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The hickey blooms bright red against the golden tan of Iwaizumi’s skin. It’s obnoxious and eye-catching and will darken a beautiful black-blue soon but Oikawa isn’t satisfied, clenching his jaw until Iwaizumi grunts, pawing at his shoulders.
He parts from the area begrudgingly but the sight of the bruise placates him. It rests high on his neck, at the junction of his jaw, and Oikawa thrills at the idea that he won’t be able to hide this, that he’ll be walking around for weeks with Oikawa’s imprint on him for all the world to see. He signs his handiwork with a kiss before leaning back to inspect Iwaizumi’s nude body. It’s a sight he’s already intimately familiar with, but the marks Kindaichi left behind are an alluring addition.
He traces the angry red lines with his own fingers, smirking at Iwaizumi’s soft gasp. Oikawa loves him like this; fresh out of an orgasm and perfectly content with letting Oikawa do as he wants.
“Kindaichi did a number on you down here Iwa-chan.” he digs his thumb into one of the more severe bites on his inner thigh. Iwaizumi’s teeth quickly peek out to bite down his abused bottom lip, caging in the sounds threatening to bubble to the surface.
From the corner of his vision, Kindaichi flinches like a scolded child, defensively readjusting Kunimi in his arms so he can burrow his face in the hollow of his collar.
“Sorry, Oikawa-san.”
Oikawa reaches out to pinch an endearingly large ear in reassurance, slowly easing off Iwaizumi to check on everyone else.
The lust had evaporated from the air and everyone is just casually draped over each other, the atmosphere slow and soft even with all of them completely naked. He raises his eyebrow when Kyoutani joins Yahaba and Watari on the bed, keeping an unobtrusive distance when the two resume kissing, nothing more than a languid slide of lips.
“Ten minutes?” Hanamaki chirps from his corner of the room, Matsukawa’s head on his lap. Yahaba parts from Watari with an obnoxious wet-sounding smack.
“You used to only need five, Hanamaki-san.”
“Cut the old man some slack. I blew him in the car before we drove down here.” Matsukawa mutters, sitting up, only to wince and sink right back onto Hanamaki’s lap. “Taka, sweetheart, I think you pulled something.”
Watari pulls Yahaba back on top of him, maybe to continue where they left off, but Oikawa can see how his shoulders are shaking from laughter even as Yahaba pulls the blanket over their heads. Kyoutani kicks the lump in the sheets and it’s only then that a hand comes up to grab him by the ear and pull him under to join the festivities.
“Ten minute break then.” Oikawa announces but the emphasis is ignored by the trio, if Kyoutani’s sudden moan is anything to go by.
He circles the room, dishing out a few last-minute reminders to stay hydrated and directing Hanamaki to the box of Salonpas and clean towels under his bed. Iwaizumi’s still curled up on the floor in a rare display of laziness and Oikawa drops a canister of breath mints on his head—Don’t look at me like that Iwa-chan, I saw you swallow earlier—before running out of the room.
He makes his way to the bathroom, locks the door behind him and breathes in, steeling his resolve. He steps over to the tub and pushes the curtain aside. Folded neatly on the edge of the tub is a uniform he hasn’t worn in years. The colors are all faded, but it’s still recognizable as their beloved teal and white.
If you don’t do it tonight, you’ll just be putting it off for another year. he tells himself, smacking his face with both hands.
It’s not even the wildest fantasy they’ve explored in all their annual sessions. Oikawa isn’t even sure why he’s nervous. It’s not like anyone’s in any position to judge either, when they’re all pretty much lying near the far end of the sexual deviance spectrum.
Just try it on. If it doesn’t feel right, you can walk back in there and keep going as normal.
His cheeks sting by the time he’s done, but he finds that his hands no longer shake when he runs his fingers through the polyester, then to the small rectangular packet set atop the clothes.
It’s still sealed in plastic, an impulse buy from a long time ago when he noticed that certain people seemed more inclined to do as he says when his legs are wrapped in sheer fabric and delicate lace. He rips the packaging open and slips them on, the silk sliding smoothly up his shaved legs. He strokes a hand along his thigh and closes his eyes. He thinks of hands pawing all over his naked body, over the fine mesh of the stockings, and shudders, files those thoughts away before he gets too excited.
