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It’s not that Hajime has anything against older folks. And it’s not like there's a deadline for his attraction to his husband. It’s just that he didn’t expect to be so aroused at a retirement party.
Then again, it’s not exactly your typical retirement party. And the person at the center of it all isn’t exactly your typical retiree.
The hotel ballroom that the Argentinian team rented for the event is filled with the team colors of blue and gold. Sunflowers and hydrangeas adorn each table. Even the cake is covered in blue and yellow frosting, making it look the tackiest and least appealing of everything here.
Despite all the bright colors and flashy decor, Oikawa Tooru stands out above it all. As he always does.
Thank goodness the party is for him. Otherwise, Hajime would feel terrible for the person that the celebration was meant for. They would have no chance of outshining Tooru.
Tooru who is managing to pull off a cream-colored suit, which would likely look tacky on anyone else. Maybe it’s the loosely buttoned shirt underneath, showing off his fine collarbones. Maybe it’s his tan skin, looking even warmer and more sunkissed contrasted against the fabric.
Maybe it’s the gold ring that glints on the matching chain he wears around his neck, shining brighter than ever as it reflects the light-colored suit.
Hajime grins. Endless streams of people are approaching Tooru, congratulating him and wishing him well. They take photos with him and some even toss a final attempt at a flirt his way, before he ducks out of public life for the foreseeable future.
But none of it matters because that ring signifies that Tooru is his and he is Tooru’s. Even while Hajime is on the opposite side of the room and while Tooru’s attention is entirely elsewhere, Tooru is his.
He should probably feel warm and fuzzy inside at that thought. He should probably feel proud and accomplished, knowing that his life partner is being celebrated tonight by so many people he loves and looks up to. People he dreamed of standing alongside since they were young.
But when Tooru turns to face away from Hajime, leaving his perfect ass in those delectably tight pants fully on display to Hajime, all Hajime can feel is deep, primal arousal.
Thank goodness that all the reporters had gotten their fill of Hajime’s broken Spanish earlier because he doesn’t know if he’s exactly fit to be on camera right now.
The tequila he just downed in one gulp doesn’t help the heat building on his cheeks and coiling in his belly, but it does give him the confidence to walk up to his husband and loop a hand around his waist.
Tooru’s rapid Spanish stops abruptly as he turns to glance at Hajime.
“Iwa-chan?” That silly nickname has lasted into their thirties—Hajime has little hope of it ever dying out now, not that he minds it anymore. “Is everything okay?” Tooru asks in Japanese.
Hajime puts his lips right against Tooru’s ear. To an onlooker, it might look like he’s trying to tell his husband something private, but he speaks in Japanese, a foreign language to most people here. There is no reason for the physical closeness.
No reason, except for the fact that Hajime would like Tooru to be as riled up as he is, preferably as soon as possible.
“Your ass looks so fucking good in these pants,” Hajime murmurs, his lips ghosting against the shell of Tooru’s ear. Tooru’s eyes fly open and his lips press shut. Tooru’s hip, now held under his hand, twitches ever so slightly. “Any chance I can get a taste before the cake?”
Tooru coughs loudly into his fist, partly to hide Hajime’s lewd words—despite the fact that no one can understand them—and partly to hide the growing flush on his cheeks.
“Iwa-chan,” he whines. Like he’s protesting Hajime’s horniness, and yet, can’t bring himself to oppose it.
The lack of denial is enough for Hajime. “Meet me in the hotel room in five minutes,” he whispers into Tooru’s ear. Tooru shivers. “I'll let you finish up here. I'd hate to make you end your conversation so abruptly.”
“Ah,” Tooru breathes as Hajime leaves his side. His face already looks a little dazed and Hajime is highly doubtful that he would be able to return to the conversation that Hajime interrupted even if he wanted to.
Hajime makes his way up to their suite. Even if Tooru had denied his advances, Hajime might have had to excuse himself anyway; his pants were feeling conspicuously tight. He could only hope that everyone was too focused on Tooru, the rightful star of the show, to notice.
Two agonizing minutes pass. Damn it, Hajime should have grabbed Tooru by the wrist and dragged him up here with him. Who cares if the guests know that the two of them are fucking? Isn't fucking Tooru’s brains out until he’s a moaning mess the perfect way to celebrate him?
Hajime has half a mind to jerk himself off to the thought of Tooru's round, perfect ass because he feels so unhinged that he can't even bear to wait the three minutes until Tooru should be up here. But as soon as he yanks his belt off, the man himself bursts through the door.
Tooru, at first, looks equally deranged with his flushed face and hazy eyes. But the sight of Hajime's belt already on the bed brings a smirk to his face.
"Wow, you couldn't even wait for me, Hajime? Impatient."
Hajime scoffs. "That's you. You're a minute early."
He knows it's fucking petty and stupid, but he refuses to let Tooru think he has the upper hand here, even if it was the simple sight of his ass that made Hajime feel like he was losing his mind.
