A year into your friendship with Hajime, you ruin it. Not literally, but something changes and for the entire moment of silence thrown between you two, you think you have. The air is stale and your feelings are plummeting to the depths of your being. You think your feet will break through his dorm floor if you stand and leave. Still, you want to so badly, you want to run and hide and beg him to forget everything, including the day you two met. You don't know what exactly is stopping you, but a part of you knows it's because Hajime is what you've never had. Hajime is secure, he's funny, he's outgoing even if he's awkward, he's firm but gentle, and he's your friend, something you never thought was possible after leaving New York. You thought you could never truly start over without having that piece of you left behind, you thought that you could do this thing with Hajime, sit on his bed in his dorm like always and pretend like the words aren't slipping from your tongue every second you open your lips.
Today, you didn't swallow before you spoke, today you didn't bite your tongue, today you didn't think before you spoke because it's late, the RA would've most likely come if you two kept laughing and joking as loud as you did, so you both whispered wordless words, lying side by side underneath his navy-blue comforter for the moon to see. Of course, today was different because it was the start of a new year, two more to go before you have to let Hajime go. You've known this since before he talked about Oikawa. He said this was temporary. He said he wanted to go back and be an Olympic trainer. You heard Hajime spill his dreams, and your heart yearned to be in them even when you smiled at and encouraged him. Maybe that is why you're trying to ruin this, spilling the one thing you've never gotten any support on, any feedback at all. When your mother heard, she blinked, removing herself from your hunched, sobbing form before inhaling.
You thought she was a robot until she purred a pet name, face scrunching in sadness, remorse. "Oh, sweetheart," That was the last thing you heard your mother truly say that night, and your memory barely lets you have that. Some days you think she said honey, others your name, sometimes even darling, which you know is fabricated because your mother never liked that word when it came to you. Your mother saved it for him and gave you her second choice. That's all you were to her, even though you're her first only child, you're her second in every category. You've always hated being young in that respect, being the youngest. You always had to work extra hard to receive caring attention, even if it wasn't the caring attention a child was supposed to get. With Hajime, it didn't feel like you were younger, it felt like you were normal, a human, a real-life person that he'd want something with, want to hold hands with, want to study with, want to laugh and whisper and- "You didn't deserve that." You don't know how mothers are supposed to react. You think in shows when they cry and push themselves to the crowd to abuse the abuser of their child, that's for the lucky few, if you can even call them that. That's what mothers are supposed to do, you think, that's what you wanted yours to. That's waht you think every mother has an innate desire to do to anyone who's harmed their child, regardless if they're family or not. And it's weird, definitely is weird to compare Hajime and your mother, but you do it anyway.
Hearing those words you've never known firsthand is detrimental to your being. The urge to run is somehow faint and hammering. It's like nausea, you don't know if you want to curl up against a toilet on the cold floor or ball up underneath warm blankets with a harsh plastic bucket next to you. So, you compromise and probably make the nausea analogy worsen. It's hot and cold and you're just staring at the comforter hiding your short-covered legs. Your hands bunch in the material barely lit by the moon. Honestly, you can't see where the moon shines and waits to, you just see a mush of colors, the dark navy blue, the light on your skin, the tawny hands moving on the comforter, refusing to touch you even if you crave them to, know you shouldn't. It feels wrong in this moment to crave something more, like you're just proving your mother's pathetic response right. She never said it, but there are children who are worse off than you who have heard it, and you can't help but wonder if it would've been the clarity you needed. If hearing her call you a slut, a vile, ungrateful child would've the substitute for not hearing her unwavering need to kill the man who took every part of your childhood away. Even the moments of ice cream and jump rope were tainted in your image. You don't think you'll ever find yourself in your past, at least, not where they are.