The uniform goes on next and as expected, everything is far too short—ending a few inches above his wrists and ankles—and while it was comfortably loose on him all those years ago, now it stretches around him just enough to accentuate his body. Highly non-recommended for sports attire of course, but it’s not like he’s aiming to use these clothes for their intended purpose. He grabs socks long enough to cover what the pants can’t, and a pair of worn volleyball shoes completes the illusion.
Oikawa looks himself over one last time, making sure the surprise is well-hidden, needlessly picks at his jacket once or twice. He paces the cramped space, waiting for the burst of hesitation, the crawling sensation beneath his skin that usually came with discomfort, but the longer he spends in his uniform, the more he feels the memories associated with it molding into his skin, his actions. He turns to face his reflection in the mirror, smirks, and just like that he feels younger. He closes his eyes and swears he can still smell sweat-soaked leather on his palms, can hear the squeak of rubber across polished wood.
He steps out and walks back into the room, confidence and strength in his stride he hadn’t quite felt in years.
Oikawa opens the door with arguably far too much flair than necessary, but it does the job of magnetizing everyone’s attention, all heads swiveling as one when the door slams against the wall. Their eyes land on him and he watches keenly as they take him in. The confusion is expected. Several of them exchange glances, a pinch here and there to confirm if this is reality.
He turns to Iwaizumi last, and he’s just finished going through the last vestiges of shock. His expression shifts from What the hell are you trying to pull? to So is this how we’re going to play? and all Oikawa gives in reply is a slow, saccharine smile.
“Now then, today too…” he flicks his hands around, a needless little habit he can never quite get rid of, and those first few a words are all it takes for them to catch on. One by one, they slip into character: Matsukawa’s cat-like smirk, the unimpressed droop of Hanamaki’s lids, the lazy slump of Kunimi’s shoulders.
“I put my trust in all of you.”
-
Oikawa initially thought that there was absolutely no way for eight of them to be able to touch him all at once but as usual, his team exceeds his expectations.
He’s laid out on the sheet they’d pulled from his bed and spread out on the floor because no one is near coherent enough to properly lay out a futon. As soon as his back hits the soft fabric, Iwaizumi pins his wrists on either side of his head while everyone else gathers and positions themselves around him.
Oikawa purrs, writhing against Iwaizumi’s hold until it tightens just the slightest bit, on the edge of bruising.
“Are you sure you’d rather not be touching somewhere a little lower, Iwa-chan?”
Iwaizumi only quirks an eyebrow, aggravatingly unruffled. “I think the team already has that covered.”
Ah, true. Oikawa muses. There are already far too many hands than necessary to simply get him undressed but he’s not complaining. Their fervor fuels him. We want you. their touch sings, the pop of stitches and clatter of zippers serving as perfect instrumentals.
As soon as all the metal teeth come apart, hands spring to rip it off of him. The attention washes hot and potent over him like a shot of alcohol. His gaze slides across every single one of their faces, ego puffing up especially with how Hanamaki licks his lips, how Kunimi’s large eyes roam every inch of exposed skin with rare intensity.
Iwaizumi releases him only long enough for Kunimi and Yahaba to wrestle the jacket off. Kyoutani and Hanamaki finally pull his pants down to his knees and Watari gasps. Suddenly the excitable hands freeze, several Adam’s apples bobbing as they swallow in disbelief at the sight of the stockings. Oikawa loves it, knowing that he's putting on a good show.
“Aww, Oikawa,” Hanamaki coos after the beat of tense silence, “you shouldn’t have.”
Simultaneously, they snap out of it, focusing on relieving him of the rest of his clothes. Kyoutani’s fingers follow the circle of lace to the inside of his thigh, leaving behind the teasing scrape of nails. His muscles tense and the garter cinches tighter. Watari grabs around his ankle and traces the backseam of the stockings, teasing the dip right above his heel.
His shirt is carelessly tossed away and the cold air doesn’t even have the chance to permeate through his naked skin before hands, hot and eager, start sweeping across the expanse of his body.
“You couldn’t have gone all out and worn panties to match?” Hanamaki clicks his tongue in disapproval, snapping the waistband of his boxers.
Oikawa raises his head up as far as it can go to glare at Hanamaki, perched between his legs. “Are you gonna pay for them?”
“Make it worth my while and I just might.”
