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Oikawa is loud.
If he were to speak frankly (which he does most of the time), Iwaizumi would say Oikawa isn’t obnoxiously loud in one of two scenarios.
The first is within his own bubble of intensity, eyes cool, jaw set, and mouth sharp whether downturned in a chilling scowl, or upturned in a frightening grin. In these moments, Oikawa seeps power and intimidation from his pores, the volleyball palmed in his hand his ultimate weapon. It’s terrifying from the opposite side of the net, this sort of silence that speaks so much louder than words.
The second is when Oikawa is sleeping.
Lying on his side, Iwaizumi studies this state of Oikawa’s silence.
He doesn’t necessarily prefer one over the other, but there’s something calming about the way Oikawa lies without tension in his frame, without any sort of unapproachability, vulnerable with his long legs intertwined between Iwaizumi’s, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his soft breaths tickling Iwaizumi’s collarbone.
Almost subconsciously, Iwaizumi finds himself reaching out to press his fingertips to the features of Oikawa’s face; the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the crest of his nose, the line of his jaw, the ridge of his brow.
Iwaizumi flinches as Oikawa stirs for a moment, his nose wrinkling, mumbling something soft and unintelligible after a small yawn. Iwaizumi’s hand freezes in mid-air, tense until Oikawa settles again, closer than before, the back of his hand pressed gently against Iwaizumi’s chest, fingers naturally curled into his palm.
A part of Iwaizumi knows that he should leave it at that, close his own eyes and let the heat of Oikawa’s body against him carry him into a shared sleep.
Another part wonders how much more he can get away with.
Moving cautiously, Iwaizumi lowers a hand to grasp Oikawa’s, pausing for a brief moment of consideration before eventually lifting it to his lips. Eyes watching Oikawa’s face for any signs of awakening, Iwaizumi presses his lips against the ridges of Oikawa’s knuckles, dry lips following the faint, blue veins underneath coarse skin, kissing around the curve of his wrist, settling at its dip, a particularly ticklish part of Oikawa’s body Iwaizumi recalls from an abundance of memories. Pulling his lips away for a moment, Iwaizumi breathes a puff of air against the sensitive skin, noticing the way Oikawa’s fingers twitch in reaction and a soft, almost irritated sigh escapes between his lips.
As Iwaizumi lowers their hands against the ruffled bed sheets, he notes the almost embarrassing way his own lips involuntarily lift into the smallest of smiles.
And he wonders…would Oikawa wake up if he leaned forward..and…
Their lips are hovering centimeters apart when Oikawa’s eyes flicker open, mouth pulled into a confused pout for only a moment before it expands into a devilish grin. Iwaizumi can feel heat rise in his cheeks as Oikawa’s lips part with words already resting on his tongue, sure to tease.
But before such words have the opportunity to make themselves known, Iwaizumi reflexively presses their lips together, too rough in an action decided without thought, and Oikawa makes an annoyed sound muffled against Iwaizumi before he eventually exhales through his nose, relaxing against the touch. Feeling his heart rate decrease with each moment, Iwaizumi finds himself following the motions of Oikawa’s lazy kisses, slow and undemanding, opening his mouth to allow their tongues to trace against each other, exploring places they already know so well.
Kissing Oikawa in these moments is like walking down a beaten path, the dirt worn from the number of footsteps that have already walked there. Everything about it is so familiar, so comfortable that Iwaizumi's eyes close, allowing his sense of touch to take precedence.
It isn’t until he feels the absence of Oikawa’s lips that he opens his eyes again, eyebrows pulling together, humming in question.
“So what were you doing, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, voice still rough with sleep but retaining the same teasing inclination. Iwaizumi feels the heat rise in his cheeks as his lips turn downwards into a frown.
“Nothing, moron.” But his voice holds little bite, and Oikawa’s grin only widens.
“I mean, you can continue~ I don’t mind.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“Were you going for the Sleeping Beauty effect, Iwa-chan?”
“What, no-”
“Hold on, I’ll close my eyes again and-”
“Shut up!”