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Iwaizumi and Oikawa always knew that they were meant to be with each other.
If you told them that they were soulmates, they would believe it with their entire beings. They knew from the day they met that they were made for each other, at the young age of three, reaching for each other from their mother’s arms.
Oikawa fell in love first, age six. It was the one time in their lives that Iwaizumi was taller. He rubbed it in Oikawa’s face, boasted and bragged, but always gave Oikawa a place to lay his head whenever he felt small.
Iwaizumi fell in love second, age ten. Oikawa was stronger than him then, and when a punk bully at the park tore Iwaizumi’s comic book in half, he didn’t get a chance to react before Oikawa knocked him flat out and made the kid cough up his pocket change so they could buy a new one.
For a time, they didn’t think they needed, or wanted anyone else.
Until they got to high school.
Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro were the first two friends they made during volleyball practice as young first years.
Oikawa’s mother always told him he had good intuition, so when he said that these two were going to be important people in their lives, Iwaizumi believed him.
He was right. They became fast friends, and three years passed in a blink. They shared wins, and losses, tears, hugs, food, everything. By the time they finished high school, they each had a quarter of each other’s closets spread out between the others.
Graduation came and went, and the four of them stayed within arm’s reach, just the way Oikawa predicted.
Oikawa went to school to study astronomy, always having been obsessed with stars and space and life beyond the planes of earth.
Iwaizumi went for architecture. Spacial awareness was always his forte, and though he never talked about it, he was wicked gifted with pencil and paper.
Matsukawa crash landed into restaurant management, and everyone’s response was “who knew you had it in you to be a boss?”
Hanamaki turned to streaming. His quick wit and snarky personality gained him a decent following, and it suited his lifestyle—being his own boss, working hours he wanted, not having to be up with the sun.
There was a ripple in their togetherness at one point—Iwaizumi and Oikawa in a fallout because love wasn’t perfect, and neither were they, and in twenty years they wouldn’t remember the reason they fought, but at the time it felt like their worlds were caving in.
Hanamaki and Matsukawa never wavered.
They lent their shoulders, dried their tears, swapped places when Iwaizumi and Oikawa didn’t want to be at home together. Matsukawa stayed over a few times while Iwaizumi would be at their place. It made it easier to have companionship with someone they weren’t angry with.
There was nothing odd about the way Oikawa curled against Matsukawa’s chest and fell asleep to crappy science fiction movies while his hair was played with. It was all innocence when Iwaizumi acted as Hanamaki’s personal space heater—poor man was chronically cold—and huddled beneath blankets while catching sports highlights.
Eventually they came around, realizing the fight was dumb and they were dumber, and the four of them celebrated with pizza and a pack of beer.
“You two really are a mess,” Matsukawa laughed.
“The question is, why aren’t you two messier?” Oikawa pouted through a sip. He wasn’t sure he liked beer so much, all bubbly and bitter and giving him hiccups.
Matsukawa glanced at him sideways. “You want us to be?”
The way his eyes lingered on Oikawa over the lip of his beer bottle sent a lightning strike through Oikawa’s chest, so hard that he dropped his beer across the table.
“You idiot,” Iwaizumi growled and swiftly reached for napkins, helping Hanamaki clean the mess before their pizza became waterlogged, or rather, beerlogged.
Oikawa went to help a few moments later, but in the space between, he knew he didn’t miss the way Matsukawa looked at him like a meal more than a man, and God help him if he admitted that he kind of liked it. A thrill ran through him that kept his eyes carefully trained on the grain of the table the rest of the night.
A week later, Iwaizumi was washing dishes—the polite thing to do as a guest when someone made a meal for you—and Hanamaki pressed his chest into his back and asked him what he wanted for dessert, his voice poured like honey into his ears. Iwaizumi grabbed the countertop to steady himself, eyes wide on the soapy plate between his fingers, because he couldn’t understand why the feeling of Hanamaki’s hips pressed against his own made him want more.
It spun Iwaizumi and Oikawa through a spell of confusion. They’d always been physically affectionate with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. It never meant anything. Iwaizumi loved Oikawa, and Oikawa loved Iwaizumi. These were facts.
The gestures were just loving, in a familial kind of way, weren’t they?
During dinner one night, while they were all laughing like hyenas tucked away in a booth, Oikawa was halfway through his third sour apple martini—he maintained that beer was the drink of the devil—and his eyes caught Matsukawa leaning into his palm.
It wasn’t that Matsukawa was doing anything in particular, and it’s not like the look on his face was pointedly sexual, but just the way their eyes met sent Oikawa’s mind reeling.
Matsukawa had always been long and lanky, but passing twenty five, he filled out his clothes and looked delicious dressed in a black button up with sleeves rolled a quarter of the way. His hands were big and fingers long and Oikawa thought maybe, for a brief moment, what it might feel like to have those hands hoist him off the ground by his thighs and press him against a wall.
His martini went tumbling across the table.
“Okay, you seriously can’t have alcohol,” Hanamaki chided through laughter.
Iwaizumi went to make a smart remark, but he couldn’t react, because Matsukawa had an arm around him and whispered into his ear, “Tooru really is a lightweight, isn’t he?”
The question was innocent, but the husk in his voice, made Iwaizumi’s nerves tingle.
“Oi, space cadet.” Oikawa turned carefully to Hanamaki who was peering up at him through strawberry blond lashes and a wolfish grin, hands still pressed over alcohol soaked paper dangerously high on Oikawa’s thigh. “You wanna take those?” His eyes slid south as his fingers turned inward and gripped. Only to absorb the moisture from Oikawa’s clothes, of course.
“I think he’s drunk, Hiro. We should get him home,” Matsukawa said it with his fingers pressed along Iwaizumi’s jawline.
Oikawa was drunk. He was also weighing how badly he wanted Hanamaki to close the gap and press his mouth into the hollow of his throat in this booth while he watched Matsukawa devour Iwaizumi across from him, and the thought of those sequences in action turned his whole face red. His eyes went wide when they latched onto Iwaizumi, because while he thought he might deal with guilt racking his ribs and having to find a way to explain to Iwaizumi that he wasn’t nor ever would be unfaithful, the look on Iwaizumi’s face changed everything.