However, it's clear that no matter what Hajime tells himself, he is wound around Tooru's little finger.
Hajime gravitates to him—like a wave to the shore—the moment the door shuts. Before he knows it, his hand is twisted in Tooru's shirt and their lips are smashed together.
"You fucking tease," Hajime growls into Tooru's open mouth.
Tooru tries to smirk, but it's swallowed up by Haijme's desperate kiss before his lips widen into it. "What?" he asks, somehow sounding innocent even as he grinds up against Hajime and gasps against his lips.
"You know how your ass looks in these pants," Hajime snarls, grabbing palmfuls of Tooru's ass to emphasize his point. The flesh is soft and pliable in his hands, but he knows that it's really made of hard work and muscle.
He slides a finger up the center seam at the back of the pants and Tooru's breath hitches.
"I shouldn't be away from the party for too long..." His words sound hesitant but his dilated eyes betray the true meaning behind his words.
"Strip quickly then," Hajime breathes against his ear. The suit pants are sinful, but Tooru's bare skin is far more delectable. Tooru nods, already out of breath, as they both throw pieces of their clothing all over the hotel floor while stumbling in the direction of the bed.
Tooru doesn't even get his shirt off before Hajime pushes him down with a hand on the center of his back, bending him over the plush hotel bed, leaving his bare ass finally, fully on display for Hajime.
"Gorgeous," Hajime murmurs.
It's been ten years since they've been together but a flush emerges on Tooru's neck every time Hajime compliments him in that husky and earnest voice. It's no different this time.
The flush gets even deeper as Hajime drops to his knees with a speed that betrays his desperation.
"Wanna taste you," he mumbles, grabbing Tooru's ass in his hands and kneading the flesh. He spreads his cheeks apart and before Tooru can respond, Hajime presses the flat of his tongue against Tooru's hole.
They've done this so many times before—Hajime loves eating his husband out—but Tooru's breathy gasps and trembling legs make it feel like the very first time. Hajime thinks that even on the millionth time doing this, he would never get tired of making Tooru feel this good.
He lets more saliva pool in his mouth and drip onto Tooru’s hole than is strictly necessary, as if to prove to Tooru how mouthwatering Hajime finds his body and this act. Tooru starts to say something, his words half-buried in the sheets, but it sounds like some complaint about how he’s going to have to clean himself up before getting dressed again and how annoying that’s going to be and how people are waiting for him and—
Hajime lets the tip of his tongue breach Tooru’s entrance, just a little, but that’s enough to shut Tooru up and make the rest of his words dissolve into a garbled moan.
“What? You really want me to take this faster?” Hajime chuckles deeply, taking his index finger and running it through the saliva dripping down the inside of Tooru’s thighs before using it to circle his rim, applying just enough pressure as he does so to tease an entrance. “You know that I could make you cum so fast if I wanted to.” He hasn’t missed the way that Tooru’s hips are moving of their own accord, grinding his cock against the mattress as Hajime licks his hole, feather light. He knows his way around Tooru’s body like his own; he knows where to lick, where to bite, where to touch, and where to press to get Tooru’s back arching like a bow and his eyes to roll back in his head within minutes.
But today, he feels a little devious, a little mischievous. Maybe it’s the crowds of people waiting downstairs for Tooru, a man who is getting eaten out slowly and luxuriously by his husband despite the party being held in his honor. Maybe it’s the hyperfixation that Hajime has on Tooru’s ass today because of that goddamn suit, but if Tooru will let him, Hajime would like to make him cum on nothing but Hajime’s tongue.
To make good on his threat (promise? Making your partner cum faster than ever before isn’t exactly a bad thing, is it?), Hajime reaches around and snakes his hand between Tooru’s hips and the mattress, grabbing his weeping cock and starting to stroke, quick and harsh and mercilessly. His grip is made even tighter by the pressure of Tooru’s own body weight pressing down on his hand.
Tooru wails, half in pleasure and half as a protest. “No, no, I want your tongue,” he gasps. “Please.”
Hajime grins. His love of eating Tooru out isn’t exactly one-sided.
“As you wish. Today is your day, after all.”
Hajime removes his hand from around Tooru’s cock, slips both his thumbs into Tooru’s hole—made easy by the wetness of the saliva—and pries it open. Tooru’s hole flutters around nothing until Hajime slips his tongue inside, between his fingers, feeling Tooru clench, hot and tight around him.
“Hajime, oh fuck , Hajime,” Tooru chants like a mantra into the mattress. His left hand stretches behind him to grab at Hajime’s hair, pressing him even closer against his ass. The slight tug of his hair urges Hajime onwards, confirms that Tooru is enjoying this as much as he is. Tooru pulls Hajime’s face forward and grinds his ass backwards, forming a perfect rhythm to maximize his own pleasure. It confirms that even as Hajime is arguably the one making Tooru unravel beneath him, Tooru is always in control, always lets Hajime know what he wants and what makes him feel good.
Hajime wouldn’t want it any other way.
