring at him with stars in his usually stone cold eyes. Even Sakusa has thrown his fastidious tendencies away in favor of embracing his equally sweaty and far more emotional setter of a boyfriend.

Iwaizumi notices that he too has tears in his eyes. But not for the same reason as his athletes. Because as Iwaizumi looks around and sees everyone with their person, he realizes that he no longer has one.

His person is walking off the court, arms wrapped around two of his teammates, smiling incredibly wide and impossibly fake. And it hurts. It hurts like hell, but what is he to do? He’s the one that ruined something so pure and so precious. It’s entirely his fault, and there is no use dwelling on things he cannot change, no matter how hard he tries.

His team waves him over, and he joins them on the court along with their managers and coaches. He gets squashed between Kageyama and Bokuto, nearly suffocating in the warmth of the group hug. Iwaizumi tries to join them in their cheers, and if anyone notices the tears in his eyes as he looks over his shoulder at that damned number 13 jersey, they do not mention it.

The rest of the day is one big blur. He and his fellow staff gather their equipment and their bags, the players receive their awards and do their speeches and their press conferences, and before long, everyone is filing onto the large bus, exhaustion hanging heavy on their limbs. No one says a word as the doors close and the driver takes off. It’s not long before the bus is filled with a peaceful silence and a few low snores. The sun is beginning to set, and as Iwaizumi stares out the window, he is reminded of eyes that used to hold the colors of the sky.

He doesn’t remember when he dozes off or which memory of Oikawa he falls asleep to, but the next time he wakes, he’s back in Tokyo. He stands on stiff knees and follows the others off the bus. Everyone’s feet are dragging in the dirt, eyes foggy and far off. They say their goodbyes, gather their things, and go their separate ways. Tonight marks the beginning of their resting period, until practice picks back up, and preparations for the next season begin.

Iwaizumi shuffles to his car parked in the parking lot of their gymnasium, back hunched over just a bit. He unlocks the car and practically falls into the driver seat. He sits there for a few minutes, in the darkness of night, head pressed back against the headrest. Despite the fatigue in his limbs and the heaviness of his heart, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep tonight. He’d promised his mom he would visit her for a few days, and he sees no point in putting off the trip.

Maybe a long drive will be of some comfort to him. He is hopeful that the gentle lull of tires over asphalt will calm the storm inside his mind. After a quick stop at his house to pack his bag, he’s back in his car and on the road. The roads are practically empty, save for a few night owls like himself, so traffic shouldn’t be an issue.

It’s quite boring being in his car all alone for the next few hours, but maybe alone time is what he needs. He turns on the radio and bounces his head along to the beat. He makes a few stops for some coffee and a quick piss, but other than that, he’s focused on the road and his destination. It’s no surprise that his mind begins to wander.

He recalls the final messages that were exchanged between him and his old captain. It was something insignificant, like a ‘how are you’ text and response, and he remembers the conversation feeling terribly forced. Never, in all of his years, has he been at a loss for words when it came to Oikawa. There was always something to say, and there was always something to talk about. Perhaps that is why an otherwise insignificant conversation weighs so heavy in his heart.

Because that conversation was their last. They didn’t have a grand, life-changing fight like one would think. Quite the opposite. And maybe because their final conversation was one filled with so much… unaddressed tension hidden behind useless greetings, desperate questions disguised as short sentences, that it was their end. At least if they had fought, that meant there was still passion. At least if they had fought, there would have been an opportunity for reconciliation.

But they didn’t fight. Iwaizumi made sure of that. Oikawa finally took the hint Iwaizumi had been trying to drop for years, and left. If Iwaizumi was going to keep pushing him away, it would do him no good to stay. He would not force a friendship that once came so easily. And Iwaizumi knew that he had broken the setter beyond repair, but at least he was able to finally let him go. That’s what Iwaizumi wanted, after all. He wanted Oikawa to let him go.

And he did.

“Where are you off to?” His mother asks from the kitchen.

“I’m gonna take a walk around the neighborhood, maybe stop by Seijoh and say hello to coach. I don’t know when I’ll be back”

“Alright. I’ll leave your dinner in the fridge, make sure to lock the door when you return. Also, your brother and sister are coming into town tomorrow, too. They are very excited to see you, Hajime.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi responds simply. He grabs his keys and slips on his shoes, sliding the door shut behind him.

His feet bring him to the old bridge he and Oikawa used to throw rocks over, and then to the old park with the tattered net, as if his footsteps are re-tracing themselves from all those years ago. The pavement holds their secrets, the trees whisper their names. Oikawa is everywhere.

By the time he arrives at his old high school, the sun is setting low on the horizon, and the volleyball team appears to be wrapping up practice. When Iwaizumi removes his shoes and steps through the open doorway, the team freezes in shock. Iwaizumi is a legendary alumni of the school, and he’s heard the stories his old coach loves to tell.

“Hajime! You’re back in town!” His coach shouts from across the court. Iwaizumi gives him a proud smile and walks further into the gym.

After the players leave the gym and his coach has asked more questions than Iwaizumi can count, he’s left alone in the place he used to call home. His coach left him with the keys and told him he could leave whenever he wanted. “You know where everything is,” his coach said, eyes crinkled with a grin.

It is in this place that the presence of Oikawa is the strongest. Iwaizumi swears he can still see his fingerprints sunken into the volleyballs, can retrace every dent in the wall and every splinter in the floor, all associated with memories of him. He throws the ball into the air and slams it down over the net.

The sound echoes throughout the empty gym. Iwaizumi opens his mouth, and he shouts. He grabs another ball and spikes it over the net. Every spike he makes is punctuated with another outburst. He puts all of his pent up frustrations, guilt and regret, pain and heartache into them.

I miss you. Slam. I’m sorry for hurting you. Slam. I have no right to feel sorry for myself. Slam. I just wanted you to be happy. Slam. I didn’t want to hold you back. Slam. You’ve worked so hard. Slam. I’m glad you’re happy. Slam. That is all I wanted for you. Slam. I’m proud of you, Tooru. Slam.

I love you, Tooru. Slam.

“You’ve lost your touch,” a voice interjects his internal breakdown.

Iwaizumi’s head whips around, and his world comes to a screeching halt. Olive green eyes meet deep brown, and his traitorous heart contorts in a combination of affection and guilt. Oikawa is standing in the doorway.

“Why are you here?” Iwaizumi grits, wiping the sweat from his cheek with the collar of his shirt.

“Same reason you are,” is all he says. Oikawa walks into the gym and onto the other side of the court. Iwaizumi watches him with wide eyes as the setter picks up a ball, spins it around, and serves it with a blow so heavy, the sound of skin against leather makes his ears ring. Iwaizumi barely manages to dodge it.

“What the hell?!”

Oikawa scoffs at him, grabs another, and serves it again. It whips past his head, the speed of the ball making his hair blow.

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi shouts, stomping toward the net. Oikawa serves again, and again, and again, the balls slowly getting closer and closer to knocking his head off. Each ball lands with painstakingly trained precision, hitting every mark Oikawa intends it to. Iwaizumi is jumping around and rolling out of the way, utterly confused and becoming increasingly more frustrated as the minutes tick by. When Oikawa picks up the final ball, a glint in his chestnut eyes hits Iwaizumi like a sucker punch to the gut. He’s communicating with him through his serves. He’s showing him his pain and his confusion and his heartache. He’s trying to make Iwaizumi understand him.

The ball shoots over the net, and Iwaizumi clamps his arms together, successfully sending the ball back over, receiving like he used to do for years. Oikawa catches it with one hand, then drops it to the floor.

He doesn’t say a word as he makes his way toward the door, an indiscernible expression on his tense face. Iwaizumi’s feet are glued to the ground as he watches his old captain walk further and further away from him, and he realizes that he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want Oikawa to leave. He doesn’t want to let him go.

