Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.”

Chapter Text

It takes everything in Hajime to look away from Oikawa’s ass as he walks in front of him toward the squat rack.

He'd be damned if he’ll fall into that guy’s trap. He wasn’t an idiot, goddamnit. Oikawa was his best friend, and he wasn’t going to risk everything they’d been through together just because he wanted him. 

Plus, he knew better than to think Oikawa was doing anything else but toying with him, the way he had with countless other admirers whenever he was bored. He was just being an asshole, the same way he’s always been. He’d always loved to poke and prod at people just to see what’d they do next. 

Right?

Hajime prided himself on knowing everything about Oikawa. He was dauntless, petty, and took to being a pain in the ass like he was being paid for it. And in many respects, as Argentina’s rising star of a setter, he now was. 

But when it came to this — lust, yes, but also bigger, scarier feelings buried a mile deep— Hajime was in uncharted territory. He’d only known Oikawa in the context of fleeting fancies or as the subject of torrid one-sided yearnings. He was a star, he was handsome, and he knew it. That was the guy who everyone knew, the guy who everyone admired. 

Hajime knew better: he knew Oikawa scared, he knew him frustrated and bitter, he knew him deeply and utterly defeated. He knew when he was faking something, and when he had something to hide. 

Hajime knew a couple of other things, too. He knew that he still loved Oikawa, and that knowing him in all of his iterations had only made that love grow stronger. But most importantly, he knew him, and there was something about this situation he wasn’t catching. The only difference between the guy he’d fallen in love with and the tease in front of him was time. So Hajime steels himself, narrows his eyes at Oikawa’s retreating figure, and sure enough—

There was something unsettled about Oikawa’s body language as he made his way toward the squat rack, something— dare he say it— nervous about it. It reminds him of how he’d walk home those nights he’d been dragged by the ear back home from that late-night bullshit he used to try to get away with, practicing for hours and hours with no end in sight. Light on his feet, like he was still hoping he wouldn’t be caught– by Hajime, by his opponents, by anyone who’d stood in his way. 

Oikawa was brave, but he was also careful. It was good that Hajime never had patience for that kind of thing. 

Hajime’s thoughts are interrupted by Oikawa’s ass suddenly looming in front of him as he bends down to pick up a plate from a rack. He feels like an animal as he stares without blinking, trying and failing not to register how it might feel in his hands before Oikawa smoothly rises and turns around.

Had Oikawa gotten hard, too? Hajime suddenly thinks. Or was he just fucking with him? 

“I changed my mind,” Oikawa tells him, smirking as he holds the plate right in front of him. It so perfectly hides what Hajime most wants to see that his nose flares in anger. “It’s time for me to show off, big guy.” 

“Sure,” Hajime replies, still wary. Oikawa hums as he loads plate after plate onto the bar, and then turns to him again with his hands on his hips. 

“Will you spot me?” Oikawa asks. Hajime looks at the bar, eyes widening once he sees just how stacked it is.

“You can squat that heavy?” He asks, admittedly impressed. “What’ve they been feeding you over there?”

“You haven’t noticed?” Oikawa teases. He walks closer, close enough that Hajime can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he lifts his arms and flexes, waiting patiently for Hajime to get a good look at his broadened chest, his bulging shoulders and biceps under a shirt Hajime belatedly remembers once used to be too big on him.

“I’ve gotten strong, Iwa-chan,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “You see?”

“Yeah,” Hajime replies, his voice coming out rougher than he'd expected. 

He looks like he could choke Hajime in a headlock and he’d like it, is what he wants to say. He’d noticed Oikawa had gotten bigger back in the airport when he’d barreled into his arms, but he’d told himself not to look too closely.

Now all he wants to do is look, and maybe touch, too.

Hajime suddenly snaps his gaze up to Oikawa’s dark, amused eyes, and realizes he’s been caught right in his trap again– and makes a decision, then and there. 

He wants it? He can have it.

“You look good, Oikawa,” he tells the truth, same as he always has. “You know you do.”

Oikawa flicks his eyes over Hajime’s body in a way that makes the temperature of the entire gym feel hotter, and smirks. His gaze is evaluative, discerning, dangerous. 

Hajime knows he’ll rise to the bait in one way or another. Oikawa was never one to leave a challenge on the table. 

“So do you,” he finally says, and gets under the loaded bar.

Okay, then. Hajime can work with that. He stands closely behind Oikawa, core braced and arms ready. 