"Hey," it's a quiet whisper, silent plea from Hajime to get you to talk. He wants you to, and you want to too, but all that comes out is your first sob of many. You don't know how long this has been kept in, from when you told your mother or whenever the sexual abuse started, both of which you have no idea, but it's a relief that's breaking you. Your glad Hajime can tell you need a firm hand on your shoulder, one that has never not reeked of his gentle touch, so you can collapse in the chest mere inches away from you. You've never not been grateful to hear his advice on keeping your body healthy or studying at a decent pace, but right now, you realize there is no advice you can really be grateful for because there is no advice he can give, there is no advice you can receive. That racks a few more sobs from you, there's barely a difference in the waves that come out of you even when this is realized, but you still think Hajime can tell, holding you delicately, not firmly or harshly, delicately like you've always craved your mother to hold you. She's always been too firm or too gentle, and in comparing the two, you think you were always supposed to be in California.
You choke back sobs and snot after a while, pulling away slightly, ever so slightly so you aren't stripped from his touch. You look at him, knowing how desperate and broken you look, but unable to accept this love, this home. Your voice is drenched in tears, and an echo of what your happy voice used to be, but Hajime still gives you the attention he's always given you, still treats you like a human and not a mature girl or broken woman. "I- I think I'm myself when I'm around you, and it scares me. Being alive scares me when I'm comfortable, and you make me really comfortable Hajime... I- I've never felt this comfortable in my childhood or adulthood until I met you, until now in this room- Hajime, you make me feel so safe and I- I don't know what to say besides I'm sorry for being such a burden-" "You aren't-" "I am to my mother, and to the image she had about her and that guy." Hajime shakes his head, arms tightening comfortably around you. He doesn't want to be apart either, you hope.
"Y/n, she isn't-" "I fear it'll never get better," you spit, never wanting to hear your mother's life form his lips, ruining the tiny moment of love you have, the tiny bits he's feeding to you like grapes form a vine. "And I fear I've ruined everything with you too, Hajime- And I don't want to have ruined what I've longed for. I don't want to ruin the tiny family I have now." You know how much of a burden it is to call this leaving man your family, but his olive-green eyes never leave yours, never widen in disgusting shock, they just refuse to let you go, they scrunch and his lips our honey to your lips, forever sticking you to this moment, to his sentiments. "It's gotten better- You're here, not there, and you're comfortable and safe and okay with me. And it will get much better just like it did before, slowly. So slowly you'll barely even notice a change until we're here again." He swallows, throat bobbing and eyes flickering between your own. "And I'll make it with you." His breathing is so light yet loud in this room you share this moment. "I'll slowly be better with you, so you won't have to be alone anymore, unsafe... So I won't be alone anymore, uncomfortable." That isn't what you thought ruined the friendship, you truthfully did for a second think the climax of tonight was your scarring secret being opened like lost treasure, but you knew when your eyes went to his lips, that was what actually ruined your friendship.
It was such a tiny movement, action, moment spared that the weight it bared was an oxymoron. "Y/n." His whisper of your name was a warning, a sign that you both should just hold each other into the night, clothed with rapid hearts and wait until tomorrow to discuss what you could be, if either of you aren't afraid to admit it. And, in another life, you did, definitely. You woke up in each other's arms and he was probably staring at you, or you him depending on who was more mentally exhausted in the relaxed state they felt. And a second would pass before you admitted to loving him, you were always the eager, outward one in the quiet moments spared between you two, and he'd reciprocate, but not physically, he'd want to reassure you and he'd want to wait, like he did the night before. In this life, though, you part your lips, taking in a breath that sounds more like a needy gasp, before you whisper, beg, "Please, Haji~"
It's so slow, so hesitant when you both lean in, lips grazing one another's until the taste of what you could have becomes too much, and he pushes into you, your lips parting only once more before you dive into his. The kiss is passionate, a reassurance of what's to come, of how many yeses you can say, and how he'll still check in. His lips aren't ruff, they're smooth and textured, human against your own as you both push into each other, trying in vain to get closer even though there's nothing but flimsy fabric in the way. That seems to be on both of your minds, Hajime's hands gripping the fabric of your thin night shirt and your fingers trying to pull his shirt, simultaneously gripping his shoulders tighter. This is the first real time you have to part, Hajime gently guiding you away from him for a moment, his eyes searching yours as you pull at his shirt. He lets you lift it, discard it on the floor you've both forgotten of because under the moon it's just you and him, tonight it's forever you and him. You swallow, eyes slowly, almost hesitantly drawing down to his chest.