He should’ve taken Hanamaki’s Cheshire cat grin as a warning really, but focusing on the details is a challenge when there’s suddenly far too much sensation to keep track of. Multiple erogenous zones are being stimulated simultaneously, Watari’s hand teasingly stroking the back of his knee and Kunimi even brazenly poking at the ticklish spot below his armpit. He’s been the center quite a few times but it’s the first time all eight of them are on him, and it’s taking all of him to stay anchored, to keep from getting too overwhelmed.
Hanamaki ducks out of sight, the soft breath that tickles over his thighs the only indication of his whereabouts. Matsukawa’s hand comes up to cradle his cheek and he obediently turns with the gentle pressure. Oikawa takes the time to drink in the sight of his chiseled torso before he’s led into a kiss, smiling around Matsukawa’s tongue as it pushes into his mouth. Another set of lips comes low around his neck, laying out a trail of kisses before parting to give way to a nimble tongue. Wisps of silver hair identifies the culprit. He wants to reach out, to touch, but Iwaizumi refuses to budge.
“Always full of surprises, aren’t you?” Matsukawa murmurs, then, after a moment’s hesitation, “Captain.”
His body spasms, and it’s all too obvious when all their hands are practically plastered to him, and just like that, the final secret is all out in the open. Kyoutani’s eyes flash in the dim light, a ghost of a smirk dances on Kunimi’s lips.
“Shit,” Matsukawa mumbles as his fingers card through his hair. Yahaba laughs, each exhale whipping against fresh bruises.
“Oh, captain,” Yahaba hums, kissing the corner of his jaw. “You’re absolutely filthy.”
His hands skim across the blankets, subtly seeking purchase in the thick folds but Iwaizumi readjusts his grip, one hand remaining closed around his wrists while the other wraps around his fingers.
Hanamaki’s licking the gap of skin between fabrics, sucking hickeys onto the meat of his thighs and nosing the strip of lace where the stockings end, poking his tongue through the patterns in the embroidery. He bucks insistently, but Kyoutani and Watari pin his ankles down too, and suddenly he’s completely immobile.
Kunimi moves his hand down, pressing his palm against the planes of his stomach, skirting along the bumps of his muscles. He twitches, hopes he’ll go lower, but the devilish touch disappears as soon as Matsukawa sits back.
Kunimi swoops in with a kiss too, hand grabbing his face and roughly angling him with a force incongruent with his usual demeanor. Oikawa always loves kissing Kunimi, with his naturally moist lips and tendency to let himself be ravaged, rarely ever giving any effort to push back, but there’s none of that now. His lips are rough against his, hungry and forceful in a way that Kunimi never was. The fingers on his cheek squeeze painfully tight, and two of them push into his mouth.
He tastes clean, a wonder after their earlier activities. Oikawa dimly registers someone peeling back his boxers enough to expose the head of his cock, their thumb rubbing over the slit. He pants around Kunimi’s fingers and very nearly bites down when a teasing lick swipes over the head. A finger flicks over his nipple and he arches upwards with a gasp.
Kunimi presses down on the pad of his tongue, poking along the insides of his cheeks to the underside of his tongue, knuckles grazing over the roof of his mouth as he begins to thrust in and out. He moans when they dive in a little too deep, the nail catching along the back of his throat.
“You like having things in your mouth, captain?”
He nods, rolling his eyes up to look Kunimi in the eye and hollowing his cheeks in time with each slow, outward drag.
“Do you want to suck me off, Oikawa-san?” Kunimi purrs. “Or would you rather have Yuutarou? He’d fuck your mouth so good, Oikawa-san. Can you even take all of him, I wonder?”
He recalls all those times he’d dropped to his knees for their youngest. He was always too polite, never once daring to go against the pace Oikawa had set for them. He pictures him ramming right into him without consideration, how it would feel. Kunimi sneers and Oikawa knows he can feel the sudden flood of saliva on his tongue.
Kunimi’s fingers pop out of his mouth and air rushes in to fill the vacuum. His warm fingers trail over his lips, obscenely slick. Two more mouths are on him, sucking on his protruding hipbones, Kyoutani’s too-sharp teeth sinking into his skin and suddenly he can’t remember what’s going on.
“I’m going to need an answer, Oikawa-san.”
His gaze darts past Kunimi’s shoulder where Kindaichi is hovering, apprehensive but enthralled. He is the only one who hasn’t touched him yet.
“Yes.”
“Ask nicely.”
He didn’t even raise his voice, but the difference is palpable. It’s glacial, laced with impatience and the promise of several creative punishments if he isn’t obeyed. Not for the first time, Oikawa thanks whatever higher power that he was born early enough to be spared from witnessing Kunimi’s era as captain.