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, breath warm against his ear, and feels a wave of satisfaction ripple through him once he sees Oikawa’s ears start to burn.

Oikawa suddenly squats low without warning, grunting under his breath. Hajime follows him down the whole way through, grateful that he has no choice but to keep his eyes respectfully up and away from his behind.

After the ninth or tenth one, Oikawa’s squats grow slower and he loses his full range, clearly getting winded from the sheer bulk of the weight.

“You can go deeper than that,” Hajime chides in an attempt to be encouraging. Oikawa doesn’t look like he agrees, attempting one last one before rising with a flourish before he walks in to rack the bar, sweaty and red-faced.

When it’s secure, Oikawa leans against it and sighs tiredly. Without thinking, Hajime reaches out to steady him by the hips, leaning over his shoulder to see how he’s doing. He can’t help but notice how handsome he looks, flushed and sweaty as his muscles strain through his shirt. 

Oikawa leans into his grasp, and turns his face to look at him– and suddenly they’re a breath apart, sharing the same air. Their eyes flick up at the same time, and Hajime’s heart gets caught in his throat.

His crotch brushes up against Oikawa's behind, but his eyes are stuck on his mouth when Oikawa speaks again.

“I normally do better than this. I think my hips are too tight right now,” Oikawa tells him, still a little breathless. Hajime blinks once or twice, trying to register what he's saying instead of staring at him like a goddamn idiot. “I didn’t think we’d be working out today.”

Hajime’s mind immediately clicks.

“C’mon, let me stretch you out.”

Oikawa lifts his eyebrows. “You’d want to?”

“Why not,” he grumbles, stepping away to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants. “You clearly need it.”

It’s nothing he won’t be doing in the future, and it’s not something he ever thinks about otherwise. But when Oikawa immediately sprawls out on the floor before him and opens his legs wide for him, Hajime’s mouth goes dry with desire.

He looks so fucking good like this, his brain supplies helpfully as he shuffles to his side on his knees. He clears his throat, trying to clear his mind from all the places it wants to go. This was such a bad idea.

“Tell me how this feels,” he finally says. He leans in and grips his inner thigh, bringing his hip up into flexion and leaning forward, pressing the weight of his chest onto Oikawa’s thick thigh back and forth in a lateral glide. He hovers over him as he gently applies more pressure, tugging his leg back and forth, over and over.

“Oh,” Oikawa breathes quietly. When their eyes meet, his gaze is warmer than before, nearly as warm as the skin he’s touching. Hajime tries not to read into it. 

“It feels okay?” He asks, trying to distract them both.

“Yeah.”

Before Hajime switches to his other leg, he decides to just go for it, digging his thumbs into the muscles of his inner thighs to see just how tight he is. He nearly jolts out of his skin when Oikawa lets out a throaty little keening noise, staring up at him with wide, fluttering eyes as his legs fall open a little wider.

“Uh, yeah,” Hajime says, suddenly feeling very stupid. Oikawa’s pupils are still so big, watching him in a way that looks– well, hungry. 

Hajime thinks he might look hungry, too. 

He tears his eyes away, walking over to sit on his other side before the lower half of him gets any ideas. 

“You really are tight,” Hajime tells him after a while, as he tugs his other leg toward his chest again. Look down, the devil on his shoulder taunts, and he shakes his head to clear it.

“Damn it, Oikawa, you’re stiff, too.” He applies a little more pressure with his hands as he frowns at him. Is he taking care of himself in Argentina? Are they keeping an eye on him, ensuring he’s treating his body right? He swears to God, if he’s overworking himself again–

“I am, I’m so tight,” Oikawa groans. He looks a little lost— in what, Hajime doesn’t quite know, but watching him bite his lips with his legs spread, flushed and sweaty feels like a fantasy that’s too good to be true. “You feel so good, Iwa-chan.”

“Okay, I think you’re good,” Hajime swallows hard as he tries to shuffle back. 

He’s gone too far and he knows it. He doesn’t know how he’s going to properly spot the rest of Oikawa’s squats with the bulge he knows he has by now— again, Hajime is reminded bitterly– but he also doesn’t know what else he’ll do if he’s faced with this pliant, moaning Oikawa much longer. “Uh, you want to try again?”