When Hajime removes his thumbs only to replace them with his index and middle fingers alongside his tongue, Tooru’s incoherent mumbling turns into a wail of Hajime’s name. He hasn’t said anything but that for the past few minutes; it’s entirely possible that he doesn’t know how to say anything else but that name right now. Hajime’s fingers are longer and more dexterous than his thumbs and he’s had a decade of experience knowing how to use them to make Tooru fall apart. So it takes mere seconds for them to find and press against Tooru’s prostate.
“Fuck!” Tooru screams, his hips jolting helplessly against the bed. Hajime switches to running his tongue up and down the cleft of Tooru’s ass, around the rim of his entrance, so that his fingers have full mobility inside Tooru to circle and stroke and press against his sweet spot. While his fingers rub mercilessly at Tooru’s prostate, Hajime ducks his head to start sucking a trail of hickies up Tooru’s inner thigh.
No one downstairs will be able to see the blooms of red and purple on Tooru’s skin, but he and Tooru will both know they’re there, marking Tooru as Hajime’s alone.
Hajime adds a third finger into Tooru’s hole and starts pumping in and out, hard and fast, aiming each inward stroke at Tooru’s prostate with pinpoint accuracy. He’s mapped every inch of Tooru's body over the past ten years; he knows where to hit to make Tooru’s tongue loll out of his mouth and his cock leak against the bed.
Tooru’s legs have started shaking and he’s wrapped his own hand around his aching cock when Hajime doesn’t just suck, but bites into the smooth expanse of Tooru’s ass, leaving a red ring of teeth marks—angry and possessive.
Tooru seems all too happy to wear Hajime’s teeth marks on his skin—or maybe it’s the fact that Hajime has resumed nipping and licking and sucking at Tooru’s rim, all while stroking his prostate rhythmically and insistently with all three fingers. It’s not long before Tooru’s incessant babbling of Hajime’s name turns into something more substantive, though nearly as incoherent and unraveled.
“Hajime, I’m gonna— Please, so close, ah, please let me—” Tooru pushes his hips backwards, seemingly both in an attempt to push himself impossibly further onto Hajime’s fingers and tongue and to free his cock from the confines of being trapped against the mattress. From behind Tooru, Hajime can now see his cock, furiously red and hard, hanging heavy between his legs, Tooru’s hand spreading precum down the length as he strokes it.
Oikawa Tooru is a renowned volleyball star, has led his team to multiple championships and multiple Olympics throughout his storied career. He is a minor celebrity, a beloved teammate, an admired mentor. People who love and look up to him have spent a fortune organizing a party for him downstairs. And yet, here he is instead, writhing against the sheets with tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, asking—begging—Hajime for the permission to cum.
Hajime has never thought about whether he has a power complex before, but he thinks this might just give him one.
And yet, he has a lifetime with his husband to sort that out. Tomorrow, he might tease and edge and command Tooru into holding off on his release for longer, toy with him until he’s truly incoherent and properly sobbing for his orgasm. But today is a day for celebrating Tooru. So today, he will play nice and he will spoil Tooru. Not that he needs a special day just to do that.
“Cum whenever you’d like, baby,” Hajime murmurs, pressing another sloppy kiss against Tooru’s hole as he continues the motion of his fingers. “You deserve to feel good. You deserve everything.”
With Hajime’s blessing, all it takes is a couple more strokes of Tooru’s fist, a couple more laves of Hajime’s tongue, and a couple more taps of Hajime’s fingers for Tooru’s back to arch and for a wanton wail to be ripped from his mouth as he cums, white ribbons splattering onto the bed skirt. Hajime keeps circling his fingers, circling his tongue—albeit more slowly and delicately than before—until Tooru jerks one final time against the bed and eventually starts to try and close his trembling legs. Hajime withdraws his fingers and his tongue once he can tell Tooru is on the edge of overstimulation and gets up off of his knees, which are starting to go numb from how long he had been on them.
Without Hajime’s hands palming his ass, keeping him upright, Tooru slumps to his knees as Hajime hurries to the bathroom to grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water.
Hajime manipulates Tooru’s now jelly-like limbs into a more comfortable position at the foot of the bed as he wipes up the saliva and cum staining his thighs. He kisses his husband on the shoulder and murmurs, “You did so good, baby. Congratulations.”
Tooru snorts softly. “Are you congratulating me on the sex or the volleyball career?"
“¿ Por qué no los dos ?” Hajime says—the viral phrase being the one thing he can say completely fluidly in Spanish.
Tooru laughs and turns to face Hajime, the side of his face still smushed against the mattress. “I love you, Hajime.”
Hajime smiles. “I love you, Tooru.” He presses one more kiss to Tooru’s temple before asking, “Should we get back down to the party? I’m sure everyone is missing you. After all, they all came to celebrate you and you’re not even there.”
Tooru’s eyes, hazy and dreamy with his orgasm just seconds ago, suddenly turn mischievous again. “Well, if this is how you celebrate me, why would I need anyone else to?”