“Oikawa, wait! Wait!” Finally, Iwaizumi’s feet are moving, and his hand reaches out to grab the setter’s shoulder. Oikawa whirls around and snatches his wrist before he can touch him. The glare he received turns his blood to ice.

“Don’t touch me! I’m leaving.” Oikawa turns his back to him and grabs the handle of the door, and--

“I love you!”

Oikawa freezes with one foot out the door.

“I love you, Tooru. Please. Please don’t leave.” Iwaizumi walks up to Oikawa with cautious steps. The setter’s breath catches in his throat when he feels a gentle hand slide over his waist. The hand clenches and unclenches in the fabric of his shirt, as if Iwaizumi is deciding if he should hold him in place or let him go. He can feel the trainer’s breath on his neck. “I can’t… I can’t lose you again.”

Oikawa turns to him with wide eyes, lips parted in shock. Iwaizumi wants to kiss him, but he knows he does not deserve to. His green eyes are burning holes into the floor.

“Why?” Oikawa’s voice cracks. His eyes are searching the trainer’s face for answers, the answers he’s desperately been searching for for years. Iwaizumi lets out a deep exhale through his nose.

“Because I was scared.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes Oikawa’s mask crack. He places his large hands on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, shakes him lightly, and forces the other to look at him. Iwaizumi’s eyes are glossy with thick tears, irises like emeralds. “Of what, Iwaizumi?! I don’t understand! Why did you cut me off? Why did you disappear? What did I do wrong?!”

“Nothing! God, this is impossible. I don’t even deserve to talk to you.” Despite his words, his heart stutters at the warmth of Oikawa’s hands on him. Oikawa does not respond. His eyes say enough.

“Do you remember when we were younger, when I used to spend the summer catching cicadas?”

Oikawa is a bit taken aback by the random question. He’s not sure what this has to do with the very obvious situation at hand.

“Yes?”

“And do you remember when I would always release them, because I felt bad about their short life span, and I wanted them to live as freely as possible?”

“Yes…? I don’t understand what that has to do with--”

“You’re like a cicada.”

Oikawa’s hands fall from Iwaizumi’s shoulders, and he instantly misses their touch. The setter crosses his arms over his chest. “Gee, thanks. I love being compared to annoying, gross bugs.”

“Oh my god, just shut up and let me finish, dumbass.”

The pout Oikawa gives him is familiar--he’s seen it so many times before--but somehow, with it directed at him, it’s so much more. His trembling fingers twist together, anxiety coursing through his veins.

“I cherished you so deeply, Oikawa. Though I didn’t show it, our friendship meant the world to me. I couldn’t even picture a world without you by my side.”

“Then why--”

“Let me finish,” Iwaizumi huffs, refusing to meet his eyes.

“But as we got older, and my feelings began to manifest into something… more intimate,” Oikawa gasps quietly. “I quickly came to the realization that we would eventually go down different paths. Very different paths. You had so many dreams, and aspirations, and I refused to be the reason why you didn’t meet them. I was scared of losing you, but I was terrified of holding you back. So I pushed you away the best I could. I let you go, because that’s what I believed would be best for you. I wanted you to live your life, and I didn’t care if it hurt me.”

Oikawa takes Iwaizumi’s hands between his own, making the trainer look up into his desperate eyes. “Iwaizumi--”

“Don’t call me that.”

Oikawa clears his throat, voice softening around the familiar nickname. “Iwa-chan, what are you talking about? You have never held me back from anything!”

“Shiratorizawa.”

Oikawa blinks at him, stepping back just a bit. “What?”

“You didn’t go to Shiratorizawa because of me.”

“Iwa, you know that isn’t true! I chose Seijoh because--”

“Oikawa, not even you are dumb enough to give up an opportunity like that over a stupid middle school rivalry. If you had gone to Shiratorizawa, you would’ve gone to nationals. You could’ve been scouted during your first year. But because of me, you went to Seijoh. Because of me, you ruined your chances of--!”

“Hajime.” Oikawa's hand is back on his cheek. He tilts his chin up a bit, thumb brushing just below his bottom lip. “If I woke up tomorrow, and I was back in middle school, I would’ve made the same decision all over again.”

“That’s because you were young and--”

“Just because I was young doesn’t mean what I felt for you was any less real. I loved you just as I love you now. Going to Seijoh and spending the rest of my teenage years with you by my side is a decision I will never regret. Not now, not in ten years, not in fifty. You always told me to follow my dreams,” their breaths mingle together as their faces inch closer and closer. Oikawa smells sweet. Iwaizumi can almost taste the sugar on his tongue. “And I did, Iwa. I followed them, and they’ve always led me back to you. Everything else was just a result of my affection for you. I became a pro because I wanted you to be proud of me, to see me on the big screen and think, ‘wow, he finally did it, and I helped him get there,’ because you did, Hajime. Everything good in my life happened because I had you.”

Finally, the wall around Iwaizumi’s heart breaks. Traitorous tears escape his eyes and run down his cheeks in strong, endless streams. Oikawa’s heart both breaks and bursts at the sight of his childhood best friend. Before he can help himself, Iwaizumi throws his arms around Oikawa’s neck and cries into his shoulder. Oikawa wraps his arms around his waist and holds him tight against his body, tears staining the trainer’s hair.

“I’m so--” Iwaizumi hiccups, “--so sorry! I just-- I wanted you to go forward and never look back!”

Oikawa pulls back to offer his sobbing friend a gentle smile. He brings the pads of his thumbs up to swipe at the hot tears free falling from Iwaizumi’s eyes. “Hajime, I have never looked back at you. You’ve always been by my side.”

Their lips meet, and the two share a simultaneous gasp of surprise and breath of satisfaction. Kissing Oikawa feels like he’s taking his first deep breath in years. Their lips move like they’ve been dancing together all their lives. Oikawa tastes like vanilla and mint and the sun, the stars, and everything good. Kissing Oikawa feels like coming home.

Oikawa’s soft lips part, and Iwaizumi takes it as an invitation to slip his tongue into the hot cavern of his mouth. Because he’s taller, goddamnit, Iwaizumi’s hand slides up the nape of his neck and into his hair so he can push his head down, effectively deepening the kiss. Iwaizumi swallows down the whimper that escapes Oikawa’s lips.

The kiss starts steady and slow, almost testing how far the other is willing to go. The deep and languid push and pull of their lips hastens into a messy clash of tongue until saliva starts to dribble down their chins, the sound of their pants and gasps echoing throughout the silent gymnasium.

When Oikawa presses Iwaizumi back against the wall, hands tightening on his hips, Iwaizumi has to pull away. Oikawa’s lips look so good like this, red and swollen, shining with their combined saliva.

“As much as I’d love to continue,” Iwaizumi pants, out of breath. “We’re inside of a high school volleyball gym. Do you really want to get arrested for trespassing and public indecency?”

Oikawa steps back a bit, arms still wrapped around his waist. He tilts his head and looks off to the side as if contemplating. “Hm…give me a second, I’m weighing my options.”

The vein in Iwaizumi’s forehead pops out in irritation.

“I’m a professional athlete, I can pay the bail.”

Iwaizumi flicks him on the forehead, and Oikawa cries out, bringing hands up to cradle his head. “Hey!”

“You’re terrible. Let’s clean up and we can go back to my house.”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa slip into the house, removing their shoes and tiptoeing to the kitchen. A note is taped to the fridge.

.

“Looks like we’re in luck,” Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa. “Mom won’t be home until tomorrow.”