In lieu of a response, Oikawa rolls elegantly toward him and wraps his legs around his middle, reeling him into the cradle of his thighs. Goddamn, he’s strong, Hajime can’t help but think before he’s pulled on top of Oikawa in a vice grip. 

“I don’t know, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa simpers, pointedly grinding against Hajime. Lost in his worries, he hadn’t noticed that Oikawa— fuck, Oikawa was also— “I think I need a little help with something else.”

“Asshole,” Hajime breathes, but he leans forward until he’s on top of Oikawa completely, touching in all the places they shouldn’t be. “You want this?”

“Please, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa whispers against his mouth, their faces inches apart. “Move.”

Hajime grinds against him, slow and steady, hissing out a breath as he finally feels how hard Oikawa feels against him. He wants to see just how thick he is, wants it to peel down his shorts and taste what he’s been craving for years. 

But if this is all they ever get, he'll take it. Oikawa shudders underneath him as they stare at each other wide-eyed, pupils blown, breathing shakily as they slowly create a buzzing, electric friction between them.

“Goddamnit, Tooru,” Hajime burrows his face against his cheek, and nips at the skin there just to hear Oikawa's moan stutter in his mouth. "Can I--"

“Kiss me, you brute,” Oikawa demands, sharp and wanting as he tips his neck back, and Hajime dives up to press his mouth against his in a ravenous kiss.

Once the dam breaks, they kiss wildly, addicted to the sounds they make when they part: Oikawa’s choked-out mmh— oh, ohs, Hajime’s deep, breathless hah. it’s intoxicating, hearing how good they’re making each other feel as the drag of their shorts slowly grows unbearable— prompting them to move against one another even faster, restless and desperate as they trade hurried, hot gasps between their lips.

“Yeah,” Oikawa whines in his ear as Hajime begins to mouth at his neck. “Yes, fuck yes,” He hitches his legs even higher to wrap around his back, possessive and wanting and everywhere. “You feel so good, Hajime.”                

“Goddamnit,” Hajime murmurs breathlessly, feeling absolutely insane as he humps Oikawa like a wild animal into the mat, of all places. “Fuck you, Tooru, I was going to do this right.”

“Later,” Oikawa hisses through his teeth, and he threads a hand in between their sweaty bodies to pull his shorts down before he feels nimble fingers pluck at his waistband, crawling past it to grip his cock in his large hand.

He’d forgotten the third thing, Hajime realizes, as he tries not to come right then and there: Oikawa had always gotten what he wanted, in one form or another. He just had never realized that he was one of them. 

“Fuck,” Hajime hisses, and the wicked grin Oikawa shoots him just inspires another flare of arousal in his gut. He places the heel of his hand against Oikawa’s large bulge and rubs just to get back at him, and the deep groan that comes from Oikawa's chest satisfies that desire for competition in his blood.

He leans over him, biting at Oikawa’s lips as he sneaks his hand into his shorts and begins to pump his cock in tight strokes. He feels full in his hand, and a little longer than he'd expected, and Hajime's mouth waters at the sight of it. He gives into the urge to spit in his palm before jacking off Oikawa again; the bewildered look Oikawa sends him at the sound of it is worth the precome his cock leaks through his fingers.

"You're into it," Hajime brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks at them to taste, rolling his eyes at Oikawa. "Don't even act like you're not."

"Don't even act like you're not literally drooling to suck me off," Oikawa shoots back, looking a little embarrassed from being called out. Hajime decides to pick his battles, considering they've both got each other in their respective grips.

"Yeah, and?" Hajime replies instead, thumbing at the head of his cock as he waits for a response. Oikawa flushes a deep crimson red and grows even harder in his grasp.

Hajime takes that as a yes, and shimmies off Oikawa's lap to lay on his stomach. This all feels like one big fever dream he hopes he never wakes up from.

Oikawa quickly gets over his momentary shyness, stroking himself a couple of times before he presses the head of his cock to Hajime's lips. "Open up, Hajime," he sings quietly.

"Shuddup, dumbass," Hajime murmurs before he goes to work. He kisses at the slit, growing more confident as he hears Oikawa curse under his breath-- and begins petting it with the tip of his tongue while gripping his thighs tightly to hold him still. 

"Look at you," Oikawa coos, threading his fingers through his hair, still sweaty and flushed and all sorts of beautiful Hajime can barely process right now. "I wish we'd done this sooner. You can take more, baby."

