Chapter Text
“I can thrust about 70 kg right now,” Hajime tells him, tipping his chin at the plyobox in the corner as they walk inside the university gym he works in, empty and free to use after hours thanks to his employee privileges.
He’s not trying to brag, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to impress Oikawa, just a little. They’ve always been competitive with each other, but this time it’s not about one-upping him or trying to improve.
It’s that, well, these months apart have unearthed an ache in Hajime he used to weed out without a second thought back in Miyagi.
Back then, when his eyes would catch on a sliver of bare skin or full lips for a second longer than necessary, he’d simply avert his gaze and double down on more aggressive forms of affection. Hajime hadn’t known any other way to express it— all the damn things he felt about Oikawa— and he didn’t think he’d ever have the chance to learn.
Back then, he’d figured: one day Oikawa’ll leave this place and won’t look back, so there was no point. No point in wishing and wanting someone he could never hope to have.
But when Oikawa swept into LAX looking more beautiful than anyone had a right to be coming off of a multi-layover flight— the sun’s newest beloved, broader and stronger than ever— as Oikawa ran toward him and into his arms, Hajime couldn’t deny how deep-rooted his yearning really was.
He loved him, and always would. There was no point in pretending otherwise.
“Oh yeah?” Oikawa asks, interrupting his train of thought. His grin is sharp and teasing when he bumps his hip with his own, his gaze lingering on the plyobox in that calculating way of his.
Hajime recognizes that look immediately— it’s his ‘up-to-no-good’ look, the one he gives before he decimates an entire team with a single serve. If he’s honest, it turns him on more than anything else-- but after his newest revelation, all it is right now is troublesome.
“Why don’t you prove it?” Oikawa suggests, his voice irritatingly smug. “But with me, instead. That happens to be exactly my weight.”
“Are you kidding me?“ Hajime scowls at him, sure he’s got it wrong. “What’re you going to do, sit on my lap to replace the bar?”
“Yeah,” Oikawa shrugs nonchalantly. “You could be lying, after all.”
“You’re asking me to hip-thrust you,” Hajime deadpans. “That’s the dumbass request you’re making right now. At my workplace, no less.”
“There’s no one here,” Oikawa tuts. “To see when you can’t lift me off the ground.”
“I’ll show you, damnit,” Hajime growls, stalking over to the box and sitting down with a huff. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s up to, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t meet a challenge.
“Get your ass over here, then,” he demands, smacking his hands against his thighs.
After Oikawa ambles over, he towers over him for a moment, suddenly looking a little nervous. It’s a position Hajime’s dreamed about, just with Oikawa a little less clothed, panting and blotchy red with his face tipped back and—
“Are you going to sit or not?” Hajime barks, and Oikawa lowers himself to straddle his waist. He settles his large hands on Hajime’s stomach, and the heel of his palms tickles the sliver of skin exposed by Hajime's shirt riding up.
“Alright,” Oikawa murmurs after he adjusts himself a little, his crotch dangerously close to Hajime’s. They brush together once or twice as he settles in his lap, and the curve of his ass rises high beyond that— and they’re just so close like this. Dangerously so.
Hajime tucks his chin to his chest before lifting his ass slightly off the ground, tilting his shoulder blades against the plyobox. He takes a deep breath, engages his core, and thrusts upward, his hips lifting Oikawa high before he lowers them both with ease.
“One,” Oikawa sings, before Hajime lifts him up again, steady and sure. “Two. Nice, Hajime.” “Three…” The movement shifts Oikawa just a tiny bit forward each time, a slight friction building between them with each and every rep.
Fuck, Hajime curses. At this rate, it won’t be long until it’s obvious how into this he is, the solid, warm weight of Oikawa on top of him. “Another one, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa orders, leaning forward to look him in the eyes. “Until failure, okay?”
“I could do this all day,” he tells him, thrusting up again with a grunt. After the last rep of the set, he leans back heavily against the box, startled when Oikawa squeezes at his thighs with a powerful, possessive grip.
“You’re so strong, Hajime,” he teases. “Look at you, lifting me up like it was nothing.”
“You’ve been slacking if you don’t remember this targets the glutes,” Hajime retorts, trying to distract himself from Oikawa’s warm hands on his skin. When Oikawa raises his eyebrows at him, slow and amused, he gets the chilling feeling he hadn’t forgotten at all.
“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and his eyes are dark and heavy-lidded when he peeks over at his ass. “I can tell.”
“Stop staring, Shittykawa,” he smacks his arm before pulling him by the hips back into position. “C’mon.”
Hajime thrusts them up again, and his thighs are already straining from not resting long enough as he powers through his first few reps. “You’re not getting a full range of motion,” Oikawa pouts, raking his hands over Hajime’s pectorals possessively. “Am I too much for you?”
“Never,” Hajime grumbles. He extends his hips out a little further than before, his crotch shifting boldly against Oikawa’s with every thrust. It takes everything in him not to groan at the contact. “You’re— ah — you’re just right.”
They get through each set like this, Hajime ending with his fourth shaky but strong, his form relentlessly perfect despite Oikawa doing his best to drive him mad squirming while sitting pretty in his lap.
“You did well,” Oikawa praises when he sets them both down with a sigh, his eyes stuck onto Hajime’s panting mouth. “I’m impressed.”
“I told you I could,” Hajime tells him, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You happy now?”
“Well,” Oikawa begins, making to clamber off of his lap. but he leans backward instead of forward, and—
Oikawa’s crotch drags against Hajime’s, slow and rough, and fuck– there’s no hiding when Hajime involuntarily lets out a ragged, heavy moan from the pressure.
“Mmm,” Oikawa hums, and his goddamn smirk is shark-like and electric as he stares at the rising flush on Hajime’s cheeks. “I am, actually.”
“Did you just—“ Hajime accuses, but Oikawa quickly pops up from his lap and waltzes away toward the power racks.
“C’mon, Iwa-chan,” he calls, and Hajime can hear the amusement riding in his voice. “Take me through the rest of your circuit, I’m sure we still have a lot of positions to get through!”
“Uh huh,” Hajime takes a deep breath and gets up, adjusting his pants before he follows behind him. Two can play at this game, then.
“What do you want to do next, spot my squats?”
“Maybe,” Oikawa winks. “If you’re good.”