“Please, Kindaichi?” Oikawa moans exaggeratedly, thrusting his chest out and squirming as much as his restraints will allow. Kindaichi squeaks. Poor thing.
“You heard the captain.” Matsukawa chuckles as he inches away, gesturing Kindaichi over to take his place.
It takes a strong jab from Kunimi to get Kindaichi to move and he silently crawls into the space beside Oikawa’s head. He seems to be at a loss about what to do, reluctant to dive right into sex because Kindaichi is nothing if not a romantic. He finally decides to kiss him too and Oikawa hums happily at the chaste press of his lips. His kisses are gentle but earnest, initiating just the right amount of force to push Oikawa back but not crowd into his space.
It’s all wonderfully sweet but Oikawa’s impatience is creeping in. The atmosphere is heating up, with the three around his legs finally sliding his boxers off, teasing their way to his cock without actually touching it while Matsukawa tongues over his bellybutton, Kunimi and Yahaba busying themselves with his nipples.
He nips Kindaichi’s tongue, prompting him to get a move-on. Kindaichi pulls away like he really doesn’t want to, but Oikawa can see his cock swinging heavily between his legs and he just barely keeps from licking his lips in anticipation.
“Can I, Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi asks nervously. He replies only by opening his mouth wide, tongue lolling out in invitation.
When Kindaichi breaches his mouth, the restraint is clear in the stutter of his hips. He pushes in by the barest centimeters then stops. Oikawa is about to shove his head forward himself but pale hands curl over Kindaichi’s hips and suddenly he’s thrusting into Oikawa without warning, stopping only when he audibly gags around Kindaichi’s cock.
Kindaichi’s eyes go wide and he scrambles to withdraw but the hands keep him still, digging bruises into the give of his hips.
“Trust me,” Kunimi hisses, dark and commanding, “he likes it.”
He moans, hoping it properly comes off as assent, sweeping his tongue over the head. Kindaichi groans, relaxes in response, and Kunimi drives him forward until he hits the back of Oikawa’s throat. They continue the merciless rhythm. The sting makes his eyes water but the resulting thrum of pleasure that comes after is more than worth it.
It’s getting hard to concentrate; what with Hanamaki’s tongue snaking around the base of his erection, Watari and Kyoutani sliding their hands all over his legs, fascinated by the rasp of the material. Two mouths close over each nipple and fingers strum across the barely-there protrusions of his ribcage. He’s not desperate enough to really beg for it yet but he knows his team, knows it’s only a matter of time before they make him.
“You want more?” Hanamaki asks as his breath puffs over Oikawa’s cock.
He whines and tries to arch up but his ankles are held tight. He can't separate out all the different sensations anymore. Kindaichi is hot and heavy on his tongue and he struggles to keep his lips around him in a tight ring. The hand in his still holds tight, and he squeezes it hard when Hanamaki licks along the thick vein at the underside of his cock.
“Get off. All of you.”
There is a mass protest but it only lasts for a split second under the force of Iwaizumi’s glare. He’d be nursing some strange form of spousal pride if he isn’t so engrossed on breathing, anything to recover from the sensory overload. Everyone except Iwaizumi moves away and it’s easier, the sudden wave of cool air calming his body.
For a few seconds, they just let him breathe. Iwaizumi hovers over him, a concerned furrow to his brow that irons itself out when Oikawa squeezes Iwaizumi’s hand in reassurance.
Iwaizumi smooths his thumb over Oikawa’s sweaty palms, soothing and rhythmic. “Ready to go again?”
He’s not sure how much time he spends just staring blankly at Iwaizumi, his brain slowly processing his words and formulating a proper response. Finally, he gathers enough motor functions to nod. Iwaizumi eyes him critically, asks him again, and Oikawa nods again, much more insistent this time.
Iwaizumi stands, dusting off his hands and it only registers right then that he’s no longer being held down.
“Go ahead.”
And with those words, Iwaizumi’s gone, replaced with a head of pink hair and a smug smirk and bigger hands closing over his wrists.
Hanamaki isn’t gentle with him at all, dragging Oikawa with him as he sits on the edge of the bed and manhandles Oikawa onto his lap. Another set of hands maneuvers his legs so that they’re spread, his knees hooking over Hanamaki’s thighs and giving everyone a full-frontal view of his crotch.