Instead of replying, Oikawa strides forward and pulls Iwaizumi into a bruising kiss. The change in pace is unexpected, but not unwanted. This kiss is more teeth and tongue than anything else, and it’s perfect. Oikawa pushes him back against the wall--he has a thing for that--and brings his hand behind his head to keep Iwaizumi from hurting himself. Iwaizumi’s hands come up to shed Oikawa of his jacket and the fabric falls to the ground with a muted plop. It takes a great deal of effort to leave the kitchen and walk down the hall toward his old bedroom because they absolutely refuse to part for longer than a breath.

Iwaizumi spins Oikawa around until the setter’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he falls onto the mattress. Iwaizumi’s added weight makes the bed creak a bit as he clambers on top of him, caging Oikawa’s head with his elbows. He slowly slides a hand down the brunette’s side until his fingertips sneak beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. Oikawa’s breath catches in his throat as a shiver runs down his spine at the contact.

Slowly, Iwaizumi pushes the fabric up, sitting up and pulling away to watch as enticing milky skin is revealed inch by aching inch. The blush on Oikawa’s cheeks turns a deep crimson with the suddenly intense and undivided attention on him. Iwaizumi’s pupils are blown wide, leaving only the thinnest ring of green. His thumbs brush against Oikawa’s nipples and the man beneath him jolts violently.

“Sensitive,” Iwaizumi teases.

“Oh hush,” Oikawa grumbles, looking away once Iwaizumi finally sheds him of his shirt. Iwaizumi lets out a heavy breath before dipping back down to capture those intoxicating lips between his own. Their tongues meet in the middle, and Oikawa surrenders as Iwaizumi’s tongue swipes over his teeth.

Iwaizumi detaches himself from Oikawa’s lips and decides to venture downwards. He kisses his jaw and licks at his ear before sucking on the sensitive spot just below the lobe. Oikawa cries out, hands flying up to fist themselves in Iwaizumi’s shirt.

“I-Iwa--!” Iwaizumi cuts him off when he bites at the soft skin of his neck then laps at the fresh bruise with a soothing tongue. He repeats the action a few more times until Oikawa’s pretty neck is littered with marks.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa gasps, scandalized. “I have a photoshoot with the team tomorrow!”

“So?” Iwaizumi sits up and smirks down at him with beaming pride over the masterpiece he’s just created, thumbs rubbing small circles over the smooth skin at Oikawa’s waist.

“So, I can’t be walking in with hickies all over-- Ah!”

Iwaizumi’s lips attach themselves to a pert nipple while his hand sneaks up to pinch at the other. It pebbles beneath his touch and Iwaizumi can feel the shiver that racks through Oikawa’s body at the action. His free hand slowly creeps lower until he can press the palm of his hand into the now prominent bulge in Oikawa’s shorts.

“Hnngh, Iwa-- F-fuck, please,” the setter pants above him, fingers clenching the sheets. Iwaizumi pulls off and switches his attention to the other nipple while gently massaging his crotch, waiting for Oikawa to continue. “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines again.

“Yes?”

Oikawa looks away from Iwaizumi’s burning gaze, suddenly growing bashful at his own desperation. As much as Iwaizumi enjoys teasing the other, he doesn’t want Oikawa to say or do anything that genuinely embarasses him. He understands what he wants, though, so he removes his own shirt before returning his hands to the waistband of Oikawa’s shorts. His eyes search for Oikawa’s, silently asking permission.

But when the setter does not meet his gaze, Iwaizumi pulls his hands away. This causes Oikawa to look at him with a slight panic in his eyes, blush high on his cheeks.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Iwaizumi says honestly.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been wanting to have sex with you ever since I discovered porn!” That confession makes blood rush down south so fast, Iwaizumi feels a little dizzy at the sudden blood loss to his brain. But he wills the ache in his treacherous dick to go down in favor of focusing on the very obvious issue at hand. Iwaizumi raises a questioning brow when Oikawa says nothing more.

“I’m just…” Oikawa looks away again, and Iwaizumi’s brows furrow. “It’s stupid,” he whispers quietly, but Iwaizumi hears him loud and clear.

“Hey, no. Talk to me.” Iwaizumi slides off Oikawa’s thighs to sit on the bed. Oikawa sits up too, but his eyes are glued to his lap. Iwaizumi’s heart aches at the fact that Oikawa is still hesitant with him. He brings a hand up to cup the setter’s face and tilts his chin up, until brown finally meets green. “Whatever you have to say, I promise I’m not going to judge you or anything. I’ve loved you my entire life and I’m not about to stop now.”

Oikawa huffs through his nose, bottom lip jutting out. “I’m just… nervous.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen. He wasn’t expecting that answer--not from the always confident and always flirty setter that he’s grown to love more than life itself.

“I haven’t done it in a really long time, and I’m scared you’re not gonna enjoy it with me or something. I want our first time to be perfect. What if I’m bad? I don’t want to disappoint you…” He sounds genuinely concerned. For a brief moment, Iwaizumi wonders who Oikawa’s been with in the past that’s made him feel so…unsure of himself. Whoever it was, he hates them, and curses them for eternity.

“Shittykawa, you never have to worry about disappointing me. Even if you mess up and you accidentally punch me in the face or something, I’m still going to enjoy this, because it’s with you. With a body like yours,” Iwaizumi emphasizes his words with soft fingertips brushing against Oikawa’s bare arm, “how can I not? And for the record, I haven’t done it in a while either.”

That seems to make the other perk up a bit.

“Okay. I’m sorry for ruining the moment.”

Iwaizumi smiles endearingly, pulling the setter into his arms. He peppers soft kisses all across his scrunched face and Oikawa giggles at the ticklish attack to his face. “Don’t ever apologize for speaking your mind, okay?”

Oikawa nods.

“Good. Now, just try to relax. Stop worrying so much.” Iwaizumi ends his sentence with another kiss to his pouting lips. Oikawa easily reciprocates the gesture, because at least this, he knows how to do. And he knows he’s damn good at it.

Slowly, Iwaizumi starts to lean back against the headboard, pulling the athlete closer. His fingers come down to Oikawa’s waistband once again and he slips just the tips of them in. He feels the setter’s shoulders tense and for a moment, Oikawa’s tongue goes limp in Iwaizumi’s mouth.

The trainer has spent years studying the most minuscule drops in Oikawa’s mood and the barest hints of Oikawa apprehension, so feeling the setter grow rigid before him is as obvious as a slap to the face. Iwaizumi pulls away once more with a quiet sigh, eliciting a small whine of protest from the other. Oikawa is looking away again, but this time out of shame for ruining the moment yet again.

“Tooru, look at me.” And again, Iwaizumi cups his face and forces the setter to look at him. “What’s going on, babe?” Iwaizumi asks. His voice isn’t tense or irritated or annoyed, he sounds genuinely concerned. As always, he’s putting Oikawa over his own feelings and desires.

“You know we don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do anything. We can go as far as you want. I want you to do what makes you comfortable. I don’t care if it’s perfect or not, I just care that you enjoy yourself, because as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Don’t feel like you have to force yourself because of me. That’s the last thing I want.”

“No no no, I really want to! I do! I just--”

“Would it make you feel better if I went first?”

Oikawa’s words die on his tongue and his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. “Wha-- Ahem, what do you mean?”

Iwaizumi places a hand on his hip and yanks him closer. He can feel the setter’s cock pressing into the inside of his thigh. Oikawa shivers when the trainer’s hot breath ghosts over his ear.

“I’m asking if you want to fuck me.”

Iwaizumi didn’t think it was possible for Oikawa to blush any harder, yet here he is. A low moan escapes the setter’s lips at the thought and Iwaizumi smirks to himself when he sees all of his doubt and anxiety ebb away, quickly replaced by burning desire.

“Please,” Oikawa breathes out, and Iwaizumi springs into action.