You've known he's gone to the gym before, his degree proof of his dedication, but right now, you know the comfort he's provided wasn't just a feeling at all. He's strong, tawny skin enhancing how much he's grown since coming to California. It's a sight to behold and you almost think you shouldn't, you almost think this is all fake when your hands come to his shoulders. Your eyes aren't on his yet, choosing to follow your hands and how they slide against his human skin, how soft and delicate he actually is. It's inhumane to have hidden this from you, you think selfishly. It's inhumane to let someone touch him like this, you conclude. Your touch falters only a second, his hand coming to your cheek, smooth but calloused. His thumb rubs under your eye, not making you squint but making you fall deeply into his touch. It's silent, voices unused only for a few minutes, but feeling like an eternity in his presence. Still, when he breathes you listen, "Can I take off your shirt?" Your eyes flutter, and when you pull away, so does your touch on his skin.
You feel bare before you even touch your clothing. Under his gaze, you feel bare and vulnerable, but the only reason your shirt leaves you is because with this bareness, vulnerability, comes his understanding, his revere for you. So, the shirt is with his on the forgotten floor, and you take his hand, grip his palm with your fingers before laying it on your chest. It's not like electricity, there's no shock, no pain, there's just warmth on warmth. His hands aren't cold, and you aren't sickly sweaty, it's just homely, a home that you've always craved for, but only find in another person. This is what historians talk about, scientists describe when uncovering something they never should've. This is what you have now, forever in this memory, this moment you share together. His hand moves on it's own, cupping your tit and letting his thumb swipe against your pebbling pub. Where the room's air is cold, he warms you. His other hand joins, lying against the side of your waist and sliding up and down in reassurance as he massages your chest. You find maybe he didn't like it when you stared at him, maybe he was insecure, nervous the way you were. Your hands find his biceps, squeezing to catch his attention.
When his eyes are on yours again, yours find his lips, and this time, there's not a moment stopping you two from kissing each other, lips gliding against one another in taste, needing more and more as the minutes pass where you just touch each other, savor what home has been brought upon you both. He's the one to move you onto your back again, hands cradling you like you're delicate, because to him you are, and maneuvering the covers around him to give you as much privacy as you're willing to accept. With the moon's watchful rays, you think there's never going to be privacy where you both lay in the middle of the night. And you like that, prefer to have someone witness the love finally gifted to you. His lips shove against yours, his tongue dipping into your parted mouth once before he descends down your body. It's almost like he's worshipping it, apologizing silently that he didn't get to it first, like it was his job. You're bearing witness to his silent love for you, his lips just as delicate, as passionate as they were on your own. They're warm and with a soft texture that you hope cleans your skin, taints what was tainted and takes back what was taken from you.
His lips linger on every inch of your skin, starting with your neck and moving down to your clavicle, shoulder blades, then chest, taking careful measures to be tender, treat you like you've always been human under his eyes. His tongue is warm, hand big but gentle when cupping your tit. It's the one he has yet to touch, tongue laving over it and savoring every detail your body provides. He almost refuses to leave, sucking so perfectly against your bud, teeth grazing ever so slightly as if to confirm what he's doing, tainting you the way you always should've been. By the time he moves to your other breast, he's wettened and tainted your other side, trying slowly, softly to replicate the same. And he does, fingers calloused and sliding over to massage even tease a pinch to your wettened nipple, as he works on your other side, pulling away with a string to prove his devotion. He moves down after, his hands causing your goosebumps, silent gasps and moans, as he slides down your waist, not gripping the flesh but molding into it, his mouth following down your belly.