“You alright?” Matsukawa asks, pushing his legs farther apart, fingers slithering beneath the lace to stroke at the sunken skin.
“Yeah.” he answers, in a voice too rough to be his own. The disorientation at being repositioned so suddenly is already wearing off. Hanamaki kisses between his shoulders, where the tension from his contorted arms is strongest, and the game resumes with the slow grind of his crotch against his ass.
“You’re such a kinky little shit.” he growls, hot and harsh on the curve of his ear. “You’re so needy it takes eight cocks to satisfy you.”
He’s a little more clear-headed, but it works to his disadvantage because he’s back to hyperawareness, far too conscious of the stares running rampant across his body, the lewd sound of slick hands, hisses and choked moans. His own heat had settled down during the break but now it starts to coil deep in his belly again, desperate for an outlet.
There is a shuffle of movement, then a hand is cupping his head and pulling him forward. Oikawa’s jaw only has to fall slack before a cock is shoving right in his mouth.
Kindaichi hesitates briefly after that, like he's waiting for Oikawa to tell him to stop, but when he doesn't, he gets going in earnest, thrusting in and holding himself there under Oikawa moans, starts to struggle for breath, the press of his cock at the back of his throat sending tremors down his spine.
He hurries to participate, hollowing his cheeks and flattening his tongue over the heated skin. More hands suddenly land on his thighs and he has to actively remind himself to breathe. Two fingers circle his rim and press insistently, too uncoordinated to belong to just one person. He gasps when they finally penetrate, the sharp breath dragging with it the heady scent of Kindaichi’s skin. They pull in opposite directions, stretching him out for a third and he whines high and keening when a hand closes around his cock, cool and slick with lube. He gets a full stroke from base to tip before a mouth engulfs the head, tongue swiping in a smooth curve, deliberate and unhurried while the rest of his shaft is engulfed in a strong grip.
He doesn’t even notice when the fingers leave, nearly jumping in shock when he feels the blunt press of Hanamaki’s cock against his entrance. He shoves himself inside with one solid thrust, using gravity to pull Oikawa down on his cock. Pain flares up his pelvis. He draws in a sharp breath at the entry and moans it out when Hanamaki rolls his hips, grinding in a circle, teasing all the way inside him.
Kindaichi pulls back, squeezing tight at the base and Oikawa gets in a deep breath, looks down and see Watari sucking eagerly on his cock, Kyoutani beside him mouthing over the junction of his thighs and hips. Iwaizumi’s on the table on the other side of the room, legs swinging lazily over the edge as he palms his cock. It’s red and weeping but Iwaizumi is perfectly poised, not even the slightest hitch in his breathing. Yahaba and Kunimi are splayed on either side of him, watching, the fire in their too-large eyes making him shiver.
Iwaizumi notices his gaze and slings an arm over them, his mouth brushing over their ears as pulls them close to whisper. Yahaba smirks and stands while Kunimi stays behind, draping himself over Iwaizumi like an insolent pet. Yahaba strides over to the only vacant spot on Oikawa’s right and pulls him by the hair, licking over his chin, cleaning out the layers of precum and spit that spilled out the corners of his mouth.
“Hanamaki-san.” Yahaba prompts and Hanamaki suddenly lets go of his wrists. The loss of support nearly sends him tumbling but Watari and Kyoutani hold him up by the waist, hard enough to grind him back down on Hanamaki’s cock.
He reaches out to grab them, tries to get some semblance of control over this game he’d gotten a little too tangled in but his coordination is shot, thrown off balance with every inward thrust, every flick of a tongue against his skin.
“Make yourself useful, Oikawa-san.” Yahaba snaps, derisive and venomous as he grabs his wrist and pulls it down to his throbbing erection. Kindaichi whines as he nudges the tip of his cock against his cheek and he obligingly turns his head to suck him in again.
He tries to adjust his grip, fitting his hand’s rhythm according to Yahaba’s preferences. A hand climbs up his chest, pinching and tugging a nipple between deft fingers. Kyoutani gives his balls one last suck before dipping even lower, where Hanamaki’s thrusting up into him and licking along the exposed length of Hanamaki’s shaft and the puckered rim of his hole.
The bed dips and the heat of Hanamaki’s chest suddenly retreats, only to be replaced by a broader torso pressing up against his back, the outline of a hard cock curving onto the dip of his spine.