Hajime pulls off so he can curse him out properly. "Fuck you, I'm warming up," he warns. He tongues the thick vein that runs alongside his cock before he sucks as much as he can back into the tight ring of his lips, trying not to smile when he feels the muscles of Oikawa's inner thighs begin to tremble. He can't act too smug when Oikawa tastes so damn good, so musky and so much like him that he can't get enough of it.

Oikawa knits his fingers tightly in his spikes, his foot kicking involuntarily as he tips his head back in pleasure. "Fuck, Hajime, you're so good, I'm going to cum," he suddenly yelps, and Hajime cups the head of his cock with his tongue before he kisses at it, coaxing his orgasm on. It still catches him by surprise when Oikawa's release spills past his lips and nearly ricochets into his eye.

When he pulls off, one last spurt flies out high above his mouth, and when Oikawa giggles Hajime knows it's lost somewhere in his hair.

"Give me a second," Oikawa pants, leaning back into his hands as he pants. Hajime wipes at his mouth with his forearm, grinning victoriously at how debauched he's made him look.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself," he complains. "How were you so good at that? What did you practice on, cucumbers?"

"Don't worry about it," Hajime quips back. He'll never admit his fruit of choice, not even on his deathbed. "Finish what you started." Hajime knows he must look ridiculous and rumpled beyond discretion, but he couldn't give two shits about that right now. "Ride me until I get off."

Oikawa clamors onto his lap, still smirking as he sits himself down on what must feel like a kickstand by now. "Your wish is my command, Iwa-chan," he chirps, and Iwaizumi sighs as he finally squeezes his ass with both hands in sweet relief. 

"You're so annoying," he replies, but it dissolves into a moan as soon as Oikawa begins to grind against his cock as sinuously as he can. He throws a hand behind him to rub his cock against his ass, and Hajime can't help but imagine what it'd be like if Oikawa'd ever let him inside.

"Yeah, but you like it," Oikawa reminds him, and Hajime tips his face up for another kiss just to shut him up already. Oikawa rubs his tongue against his lips and behind his teeth in a filthy kiss as he rocks back and forth against his cock without a hitch, and Hajime hopes to god that the gym hadn't decided to invest in security cameras.

"You taste like me," Oikawa moans when they part, still grinding back onto him. Hajime knows he's close, and just watching Oikawa on top of him--all broad and muscular with his fluttering brown eyes-- is enough to get him even closer. "You going to cum, Hajime?"

"You want it?" Hajime huffs, trying to prolong the inevitable. Oikawa gives him a wicked grin that takes his breath away.

"Please," he begs. "I want it, Iwa-chan, all over me, please-- yes! Yes!" Hajime comes in ropes as if he'd been compelled to, and it wouldn't be such a stretch to say that he had. It mostly lands on Oikawa's ass and a little on his thighs, and Oikawa smirks once he turns to survey his handiwork.

Hajime lays back on the floor, suddenly exhausted, and Oikawa flops unceremoniously next to him, hesitating for a second before he lays his head on his stomach.

"Goddamn," Hajime whistles after a moment, and Oikawa huffs out a laugh.

"Thank you for taking the hint," Oikawa chuckles, and Hajime's mouth tips up into a reluctant smile when he feels its vibrations against his ribs. He reaches to comb his hand through Oikawa's hair-- he'd cut it shorter than he used to, and Hajime's starting to think that he likes it. "Took you long enough."

"I swear to god," Hajime halfheartedly slaps at his chest with a lax arm. He's still coming down from the high, sue him. "I will hit you properly as soon as I recover."

"Uh-huh," Oikawa scoffs. "I just made you come so hard you saw stars. The least you can do is be grateful."

Hajime raises his eyebrows in disbelief. "I know you're not backtalking me when I did the same for you."

"Yeah, well..." Oikawa pauses to consider. "I'm still going to win. Just wait until we get back to your apartment." His eyes begin to glitter with a mischief Hajime knows all too well, and loves even more.  

"That implies that for now, you've lost," Hajime grins as he stands up on wobbly knees before he offers Oikawa a hand. "And I'm going to take this victory to my grave."

"It's a tie, Iwa-chan! Have you never heard of a tie?" Oikawa whines from the floor, frowning up at his outstretched hand. 

"Not when it comes to you," Hajime boasts. "But you know what? Double or nothing wins all."

"Deal," Oikawa takes his hand and stands next to him, and shakes it before he threads their fingers together. "May the best man win."