That's the first time you stop him, his mouth dangerously close to the place you have no words to describe. You've shaved, you've inspected it because of health class, and you've even touched yourself alone in your room to the most heinous things, but ever since you were sixteen, it got harder to accept that it was a part of you, it got harder to accept something happened and you had to live with it, not the other way around. Up until now, you've pushed your part aside, shakily touched it with tears because it seemed to cause more pain than relief. This part of you was hidden between your legs and opening them for this man that gives you comfort, safety, feels like giving that part of you up, giving what you went through away and letting someone else deal with it, help you with it. It feels like admitting what happened wasn't your fault, isn't something that should've happened. He looks at you though. He looks at you and he tell you everything you need to know even if it's just a whisper of your name. "I need to look at your face. I- I don't know what I can and can't do, but I know that I can't stop looking at your face..." There's a tear that falls from your cheek, he wipes it away, nodding his head. "I'll do whatever you need me to, for however long you need me to."
He's not experienced with this, with fucking someone like you, but he seems to be better at it than any TV show's ever portrayed. He seems to take care of you, to love you not fuck you like you thought you wanted. He seems to understand you, to know that you need something he's willing to give even if you fear you'll never deserve it, just take it. With your hand in his, he helps you take off your pants. Your panties are still on though, something you're grateful for because ripping the band aid off isn't for this situation. You swallow, unable to look down, just into his eyes. You know you have nothing to fear in this home, that when you break from his eyes, you will still be in his bed, you'll still be in panties and under his gaze that's forever caring, but you still fear for the day you shut your eyes and find the guy you don't want. You fear for the moment he leaves and you're stay. You think you'll never not wait for him. "May I touch you?" Your eyes flicker between his, admiring how much care he holds for you, how much he's giving you without touching inside of you. Admire how you still don't believe you deserve it, and he still gives it. "Yes, Haji."
He looks down to where his fingers will be, sat back on his calves with a hand on your thigh, holding your flesh because he wants to. He doesn't spread your legs further than they need to be, he doesn't do anything until his first initial touch is over, the shock that hits you like summer after spring. It's been so rainy, so muggy with wilting flowers in your body, but now, his pointer and middle finger's pads grazing your clothed clit, summer hits, heat warms you, spreads through you from your core to your feet, heart, the tip of your head, it's such a big change even if it never seemed like it would be, like you needed it to be. His eyes are quick to find yours, forever on his as he touches you with true meaning as his fingers swirl against your clothed clit. It's delicate, with enough pressure to make you crave more, to make your hips slightly rock into his touch. You know he likes that, his eyes on yours, getting so much pleasure just from this tiny bit you feel. You've only heard about that in books, in fairy tales from women-written shows. Somehow, even in this pleasure, you can find your despair.
His fingers work you even from a top your underwear, rocking back and forth and moving with our hips, never indicating if this is too little for him, if he wants more even if you know he does, if you can see something from his sweatpants. It seems like an eternity before you can come to the realization that you need him desperately, that his fingers, most likely textured in the right way, need to dig inside of you, clean you the way his lips did. "Haji-" "Yes," he breathes, his voice the only real indicator of his desperation, his pure devotion for you. Swallowing, one of your feet meets his thigh, poking it in play as you whisper, "Take them off, please." You don't know if it's the manners you show even in this private moment, or if it's the way you're still yourself under the secrets that have tainted the air between you two forever. You wonder if his thoughts of you have changed, from before and after you confessed your secret, from before and after you are fully naked underneath him, on full display in a way that you should feel bare in, but you oddly don't.
His touch, forever warm and soft and calloused in only the right ways, touches the fabric of your panties and pulls them down. His eyes don't find yours as they do this, they follow the fabric, piling onto the floor you still need to remind yourself of. The only time they find yours is when you're completely naked, your pussy completely open to the moon's air. Your nod is enough for him to look, your gasp more of a breath than anything, yet he still detects it. Oddly, when he touches your thigh, massages his thumb into the depths of your skin, claiming your whole being, you voice a desire so deeply, so profound, you don't even know who's talking, "Hajime, I want you inside of me." His eyes find yours, face slightly down turned to still see your pussy, you wonder if it's as wet as you made your panties. "Y/n-" "Please," you whisper. It seems in this dorm, everything echos. You don't know if it's because of the RA or the fact that his roommate is coming back around twelve am -you have no idea how much time has passed, but he has to be coming back soon- but you refuse to let anything louder than a whisper leave you in the moments you share, you feel it will taint this, will prove how fragile this environment is.
