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Daichi grunts as he’s pressed against the wall, and he can tell that he’s going to have a bruise or two adorning his shoulders in the morning. Oikawa’s hand are rough as they explore his skin, nails scratching hard enough to leave marks, his mouth leaving biting kisses down his neck and any other piece of bare skin he can reach.
The noises that escape his mouth are loud, too loud for where they are, and he can’t find it in himself to care.
“You’re so fucking hot.” Oikawa’s voice is husky with lust and want, and it’s hard for Daichi to focus on the words. “I wish that you could see yourself right now, not even caring that anyone could walk in and see you like this.”
Hands slip underneath his jeans, teases the skin that it finds, and leaves tendrils of fire across his skin.
“Stop teasing,” Daichi finally manages to get out, grabbing those hands and stopping those cruel fingers from torturing his skin any further.
“Then tell me what you want.”
“I want you on your knees,” Daichi says, trying to take the moment to try and calm his breathing. He watches as Oikawa smirks and moves to do just that -- his movements slow and unhurried, conflicting with the need running rampant in his eyes, and it drives Daichi crazy.
“Now that I’m here, is there anything you’d like me to do?” Oikawa’s hands toy with the button of Daichi’s jeans, but they don’t do anything else. He looks up at Daichi and one eyebrow cocks as he waits for an answer.
Daichi feels himself flush at the idea of actually voicing what he wants, even though it’s obvious without the words, but he knows that’s something Oikawa likes -- being given clear instructions on what he should do, otherwise he’d drag his feet and tease mercilessly. Daichi should be used to this by now, but it still always catches him off-guard when Oikawa makes him talk.
“God, sometimes I really hate you,” he groans out, his fingers moving to run through Oikawa’s hair. He yanks sharply on the strands as Oikawa huffs out a laugh. “Fine, fine. You win. I want you to suck me off, okay?”
The words were barely out of his mouth when he felt his jeans, and boxers, being pushed down to his thighs, and Oikawa’s mouth is on his dick -- hot, wet, messy, and relentless.
Daichi’s head hits the wall and he gives in to the sensation of Oikawa swallowing him down, hands gripping Oikawa’s hair and pulling; the resulting moan sends shockwaves through Daichi, and it’s all he can do to not start thrusting, even though he knew that there would be little to no complaints the next day.
Teeth drag against the sensitive skin, bordering on painful, and he hisses. The feeling doesn’t last long as Oikawa pulls off enough to focus on the head of Daichi’s dick, one hand wrapped around the base, and Daichi can feel the heat building.
Oikawa doesn’t slow, doesn’t give an inch, and it’s that fast and relentless pace that sends Daichi over the edge. Oikawa works him through his orgasm -- swallowing and sucking and stroking -- until Daichi has to push him away, body too sensitive to continue.
Daichi closes his eyes and leans heavily against the wall, not trusting himself to not fall over if he tries to walk away. A pair of lips meet his, and Daichi can faintly taste himself.
“Come on, you can’t sleep now,” he hears Oikawa say. “We can do that once we head home and get cleaned up.”
He nods, and lets Oikawa pull him through the hallway, and then follows him through the throng of people on the other side. His body is lethargic but, with Oikawa gripping his arm, he’s able to keep up.
Oikawa doesn’t let go, even after they’ve made it into the taxi and the driver keeps glaring at them in the rearview mirror.
When they finally reach Daichi’s apartment, Oikawa is still holding onto his arm.
“I guess this is the part where I ask if you want to stay the night?” Daichi says, keys dangling in his hand.
“And I guess this is the part where I accept the invitation that wasn’t quite an invitation,” Oikawa replies, pressing up against Daichi’s side, watching as the door is unlocked.
Daichi steps in and holds the door wide enough for Oikawa. “Don’t make me regret inviting you in.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”