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Summary
He starts off with his hand, wrapping it around Oikawa’s length and jerking him slowly, intimately, getting acquainted with his shape, his pulsing blood, the softness of his skin. He slides his thumb up to the tip and presses against the slit making Oikawa pant.
“Fuck–” Oikawa curses, biting his tongue.
“Don’t hold back,” Iwaizumi says, moving his wrist. “I want to hear you.”
“I thought– you wanted me to be good,” Oikawa rasps out through his closed teeth.
“I do,” Iwaizumi hums tightly against the feverish skin over his hip. “And that means if I make you moan, then you moan.”