Oikawa's kisses along the back of his neck don't sting as much as they do tingle.
They sting - in a much deeper place, like a bee piercing each ventricle of his heart.
'Shoyo.'
Poison, bittersweet, honey and nettle, sear through his veins. Paralytic. He can't move. Which is why Shoyo has been been frozen front first against the door, his forehead resting on his arm, breathing like each muscle is screaming for oxygen.
Oh - and with his shorts pulled down his thighs like garters, and Oikawa's dick sandwiched between his buttcheeks like a massive sausage in a burger bun.
Oikawa hasn't yet entered and the air is electric with anticipation and something else, like the feeling a burglar must get on the verge of claiming the crown jewels, or a child who's found the hidden stash of sweets above the kitchen cupboard -
Or -
A crave on a tongue of a drop of alcohol, after twelve weeks of twelves steps, after weeping, crying, lying, after an entire life being destroyed - no matter - if only, for a taste -
'Fuck,' Hinata breathes.
The blood pumping his dick is pumping fiery mercury.
'Toru,' Hinata whispers that forbidden word.
Oikawa. Oikawa-san. Oikaa-san. Toru.
All within a matter of days.
We shouldn't.
Those words are a ghost.
They live inside of him, all around him, and they live inside of Toru too - Hinata is sure.
But Oikawa's mouth starts sucking on his back muscles, and a hand grips his erection, and Oikawa's mouth starts making love to his back and Hinata's mind draws a blank. Oikawa starts stroking and Hinata unleashes a disgusting moan like a teenager who's just discovered his dick for the first time.
We shouldn't. He's said them. Oikawa has said them. They have both said these words. Yet every time, instead of creating a wall, those words were like some kind of super-powered magnet aphrodisiac -
They've said those words so many times that they've killed the meaning.
We shouldn't is the gateway to kisses and moans and holding and grabs and touches and fucking. It's like an incantation that sets their blood on fire and glues them to each other.
We shouldn't.
Oikawa angles himself against Hinata's entrance and Hinata sucks air back from his teeth. Oikawa would never tell a soul but this ass is his new favourite thing. This, and the body it belongs to, the personality inside this body, and the words that come out of it. The way this body reacts to every touch Oikawa gives, every whisper, every thrust -
It is magical and addictive like fairy dust that’s actually cocaine.
The mess is a given now. It is part and parcel of whatever this is. Hinata can’t think to count how many bottles of lube they’ve used, how much Oikawa has.
I wonder if Toru and Iwa -
Hinata’s rectal muscles clench the way his heart does.
No.
Don’t go there.
It’s OK because Oikawa slightly pushes in -
‘Ahh!’
‘Shit - Sho -’
And Oikawa’s breath is hot on his neck and the lube is luscious and he’s already been opened up so much by Oikawa in the last few days it’s like second nature to have Oikawa inside of him.
‘Stick your ass a little more out for me,’ Oikawa purrs, quiet, pressing his fingertips into Hinata’s hips, doting kisses on the back of Hinata’s neck, sending shiver after shiver down Hinata’s spine. ‘Ahh, you’re such a good boy, Sho. You have no idea how good you look right now. I just want to bite you and lick you all over -’
Hinata puffs breaths so lust-filled, his heart so pounding, he wonders if one of these days he’s going to come from Oikawa’s words alone.
Blue eyes.
Black hair.
The face of Hinata’s beautiful boyfriend comes to the forefront of his mind, crystal, the setter practicing like a pro right now, talented, steadfast.
It is a dart to Hinata’s heart, it is a painful pinch to his full-blooded erection, the guilt almost enough to make Hinata flaccid, to make him put a stop to this, but -
Toru’s hand gently wraps around Hinata’s neck and he leans in, his pecs and chest kissing Hinata’s back in sweaty bliss, and whispers -
‘I’m gonna make you come so hard you’ll see stars for days.’
He would’ve put a stop to this.
If his heart wasn’t also drunk on the smell of roses whilst being impaled by an army of thorns.
He would’ve.
If Oikawa’s endless praise and worship hadn’t hooked his neurons like some class A drug.
He would’ve.
If his body didn’t melt under the softest touch, the smallest caress, the sweetest nothings whispered.
He would’ve.
If it hadn’t had been Oikawa Toru.
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Iwa-chan had said, swirling his glass of red wine disdainfully and wondering why he hadn’t ordered a beer.
‘They still hate me. And I still hate them. So I can’t see anything about this being fine at all,’ Oikawa turned his nose up, tapping the ice-cold tumbler before him, ‘and I can’t even taste the coconut cream in this pina colada. It’s all pineapple.’
‘You’re overthinking again. We’re all adults now. I doubt they care.’
‘Oh really now? Let’s see if you’ll still be saying that after the most awkward reunion ever -’
‘They’re here,’ Iwaizumi nodded, eyes looking past Oikawa, while he leaned against the bar.