People always said Iwaizumi and Oikawa had a form of telepathy, and they were right. They knew each other inside and out, so well that they could carry entire conversations in silence.
Iwaizumi knew exactly what was running through Oikawa’s mind, because the same thing was running through his own. When they got home that night, they both laid it all out in the open. They would have never done anything to hurt each other, but something about their quad of friendship seemed to walk a line of desire they wanted to get their hands on.
They were all such small, fleeting happenings that could casually be explained as miscommunication between proximity and lust, and yet, here they both were, admitting to each other that they maybe, definitely, had crushes on their friends.
At first they started off talking about it in passing, how good it might be, how fun it could be. How it was just a step over the line of the way they already were with each other. Then it turned into mentioning fantasies.
“I want to watch Mattsun fuck you,” Oikawa admitted once, pressed against Iwaizumi’s chest while they watched TV. Well, Matsukawa wasn’t there, so they let their imaginations run as wild as they could.
Another time, Iwaizumi stroked Oikawa’s cheek as he stuffed his cock down his throat. “I want Takahiro to fill you up while you look at me,” he groaned, and they both wheeled into release so good they couldn’t speak for a bit.
One day Hanamaki and Matsukawa came over to visit; Oikawa willingly chose to wear the shortest shorts in his closet and Iwaizumi refused to put on a shirt. They both sent each other devious looks across their kitchen as Oikawa looped Matsukawa into a hug whilst sitting on the kitchen counter, teeming with excitement when those large hands were steady on the counter on either side of his hips.
He looked over his shoulder to Hanamaki drawing Iwaizumi’s frame close to his, his slanted smile mere inches from Iwaizumi’s mouth. “I’m jealous they’re being all cute and we aren’t,” Hanamaki purred and splayed his hands across the small of Iwaizumi’s back.
Oikawa wanted to watch it. He wished for Hanamaki to just send it, drop Iwaizumi’s pants in that kitchen and do away with him. The excitement coiled in his stomach and made his hands clench tight into Matsukawa’s shirt.
“You missed me?” Matsukawa said it quiet into his ear, responding to his sudden grip.
Oikawa’s breath caught. “I did,” he admitted through a flutter of his lashes, and he swears to this day that Matsukawa knew he wanted to fuck him senseless as his thumb ghosted across his outer thigh.
Iwaizumi watched from the side, eyes glued to Oikawa’s over Matsukawa’s shoulders. It could come true in that moment, watching Matsukawa fuck Oikawa on that counter, hands around his throat, fingers in his mouth. Oikawa closed his eyes as Matsukawa’s fingertips began walking the seam of his shorts. He was right there, all he had to do was tug.
Oikawa gasped in excitement when Matsukawa slid his arms around his waist and hoisted him off the counter, only to deflate a moment later when he turned around with a stupid grin and gloated about how he was adopting a koala named Tooru.
Hanamaki responded in kind by lifting Iwaizumi from behind and claiming he’d won the cuddliest teddy bear at the fair.
Iwaizumi and Oikawa collapsed with doom after they left, the both of them disappointed that their friends had reduced them to cute stuffed animals.
“We’re crazy, aren’t we? This isn’t normal,” Iwaizumi mumbled into his hands.
“I dunno, Iwa-chan, I’m not some relationship expert,” Oikawa groaned, irritated.
“You think they’ve thought about it too?”
“Sometimes I think so… I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
“Where do we even go with that if they say yes?” Iwaizumi dragged his fingers through his hair.
Oikawa twiddled his fingers together, his eyes wide, cheeks red. “I suppose… we just see what happens?”
“Hakuna Matata,” Hanamaki sighs into the air as crams a bite of food into his cheek.
“Wasn’t that like, the name of the paradise they found? Or something?” Iwaizumi glances at him over a mouthful of noodles.
“Are you saying we’re your paradise, Makki?” Oikawa grins, eyes flicking to Iwaizumi and back before anyone notices.
“Hakuna Matata is not a place. It’s a feeling,” Hanamaki says it with pride, and turns to Oikawa with a wink, “but yeah, sort of.”
“Calm down, Rafiki, just put the movie on,” Matsukawa rolls his eyes and tosses him the remote.
It’s movie night. A night the four of them always look forward to, tossing their worries to the wind, ordering takeout and alcohol and bundling onto the couch. They couldn’t do this nearly as much as they used to, what with daily life taking over. They at least tried to make this happen once a month if possible, and that was a frequency they could manage.
It’s Oikawa’s turn to choose tonight and he’s recently been obsessed with 007. Casino Royale it is.
“That’s a nice suit,” Matsukawa inserts when Bond appears on screen to ask for for a dry martini.
“Of course it is. It’s James Bond,” Oikawa snorts.
“Incoming,” Hanamaki crawls over and settles his head into Oikawa’s lap.
This isn’t usually a problematic position to be in. Oikawa often lets Hanamaki curl into him like this. The difference, this time, is that just the other night, he had discussed with Iwaizumi how good it might look and feel to have Hanamaki staring up at him through the fringe he’d grown out—a look Oikawa loved on him—while butterflying kisses along his hips and thighs.
Oikawa slightly stiffens as Hanamaki’s arms squeeze around his middle and head rests flat against his hips. “Tooru, you are so comfortable,” he says through slightly slurred speech.
“Mmhmm,” Oikawa offers, unsure of where to put his hands. He chose to wear shorter shorts again, initially thinking it would be a good idea. Oikawa knew he had nice legs and wasn’t ashamed of flaunting them. But with Hanamaki’s forearms pressed against his bare thighs, he’s having trouble regulating his heart rate.
He looks to Iwaizumi, who is sitting with his head tilted on Matsukawa’s knee, watching the movie with a lazy, unfocused look, sake having made it’s way into his system. Matsukawa’s fingers are walking the line of Iwaizumi’s neck to his ear and his scalp, a sensory massage, the kind that tingled and made your head swim.
Iwaizumi leans against Matsukawa’s touch and tilts his head back, and Oikawa’s stomach twists. As Matsukawa’s fingers walk along his throat, the thought pulses in his mind.
Put them in his mouth, he snags his lower lip between his teeth.
Iwaizumi glances at Oikawa. You know I can hear you, right?