He swallows, his eyes on yours even as he moves to grip one of your hands. "I don't want to do it just yet, okay?" You fear he means another day, you fear he means another lifetime when you aren't tainted, when you can take more than your memories will let you, but, ever the mind reader, Hajime reassures, "I'll prep you first, then I'll give you anything you want." You nod, focusing back on the light grip he has on your wrist. He doesn't drag you to your essence, to your satisfaction, instead, he lets it rest on his dominant wrist. You have to sit up slightly, eyes seemingly refusing to acknowledge what lies beneath his hand, your eyes captured by the way his thick wrist is something your hands can't wrap around. If you were both strangers, and you didn't heal from your fear of men, then maybe you'd be afraid to date him, to let him touch you, to be friends, but right now, with your wrist gripping his, something he can definitely pull out of, and yet he stays there completely at your mercy as he whispers- begs you to guide him, you don't think you'll ever fear his strength. Maybe admire, but never fear.
You swallow, finally looking at the wet mess your core makes, glistening folds and puffy, prominent clit, that underlying pulse you can feel rocking you and almost think he can feel. You almost realize you don't hate seeing your pussy when you feel Hajime's fingers graze you. You start at your folds, grip on his wrist light but there like his has been on you all this time. You have to inhale a deep breath, feeling so untouched even if you've been touched, feeling so untainted even if you've been tainted. His fingers are big, thick and just long enough for your pleasure. Not to mention, his digits are calloused ever so slightly from his days of volleyball now replaced with weights and bars and cement floors. In conclusion, Hajime Iwaizumi feels perfect against something you once hated. It's like he's medicine, his fingers light but forever there against your wetness, seeping into every bit of your core. You spread your legs willingly, finding it a bit hard to see where your entrance is, but he knows you so well- Hajime can feel you better than you can, the tips of his fingers finding your entrance, dripping against his fingers. You feel like a virgin, an embarrassing thing that you never wish to say aloud. You never wish to admit how truly inexperienced you are, how much your brain -that man- has taken from you.
You inhale, speaking, "One finger," before you line him up with your opening. It's so hard to hold yourself up with one elbow, your eyes needing to shut, lungs needing to expand so much they almost take all of Earth's oxygen, when his pointer finger greets your entrance. His fingers are such mundane things, you've seen him open jars of pickles you've finished in one sitting, pointing to the right answer, griping his writing utensil, clicking the keys on his laptop, or even fidgeting with his phone. Those fingers that have touched your own, touched our skin like it forever means something to him in this moment, are inside of you, ever so slightly, and just one at that. It grazes your walls, feeds you pleasure to the point you almost give up on holding his wrist, knowing your trust in him will never be broken. And he sees this, he's seeing this, seeing you break underneath him in a way you've never broken. This moment is more than anything you've ever experienced. You can't find anything the same, not the control you finally have nor the touch he's given you. In this dorm, you find nothing like your home, and you think that almost makes you cum.
Thinking about coming is funny, his one finger barely inside of you and yet you're about to collapse. Emotions are funny like that. Swallowing down a moan so loud you know you'd wake the whole college, you blink open your eyes, finding him intently staring at your expression. You have no idea if he's ever touched a girl like this, if he's ever touched anybody, but you think your expression must be so mind consuming, one of a kind that he must have to stare regardless of his experience. "You're- kind of big." You laugh a little and he smiles. "I can feel you clench when you laugh." Your face falls, his eyes on yours before you both finally laugh- not giggle not muffle out a laugh, you laugh hard until your smiles stretch into your muscle's memory. You don't know if you'll ever smile like that after he leaves. You adjust your grip on his wrist, gripping tighter to guide his finger inside deeper. Hajime seems to focus back on that, watching how he slides in like it's his life's purpose. You wonder how you look again, if you're so wet you're dripping around him, or if it feels so tight, so gummy that he wants to add another finger. You can feel how his finger wants to curl deeper into you, you're grateful it doesn't for a moment, guiding him into you like you want him to be.