The trainer shimmies down a bit until his head is resting on the pillows, with Oikawa hovering over him. The moonlight shining in through the blinds casts a hazy glow over the couple. Oikawa has always looked best in the moonlight.

Iwaizumi is nervous as all hell, and of course he’s worried that he won't be able to satisfy Oikawa in the way that he deserves, but he refuses to let his nerves get the better of him. Oikawa has always been the more insecure of the two, and tonight, nine years later, that hasn’t changed. If Iwaizumi needs to seal away his own anxiety in favor of comforting and encouraging his soulmate, then so be it.

“Alright then, get to it, pretty boy. Show me what I’ve been missing all these years.”

Oikawa needs no further encouragement. He dives in for a deep kiss as his hands scatter down to fumble with Iwaizumi’s belt. It jingles when it drops to the floor. Iwaizumi could get drunk off the taste of Oikawa on his lips, and maybe he already has. His eyelids grow heavy with arousal when Oikawa’s slim and deft fingers pop open the button of his jeans, the relief on his groin forcing a groan from his throat.

It seems that Oikawa’s confidence grows with every new sound he’s able to pull from the smaller man beneath him. And even though it embarasses him to do so, Iwaizumi swallows his pride and allows the setter to take care of him. His jeans join his belt on the floor.

When Oikawa wraps his fingers around Iwaizumi’s heavy cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, Iwaizumi doesn’t hold back his low moans. It spurs Oikawa on further, and he wastes no time in yanking his boxers down, pulling back from their kiss to look down at the masterpiece before him.

It is thoroughly embarrassing to be fully naked and exposed when Oikawa still has his entire lower body covered, but Oikawa’s eyes are reverent as they memorize every dip and curve and bulging muscle on Iwaizumi’s body. After a few minutes of heated silence, Iwaizumi can’t stand it anymore.

“Are you just gonna stare all day or what?” He snaps flusteredly.

“I would not be opposed to the idea,” Oikawa replies smoothly. Great. His sly confidence has found its way back home.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll just get myself off, then.” He wraps a hand around his aching member, but Oikawa quickly snatches his wrist and yanks it away.

“Don’t,” Oikawa says, a salacious glint in his chocolate eyes. Oikawa lies down on his front and slides down the bed, leaving soft kisses across Iwaizumi’s sculpted abs and strong hips. Iwaizumi sighs breathily at the feeling.

He slowly moves down and passes the fully erect and aching cock in favor of biting at Iwaizumi’s toned thighs. Iwaizumi flinches, legs already beginning to shake. He can’t believe he’s this easily affected by something so simple. God, when Oikawa really gets going, he’s done for.

“Oikawa, come on,” Iwaizumi groans impatiently, hand shooting out to bury itself in those incredibly soft brown locks when Oikawa nips at the innermost part of his thigh, cheek brushing against his cock. “It hurts.”

Oikawa looks up, mouth quirking up into a smirk. Iwaizumi is about to cuss at him, but then the setter wraps his plush lips around the tip of his cock, and all argument gets caught in his throat.

“Fuck, that’s good.” It takes all of Iwaizumi’s willpower not to buck into the sweltering heat of Oikawa’s mouth. The setter starts with giving the tip small kitten licks, trying to get accustomed to Iwaizumi’s taste. It’s pleasant, almost sweet. Precum dribbles from the tip as he kisses up and down the shaft. Impatient and eager to please, he slowly begins to sink down, relaxing his jaw the best he can. When he feels the tip of Iwaizumi’s cock hit the back of his throat, he wraps his fingers around whatever he can’t fit. The trainer’s fingers tighten their hold on Oikawa’s hair, and the setter moans around his cock, the sensation making Iwaizumi cry out.

Oikawa pulls back until just the tip is hanging from his lips, and then he sinks down again. He continues to bob his head, setting a rhythm fast enough to make Iwaizumi’s thighs shake, but not fast enough to make him burst. It’s agonizing, the way his dick is swallowed and sucked by the man of his dreams. Iwaizumi swears he could come at the sight of it.

Oikawa takes a deep breath through his nose, seals his determination, and sinks down until his nose touches the small patch of hair at the base of Iwaizumi’s length. He takes a few seconds to remind himself to breathe, then swallows around the cock stuffed deep into his mouth.

“Fuck!” Iwaizumi yells out, hips involuntarily thrusting into the heat of Oikawa’s mouth. Oikawa gags and tears spring to his eyes as he jerks back a bit, but he keeps the heavy member in his mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry! Tooru, I’m sorry--”

“Mmm!” Oikawa hums adamantly around his cock. Seeing and hearing Iwaizumi lose his composure like that almost makes him burst. He wants him to do it again, and again, and again. He wants Iwa to use his mouth as he pleases until he’s crying out in ecstasy and releasing into his mouth.

The setter refuses to release Iwaizumi from his mouth, so in order to portray his desires, he sinks down as far as he can, forcing back his gag reflex. Iwaizumi’s clouded eyes widen.

“Ah, Tooru, can I?” Oikawa nods fervently.

Iwaizumi uses the grip he has in his hair to push the setter down the same time he thrusts up. Oikawa’s hands fly to Iwa’s strong thighs and his eyes begin to roll back as the trainer starts to fuck his mouth. He hits deeper with each thrust and the tears in Oikawa’s eyes escape.

“You--hah--you feel so amazing, Tooru. You’re, god, you’re doing so well,” Iwaizumi gasps, thrusts growing erratic and thighs shaking so violently it makes the bed creak. Oikawa groans at the praise and does his best to tighten his lips around the base of his cock. He can physically feel the coiling of Iwaizumi’s gut and Oikawa’s heart flutters with excitement.

Oikawa brings a hand up to his neck and moans at the feeling of Iwaizumi’s cock sliding down his throat. Iwaizumi cannot believe he just did that. It has to be the single most arousing thing he's ever experienced in all his life. Oikawa squeezes at his throat lightly, and that final burst of pressure makes Iwaizumi shout. Thick, hot semen flows down Oikawa’s throat, and the setter swallows as much as he can. But it quickly becomes too much, and Iwaizumi’s release starts to spill out the corners of his mouth.

He lets the trainer ride out his high as the last drops of come are sucked from his cock, and then Oikawa pulls off and sits back on his heels with a smug grin on his parted lips, panting slightly. He uses his thumb to wipe at the spit and excess cum dribbling down his chin, then sucks on the digit. The action makes Iwaizumi’s limp cock stir.

“That was fast,” Oikawa teases.

“Shut up. It’s not my fault this has been my biggest fantasy since like, forever.”

“You were pretty loud. I liked it.” Oikawa crawls forward like a cat and bites at Iwaizumi’s lips. The latter pulls him in for a heated kiss and immediately pushes his tongue into Oikawa’s perfect mouth, licking it clean of his release. When they pull apart, a thin string of saliva connects them.

“I could tell. You like pleasing, don’t you?”

Oikawa shrugs, but Iwaizumi can see right through him. The carnal desire etched into his skin is clear as day. “I certainly like the praise.”

Iwaizumi raises a brow, and Oikawa realizes what he’d just said. He didn’t mean to open up about one of his biggest kinks so quickly, but he can’t help it! Iwaizumi is just so alluring. He’s never been able to keep a secret from him.

“Oh?” Iwaizumi chortles. “Noted.”

Oikawa pouts at him before silencing him with more kisses. Iwaizumi can tell he really likes kissing, for he starts to get antsy if their lips stay apart for more than a couple minutes. Now that Oikawa seems to have calmed down just a bit, Iwaizumi brings cautious fingers back to his waistband. Oikawa must be dying to get out of his tight gym shorts.

“Is this okay?” Iwaizumi asks, just to be sure. Oikawa is panting, his sweet breath fanning over the other’s face.