“You like this, captain?” Matsukawa purrs. “How long have you been jacking off to the idea of being made a filthy mess by your entire team?”
A full-bodied shudder overtakes him when Matsukawa’s fingers trail up his shoulders to come up around his neck. His hands are huge, easily engulfing the column of his neck when his fingers constrict around it. He only has time to inhale before Matsukawa squeezes, in tandem with Kindaichi sliding down his throat.
The pressure lasts for barely a second but it sends Oikawa reeling. He dimly hears Kindaichi’s pitched moan and Hanamaki’s strained grunt and knows they felt it too.
“Everyone’s going to cum on you. Would you like that, captain?” Matsukawa hisses over his ear, thumbs massaging the base of his skull. Kindaichi is full-on fucking his face at this point, and all Oikawa can do is whine helplessly as he drools over Kindaichi’s cock, tears spilling from his eyes. He wants them to mark him all over, wants the hot slick of their cum on his face, in his mouth, inside him.
Oikawa is yanked sharply by his hair and he closes his eyes just in time for Kindaichi to come all over his face, spurting in thick stripes. He weakly laps at the little drops that cling to his slit until Kindaichi twitches, pushing him away as he whines about it being too much.
The sight is apparently enough for Yahaba, turning Oikawa to face him. This time he makes sure to stick out his tongue and Yahaba doesn’t disappoint, finishing on Oikawa’s tongue and down his throat.
As soon as Kindaichi retreats, Watari and Kyoutani rise up, already hard and leaking. Oikawa tries to offer his mouth, but the three of them gravitate towards each other. Their sweaty bodies press together, Kyoutani taking his cock in his left hand while he jerks Watari off with his right. Yahaba alternates between tonguing Kyoutani’s ear and sucking on the junction of Watari’s neck and Watari reaches down and closes his other hand over Kyoutani’s cock, picking up the pace. They come in near unison, splattering down Oikawa’s chest.
He groans in relief but he knows he’s far from done. Kunimi finally steps forward, an interesting pattern of fresh marks on his jaw. Oikawa takes his cock, dimly realizes that it’s already hot and slick, easing the friction as he strokes him, tongue darting out to lick at the cum collecting in a thick droplet on the tip. Kunimi’s eyes roll up to the ceiling as he moans, hands coming up to dig into Oikawa’s hair.
“Fuck yourself on Takahiro’s cock, captain. Show everyone how much of a slut you really are.”
Matsukawa squeezes again to punctuate the command and Oikawa chokes. The lack of oxygen is making it difficult to think, but he still throws the last of his strength into rolling his hips, trying to move himself up and down Hanamaki’s cock, his attention narrowing down to the sparks shooting up his spine when Hanamaki slams against his prostate. Hanamaki picks up the pace too, and Oikawa moves his hands frantically when Kunimi bucks urgently into the circle of his fist.
His hand spasms under the assault, squeezing a little too hard at random intervals, and it only takes a few strokes before Kunimi’s rising up on his toes as he comes, accidentally getting some on his hair.
Matsukawa interlaces his fingers and presses them tight against the front of his neck in preparation for one last squeeze, the suffocating pressure forcing even more tears out of his eyes. His body tightens in response and it finally triggers Hanamaki’s orgasm, cock twitching inside him, pumping him full of cum. One of Matsukawa’s hands disappear and not long after a splash of warmth hits the small of his back.
He’s a mess. The world is spinning and the air is thick with the musk of salt and sex. He aches everywhere and he doesn’t even know how he ended up lying on the bed. All around him he can hear heaving pants and post-orgasm kisses but he’s still painfully unsatisfied, prickling hot and wound tight. He writhes desperately on the sheets, trying to catch their attention, hoping they’re not as cruel as to leave him like this.
The bed creaks under the weight of another person and Iwaizumi’s face pokes into his field of vision.
“Iwa...” Oikawa sobs, “Iwa-chan, please, I haven’t—”
Iwaizumi shushes him gently as he straddles him, lining their bodies up together.
“I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” Iwaizumi murmurs, trailing kisses down the length of Oikawa’s bruised neck. His mouth hangs open in a muted cry, humping against Iwaizumi’s firm abdomen and he doesn’t give a fuck that he looks like a bitch in heat. Strong hands hook around the curve of his waist and force him down. He whines at the loss but he’s quickly silenced by a warning bite on his clavicle.