You last about a second before tapping out, feeling his print graze something tender. Pulling back, Hajime looks at you, not moving an inch as he inspects your facial features. "You okay?" You nod, looking into his eyes as you rest on your elbows. "Yeah, I just want you to do it now." Hos eyes flicker between yours for a moment before nodding, his eyes so sincere and telling. "Okay, tell me if you want me to stop." You inhale your umpteenth breath tonight, nodding you head as his finger moves from you, pulling back slightly with the tug of your wet walls before sliding back in. It's slow, the movement testing and hesitant as he works his finger inside of you, but it's the most pleasurable sensation you've felt. There's nothing that compares to his digit, the way it's thick enough to open you but never thick enough to satisfy that desperate desire for him. You want more, but just this is enough for centuries to come. Just knowing he'd stop if you wanted, is forever enough for you.
His finger curls inside of you, a wet sound entering the room as he hits against your core, the one finger inside of you deliciously hitting a spot you almost forgot about. Every time it'd graze it, big enough to hit it but never giving more than you wanted. This movement had you falling to our back, gripping his sheets from the pleasure he gifted you. "So good," you whisper, so quietly you almost think he can't hear you, but that's never been true. His throat bobs, eyes going to where his finger enters slowly, teasingly inside of you, his other hand, a bit more self-assured, still hesitant, goes to your bud. While most of his hand warms your pubis area, big and heavy against your skin, his thumb gives you tight circles, using your wetness to swirl effortlessly against it. It's feels so unfamiliar, having this pleasure brought upon you, two hands dedicated to the skin you have. His finger refuses to stay slow, speeding up slightly with the noises you make, the grip you have on his sheets.
He's much more confident but still cautious. If you were more present, you'd tell him not to be, that you trust him so much you'd jump off of a cliff and know he'd catch you even if you couldn't see him. You'd crave to have him not be cautious, to consume you right like you knew he would. But even if you were, you knew, in reality, those words would stay on your tongue regardless of how open your lips are or how wet your mouth is. You crave so many things with Hajime, but you know those have to stay in imagination for now. Forever, even. You are present enough for the pleasure he gives you, his pleasure getting too much, so much with the pressure to your clit, the speed and sound of his finger entering you, hitting that spot, grazing it, trying to nudge it out of the way and give you more. So, ever the trustworthy, you gasp Hajime's name, feeling something so warm, so tight burn in your core, refusing to let it snap. "Stop-" His hands are off of you immediately, like they were caught in the cookie jar. You feel dizzy, so much pleasure stripped from you with your consent.
You try to speak, but you need a minute, breathing in an air and watching Hajime's hands grip his sweats. You forgot; why does he still have those on? "Are you okay, Y/n? Do you want to stop now?" With your eyes on his, it feels like everything will always be, everything is destined to be in this moment, in your expiring future. You swallow, reaching forward, grateful when he comes to you even if he's hesitant. With a breath so closely shared between one another, you confess, "I need you inside of me to cum, Hajime" Your thumb brushes underneath his eye, how smooth the skin is compared to the rest. It takes a moment for the words to enter his head, to compute, and when they do, his eyes are so soft, so beautiful with the moon's lighting. He leans down, kissing your lips unlike the last two times. This one feels like a confession, like his admiration of you has reached its hilt. He gives you a kiss so love-inducing, you're drunk off of it, the movement of his lips against yours, the feel of his naked chest on yours. You're drunk off of him, and to feel him part, you almost sober up too quickly.
He takes off his sweatpants and boxers, something you want to look at, but can't bring yourself too. It's... scary. Not a bad scary, but one similar to meeting a friend you haven't seen in years. You're nervous, anxious. You want to get it over with, but you so desperately crave to have it carve into your bones, make it so time-consuming you're retired by the time you're done. Hajime's back in view, his features so soft, gentle under your view. The way he acts is gentle, soft when it's with you. He's asking for reassurance again, giving you reassurance as he asks, "Are you sure? Are you ready?" You smile softly, nodding our head as he takes you in. You have no idea how you look, and you don't care in the slightest. All that matter is that Hajime's with you. Your legs are moved slightly, pushed onto his quads as he moves himself over you. You've yet to look down at his member, you've yet to see anything besides Hajime's face, his built upper body. You want to know, of course you do, but having him so close to you is better than anything your mind wants. You inhale a deep breath, watching as he rests on one of his forearms, petting your face slightly before he watches your eyes once more. He takes them in for however long he deems fit, probably searching for any dwindling consent.