Oikawa blinks. Oh, right. Telepathy.
But it’d feel good, wouldn’t it? He poses the question as he stares at Iwaizumi, faintly listening to the sound of the movie in the background, hearing Bond realize he’s been poisoned. You like when he pulls your hair.
Obviously, Iwaizumi flashes a glance at him, breaking eye contact when Matsukawa’s thumbs work from the nape of his neck down to his shoulders. His eyes roll shut, and a flicker of excitement ignites a flame low in Oikawa’s stomach.
When they open again, Iwaizumi glares at him. Stop fucking with me.
It’s kinda hot, though.
Poor Bond is clawing his way out through he parking lot of the hotel, racing for his car to find the portable defibrillator in his glove box that would save him from going into cardiac arrest.
I really want you to gag on it, Oikawa chews on his lip again and looks down, shifting his hips subtly beneath Hanamaki, who responds in kind by nuzzling further into Oikawa’s side and sliding his hands along his back, lacing them together.
He lifts his eyes to Iwaizumi’s, who is staring at him with a kind of fervor that he usually saves for the bedroom.
Touch him, Iwaizumi commands, caving into the moment. Oikawa obeys eagerly. He feathers his fingers through Hanamaki’s hair and traces the shell of his ear and down his neck experimentally, noting that Hanamaki’s lips curve into a smile. He keeps going, gently but firmly dragging his fingers back across Hanamaki’s skull, and glances back at Iwaizumi.
The thrum of the tempo quickening from the movie soundtrack as Bond’s heartbeat is racing sends a mutual feeling through both Iwaizumi and Oikawa. This is hotter than they were expecting. They should consider being checked into a psych ward for finding it erotic that they’re getting off on telepathic sex and the sound of James Bond’s panicked, dying breaths in the background, but they can talk about that later.
You want his mouth on you so bad, Iwaizumi’s upper lip twitches.
Want you to watch him do it, Oikawa retorts.
Bond slumps into his car seat as the tone of the machine flatlines, the same time as Matsukawa’s fingers dig in and tug. Iwaizumi’s eyes roll shut, a soft moan slipping from his chest. Oikawa would have relished in it, likely peeling himself from Hanamaki’s grip to head to the bathroom and let the imagery replay against the back of his eyelids, using his shirt between his teeth to keep his voice down until he came.
But they both realize that moan was way too obvious, and it petrifies them in place.
Vesper is there a moment later to revive the hero of the movie, but it’s too late. There’s no way the other two didn’t hear the intensity of that sound.
They both panic then, because Matsukawa’s hands are frozen on Iwaizumi’s neck, his eyes fastened to the top of Iwaizumi’s head, brows raising skyward.
Oh god, how were they going to explain this?
“Iwa-chan likes his hair being pulled,” Oikawa blurts suddenly. Iwaizumi looks at him like he’s lost his mind, stabbed in the chest with betrayal as he sits unmoving between Matsukawa’s legs.
That’s what you come up with?! He barks mentally.
I panicked!! It’s not like you had something better, Oikawa flashes him a pointed look.
“Is that so?” Matsukawa blinks and looks down at Iwaizumi. “I figured you were more into pulling hair than having it pulled.”
The tips of Iwaizumi’s ears turn crimson, rendered speechless and glaring at Oikawa. His attempt to save him was no better than throwing him to the wolves. “Both, I guess,” Iwaizumi grinds out.
“I’m a hair puller,” Hanamaki adds with a laugh and looks up at Oikawa. “What about you, Tooru?”
Oikawa swallows. “Pulled.”
“Oho, that’s cute.” Hanamaki shifts his weight, drawing his hands back and pressing them flat against Oikawa’s thighs to hoist himself onto his elbows. Oikawa fights the way his mouth begins to salivate at the cool touch of his fingers, raising goosebumps across his skin.
This conversation isn’t entirely surprising. They’ve lightly bounced around the topic of sex before. Then again, that was before they both realized they wanted to be devoured by their best friends whilst holding hands.
He’s unsure of himself why, but he makes eye contact with Matsukawa who is staring at him with a curious gleam in his eyes.
“Raise,” Le Chiffre says over the poker table onscreen.
Oikawa knows that face. He’s seen it one too many times in those moments he convinced himself it was his own insanity. Be it inebriation or courage, or a mixture of the two, Oikawa was certain in that moment. Matsukawa knew.
“Fourteen million, five hundred thousand, all in,” Bond shoves his pile across the table.
“Tooru,” Matsukawa asks in the silence, a gentle squeeze on Iwaizumi’s neck as Bond and Le Chiffre stand off across a table of poker chips and cards. “Hajime,” his eyes wander south to Iwaizumi.
“Well, I think I will call you on that one,” Le Chiffre clears his throat and slides his winnings to the middle.
Oikawa gulps as Hanamaki props up to the sound of Matsukawa’s voice. “Takahiro and I have been wondering,” Matsukawa begins, his eyes flickering towards Hanamaki, whose fingertips are dangerously close to the seam on Oikawa’s shorts. They exchange something unspoken.
Hanamaki then turns his head to look at Oikawa. As their eyes meet, he smiles.
The dealer on screen calls for Bond’s win. “A straight flush. Four to the eight. The high hand.”
“We were wondering if you wanted to have sex with us.”
Oikawa and Iwaizumi both lock eyes, guilty stamped onto their foreheads. They’d only been dreaming about it, fucking like rabbits on the topic of it, drooling at work with the thought of it.
They never expected that either Hanamaki or Matsukawa would have been the first to broach the topic.
“I take it you two have discussed this,” Matsukawa smirks.
“I mean, it crossed our minds,” Oikawa confesses, his eyes wide in disbelief. “When… did it cross yours?”
Hanamaki looks skyward in thought. “Oof, uh… couple years at least. Issei?”
Matsukawa tilts Iwaizumi’s head back and walks his fingers along his throat, wetting his lips. “Something like that, yes.”
“Is it the alcohol?” Iwaizumi stares at Matsukawa’s mouth, asking if their tipsy state might explain everyone suddenly being so forthcoming. Alcohol would never make you do things you didn’t want to. It just made you courageous enough to bypass your frontal lobe that told you whether or not the thing you were considering was a bad idea.
