[When Iwaizumi's head rolls back, Oikawa's mouth drags down that bared throat and sucks on his adams apple - hard enough to redden the skin, but the mark won't last for more than a twenty minutes. Keeping up the pace with his hand, slow and languid and rubbing the pad of his thumb just over the slit, he licked at the dip in his throat above his collarbones, murmuring.]
no subject
Make me, Hajime. Shut me up if you can't take it.