When he doesn't see it, one of his hands goes to reach his member. You feel it before you ever see it. It's thick, his tip so big it can heavily slap against your clit. He doesn't let it, he guides it gently down your folds, taking as much wetness as he can, though you doubt he needs it. You're wet enough for him, he makes you this wet, his actions, his voice, his entire being. You find pleasure in watching him watch you, you find pleasure before it truly hits you. "I'm going to put it in, still okay?" You nod, arms wrapping around his neck. "I trust you." It's the last thing you say to him, his eyes freezing ever so slightly on yours. Then, he enters. You don't know what losing your virginity is like, your mind forever a protector. But something inside of you knows this isn't it. This is intense but not painful. It's filling, fulfilling, warming from the inside out- untainting. You think this is what everyone wants to have for their first time, uncomplicated and full of trust. Honestly, what is a v-card if not to force you to believe your purity is so fragile. You're still pure, under the moon, under Hajime. To him, to you, you're pure and delicate and gentle, deserving of love. You let yourself believe that as his tip touches your depths.
You do wish you had seen him, even if only for a second, you wish you'd seen what you were getting yourself into, gawk at the girth the same way you did his chest. Your walls are hugging him tightly, every vein he has, the thickness that feels like too much and not enough. He's filling you perfectly- just like you knew, Hajime consumes you right, he devours you. There's something so different in the air as he does this, as he reaches your depths and finds that spot from the angle of your legs around his hips. There's something so different in the pleasure that hits you as he lies on top of you, barely able to keep all of his weight off of you from the pleasure he feels too- that you can finally give him. It's the right air, you think, it's the right air for this room. Your fingers card through his soft hair, other hand going to press into his back, forcing his chest to rub against yours. You want to feel all of him, you want to have him carve himself inside of you so that's the only thing your body can take, remember.
"You're kind of big," you say, a little out of breath, mind numb from the stretch, the thickness that spears you. He chuckles a little, so do you, his breath hitching at the way your walls clamp slightly with each breath of humorous air. "You say that now?" You hum, a smile on your lips when he pulls away to look at you, still very close with both forearms holding him up. "Why not?" He looks into your eyes, flickering between them like he always does. You don't think he's searching, and if he is, he's doing it too frequently, he's acting desperate. You think he's trying to savor this, savor you, etch you into his brain under the moonlight. Your eyes go to his lips, finding his once against. You whisper words against them before they collide, before you shove his head against yours. "Make love to me, Hajime." His lips are wet against yours, deeply sliding against your own before his hips move, lips swallowing whatever moans and whines yours gave.
He's perfect inside of you, his knees digging into the mattress as he pulls back, so slowly you think he's straining himself to not cum. When just his tip is in, it's pure torture for you. It's so empty inside, your walls tightening to find something inside, to get some of him like you've always craved before. He sinks in quickly, filling you up and stealing ever breath you have in the kiss. Your eyes, even though they're shut, roll back, fingers gripping his hair while your nails dig into his back, his hips pulling back once more. It's like tug o' war, your wetness forever at a disadvantage to his girth, thrusting inside like you're made for him. In this universe, you think you are. As the bed creaks slightly and your skin sticks to his from the never-ending pleasure he provides, you think it's meant to be this way.
Your heels dig into his body, lips barely able to keep up with his as your head dives into his shoulder's junction. You languidly lap up his neck, tongue tickling out to lick a strip up, teeth grazing his skin as carving shivers out of his bones, your lips drag against him, tasting a slight saltiness form his sweat. You don't care, as much as you want him to devour you, you want to devour him. You want to squeeze him tighter, you want to mark him up, you want to get everything from him the way he has everything from you- even if he doesn't know it yet. His hips rock against yours, sounds so subtle but just loud enough for the moon to hear. Skin slapping against skin, pants against skin and sweat against sheets. It's everything you've ever thought. This is more, actually, his skin so human against your own, the way his dick glides inside of you, giving your cervix so many kisses, so much pressure. You can barely keep up, feeling his hips grind down, the slight sensation of hair grazing your clit.