“Seeing as Tooru spills it anytime I look at him, maybe,” Matsukawa laughs.
“You did notice!” Oikawa gasps, idly noticing Hanamaki’s hand now pressed down just above his knee.
Matsukawa lifts his eyes to look at him through lashes as he traces a finger across Iwaizumi’s jaw. He says nothing as Hanamaki’s free hand gently lifts at the trim of Oikawa’s shirt, cool fingers dancing across his stomach.
“We noticed, we just weren’t entirely sure you wanted to. Thought maybe we were just coming on too strong. You both have such cute reactions,” he draws his hand along Oikawa’s thigh to the seam of his shorts. “Then you started wearing these around anytime we came over.”
Victory pulls a smile back over Oikawa’s teeth. He knew these shorts would work. Iwaizumi owed him dinner.
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Iwaizumi frowns.
“Why didn’t you?” Matsukawa presses down gently on Iwaizumi’s throat, smiling when a noise gets caught beneath his hands. He rocks his head slowly back into his lap and bends forward. “We’re your friends first, y’know? We didn’t want to ruin what we all have. Or anything you two have.”
That was fair. It’s the same answer Oikawa and Iwaizumi would have given. Despite how much they thought about it, they cared about Matsukawa and Hanamaki more than sex. They’d been inseparable since first year of high school, and now they were well into their twenties with stable careers. If any one of them didn’t want this, it could have unraveled everything they’d built.
“We’ve talked about it. More than once,” Iwaizumi says slowly, his eyes heavy lidded as Matsukawa is suspended above him.
“Iwa-chan I think we’re past the point of being modest,” Oikawa’s eyes are fixed on the curve in Hanamaki’s mouth. “We’ve wanted to, for a while. We even gotten off…” he trails at the feeling of Hanamaki’s fingers nudging beneath the line of his shorts.
“Finish that sentence,” Hanamaki orders playfully.
Iwaizumi finishes it for him. “During sex,” he gasps as Matsukawa tugs on his scalp, “we talked about it. Gotten off to it,” he rambles as Matsukawa works on tugging him free of his shirt.
“That’s hot,” Hanamaki’s hand grips the inside of Oikawa’s thigh, earning a squeak. Oikawa winces as Hanamaki grips his face, fingers digging into his cheeks. He shudders at the look in his eyes. Hungry. The same look he’d given him that day he’d spilled sour apple across his clothes. The one he gave him when he’d first worn these tiny shorts and bent over to pick up a candy wrapper on the floor.
Hanamaki’s eyes fall to Oikawa’s mouth. “Tell me one,” he says softly.
The way the words tumbled from his mouth send a bolt of lightning from the top of Oikawa’s head straight through the tip of his cock, which begins to come to life as all his blood runs south. Hanamaki’s fingers are dangerously close, and inch even closer, tightening his grip both on his thigh and on Oikawa’s cheeks. “Tooru,” he husks, “if you’re getting off to thoughts of me, I wanna know about it.”
“Hiro, don’t be pushy,” Matsukawa tosses casually. Oikawa glances over his shoulder, nearly choking on his own spit at the sight of Iwaizumi on his knees, facing Matsukawa who is cradling the back of his head and inserting fingers into his mouth, drinking in the sight of how red he is, from his hairline down to his chest.
“This, just like this,” Oikawa confesses, eyes trained on the way Matsukawa pulls a groan from Iwaizumi as he sucks on his fingers.
They’ve all long forgotten the movie is on at this point, remnants of empty sake and water bottles strewn across the coffee table.
Matsukawa lifts his eyes to meet Oikawa’s. “Voyeurs, both of you?”
“All of us,” Hanamaki reminds him.
Matsukawa pulls his eyes away slow from Oikawa’s as he tilts Iwaizumi’s head upwards, removing his fingers and replacing them with his tongue. Iwaizumi arches into him, a soft noise escaping his mouth as his hands walk along Matsukawa’s thighs to the waistline of his pants.
Oikawa tenses his muscles and snags his lip between his teeth. He and Hanamaki watch Matsukawa suck on Iwaizumi’s tongue until he’s dizzy, his hands fumbling with the clasp of his jeans. Matsukawa pauses to give Iwaizumi oxygen and swipes his thumb across his cheek. “Takahiro, if you don’t start giving Tooru attention, I’m taking him from you.”
“Yes yes,” Hanamaki turns back to Oikawa with a wicked grin. “You were having so much fun watching though, weren’t you?”
Oikawa nods, wordlessly. Iwaizumi glances back at him for a quick look, one of mutual decision that takes no time.
We’re actually fucking doing this.
“Let’s make them jealous,” Hanamaki coos and licks his lips.
Matsukawa tilts Iwaizumi’s chin upwards and presses a kiss warm to his ear. “You want to watch?”
Iwaizumi groans and nods. It’s all they’ve been wanting for weeks, months, maybe even years.
The warm sake in his stomach fuzzes the part of his brain that might feel shy when Matsukawa pulls him into his lap and spins him around, lips ghosting along the curve of his neck and shoulder. Iwaizumi feels him hard against the inside of his thigh, inadvertently rocking into him as Matsukawa’s hands climb his legs.
Hanamaki is hovering over Oikawa, sliding their mouths together with warm, wet tongues. Oikawa moans into him as cool fingers work his shirt upward and roll a pink nipple between fingers. Hanamaki greedily swallows his noises, only breaking for air to pull them free of their shirts and lowering Oikawa deep into backrest of the couch. His hand snakes up to Oikawa’s throat and gently presses on the spot that makes it a bit difficult for Oikawa to breathe. It’s not enough to cut off his air supply, but enough that Oikawa’s head starts to spin as Hanamaki’s free hand finds his cock through his shorts and strokes him.
The friction has Oikawa wanting to gasp, but the grip on his oxygen intake keeps him at the mercy of Hanamaki’s will. “Moan for me,” Hanamaki growls into his mouth. Oikawa obeys.
“You know you’re pretty during sex, don’t you?” Hanamaki grins, the starved gaze sending a quiver through Oikawa’s chest.
Iwaizumi agrees, wholeheartedly. Oikawa is gorgeous when he’s kiss red, large brown eyes glassy, head thrown back. He wants Hanamaki to find the spot that makes Oikawa scream and ruin it, leave him open and shaking and boneless.