“Tooru.” Iwaizumi growls, the authoritative tremor of his voice cutting through the desperation clouding his mind. Oikawa keens, but wills himself to be patient.
Iwaizumi reaches between his legs. He’s already wet, leaking with a mix of lube and Hanamaki’s cum, stretched open so well that Iwaizumi’s fingers just slide right in, curling to prod right at his prostate. He’s sticky with spit and everyone’s cum and it’s getting on Iwaizumi from where their bodies are pressed together but he doesn’t seem to care, even leaning forward to lick across his cheek. The other hand grasps his cock in a loose fist and he jerks forward, whining in protest.
“No, no, please don’t.” he begs, throwing his head left and right. “I’ll come.”
“I thought you wanted to?”
Oikawa shakes his head frantically. “I want you to fuck me. I want to come while you fuck me, Hajime.”
Iwaizumi’s hands freeze, eyes going wide and—Oh?—maybe he isn’t as unaffected as Oikawa thought he was.
In almost no time at all, Oikawa feels his cock pressing hard against him. Iwaizumi takes his time pushing in and Oikawa prays that maybe his first taste after a half-hour spent denying any participation would be enough to make him snap, but Iwaizumi’s resilience holds. Oikawa whimpers as he starts to move, but then Iwaizumi bends down to kiss him again, and anything further is muffled against his lips. He rocks steadily inside him, painfully gentle and slow.
He throws his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, twists his fingers into Iwaizumi’s hair, digs all the way to the scalp. Iwaizumi grabs his legs and hikes them over his shoulders and it's a good angle like this, every thrust sparking fried-out nerves as Iwaizumi continues to thrust into him. The stockings bunch beneath the sensitive underside of his knees, the lace scratching and shooting tingling sparks down to his toes.
Iwaizumi pushes a hand between them to fist his cock and one stroke is all it takes to push him over the edge. His orgasm hits him hard and everything disappears for a few moments, nothing but white-hot pleasure buzzing all throughout his body. Iwaizumi fucks him through it, dragging it out until it’s almost painful, so good that his breaths come up shorter, leaving in high, stuttering moans.
“You take my cock so well, Tooru.” Iwaizumi hisses, face scrunching up at the feel of Oikawa squeezing tight all around him, and Oikawa wants to kiss him so much but he can’t move, can’t even fucking breathe properly. How the fuck Iwaizumi manages to make dirty talk sound romantic is beyond him.
Iwaizumi’s rhythm begins to falter, restraint failing and he knows he’s not going to last much longer either. He trembles with the overstimulation, can’t do much other than lie there and let himself be used. He scratches along Iwaizumi’s arms and he hunches lower over him, close enough for their lips to brush, kissing him slow and deep in time with his last off-beat thrust, Iwaizumi’s warmth spilling inside him.
He doesn’t know how long they remain locked like that, breathing into each other’s space and scattering kisses here and there, but it still feels too soon when Iwaizumi begins to peel himself away. He tries to grab his wrist to stop him but his arm just flops uselessly, falling pathetically short of its target.
He mindlessly watches Iwaizumi dig around his closet for a while, trying to fit himself back into the bounds of his body. When he finally has some semblance of sense back the first thing he notices is the silence.
“Where’s everyone?” he tries to ask but it comes out horribly slurred.
“Went off to shower while you were off in the clouds.” Iwaizumi answers regardless, already patting his face down with a fresh towel, and Oikawa can’t help but smile at the sudden burst of affection that takes him.
“Do we need to talk about this?”
Oikawa shakes his head. “I just,” he tries, poking his half-melted brain for the right words, “thought I‘d try it out.”
“And?”
Oikawa swallows. “I really, really like to be called captain.”
Iwaizumi quirks an eyebrow at him but thankfully doesn’t say more, just tossing the towel aside. Oikawa prepares himself for some cuddle time, because god knows the others won’t be vacating that shower anytime soon, especially his former second-year trio, but the universe once again turns on its head when Iwaizumi suddenly plants himself on his stomach, his ass cushioning his still-sensitive cock. He leans forward until the space between them is near-nonexistent.
“So,” Iwaizumi breathes over his lips, his hands gliding up his neck to slip and tangle into his hair. “Captain.”
A purr threads around the word, faint as smoke. Oikawa’s tongue darts out to lick his own lips and tastes the anticipation in Iwaizumi’s very exhale.
“Still gonna put your fingers in me tonight?”