It's all too much, every bit of passion in this room so heavy, the smell of sex so heavy it fills your eyes, makes them glossy. "Haji~" You don't know the sound of your own voice, swallowing deeply and letting your head fall back against the pillow. Both hands travel to his back, refusing to do anything but dig into the rich skin. "Haji~" His name is beautiful on your tongue, a comfort, solace you've only seen and never felt. "Where-" He swallows, hard, face scrunching as he adjusts, hand going to grip your hip, the angle making your thighs twitch ever so slightly. It's then that you feel his own dick twitch, tap against your cervix instead of kiss it. He tries again, "Ah, shit- where-" You speak before he can finish, "Inside, I'm on it- Ah~"
He already knew that, but the reassurance is taken with a couple sloppy kisses to your lips. His face moves from your lips to your own shoulder's junction, your nails burning into his back as his pace turns into fast sloppy thrusts. It doesn't take long with the glide of skin against your own, the feel of his thickness plunging into you, the weight of him, the passion- He makes fireworks spark in your veins, makes them spread throughout your head and core. You don't know if you scream of if you moan his name, but you do know that the feeling of euphoria mixes with the warmth he provides, filling you up so much you know he'll stick to your thighs the moment he's out of you.
You're right, of course you are, but you aren't focusing on that, you're focusing on how it feels to have something once so hard soften inside of you, pull out and leave you so empty you have to remove your nails form his back before they burrow into the skin. The literal weight off of your chest isn't welcomed. If your brain was fully there, you'd entertain how pitiful you are in this moment, how much you crave him deeply, but you don't care for your brain under the moon, you don't care about the UTI you may get or how you should definitely shower separately, not sleep and wait until the morning when you both ignore how your friendship isn't a friendship anymore. Right now, all you care about, crave more than the orgasm you just shared with him, is his skin against yours, his sweaty, heavy, musky skin against the untainted skin you feel you have.
You're naked, and you don't care when you move to your side and rest on his chest. The bed is big enough for both of you this way. You want to get used to this, to laying like this, being like this with him. His bicep is your pillow, and his unused arms goes to maneuver the blanket to your skin. You are used to it already. "You're good at that," you say, cheek squished against his sweaty chest. He chuckles lightly, and you smile, pleased. "Thanks." You inhale a deep breath. If your one secret, one terrifyingly big and detrimental secret was spilled, then why hold back? What is there left to hold back? "I feel untainted, is that weird to say?" Your brows furrow and you hope you look cute in his eyes, like you are untainted. "Not as weird as me feeling glad that you feel that way." You hum, nodding your head and feeling too domestic. Your feelings, that's what's left to hold back. As long as you harbor so much for him, you can't speak them into existence. You fear it's not humanly possible to feel what you do for him- to have that reciprocated. for him are what's left to hold back.
"I'm meeting Oikawa again," he confesses, and you know he feels the smile against him. You know he feels your joy before you say, "Good. Then I can meet the you that was in Japan." He rolls his eyes, hand coming to your shoulder, squeezing you tighter. "I wasn't that exciting." "Neither was I." You shrug under his grip. "But that doesn't make it less exciting- I want to meet your other friends after him. Mattsun, Makki, and... That tennis head-" "He would not like to hear you say that." "Yeah, yeah, whatever." There's a breath of silence, a moment so long between you two, you almost think he's fallen asleep, feeling the movement of his chest slow slightly. "Want to meet my parents too?" You blink, adjusting slightly to look up at him. "Really?" He inhales, nodding, his eyes not on yours this one time. "Yeah, I want that." You smile, lips curling in humor as you say, "Meeting mine is kind of out of this, but I'd like to meet yours."
His fingers find your back, grazing your sweaty skin. You're reminded of how kind Hajime is, how considerate, thoughtful, and gracious Hajime is. You're reminded that he would be your boyfriend if you didn't fuck tonight. "Meeting you is all I'll ever need."