Iwaizumi twitches with excitement when Matsukawa is low in his ear. “Tooru is sensitive.”
“He is,” Iwaizumi bobs his head, rocking against Matsukawa again, annoyed his hands have stopped. He gasps when those hands start moving, sliding his sweats off his waist, enough to reveal tight briefs against his hard length. “Then again, Hajime, so are you.”
Iwaizumi hisses under Matsukawa palming him through cotton fabric. He struggles to focus, finding purchase on Matsukawa’s forearms. “Issei—!”
“Watch,” Matsukawa growls into his ear, “look how good Tooru feels.”
Iwaizumi wants to keep watching, but his eyes squeeze shut when Matsukawa has a hand wrapped around the base of his cock and shifts his hips, his own length hard and pressed against his ass. “I had a dream just like this once,” Matsukawa purrs, “stuffed you full with my cock while we watched those two fuck like rabbits. You were so cute for me,” he bites down on his ear, “say my name.”
“Issei,” Iwaizumi complies, scarlet flushing from his ears down to his neck. He moans under his touch, drinking in those large hands smearing precome across his shaft. Iwaizumi thrusts into his hands and drops back, earning a stuttered grunt from Matsukawa behind him. “Keep watching, Hajime.”
Oikawa’s head is thrown back, rolling his hips against Hanamaki’s waist, his fingers gripped along his wrist still tight around his throat. Hanamaki releases him, sliding his hand around to the back of his neck and tugging the hair on his scalp. He breathes into his skin as he bites down on his throat. “God you smell good,” he sighs, “c’mere.”
Hanamaki rolls over and drops back against the couch, laughing at how eagerly Oikawa scrambles into his lap, discarding those teeny shorts in the process. Hanamaki kisses along his neck and sucks, biting, leaving a trail of marks as Oikawa rocks in his lap.
He pauses to lift his head, giving Oikawa a ravenous look, before looking over at Iwaizumi and Matsukawa. “Oh… Tooru I think it worked. Look,” he turns Oikawa’s cheek, nuzzling into it. “Hajime is leaking all over.”
Oikawa stills under Hanamaki’s touch. He forgot to check on Iwaizumi, too caught up in the moment. Hanamaki was unrelenting, consuming his attention whole and keeping him under his thumb. Iwaizumi and Matsukawa had watched that entire thing, and what’s more, Iwaizumi was rutting into his hand and moaning his name, his eyes trained on Oikawa.
“You jealous?” Hanamaki smirks.
“Honestly, a little,” Matsukawa admits with a smile, “are you, Hajime?”
Iwaizumi can barely form a sentence at this point. “Yes,” he rasps, toes curling as Matsukawa swirls a bead around the head.
“You wanna trade?” Hanamaki asks, thumbs drawing slow circles in Oikawa’s hips. He smiles when Oikawa responds by rocking with him, pressing kisses against his jaw and throat. “But Makki…” He whines in slight protest.
“Think fast, Issei. My generosity is waning, and Tooru’s giving me bedroom eyes.”
“I think I will,” Matsukawa says suddenly and releases Iwaizumi by setting him gently onto the couch beside him.
Oikawa slightly pouts when Hanamaki lets him go, but is satisfied when he grabs him forcefully by his cheeks and smashes a series of kisses against his mouth. “Don’t think I’m done with you,” he promises.
He gives Oikawa a push and sends him tumbling towards Matsukawa, who catches him on either side of his waist.
He finds Iwaizumi’s first, who is leaning back breathless and spinning, eyes only lighting up when Hanamaki begins to work his pants completely over his ankles. “Damn this is gonna be fun,” Hanamaki grins and lifts Iwaizumi’s chin, bringing him into the same, sloppy lip lock that Oikawa had just been under.
Oikawa chews on his lip, eyes fixed on the way Hanamaki teases Iwaizumi through teeth and tongue. Where the bottle of lube came from, Oikawa isn’t sure, but he doesn’t care. Iwaizumi grunts and moans and pants against Hanamaki’s skilled hands, a gargled laugh bouncing from his throat when Hanamaki says something in his ear that Oikawa doesn’t quite catch.
Jealousy flares in Oikawa’s gut. Watching Hanamaki pull himself free of his own shorts and sink Iwaizumi to his knees makes his cock jump and his shoulders tense. He wants to do that, too.
“Tooru,” Matsukawa’s silky voice breaks his concentration.
Oikawa turns to him and grows still, obedient as he tugs him forward into a gentle, yet piercing kiss.
Matsukawa has always been able to leave Oikawa speechless, breathless, uncertain of his next step, with just a look. Most considered Matsukawa to be a goof, unserious, indifferent. They were wrong. Matsukawa was sharp, observant, patient. He waited to strike, because there was no need to make unnecessary movements. Oikawa appreciated that about him. Even more now as his large hands guided Oikawa’s naked thighs to straddle his lap.
It was a completely different energy than Hanamaki’s rough and raw aggression.
Matsukawa treats him like a lover, earning pleasant sighs and gasps, hands ghosting across his skin, sucking on his already swollen lips, leaving him tingling and shivering. “Tooru,” he hums against the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, “on your knees.”
Oikawa happily slides to the floor, brown eyes wide and bleary and staring at Matsukawa’s erection standing just before him. “Look at me while you do it,” Matsukawa instructs and guides Oikawa to his cock head.
He opens his mouth and sinks over Matsukawa, peering up at him through thick lashes and hollowed cheeks.
Matsukawa’s eyes turn sharp, wanton, fingers carding through Oikawa’s hair and tugging. “That’s it,” he croons, “I’ve dreamt about this way too much.”
“I’ll say,” Hanamaki chimes in, “they’re both so…” his voice trails, and Oikawa knows it’s because he hit the back of Iwaizumi’s throat. That always gets Oikawa too, how warm and tight that slide is, those dark hazel eyes brimmed with tears, dancing between his own pleasure and triumph of satisfying his lover.
The thought of it causes Oikawa to moan around the cock stuffed down his own throat, feeling Matsukawa tug hard on his hair. “Sexy, is the word you’re looking for, Hiro.”