Those little shits -
Oikawa was ready for the salt. He was ready for the sass. If one of those two pipsqueaks even tried to -
And like something out of a dream, or nightmare, Oikawa felt like someone had stabbed his chest with a syringe full of sunlight.
It sucked back on him, like the pulling back of the plunger. It went to his heads: the one above his neck and the one between his legs.
Surely he had been picked up, twirled around in a swirl of colour, and plonked back down, his clothes back to the front, the world upside down.
The world had to be upside down, for him to be feeling these feelings upon looking at the boyfriend of his rival.
And on the other side of the line -
Hinata had felt it.
It was there.
The moment they had locked eyes.
He had caught the way Oikawa’s glance had casually swept over his broad shoulders like they were nothing and everything, how that gaze had imagined what Hinata definitely shouldn’t have too, that consideration, that moment perhaps had been their death sentence.
It was gone.
It had been an instant, less than an instant - a millisecond.
Impossible to catch, like the wind between fingers. Undetected, unseen but wholly felt.
Oikawa had smiled, with eyes as sucking as his mouth, and somewhere below Hinata’s belly, he knew that he was doomed.
‘Long time. My, how you two have grown.’
Oikawa was suave, pleasant as always, completely untrustworthy, terribly beautiful. That age-old tension was there, between Kageyama and Oikawa, the former being as rigid and awkward as a rake, the two of them exchanging short, curt sentences that weren’t rude but that definitely indicated that the past was not yet in the past. Iwaizumi managed to be neutral enough, greeting both Tobio and the shrimp respectfully like a good long-lost upperclassman.
Shrimp no more, Oikawa couldn’t help but note, even as he smiled fake, and pretended to listen to Iwa’s and Kageyama’s exchange, while surreptitiously stealing glances at the god before him.
‘You two should get drinks. It’s on me,’ Iwaizumi nodded, getting his wallet out.
‘How chivalrous,’ Oikawa teased.
‘Could you pass the menu Oikawa-san? Please?’
Please Oikawa-san.
Please.
Oikawa-san.
Fuck me.
‘Here ya go chibi-chan,’ Oikawa reached over and picked up a menu and as he brought his arm back, their outer forearms kissed -
Soft skin. Warm. Hair.
And an electric thrill unlike anything Hinata had ever felt before.
Their eyes met yet again, and Hinata could barely breathe his heart was throbbing in his throat.
He tore his eyes away, a pang of guilt in his chest, the first of many. The first of so many that eventually that pang would just live there, inside of him, and he would become numb to it.
This is wrong.
In the background, the hum and burr of Kageyama’s and Iwa’s voices by the bar, talking about sports medicine, and Iwa training to be an athletic trainer.
Oikawa could not look away.
A dusting of pink highlighted Hinata’s cheeks as his eyes stayed glued to the menu, nervously scanning the pages too fast - there was no way he was actually reading anything.
Ah. He’s right.
We really shouldn’t be doing this…
‘Whatever you do, don’t get the pina colada. There isn’t enough coconut cream.’
‘I’m glad you told me I was thinking of getting that.’
‘Do you want to taste mine?’
He hadn’t meant it.
He really, truly hadn’t.
But apparently it was impossible for Oikawa to say anything without it being wrapped up like a Christmas present in innuendo.
To give the kid a break, Oikawa did not look Hinata in the eye and instead grabbed his tumbler from the bar and offered it to Shoyo.
The pink was increasing on those peachy cheeks. But Hinata looked at the tumbler like he was considering it.
His hand wrapped around the other side of the cool glass, his fingers brushing against the meat of Oikawa’s thumb.
Involuntarily Hinata looked up -
And fell right into a lava pit.
Oikawa didn’t let go.
So Hinata moved closer, transfixed, heart running miles and tentatively wrapped his lips around the straw.
And sucked.
Months later, Oikawa would go back to this memory, he would try and find the moment, so he could pin down the part where all reason shattered, where fidelity ceased to exist, where the glass of water did not contain a swirling drop of red colouring but the whole liquid had turned to clear crimson instead and this -
This was that moment.
‘I-It d-doesn’t have much cream. Tobi, can you guys get me a mojito?’
Chibi-chan had slipped away - no - tore himself away to the bar to his boyfriend and Iwa-chan. Oikawa was left standing there holding an ice-cold drink with a fire-hot burning in his belly. He latched his lips over where Shoyo’s had been a moment ago and slurped. Then Oikawa joined the rest of the party, casually slipping a hand around Iwazumi’s waist which Kageyama barely registered but Hinata had a hard time ignoring.
‘Toru is just mostly practicing these days on the beach while I train,’ Iwaizumi explained to Kageyama, mid-conversation.
‘Like the good housewife that I am,’ Oikawa smirked.
