There's something to be said for the illicitness of their little relationship.
Or at least Iwaizumi thinks so, when there isn't so much as a breath of space between them, pressed together from their kiss all the way to the tangle of their legs. Being addicted to Sawamura wasn't exactly the plan, he never thought he would fall so hard into thick arms and even thicker thighs, dragging his hands through black licorice hair and staring into deep toffee eyes.
(If anything, his track record showed he preferred something sweeter, like mocha and white chocolate and no, no, no thinking about that now.)
Steady hands run across his shoulders, a wet kiss on his temple drag him out of it, and Iwaizumi remembers there's only the here, the now, the mess in the sheets that would be gone tomorrow without a word. It was their secret, kept behind their bed so no one would find out, so no one would take what little they had left. They didn't need teams or friends or anyone trying to butt in, to tell them they shouldn't be doing, they're too old for lectures about eating too much sugar and getting a stomachache. They know. But this was for them to indulge in, late at night when they couldn't take the diet anymore, when they needed something to get by for just one more day. Iwaizumi was more than okay with that, so was Sawamura, he's sure. Sawamura never did anything he didn't want to, it was one of the first things Iwaizumi learned about him, it was one of the things that kept him going now.
(Sawamura doesn't want to think about his own love of spun sugar, the way it catches the light, so he'll take the treat before him instead, just like Iwaizumi. Just like they need to.)
They kiss then, once, twice, again, again, starving for just one more, teeth against raspberry red colors of their lips and tongues swiping into each other's mouths for just another bit of hard candy sweet. Iwaizumi keeps his eyes open, half lidded, watching the smooth roll of muscles under Sawamura's skin, as if the heat and friction between them was enough to set a bubbling fire through him to cook him from pure sugar into luscious caramel so they could stick to one another without having to think. Oddly enough, it reminds Iwaizumi about the one time he actually tried to cook caramel, his mother by his side, reminding him to always watch, to always be careful, because caramel is just so easy to burn.
(It was an easy thing to watch, really, easier than seeing that odd combination of mocha swirls with soft threads of sugar, milk chocolate eyes catching each other, hands of over creamed coffee and setter callouses with a punctuated beauty mark and the way they smile, smile, smile--)
Iwaizumi bites into the caramel and all he tastes is ash.
fill: team grandstand; t
word count: 491
There's something to be said for the illicitness of their little relationship.
Or at least Iwaizumi thinks so, when there isn't so much as a breath of space between them, pressed together from their kiss all the way to the tangle of their legs. Being addicted to Sawamura wasn't exactly the plan, he never thought he would fall so hard into thick arms and even thicker thighs, dragging his hands through black licorice hair and staring into deep toffee eyes.
(If anything, his track record showed he preferred something sweeter, like mocha and white chocolate and no, no, no thinking about that now.)
Steady hands run across his shoulders, a wet kiss on his temple drag him out of it, and Iwaizumi remembers there's only the here, the now, the mess in the sheets that would be gone tomorrow without a word. It was their secret, kept behind their bed so no one would find out, so no one would take what little they had left. They didn't need teams or friends or anyone trying to butt in, to tell them they shouldn't be doing, they're too old for lectures about eating too much sugar and getting a stomachache. They know. But this was for them to indulge in, late at night when they couldn't take the diet anymore, when they needed something to get by for just one more day. Iwaizumi was more than okay with that, so was Sawamura, he's sure. Sawamura never did anything he didn't want to, it was one of the first things Iwaizumi learned about him, it was one of the things that kept him going now.
(Sawamura doesn't want to think about his own love of spun sugar, the way it catches the light, so he'll take the treat before him instead, just like Iwaizumi. Just like they need to.)
They kiss then, once, twice, again, again, starving for just one more, teeth against raspberry red colors of their lips and tongues swiping into each other's mouths for just another bit of hard candy sweet. Iwaizumi keeps his eyes open, half lidded, watching the smooth roll of muscles under Sawamura's skin, as if the heat and friction between them was enough to set a bubbling fire through him to cook him from pure sugar into luscious caramel so they could stick to one another without having to think. Oddly enough, it reminds Iwaizumi about the one time he actually tried to cook caramel, his mother by his side, reminding him to always watch, to always be careful, because caramel is just so easy to burn.
(It was an easy thing to watch, really, easier than seeing that odd combination of mocha swirls with soft threads of sugar, milk chocolate eyes catching each other, hands of over creamed coffee and setter callouses with a punctuated beauty mark and the way they smile, smile, smile--)
Iwaizumi bites into the caramel and all he tastes is ash.