“Yeah, more than okay,” Oikawa whispers truthfully. Iwaizumi pushes Oikawa back so he can remove the shorts. They join Iwaizumi’s clothes on the floor.

“Nice,” Iwaizumi can’t help but chuckle at the alien printed boxers adorning this god of a man. They’re just so…Tooru.

“Stop it,” Oikawa whines, bringing his legs in and hiding his face behind his hands. Iwaizumi feels a little bad--just a little--so he rubs at Oikawa’s pale thighs until his muscles slowly start to loosen.

“They’re cute,” Iwaizumi defends.

“You’re lying, stop making fun of me!” Oikawa huffs, resembling a temperamental child.

“I’m not. They’re cute, and you’re cute.” Iwaizumi uses one hand to slowly pull Oikawa’s hands from his face and uses the other to trace the outline of Oikawa’s thick cock with his fingertip, reveling in the gasp it elicits from the man before him. “You don’t need to be embarrassed with me.”

Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa forward by the back of his neck and nuzzles his nose into the junction between his shoulder and neck, Oikawa doing the same. Slowly, Iwaizumi scoots forward so he’s sitting between Oikawa’s long outstretched legs, and slips his fingers past that last barrier of fabric to wrap his strong fingers around the surprisingly large girth of Oikawa’s cock.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whimpers quietly. His fingers ball into fists where they’re resting on Iwaizumi’s wide shoulders.

“I’m right here, Tooru,” Iwaizumi croons into his neck as he starts to pump the length, the precum making the slide of his hand easier. Oikawa’s toes curl where they’re pressed against Iwaizumi’s hips. When Iwaizumi gives a particularly good tug, Oikawa cries out and falls back on his hands. He looks absolutely incredible like this, with his brown curls stuck to his shining forehead, slim waist and soft abs glistening in the moonlight, eyes shut tight in ecstasy. His thighs tremble and his knees are slightly bent, with Iwaizumi sitting between them.

“Oh god, Iwa-- I can’t-- No, I’m gonna--”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you. You can let go, I’m right here. You’re doing so great, baby,” Iwaizumi whispers, the pet name slipping out before he can help himself. He thumbs at Oikawa’s leaking slit and the setter’s arms give out beneath him. He flops back onto the mattress with a shrill whine, nearly screaming his name as his back arches high and he comes into Iwaizumi’s tight fist and onto his tan abs. Iwaizumi shushes him and rubs at his vibrating thighs as Oikawa twitches through his release.

“You looked so beautiful, Tooru,” Iwaizumi hums after Oikawa comes back down, tickling his cheek to bring the setter back to himself. Oikawa’s eyes flutter open, chest heaving with deep intakes of air. Iwaizumi smiles warmly. “Do you want to stop?”

Oikawa, despite his rather fatigued state, shakes his head frantically. He shoots up so fast he nearly bangs Iwa’s head with his own. “No! You said I could fuck you!”

Iwaizumi cringes at the loud tone of his voice and his crude words. To be honest, now that some of his previous arousal has subsided, Iwaizumi’s stomach starts to bubble with the smallest hint of apprehension. He doesn’t care about positions, or who does what and all that bullshit, but he’s never had someone...penetrate him. Of course he’s fingered himself before, he’s not a fucking prude, but his fingers could never reach that spot that’s supposed to make you see stars or whatever, so he’s always just stuck to classic masturbating.

And sure, he’s been with a few people, had a few one night stands, made a few drunken decisions, but they always preferred to be on the bottom. And those were mostly during his college days, when he was at his lowest and loneliest. He would rather have a lack of sexual activity than a lack of affection. All those bodies were just used to fill an unfillable void, quench an unquenchable thirst the younger Iwaizumi refused to admit to. Only Oikawa can satisfy his deepest desires, and because he just went on about how Oikawa needs to be honest with him, Iwaizumi is going to be honest with Oikawa.

“I’ve never been fucked before,” Iwaizumi whispers as quietly as he can. Oikawa’s brows scrunch together and he leans in closer.

“What did you say, Iwa-chan?”

“I said I’ve never been fucked before!”

Oikawa blinks at him. The silence is starting to deepen the pit in Iwaizumi’s stomach, and before he can help himself, he begins to grumble and climb off the bed. Oikawa snaps back to attention and frantically starts to pull Iwaizumi back.

“Wait, wait! Iwa! Stop, hey, it’s okay! I don’t mind that you’re a virgin--!”

“I’m not a fucking virgin! I just said I’ve never been fucked before! I’m always the one that does the fucking,” Iwaizumi huffs defensively. He doesn’t know why he’s getting so angry. Perhaps he’s more embarrassed about it than he thought. Maybe even a little scared.

“Oh,” Oikawa mumbles, finally starting to understand. He isn’t the least bit affected by Iwaizumi’s outburst. He did grow up with him, afterall. “You can stick it in me then! I don’t mind!”

Iwaizumi’s face bursts into flames at Oikawa’s vulgar choice of words. How this man can be so utterly shameless, Iwaizumi will never understand.

“But you sounded really eager to…y’know.” Iwaizumi shrugs.

Oikawa sighs and pulls Iwaizumi’s hands into his own lap. “Iwa-chan, you need to practice what you preach! As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. And sure, it would be nice to finally be on top for once, especially with you, but if you’re not comfortable or ready for that, then it’s no biggie! In fact, this is actually great! Look at how much we’re communicating during our first time!” His smile shines brighter than the moon.

Iwaizumi’s shoulders relax and that pit in his stomach slowly starts to disappear. He knows Oikawa is being truthful and that he really doesn’t mind, but he also knows that Oikawa really does want to try this. And deep down, Iwaizumi has been a bit curious what it might feel like to be filled up. The idea of Oikawa pushing into him, face pinched at the tightness of a practically unfucked hole would certainly be a sight to see…

Iwaizumi exhales deeply, ears burning red, then meets Oikawa’s smiling eyes. “Will you…be gentle with me?”

Oikawa squeezes Iwa’s hands softly. God, he is just so cute! “Oh, Iwa-chan, of course! I’ll go as slow as you need, and whenever you want to take a break or need me to stop, just tell me.”

“Okay.” Iwaizumi slowly starts to lie back against the pillows, and Oikawa quickly grabs one and instructs him to put it under his hips so he’s propped up just a bit. Oikawa licks his lips subconsciously as Iwaizumi stretches out, naked and vulnerable just for him. Suddenly, Iwaizumi comes to a sickening realization. “Fuck, I don’t have any lube, or condoms, or--”

“It’s okay. I’ve used other methods for loosening things up, it might just take a little longer. And I’m completely clean, but it’s entirely up to you.”

“Alright…” Iwaizumi breathes out, relieved. “I’m clean too, if you wanna do it without the-- yeah.” He can’t bring himself to say such shameful words. Oikawa nods in understanding before slowly crawling forward and placing his hands on Iwa’s knees.

“You’re gonna have to open your legs if you want me to do this, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s cheeks are positively burning. He allows his legs to fall open and tries not to let his doubts get to him. He’s not sure when or how their positions switched like this, with Oikawa being Mr. Confident and Iwaizumi being… Iwaizumi. But he’s going to work on being more open and honest about his feelings, because he knows Oikawa deserves at least that much.

Oikawa runs his large, warm hands up and down the expanse of Iwaizumi’s torso, his fingers tracing the curves of his muscles. “God, you have no idea how much I’ve pictured you like this. I spent years thinking about you while we were apart, even up until this very moment. I’ve missed you so much, Hajime.”

“I’ve missed you more,” Iwaizumi breathes out. Oikawa leans down to kiss him.

