blankets after a storm

the pros and cons of being truthful

            one hand guides your body toward the bedroom, the other hastily undoes the buttons from his shirt, top down. your eyes travel up his determined body, settling on his face, which is avoiding yours. searching his eyes for any semblance of guilt and regret, and you are met merely with jealousy and lust.

            upon reaching the bedroom, his right hand leaves your waist and begins working on his jeans, the button-down lost somewhere in the hallway. before you reach the bed and begin your own strip-tease. he stops you.

            "get on your knees."
            a command you know. a command you love. a command you always preform because you know what follows. like a dog sitting for his owner because he knows he'll be rewarded.
            now in his boxers alone, iwa sits at the edge of the bed, and you shuffle as close as you dare. nimble fingers reach toward his boxers, and throw them away without a second thought. you look at his cock, then at him. you wait for him to tell you to get to work, but he gives no such consent.
            "strip for me" is the only reproach you receive. having no choice but to comply, and wanting so desperately to please him, you start with your blouse. his hand reaches for his length and you both begin. each piece of clothing is removed tentatively slow, but he only gets faster. faster, until you are bare to him and he just can't seem to get any faster. you can't stand it. you have to him, in any way he'll let you.
           a million variations of "haji, please" leave your lips. your grab his knees and you tilt your head up to gaze at him. eyebrows furrowed, pupils dilated, you beg for him to let you enter his kingdom.
            its a chant that would bring a lesser man to his knees. but iwaizumi knows better. you both do. he knows that would ruin the fun, and so do you.
            feeling generous, he tells you to lay down next to him. you do exactly as he says with no complaints. but no good deed goes unpunished. the cold air surrounding you wrists is replaced by red satin. he is unrelenting in his movements, and you can do nothing but watch.
frustrated, you throw your body to the side and do you best to at least hand him. he smirks at your feeble attempts at pleasuring him, finding it adorable in some sick, twisted sense. he undoes your shackled hands; you waste no time. having already been treading on thin ice, you de exactly what you know makes him whimper like a love sick school girl.
            head back, eyes closed, muttering, "fuck, darling, fuck you're good", he seems nearly pitiful. you know what iwa likes; the vein on the underneath of his cock, the sensitive tip, and, his favorite, your pace that you've perfected over the years.
            slowing down, you look up at him, wanting more. he only face-fucks you harder, until you stop completely, pulling off of him. you can't even make a snarky comment about his inability to finish when you feel your body being tugged and turn upside down. his face meets yours, and its the first time he's properly kissed you since you left for the party. he lowers his kisses, opting for a certain spot on your neck. his kisses are hungry, passionate, angry. he lowers himself more and more, finally reaching the spot that had been aching for him for so long. he wastes no time giving you what you want.
            iwaizumi does, in fact, eat it like a man starved. now its your turn to look pathetic. three words fall from your still wet lips: "haji, God, fuck", and he enjoys every second of it. tongue working circles around your clit, finger curling impossibly deep inside of you, you can feel that familiar feeling of pure ecstasy build inside you. iwaizumi knows how to treat you well, how to make it last, and then how to do it all over again. you feel it growing, it's coming here, God, fuck, you're gonna cum, you can feel that feeling of-
nothing.
            legs still pulled back, you open your eyes to see his face hovering over yours. upset. angry, and trying to get some sort of reaction out of him, you say the first (and worst) thing that comes to mind:
            "oikawa would have made me finish."
          there is the slightest falter in his stare. he almost looks hurt before he decides to craft a response that shows no such vulnerability.
            "what the fuck did you say to me?"
without warning, he bottoms out inside you. the stretch is painful, more than usual, but the pleasure is involuntary. you feel instant regret for your comment about oikawa, but the way he calls you a whore and pulls your hair almost pushes that guilt out of your mind.
            the both of you had used degradation and brattiness multiple times before; it was your favorite game to play. it was tantamount to a game of cat and mouse; you'd say something to piss him off, and he would make sure you couldn't walk the next morning. but his face was different this time. he still looked angry, and it was begging to *hurt*. he slammed into your cervix at an unrelenting rate, and paid no attention to your clit.
            it's not selfish to want to feel good too. brevity is the only form of communication it seems, at least with the way he has you breathing.  "im sorry, haji, I didn't mean it. any of it," you manage to get out between whiny moans. though, he doesn't even seem to hear you, resorting to calling you his little slut. the rejection of addressing the obvious pent up frustration hurts worse than the denial of pleasure.
            your grab both sides of his face and shout as best as you can, "hajime, please!"
            shocked at the genuine concern and hurt in your voice he momentarily looks at you and stops his movements completely. he looks away again, burning holes in the headboard behind you instead. tears welling in your softened eyes, your mouth moves before you can stop yourself from speaking.
            "hajime i'm sorry. i'm sorry looking at other guys and for grabbing his arm a-and laughing at his jokes, and i'm sorry for bringing his name up. i didn't know it would upset you so much. but we're both hurt, so would you please at least look at me?"
          he does as you ask. his rounded glossy brown eyes were unrecognizable from the previous angry ones. an invisible line pulls your faces together and for a moment it seems everything outside this bedroom is void. the left side of his mouth stretches to the sign, an obvious sign that he's thinking.
          "i'm....sorry too," he mutters, staring at your eyes, then just beside your head. it was as genuine an apology iwaizumi could come up with, and you knew that. "i know that he's my bestfriend. but he's never been as lucky as i am with you. i can't risk losing you, you're too precious to me." knowing you were just as in the wrong as he was, you leaned up and kissed the corner of his lips, placing your hands gently on the side of his face. you hold him softly and stroke his cheek. placing another loving kiss on his face, this time on the same cheek you were just petting, you let your nose linger against his. iwaizumis hands lightly meet your waist, pulling you on top of him as he flipped the both of you over.
          you furrow your eyebrows, searching for a reason he is wanting to continue. he answers with a simple, " i love you." it was a good enough excuse for you, and you're edged libido.               
           you love him too, truly. most of your lone nights were spent thinking of the dress you would wear when you marry him. you often imagined how nice the name iwaizumi would sound in front of yours. there was no way you could exist as a whole person without hajime.
          he was a god and you were his prophet; materializing his every want and desire without hesitation.
          -but he was merciful and just. you've never needed anything since his life swallowed you and yours. you were created to be with each other, and he was here to show you what heaven truly felt like