‘Same. Hinata mostly practices or comes to watch while I play. I can get you both tickets -’ Kageyama offered.
‘Sure. Why not. We’ll see if our schedule allows it.’
Thanks but no thanks. Oikawa smiled nonetheless, which to any onlooker would mean the complete opposite to what it actually meant.
Out of consideration for his Keeper of the Peace boyfriend Iwaizumi and also perhaps maybe someone else, Oikawa refrained from the usual digs he’d make at Tobio, and because Kageyama was behaving like this was some kind of ball’n’gown affair, and not like they were in an empty bar in Brazil late afternoon before the party really got started, the whole thing passed the most amicably it possibly could go, between the four rivals.
That was, if amicably meant that Oikawa’s entire body felt like a clenched fist, that he had to make humongous effort to keep his eyes only on Kageyama while the prodigy was speaking, and that he strained to curtail his rebellious mind to the pure concrete fact: I am with Iwa. I’m with Iwa. And only Iwa.
The youngsters had to go, they were meeting some of Kageyama’s teammates from the Olympic team, and this was only meant to be brief anyway.
Kageyama agreed to message Iwaizumi regarding tickets, and after a few respectful nods and polite goodbyes, the duo left. Except -
Only briefly did their eyes meet once again.
And what was it that Oikawa saw in Hinata’s eyes?
It was a marvel, a galaxy, a constellation of contradiction. Hope, fear, longing, admiration, lust, regret, curiosity, awe. A cocktail far more delicious than this shit Oikawa was drinking in his hand, more delicious than anything that could be offered from behind the bar. It was a look like a pill, like a sweet and salty bit of chocolate that hit that bliss spot that made you want to eat a tonne more.
But it was gone.
They’d left.
And Oikawa felt his entire body relax, relieved in a way, that temptation was now far out of reach.
‘See Shitty-kawa? That wasn’t so bad.’
Iwa would live to eat those words.
Oikawa pushes, grunting through his teeth and Hinata moans in perfect harmony. Oikawa’s dick enters the most perfect ass ever and he’s not sure exactly who’s going to see stars first. Warm, tight, slippery - Oikawa wants to live like this, wants his dick to be this happy forever.
‘You’re such a good boy, Sho. You take my cock so, so well.’
Hinata jolts and whimpers from those words and Oikawa loves it.
Iwaizumi was not a big talker in bed, neither was he one to be moved or affected if Oikawa tried this kind of talk. He’d get annoyed sometimes, depending on his mood. It was really fifty-fifty how dirty talk would go down with Iwaizumi so Oikawa had learnt to shut it unless Iwa started.
But Shoyo.
Shoyo made Oikawa feel like the best whore in Brazil.
The lightest touch, a tap, a stroke, a few words here and there and the boy turned to putty in Oikawa’s hands. What’s more -
The praise the redhead would swallow whole and Oikawa knew that. Every time Oikawa praised him, Hinata would come alive like a plant dying of thirst that had finally been watered. Hinata bloomed under praise, he ate it up like a starving animal with bones jutting out that had finally been thrown a piece of meat.
And Oikawa knew why.
Oikawa pushes his fingers into the sweaty armpits of Hinata Shoyo, drags his fingers slowly down Hinata’s sides like he’s touching forbidden mink.
‘Why does you body always feel so good?’
These words are uttered in an awestruck whisper, more to himself than to Hinata, as if Oikawa is a sculptor touching a superior sculpture for the first time. Hinata drinks from this devil's cup, giddy from Oikawa's response to him just being. It pushes more blood to the tip of his dick, makes Hinata thirst for Oikawa's body -
‘I - I want to fuck you too!’
The words burst out like a desperate bird finally free from a cage. Words that have been sitting there, waiting, pushing against their restraints in pained desire and wanton longing for far too long.
Oikawa hears this.
He hears it all.
He feels it like the heat he first felt when he stepped off the plane in Brazil and it consumed him - how he loved it.
The arrangement he has with Brazil is much like the arrangement he has with Shoyo: he will give his entire body, his entire being -
Temporarily.
Yet why is it he needs to pull the reigns back on his heart whenever Shoyo speaks?
‘Ahh!!’
Hinata yells as Oikawa pins him to the door, dick still firm inside of him, the weight and height of the setter an unfair advantage, that toned tall sweaty body squishing Hinata’s, and the feeling of being trapped by Oikawa makes Hinata transcend.
‘Only,’ Oikawa whispers, ‘when I’m done. And I’m far from done with you yet.’
Soft teeth tease Hinata’s neck and Hinata moans.
‘Your body is mine -’
And Tobio’s.
The words form in Oikawa’s mind without his permission.
They press heavy on his chest without permission too.
They leave a bitter taste in his mouth like drinking sea salt water.
They drip green envy, that he knows, he has no right to.