“I would even ask Tobio-chan about you,” Oikawa giggles. The thought of his best friend during such an intimate and tender moment makes Iwaizumi’s face twist in disgust.

“Ew, oh my god, can we not talk about him while you’re getting ready to fuck my ass?”

Something in Oikawa’s eyes darken. They now look black instead of brown and his pink lips are pulled back into a lazy smirk. “You’re so vulgar, Iwa-chan. How about you put that mouth to good use and make these nice and wet for me, hm?”

Oikawa brings his fingertips up to Iwaizumi’s lips as he speaks to him in that tone he often used to intimidate other schools during his days as captain. The tone had always excited something deep within him, and right now, with it directed straight at him, it makes his cock impossibly hard. Iwaizumi parts his lips and chokes back a moan as Oikawa’s taste and scent instantly invade his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the digits and forces his eyes not to roll back as Oikawa pushes them deeper.

“Mhmm, just like that, Iwa-chan. The wetter you make them, the better this will feel.”

Iwaizumi hums and gathers as much saliva in his mouth as he can. After a couple minutes of Oikawa basically fucking his mouth with his fingers, he pulls the dripping digits out.

“I’m going to start now, okay?”

Iwaizumi lets out a shuddering breath, swallowing thickly, as the setter sits back on his heels and starts to circle a wet fingertip over Iwaizumi’s tight ring of muscle. “O-okay.”

Slowly, Oikawa starts to push in, and Iwaizumi’s eyes squeeze shut at the burn. Once he gets to the first knuckle, he rubs at Iwaizumi’s tense thigh gently.

“Iwa,” Oikawa calls softly, and the trainer cracks one eye open. “Take a deep breath. Try to relax as much as you can.”

Iwaizumi follows his instructions, and Oikawa successfully shoves the first finger all the way in. It doesn’t hurt, per say, but it feels strange. Iwaizumi doesn’t really remember what it felt like when he tried fingering himself, it was so long ago.

“Are you okay?”

Iwaizumi huffs. “Yeah--just--feels weird. Can you--ngh--can you kiss me?”

Oikawa smiles and pushes himself forward, capturing Iwaizumi’s waiting lips between his own. The slide of their tongues helps distract Iwaizumi from the strange sensation of Oikawa slowly thrusting in and out with his single finger. His breathing begins to quicken, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He’s sure Oikawa can feel it with the way they’re pressed against each other like this.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Oikawa breathes into his neck. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

Iwaizumi can only hum in agreement. The setter is kissing at the sensitive spot on Iwaizumi’s pulse point that he discovered earlier when he tries pushing in a second finger. The smaller man immediately clenches around the intrusive digits, momentarily pulling away from the kiss to bite at his swollen lower lip. Oikawa does his best to soothe him and get him to relax, rubbing a reassuring hand up and down his side, but to no avail. The absence of lube is making things really difficult, and some of the spit from Iwa’s mouth has already dried up.

Oikawa pulls the tip of his second finger out and goes back down to get a look. Iwaizumi’s eyes fly open, and his stomach is churning, and it’s all just so embarrassing. “Oi, Sh-Shittykawa, don’t--!”

Oikawa licks a thick stripe over the tight muscle, and Iwaizumi cries out.

“O-Oikawa! No! It’s--ahhngh--it’s gross!”

The brunette continues to lap and suck at the hole while simultaneously thrusting his finger in and out. The extra spit makes the slide much easier. When he slowly starts to push his tongue in along with his finger, Iwaizumi lets out a high pitched whine. It’s the hottest sound Oikawa’s ever heard and he knows he won’t last long once he finally gets to sink inside his tight heat.

Iwaizumi grips his hair and both pushes Oikawa down and tries to pull him back. Oikawa smiles to himself when he’s able to slip in a second digit without Iwaizumi even noticing. He begins to scissor him open, and with the addition of his wet tongue, things finally start to head in the right direction.

“Oh--jesus--good. You’re so--good--!”

Oikawa is driving him absolutely insane. He can feel the thrusting of his fingers and tongue, and although he hasn’t hit the spot Iwaizumi isn’t even sure is there, the sensation has his toes curling. It’s the strangest thing, but the sound of Oikawa eating him out and his resolve to stay as quiet as possible distracts him from the mild burn.

Suddenly, Oikawa curls his fingers up, and something akin to electricity shoots down Iwaizumi’s spine and straight to his bobbing cock. Every nerve in his entire body is on fire when Oikawa starts pressing upwards, and Iwaizumi couldn’t hold back his noises even if he tried. His hips jolt up into Oikawa’s face and he screams the setter’s name so loud he’s sure the neighbors across the street can hear him.

“Found it,” Oikawa says smugly, eyes wide in fascination. Iwaizumi barely manages to slip his eyes open to look at him, but then Oikawa’s pushing in another expert finger and pressing on that bundle of nerves again, and Iwaizumi’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

Okay. Iwaizumi gets it now. He’s never felt such pleasure in his entire life, and he can hardly wait for Oikawa to put the real thing inside him.

“Fuck! T--hnngh--Tooru,” Iwaizumi gasps, abdomen muscles clenched tight with how hard he’s holding back his orgasm.

“That’s it, Iwa-chan. Let me hear you. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s--fucking christ--it’s good. You’re perfect--but--I--m-more. I need, oh god, I need more.”

“More?” Oikawa questions innocently. “I’ve already got three fingers inside, Iwa-chan.”

It takes everything inside Iwaizumi to muster up a dangerous glare. “That’s not what I--Agh!”

Oikawa tweaks his wrist and presses on the spot again. His gorgeous face is twisted into a shit-eating grin, and Iwaizumi wants to kiss that filthy smugness straight off.

“You motherfucker,” Iwaizumi grits out despite the way his hips are grinding down on his fingers, trying to make him hit his prostate again.

“Now, Iwa, is that any way to ask for things? If you want something, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

The sadistic little shit knows exactly what he’s doing to him. So this is why he wanted to fuck Iwaizumi so bad. He’s getting off to the sight of Iwaizumi losing his well-built composure.

“Tooru, if you don’t put your goddamn dick inside me right fucking now, I’m gonna come and leave you alone to deal with your own stupid ass boner.”

Oikawa needs no further convincing. The hardness of his cock is downright painful, and his precum has been steadily oozing out since the moment Iwa screamed his name. He wants to make him scream again. He wants to make him scream until he wakes up the entire neighborhood and his voice stays raw for days.

When Oikawa removes his fingers with a dirty squelch, Iwaizumi borderline whimpers. His hole flutters around nothing, begging to be filled back up. Oikawa doesn’t leave him waiting long, hurriedly spitting on his hand and grabbing ahold of his cock before pressing the head in.

Iwaizumi grunts and squeezes at Oikawa’s strong shoulders, face scrunched. “Fuck, did every part of you get bigger after high school?” Iwaizumi grinds out.

Oikawa giggles. “You used to look at my dick, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi forces his eyes to focus. “Of course I did. You’re hot as fuck and I’m in love with you. What else would I have jerked off to in high school?”

Oikawa whines at the praise and involuntarily thrusts in a couple more inches. Iwaizumi hisses at the burn. “Sorry, sorry.” Oikawa rubs at his hips. “I’m just so-- I’m in love with you too, Iwa-chan.” He leans down to peck at his scrunched face.

Iwaizumi sighs out as he slowly begins to adjust to the width, Oikawa slipping in a few centimeters every couple seconds. It feels like the plunge inside is never-ending. He seriously underestimated how big Oikawa is.

“Is it all the way in yet?” Iwaizumi’s deep voice is nothing but a raspy whisper.

“Almost. You’re doing--ah--doing so well, Iwa. You’re taking me so--shit--so well,” Oikawa chokes out, the effort of staying in place making his hips shake. He finally pushes in that final inch until his hips are flush with Iwa’s ass. He moans out at the sweltering heat engulfing his cock, and bottoms out. “There, it’s in.”