“Right, right,” Hanamaki answers distantly.
Matsukawa leans forward and tugs Oikawa off the tip and glides their mouths together, gripping Oikawa by the throat before he can grab air into his lungs. Matsukawa’s gentle nature gains a forceful edge as he flops Oikawa onto his back. Thank goodness for modular sofas with rearranging cushions. Oikawa’s eyes are stuck on the way Matsukawa coats his fingers with a lusting twinkle in his eyes. “That day in the kitchen, when you said you missed me… I really wanted to fuck you on that countertop.”
Oikawa’s eyes widen, gasping when Matsukawa has started working him open, his mouth landing on several places across Oikawa’s body that leave a heat in their wake.
“In those tiny shorts, you knew what you were doing,” Matsukawa smiles into the hollow of Oikawa’s jaw.
“Yes,” Oikawa admits with a nod, “you should have,” he groans, feeling a second finger stretch him further. “I wanted you so bad.”
“I know.”
“We wanted to watch that,” Hanamaki calls from behind them, looking down at Iwaizumi’s face pressed into the couch, groaning at the sensation of three of Hanamaki’s fingers inside of him. “Didn’t we, Hajime?”
Iwaizumi nods, unable to lift his head from the couch cushion. “Takahiro,” he wheezes, muffled, “just put it in already.”
“As you wish.” Hanamaki removes his wrist and aligns himself with his hole, licking his lips and digging his fingers into the smooth curve of Iwaizumi’s ass. “Oh my god, you’re twitching for me. Fuck,” he groans and slides in with one push. A shudder runs through him head to toe, hearing Iwaizumi’s tangled gasp, grip digging into the dark of the couch.
Hanamaki slides out, slowly, snagging his lip between his teeth and sinking back in. He lifts his eyes slowly from watching himself fuck into Iwaizumi to meet Oikawa’s.
You’re next, is written on his face in a confident tweak of his upper lip as he finds a steady rhythm.
A tug of carnal pleasure makes Oikawa moan at the same time Matsukawa’s fingers locate the spot that turns him to mush. He doesn’t wait too much longer, only giving Oikawa enough not to hurt him, before he’s sliding himself hot, and thick against Oikawa’s walls with a grunt. “God you’re tight,” he sighs, working to find a rhythm that suits them both.
Oikawa hiccups when Matsukawa’s cock head finds that spot with ease. A noise jumps from his mouth that puts a satisfied smile on Matsukawa’s face. “Hiro is right… you really are so pretty when you’re being fucked.”
Iwaizumi wishes he could lift his head, hearing Oikawa thrash and whine about as Matsukawa amps up his pace.
“Fuck, Mattsun, that feels so good,” Oikawa gurgles. Iwaizumi can see it, the way his eyes roll back, the furrow of Matsukawa’s brow as his fingers dig bruises into Oikawa’s hips, because fucking Oikawa was an experience in and of itself. It was like holding starlight in your fingertips, a searing pain and heat accompanied by a beauty that left you speechless. Oikawa devoured your sensations and amplified them.
“Here,” Hanamaki leans over him, pressing his chest to his back and rutting their hips together. Iwaizumi’s moan goes from muffled to clear when Hanamaki’s fingers dig into his hair and tug back, pulling his face from the couch. “Look at Tooru,” he murmurs, “Issei is fucking him so good. Bet you wish that was you, huh?”
Hanamaki is right. Avarice is a cruel mistress and it’s clawing at Iwaizumi’s insides, watching Matsukawa suck a spot on Oikawa’s throat purple as his hips thrust and jerk in the same rhythm that Hanamaki’s do, aiming to push Iwaizumi’s stomach into his throat.
He backs into Hanamaki and whimpers. He wants to be right here, under him, fucked full and deep and raw. He wants to be underneath Matsukawa. He wants to fuck Oikawa and be fucked by him all at once. If he could drown in this feeling, he would, willingly.
“Don’t worry,” Hanamaki huffs into his ear, “you’ll get your turn after this.”
Oikawa tilts his head back when he hears Iwaizumi’s moans grow desperate, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Oikawa recognizes that face, the one Iwaizumi makes when he’s close. His eyes roll back and squeeze shut, brows pinching together as he rocks his hips backwards into Hanamaki. “Harder,” He whines, “right there!”
“Fuck yeah you’re feeling this,” Hanamaki moans.
Oikawa tries to keep his eyes on Iwaizumi, but as his breathing grows ragged and his jaw slacks, he decides he wants to see Matsukawa’s face, too. His skin grows hot, the coiled feeling of his orgasm turning his knees to jelly. “Mattsun,” he whines, “I think I’m—”
“I know. I’ll bring you to it.”
“Hajime,” Hanamaki whispers into his ear, and the sound of him punches the stored warmth from the base of Iwaizumi’s spine to the back of his skull.
Suddenly Iwaizumi cries out, sharp, strangled. “Fuck, oh fuck I’m coming, fuck!” He arches deeper into his cat like pose and grips the couch like a vice, hips stuttering against Hanamaki’s, shooting white hot across their clothes in the heap on the couch.
“That’s it baby,” Hanamaki bends over him and tugs hard on his hair, biting deep into his neck, enough to leave a mark as he follows him through it. A garbled laugh leaves his chest as he fucks Iwaizumi through orgasm, marveled by how loud he actually is.
Oikawa stares, lost in the way Iwaizumi’s writhing slows to a stop, a half smile on his mouth as he laughs against Hanamaki’s kiss, batting his hands away from hypersensitivity. He wants to kiss Iwaizumi like that in his after glow, the way he’d imagined it so many times.
Matsukawa grabs his by his jaw and turns his head. “Liked that?” He smirks, eyes glinting with a deep, animalistic lust.
He can’t respond, the feeling of Matsukawa stretching him full and ramming into that one spot that bends the light behind his eyes has him pathetically nodding in response. “How lewd, getting off to watching your boyfriend fucked by someone else.”
Oikawa goes to close his eyes, but Matsukawa’s grip tightens around his jaw. “All those times you looked at me, begging me to fuck you silly, don’t use your imagination, Tooru, look at me.”
