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“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa drops down onto the couch, sighing just about as loud as the cushion can exhale. Today was a long day, and he’s exhausted, enough to bother Iwaizumi for some affection but not enough to just trudge to his room and sleep.
Iwaizumi doesn’t peel his eyes from the TV, even as Oikawa drapes himself across the dark brunet, hiding his face in the junction of Iwaizumi’s neck and shoulder. He presses kisses and sleepy sweet nothings against warm, bronzed skin, because there’s nothing better after a long day than getting hands full of Iwaizumi. “Tired?” He asks, drawing fingers through Oikawa’s mess of curls atop his head, lifting bangs away from his forehead and pressing his lips to it, gentle, a welcome home of sorts.
Oikawa has been at the studio later and later ever since he was assigned a new project. Of course he’s eager at the shot for recognition, promotion, bonuses, but it doesn’t come without long hours and hand cramps.
Oikawa nods, chestnut eyes filled with something longing, his lips pushed into a slight pout. Iwaizumi feels his hands reach up, looping around his neck, and it’s a known movement, because Iwaizumi has already hooked his arms beneath legs and around Oikawa’s back. Somewhere in their small shuffle he turned off the tv, and carries Oikawa straight to the bedroom, the slight sway of his steady walk nearly lulling the brunet to sleep.
“C’mere,” he coos, pulling Oikawa free of his shirt. As tired as Oikawa is, Iwaizumi knows this isn’t all just from fatigue. He’s in one of those moods, where something doesn’t sit right, and he can’t really figure out why, but he’s not happy with himself, about himself, and the more he dwells on it, the more he finds something wrong with him.
“I’m not in the mood,” Oikawa whines, pawing weakly at Iwaizumi’s chest in protest. Iwaizumi shakes his head, holding himself up over Oikawa, keeping the majority of his weight off of him.
“Talk to me,” Iwaizumi urges.
“About what?”
“Of all the times to not be talkative, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi sighs.
Oikawa gives him a brief smile, before he slowly begins talking about his day. In the morning, he was sentenced to being the coffee boy because he wasn’t fifteen minutes early, ordering almost eight cups and six croissants and high tailing it back to the office. He talked about how he was congratulated for completing his section of the storyboard in a timely manner, how they really liked his ideas and his artwork…
“You’re so affectionate, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa smiles slow, teasing when he feels Iwaizumi’s lips pause at a spot beneath his throat. “Why so many kisses?”
“For everything good you did today. That’s not enough, though,” Iwaizumi mumbles. Oikawa is thankful he didn’t look up to see the scarlet heat dusting across his cheeks. “But if I go by freckles…”
“Freckles?” Oikawa leans back slightly, looking at Iwaizumi with disbelief. “As if you could count all of them.”
“two hundred and nine, so far,” Iwaizumi replies, fingertips ghosting across a squadron of freckles near Oikawa’s collarbone. He kisses the spot four times, one for each little spot. “I’ve counted them, over and over again.”
Neither of them look at each other when they say something super sappy and affectionate, not like this, because neither of them can hold their gazes for long without turning as red as a cherry. But Oikawa really loves it, whenever Iwaizumi becomes sentimental, in the rare moments, always when Oikawa truly needs it.
“Two hundred and nine? Yeah right.”
“There’s four here,” Iwaizumi touches, “you’ve got about twenty on your face alone,” Iwaizumi moves Oikawa’s hand away from his face, and kisses from his chin to the tip of his nose, underneath his eye and towards his ear. “You’ve got two, right before your ear,” he kisses twice for each one. Oikawa sighs, breath catching when Iwaizumi’s lips hit the spot at the base of his throat, and he swears he felt something warm and loving whispered into the skin there, beneath a cluster of five freckles.
“You’ve memorized them?” Oikawa asks, jaw dropping when Iwaizumi confirms, broad hands drawing down his chest.
“one of my favorites is here,” Iwaizumi ghosts fingers along pale, spotted skin until he reaches Oikawa’s left hip—he loves Oikawa’s hip bones so much—and he thumbs over an array of seven little skin stars. Oikawa asks him why those would possibly his favorite.
“I’m the only one who knows about them,” Iwaizumi responds, voice gentle with a tenderness that only Oikawa ever sees. Oikawa turns to putty underneath Iwaizumi’s hands, as he starts from his hips, gliding pads of his fingers across the length of Oikawa’s torso, stopping at every freckle, kissing each one, something sickly sweet forming into coherent words somewhere on bare skin on his travels to the next spot.
Iwaizumi loves unravelling Oikawa this way. It’s not through hard kisses, tugging at skin and hair, silvery whines that break through raw lips, slapping of skin and growls of intention—as great as that may be. No, it’s gentler, softer; it’s slow, warm, comfortable, an embodiment of all of the reasons why they love one another so much, spread out across compassionate kisses over Oikawa’s skin stars, massaging silenced words into his skin about how proud he is of Oikawa for waking up this morning, for making it through another long day, for coming home to Iwaizumi, and only him.
It’s all the ways of saying I love you, without actually saying it.
“Did you… count them all?” Oikawa asks through a large yawn, eyes glassy as he slips on the edges of sleep. Iwaizumi nods, curling the brunet towards him and pulling the blanket over them, nuzzling into the batch of curls beneath his chin.
“Every single one. You got another one, on your wrist.”
“Silly Iwa-chan, loving me so much,” Oikawa reaches up, taking Iwaizumi’s face into his hands and smiling. His smile is indolent, drowsy, and Iwaizumi drinks it in. Oikawa only just now realizes Iwaizumi has kissed him almost everywhere else but his lips, and it feels so good, so perfect, even as they both laugh against each other’s mouths. Iwaizumi goes still when Oikawa’s kiss becomes listless, and when he pulls back, he sees Oikawa has already trailed off into sleep, smile still tiny and present on pink lips.
“Yeah, silly me.”