Iwaizumi lets out a breath of relief, legs starting to ache where they’re just hanging up in the air, knees bent. “Just--ah--just give me a second. It burns.”

“I can pull out if you--”

“Don’t you dare,” Iwaizumi threatens, voice strained and tight, digging the backs of his heels into Oikawa’s ass. The gusto in his voice makes Oikawa gulp, nerves ablaze with excitement. He waits as patiently as possible, a drop of sweat sliding down his temple. It feels like an eternity before Iwaizumi speaks again.

“Okay, you can move. But--ngh--do it slowly,” he commands a little more aggressive than intended. “Please.”

Oikawa pulls Iwaizumi’s legs over his shoulders and grips at his hips tightly. He slowly pulls out until the tip almost slips out, then pushes back in with one slow, deep thrust. The new angle hits Iwaizumi deeper than any fingers ever could, and before long, he’s moaning along with Oikawa’s pitched grunts of pleasure.

“You’re so--tight. You weren’t kidding,” Oikawa whines. “You really haven’t been--ugh--touched down here.”

Iwaizumi’s moans are louder than when Oikawa was blowing him. It spurs him on, and his hips snap against Iwaizumi’s ass. The smaller man’s blunt fingernails press into his shoulder blades and drag down to the bottom of his back. There will be marks there tomorrow, and Oikawa is vibrating with anticipation.

“Couldn’t--shit--couldn’t imagine this with--hmf--anyone else,” Iwaizumi grunts out between Oikawa’s thrusts.

When Oikawa presses their lips together, the kiss is nothing more than an exchange of groans and hot breaths and high whimpers. “Hah! Faster!” Iwaizumi gasps into his mouth.

Oikawa doesn’t need to be told twice. He finds a quick rhythm that has Iwaizumi arching his back, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. His mouth hangs open as Oikawa’s grip on his hips tightens so hard he’s sure it’s bruising and his thrusts hit so deep the headboard of Iwaizumi’s bed starts thumping against the wall. The creaking of the bed and the slapping of skin is easily overpowered by the sounds of their shared cries of pleasure.

“Oh god, Ha--jime--you look--so sexy under me, taking me--hnngh--in--so deep! I’m gonna--haaah--I’m gonna come--fuck!”

Iwaizumi wants to tell Oikawa to shut up and stop talking, he can barely hear his wonderfully mortifying words over his own pulse in his ears and the squelching down below where they’re attached in the most intimate of ways. Oikawa presses Iwaizumi’s knees against his chest and practically bends the smaller man in half, thrusting into him with an insatiable hunger. When Oikawa hits the spot that makes him forget his own name, Iwaizumi sobs, so deep in his state of pleasure he can’t hold back his screams.

“There! Fuck! So--good! T-Tooru, harder!”

The setter quickly wraps his hand around Iwaizumi’s leaking cock as he feels his own release approaching. He drives into that spot harder and faster, the jerking of his hand following the quick pace of his thrusts. Iwaizumi holds onto him for dear life, tongue going slack in his gaping mouth. The coil deep in Oikawa’s gut tightens like a bowstring being pulled taut. Iwaizumi is so fucking tight, and Oikawa knows he’s about to come, but he needs to see the other lose himself first.

“Ha--shit--Hajime, I can’t-- Any more--”

“Come in me, Tooru! Come!”

Oikawa’s hand tightens on Iwaizumi’s shaft the same time his cock makes its final plunge. His last few thrusts hit so hard it punches the air from Iwaizumi’s gut.

“Yes! Oh god, yes, yes, yes!” Iwaizumi sobs, tears falling freely, barely managing to catch his breath. He isn’t sure if he’s crying from pleasure, pain, the revelation that Oikawa is finally here and they’re finally okay after so many years of suffering, or a mixture of all three. Oikawa’s thrusts have grown erratic and jolty, and he’s so mesmerized with the expression on Iwaizumi’s face, he almost misses it when the man beneath him snaps.

“Co--Agh! Coming! I’m coming! Tooru!” Iwaizumi shouts, stomach convulsing as he shoots onto both their chests and quite possibly blacks out. The tightening of Iwaizumi’s hole pulls Oikawa’s orgasm from him with a loud, high pitched whine. Both of their faces are soaked with sweat and tears. His cock releases inside, coating Iwa’s walls with hot semen. Iwaizumi swallows down big gulps of air, fingers loosening where they were scratching at Oikawa’s skin.

“I love you. I love you so much,” Oikawa sobs silently while riding out his high, shallowly grinding inside, until Iwaizumi lets out a low whimper and weakly pushes at his hips. He pulls out with a groan before landing face first in the pillows beside the smaller man. Exhaustion is already starting to pull at his eyelids, but he forces it away because he needs to tend to his…best friend? Boyfriend?

Oikawa would not mind that. They can talk about it later.

He hurriedly rushes to the bathroom to grab a washcloth, weaving through the halls with practiced ease. When he returns to the bedroom, the sight before him is straight out of his dreams.

Iwaizumi is lying limply on the bed with his eyes hidden behind the crook of his elbow, chest heaving, sweaty skin shining like the stars. Iwaizumi is pretty sure he’s never experienced an orgasm in his entire life, because this is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Every muscle in his entire body aches and he loves it, craves to feel filled again and again until he no longer remembers his name, the only thing falling from his lips being the name of the man that took care of him so well. He screamed Oikawa’s name with wild abandonment, and god did it feel good to just…let go. To feel.

When Oikawa tiptoes over to the bed, he swallows down a groan as he watches his cum dribble out from Iwaizumi’s puffy hole. The warm moisture of Oikawa wiping at his hole makes Iwa jolt but he continues to lie there, limbs turned to jelly, too embarrassed he can’t possibly meet the setter’s eyes. He’s fearful that if he speaks, his raw and broken throat will crack.

Oikawa continues to wipe away their mess, gently running the cloth over the insides of his thighs and over the smooth skin of his abdomen. Oikawa quickly runs the cloth across his own stomach and chest then throws it down to join the pile of clothes on the ground. He carefully climbs over Iwaizumi’s body, doing his best not to touch or shock him, and sits against the wall. Oikawa is very perceptive when it comes to Iwaizumi’s emotions and he can tell his friend is feeling a little self-conscious. He’s not one to be overly vocal or expressive in any situation, and he’s sure that applies to his bedroom activities. Not only was this Iwaizumi’s first time being penetrated, but this was also probably his first time letting go like that. Oikawa feels honored he chose to share that with him.

After a few minutes of silence, the man before him finally speaks.

“Cold,” he croaks. God, he sounds so debauched.

“No worries, Iwa-chan! I’m a great personal heater!” Oikawa tries to lighten the mood. Personally, he’s feeling great. On cloud nine. That was hands down the greatest orgasm he’s ever had, and he had it with the man he’s loved his entire life.

“No, dumbass, I meant I want some damn clothes.”

Oh. Right. Oikawa gets up and walks toward the dresser, rifling through its contents to find some clothes that’ll fit them both. Oikawa’s a lot taller than he used to be, and Iwaizumi has beefed up considerably since high school.

He snickers to himself when he finds Iwaizumi’s old godzilla t-shirt. It’s thoroughly worn and stretched out, he’s sure it’ll still fit him. He takes out a pair of sweatpants that were buried deep inside and two pairs of boxers Iwaizumi had unpacked earlier that day.

Oikawa walks back to the bed and sits on the edge, pulling on the boxers and sweatpants. Then, he turns to Iwaizumi’s silent figure and places a feather light touch on his upper thigh. The man finally takes his arm away from his face, and fuck, the tears drying on his cheeks are glowing in the moonlight. If Oikawa hadn’t just come twice, he would be stirring back to life.