Orgasm snaps through Oikawa like a slingshot. He arches back and cries out, suspended under Matsukawa’s touch as he guides him through it. “Oh god, oh fuck, Mattsun please—”
“Fuck, you’re so good for me,” Matsukawa shivers, and pulses warm, hips stuttering to a stop as he finds his own release. Oikawa’s chest heaves, whimpering when Matsukawa leaves him with a wet slide, accepting apology through melting their tongues together in a sweet tangle.
Matsukawa pulls off his mouth with a wet smack and licks his lips. “You are something else,” he breathes, his lazy smile is tilted as Oikawa lies still gasping for oxygen.
“I dunno, Hiro, I think Tooru likes my cock,” Matsukawa drags his fingers through his hair and stretches his arms over his head, showing off all his lean and muscular length.
“That’s because he hasn’t had mine,” Hanamaki snorts and presses a kiss beneath Iwaizumi’s eye, “you saw and heard Hajime.”
Oikawa and Iwaizumi ignore their lovers quarrel over who could fuck who better. “You okay?” Iwaizumi asks, pressing a kiss against Oikawa’s forearm and pulling it away from his eyes.
“Better than that,” Oikawa smiles breathlessly. “That was…”
“Hot? Sexy? In-fucking-credible?” Matsukawa rambles through a list of adjectives.
“All of the above?” Hanamaki claps Matsukawa’s hand in a high five. “I get to fuck Tooru, now,” he sings, making his way over towards Oikawa.
“Wait a minute—” Oikawa pants, “can we try something?”
Matsukawa and Hanamaki both exchange a glance, then a unified nod. “What’d you have in mind?”
Iwaizumi and Oikawa share a smile and grapple Matsukawa’s wrist, pulling him to sit back on the couch. “It’s an idea we’ve been replaying over and over,” Oikawa says as he reaches to pull couch cushions to the floor.
Iwaizumi crawls over to Matsukawa with lips pulled back over his teeth, eyes feral. “Help me out here, would you?”
“Gladly,” Matsukawa reaches for his waist as Iwaizumi straddles him, facing outward. Matsukawa smiles against his cheek and angles the tip of his cock against hole. “Wanting to play out my dream?”
“With a twist,” Iwaizumi grunts as he sinks over him. “Jeez,” he puffs, blushing when Matsukawa’s fingers dig in to feel himself through his stomach.
“So warm,” Matsukawa nestles his face into the curve of Iwaizumi’s neck and bites, squeezing the back of his thigh. “If I have you like this I dunno how long I’ll last.”
“Iwa-chan feels really good,” Oikawa agrees, sinking to his knees in front of him, eyes and fingers wanton across his cock heavy against his stomach. “Tastes good too. Makki,” Oikawa peeks back at the strawberry blonde, who is picking up the setting they’ve created with mouth agape and eyes wide. “You’ll fuck me too, right?”
“Oh my god,” Hanamaki croaks, blood rushing straight to the tip of his dick with an urgency so strong he clamps the base and drops to one knee. “Tooru…I’m gonna break you in half.”
Oikawa turns back to glance up at Iwaizumi, eyes lustblown, hips pushing back into Hanamaki’s as he ruts himself against his entrance.
“Come on, gag on it.” Iwaizumi’s eyes are glowing with ferocity.
Oikawa fulfills his request and drags his tongue flat across the length of his cock from base to tip before sinking over him.
“Oh fuck,” Iwaizumi’s breath hitches, the tight, fullness of Matsukawa stretching him coupled with Oikawa’s suction beginning to create the birth of a galaxy behind his eyes.
Oikawa guides Iwaizumi to the back of his throat, gaze locked onto him from below, flickering once to Matsukawa. He smiles around him and swallows, the constriction of the movement dropping Iwaizumi’s head back onto Matsukawa’s shoulder as his lungs deflate. Matsukawa tenses; Oikawa knows full well Iwaizumi tightened around him.
Iwaizumi always argued that Oikawa felt better. Oikawa begged to differ. Iwaizumi was warm, and needy, and unabashed when you fucked him open. He squeezed hard and moaned harder, responding in kind to every kiss, touch, thrust, like gathering euphoria into your veins and coiling it tight until it exploded outwards to all of your limbs.
Oikawa hums around his cock, flattening his tongue against the skin of the base and wriggling his hips in excitement as he feels Hanamaki’s tip tease and slide. That is, until Hanamaki cracks his hand across his ass cheek. Hard.
His eyes widen as he goes to back off, but Hanamaki has a hand around Oikawa’s throat and lips hot against his ear. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarls, “you heard Hajime. Gag on it.”
A burst of carmine flushes Oikawa’s face and neck. Though the sting of the slap reverberates across his skin, his own length grows stiff, hanging untouched and beginning to pool precome at the head. Hanamaki fills him with a push, and bruises the skin of Oikawa’s wrists pinned behind his back.
“Hajime,” he orders, “move.”
Iwaizumi angles his hips forward with the help of Matsukawa, the both of them with eyes heavy lidded and jaws slack as they guide Iwaizumi in and out of Oikawa’s throat. Iwaizumi hisses, not only feeling the tight slide, but Hanamaki’s fingers pressing down just enough to join in on using Oikawa to edge him off.
“You should see his face,” Matsukawa sighs, looking at Oikawa’s expression.
“You should see his,” Hanamaki grins darkly, glancing up to Iwaizumi.
Oikawa wiggles against him, not in an effort to break free, no, but to let him know that he wants to be fucked. It was torturous, being held in suspension here. Iwaizumi stuffed into his mouth was only part of the equation. He needed Hanamaki to press his hips against his ass and bury himself so deep Oikawa could feel him rearranging organs.
“I always knew you liked to be handled, Tooru,” Hanamaki smiles, and fills him with one push.
“You’re the greediest of us all, I think,” Matsukawa mentions above sinking back into the couch to thrust into Iwaizumi.
“Like you don’t benefit.” Hanamaki isn’t looking at him, but instead at Iwaizumi, who is thrashing and moaning as he once again climbs his peak.
“You two really dreamed about this, that’s so hot,” Hanamaki releases his grip on Oikawa’s throat and reaches for his hair, beginning to piston his hips. He looks down at the way Oikawa swallows him from behind.