Iwaizumi pushes himself up and back against the headboard, brows pinching together at the sharp pain in his hips. Oikawa rolls up the shirt and reaches forward to help pull it over his head but Iwaizumi jerks away.

“I can dress myself, Loserkawa.”

Oikawa sighs, only the slightest bit irritated. Seriously, this man is so stubborn.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa starts gently, reaching forward to wipe away his dried tears. Iwaizumi averts his gaze when the action reminds him that he actually cried.“Let me take care of you for once.”

The latter makes no further argument. Oikawa pulls the shirt down and smiles to himself when he notices the blush high on Iwaizumi’s cheeks. He’s burning a hole into his wall, too shy to meet Oikawa’s fond eyes. He winces when Oikawa helps pull on the clean pair of boxers and the setter feels quite guilty upon noticing his pain.

When his fingers brush against Iwaizumi’s bruised hips, his stomach sinks. He was way too rough with him, especially for his first time being in that position. He totally took advantage of Iwa’s trust! God, he really is the worst. Oikawa can’t believe they spent so many years apart, and the moment they reunite, he hurts him!

Iwaizumi notices Oikawa’s remorseful eyes staring at his hips.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Hajime. I was so rough with you,” Oikawa mumbles, sounding close to tears. Iwaizumi is absolutely horrified when Oikawa looks up at him with heavy tears hanging on his eyelashes. “I’m so, so sorry--”

“What the hell are you apologizing for, stupid? I like it rough.”

“I- But--” Oikawa splutters at the confession. “I hurt you! Look!” Oikawa doesn’t even want to touch them. Iwaizumi follows his gaze down, and his eyes widen a bit at the prominent, finger-shaped bruises adorning his hips.

“Oh.”

“Oh?!” Oikawa squawks, and Iwaizumi cringes at the volume.

“I like them,” Iwaizumi shrugs. “Every time I look in the mirror, I’ll think of you.”

Oikawa buries his reddened face in his hands. “Iwa-chaaaannn, you can’t just say things like that!”

Iwaizumi lets out a low, scratchy chuckle. “Well, you were overthinking again. Sure, I may not be able to walk properly for the rest of the week, but I’m off work anyways. Plus, I’m sure your back is all fucked up because of me.”

“Hmph. I guess that’s true,” Oikawa grumbles, remembering both the delicious scratches running down his back and the mess of hickies littering his collarbones and chest. Suddenly, Oikawa’s face darkens again.

“What?” Iwaizumi sighs.

“Were you…disappointed?”

Iwaizumi looks genuinely shocked by the question. “Are you-- Please tell me you’re joking.”

“You got really quiet just a moment ago. You wouldn’t look at me. I just thought maybe you--”

“That’s because--” Iwaizumi huffs before softening his voice significantly. “I’ve never felt these things before, and I’ve never had sex with someone as important to me as you. I guess I was just trying to…process it all? I still can’t believe this is real. I’m scared I’m gonna wake up and this’ll all be a dream.”

“It’s real, Iwa. I’m real, and I’m right here.” Oikawa scoots closer and captures his lips. Iwaizumi brings a hand up to caress his pretty face, indulging in a few slow, lazy kisses before pulling back with that ever present frown Oikawa has grown to love.

“Also, I didn’t know I could be so…loud. It’s embarrassing. I sounded so stupid.”

“You sounded hot,” Oikawa says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m gonna have jerk-off material for months.”

“Jesus,” Iwaizumi groans, pushing Oikawa’s face away. The setter giggles as he falls forward and wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s now clothed torso. The smaller man can’t help but snort, easily pulling Oikawa up onto the bed. Oikawa lies there, head resting on Iwaizumi’s heartbeat. He could fall asleep to the easy, steady rhythm of it. God knows he’s done it many times before.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi mumbles.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Oikawa looks up at him with bleary eyes, sleep already starting to pull him away.

“For giving me another chance. I know I hurt you and I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but thank you.”

Oikawa pushes himself up with sheer determination, pressing his forehead against the other’s. They sit like that for a moment, neither man daring to break the comfortable silence they’ve both craved for the past nine tortuous years. Iwaizumi brings a trembling hand up to cup his face, and Oikawa finds it odd that he’s still so nervous after everything they’ve just done. His other hand is tracing the long surgical scar running down the inside of his knee, and although the nerve endings there have died off, replaced with fresh tissue, he can imagine the gentleness of the touch. It’s probably the most intimate thing he’s ever felt, because Oikawa remembers when Iwaizumi held his sobbing figure in his strong arms after he received the diagnosis, and he remembers Iwaizumi waving him away in the waiting room, and he remembers Iwaizumi being the first thing he saw when his heavy eyes opened, mind foggy from the anesthesia.

When Oikawa kisses him, he does his best to put everything he’s ever felt for the other man into that single touch. It’s soft and slow and just the right amount of pressure, and he hopes Iwaizumi can feel the breath of I love you, can taste the years of his suffering and can hear the way Oikawa swears he would do it all again if it meant he could relive this moment over and over until his deathbed.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says again.

“Yes?”

“I changed my mind. You’re not a cicada.”

Oikawa quirks his head to the side in confusion.

“I’ve decided that…I’m not going to let you go. I don’t want to. I want to be selfish, and I hope you’ll forgive me for that.”

Oikawa can’t help but giggle. He is so irrevocably in love with this man it physically aches him. He squishes Iwaizumi’s cheeks with his palms before pecking at his nose. “Be careful what you wish for, Iwa-chan, or else you’ll never get rid of me.”

“Good.” Iwaizumi’s thumbs are gentle where they rub at Oikawa’s cheekbones. “Because I love you, and I don’t ever want to live in a world where you’re not by my side every step of the way. I barely managed to survive it the first time.” Iwaizumi’s voice is a bit strained with the effort to hold back a sob.

Oikawa, on the other hand, is sobbing freely. His tears drip down his cheeks like hot wax and Iwaizumi struggles to catch every moonlight stained tear.

After Iwaizumi kisses him again and again and again (because he will never tire of the feeling of his soulmate against his lips) they both calm down and settle beneath the covers. Iwaizumi is tracing small circles along Oikawa’s bare torso and Oikawa is breathing in the scent of Iwaizumi, engraving it into that little section of his brain that’s titled ‘Iwaizumi Hajime.’ Their long legs are tangled beneath the sheets and their chests rise and fall at the same pace, and for once, everything is as it should be.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers. The latter gives a low, sleep-ridden grunt in acknowledgment. “Does this mean we’re dating?”

Iwaizumi slips one eye open, and even with one eye, he manages to roll it. “What part of ‘I need you by my side’ did you not understand?”

“Well, I just had to make sure! Maybe you were just saying that ‘cause you like making me cry.”

“God, you really are shitty. I don’t like making cry, not unless it’s followed by you coming in my ass.”

“Iwa-chan! So dirty!” Oikawa slaps at Iwaizumi’s rumbling chest lightly, pouting and burying his face into the other’s neck. Iwaizumi finally comes down from his fit of laughter and the two share a simultaneous contented sigh. As they both begin to succumb to the lull of sleep, Iwaizumi’s heart thaws the same time Oikawa’s becomes whole again. Oikawa closes his eyes, and he doesn’t tell Hajime that he has a plane to catch tomorrow evening and he doesn’t tell Hajime that he’s supposed to return to the home waiting for him on another continent, because home has always been and always will be with Hajime.

“I love you too, Iwa-chan. Now and forever.”

Iwaizumi pulls him impossibly closer.

And finally, after nine excruciatingly painful and long--terribly long--years, they both fall into a peaceful sleep.