Iwaizumi looks down at the sight, watching Oikawa’s eyes roll back, glossy with tears, Hanamaki railing him from behind with an insatiable appetite. It’s just like they wanted, but, harder, better. The base of Iwaizumi’s spine warms, the tingling at the base of his cock growing to be too much to bear.
“I’m gonna come if you keep going,” He manages between breaths, “Fuck, it’s too good.”
“I’m close too,” Matsukawa admits, “this is way too good.”
“You both are not going to finish without us,” Hanamaki lets Oikawa’s wrists go and cracks another hand across his backside, earning a delighted squeal. “Tooru wants to come just like this, stuffed full of his favorites.”
“Ignoring the favorite comment for right now,” Matsukawa winces.
Hanamaki’s fingers lace through Oikawa’s splayed across Iwaizumi’s thighs in desperation, both clinging to Iwaizumi and each other as their orgasm sways into reach.
“Fuck, Tooru, you feel so good,” Hanamaki rasps against the nape of his neck, “Gonna make me explode.”
Oikawa’s eyes meet Iwaizumi’s once more, barely able to focus with Hanamaki guiding him to his release. It’s more like he drags him towards it, brutally, blissfully, abusing that spot over and over with his cock and fucking him so greedy he might stamp his name on Oikawa’s skin.
Matsukawa wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist and keens into him, shuddering as he moans against his ear. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he groans as his hips stutter.
Oikawa sucks from base to tip, pulling off Iwaizumi’s tip with a pornographic pop, taking the cork sealed on Iwaizumi’s release with it. It cuts through him like a hot knife, back arching, toes curling, vision fracturing. Matsukawa buries his moans into Iwaizumi’s skin as he squeezes him dry.
The sight of them sends Oikawa and Hanamaki over the edge. Oikawa digs his nails into his thighs and cries out, pleasure pulling like a ripcord through his hips and into his ribcage. “Makki—oh fuck, I’m coming—!”
“I know it, gorgeous. Feel it all over me,” Hanamaki grits as he ruts through it, “holy fuck,” he hisses into his skin.
The four of them drop into a heap, bones limp, the only sounds being labored breathing and slight whimpers from overstimulated nerve endings.
No one moves for what feels like an eternity, letting the come down from the high take as long as it needs to.
Hanamaki is the first to move, lifting off of Oikawa only to grab bottles of water from the table. He pushes one into Matsukawa’s hands and reaches for Oikawa, still limp against his chest. “Hey, you should hydrate,” he encourages.
“Mmm… hydrate me,” Oikawa sighs euphorically. Hanamaki obliges him through water wet kisses, trailing his fingertips across his skin.
“I don’t think I can move,” Iwaizumi turns to Matsukawa sheepishly, “my legs are shot.”
“Where do you want to go? I’ll carry you,” Matsukawa hands him the bottle with a grin.
“Shower,” Iwaizumi mumbles, “we’re… sticky.”
The rest of them agree, gathering their clothes used as shields from the couch cushions and tossing them to the laundry on the way. They exchange touches, and giggles, kisses under the spray of warm water, grateful Hanamaki and Matsukawa had a shower big enough to host the four of them.
“Never knew when we’d need it,” Hanamaki giggled.
“We wanted to need it,” Matsukawa added.
Post shower, they all found their way to the couch again, Iwaizumi and Oikawa dressed in borrowed t-shirts and shorts. Matsukawa opted for just a pair of grey sweats, pulling Iwaizumi into his lap when he wouldn’t stop staring at his chest. Hanamaki wore the shirt that matched Oikawa’s. Oikawa said it was cute, and before Iwaizumi could put it on, Hanamaki demanded that it was his shirt, his rules.
“So…” Iwaizumi begins with an arm around Matsukawa, tracing his lower lip and jawline with his own snagged between his teeth. “What happens now?”
Oikawa is straddled across Hanamaki’s lap, feeding him sweets as the latter’s hands smooth across the curve of his rear, massaging away the redness and bruising from earlier’s activities. Hanamaki lifts his head to glance at Iwaizumi. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… we can’t exactly go back to normal, can we?”
Matsukawa drums his fingers on Iwaizumi’s kneecap. “I don’t know that we were ever normal.”
Iwaizumi and Oikawa exchange a glance, before sputtering into laughter.
“What’s funny?” Matsukawa reaches for the tv remote, tightening his grip on Iwaizumi to stifle his reactionary shift.
“We said the same thing,” Oikawa chuckles. “So I guess, we’re kind of a thing now? What do they call that, there’s a word for it.”
“Polyamory.” Iwaizumi turns pink, “is that… what you both would want?”
“We always figured you two were kind of a closed, packaged deal. Hence our hesitation,” Matsukawa flips through channels, leaning further into Iwaizumi pulling fingers through his hair, “but I’m not opposed to the idea. Takahiro?”
“I don’t care about labels,” Hanamaki shrugs. “We don’t want to be in the way, though.”
“Neither do we,” Iwaizumi and Oikawa respond, an edge of eagerness in their voices.
“Then I think we’re all agreed,” Matsukawa smiles.
It’s not something any of them had talked about before this, but they all knew where each other stood on the matter. Oikawa’s intuition was spot on. Iwaizumi and Oikawa knew they were meant to be with each other, just as Matsukawa and Hanamaki knew they were meant for each other.
They also knew that they were all made for each other, in some way shape or form, however, whatever that meant. They couldn’t fully explain it, and it didn’t have a name, but it didn’t need to.
None of them were normal, nor were they crazy. They just knew what they wanted, and that was to be together.
“Y’know… this time we kinda let you two have your way with us,” Oikawa clears his throat, sliding another sweet into Hanamaki’s mouth. He smiles when the strawberry blond sucks lovingly past the tip of his finger. “Which we don’t mind in the slightest.”
“Ohhh,” Matsukawa shifts in Iwaizumi’s grip, pressing a kiss against his palm, “you think you can top me?”
“I know I can,” Iwaizumi grabs his face with a smirk. “I’ll have you begging for it.”
“He will, believe him,” Oikawa tosses over his shoulder. Hanamaki laughs into his hands. “Does the same go for you, Tooru?”
“I don’t need you to beg,” Oikawa tilts forward and hovers above his kiss with a mischievous grin, “I’m not giving you a choice.”