thirty days iwaoi writing challenge
day twenty-six: locker room
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"Why so tense, Iwa-chan?"
"This isn’t a goddamn strip show," he grunts crabbily, hastily adorning the shirt of his uniform. "Stop staring. We’re gonna be late to first period if you don’t get a move on."
Oikawa is often the last person to leave the locker room, and today is no exception. He likes to loaf on the bench and whine about the sweat he’d worked up at practice for a good long while before showering and changing into his uniform, and while Iwaizumi’s temper often reaches its breaking point as he waits, they both know he would never go on ahead without the setter.
"But my bones ache," Oikawa whines, even as he slowly gets to his feet and stretches his arms above his head. A fist pumps the air and a hand cups his neck, and he rolls his head back and mewls softly at the pleasant chill of working out his cricks.
Iwaizumi leans back against the lockers, his arms folded, and watches him, unimpressed. He takes entirely too long with stretching, slowly arching his back and rolling his neck this way and that, his eyes fluttering shut to enjoy the sensation. A soft smile curls his lips as he hums in contentment.
The ace rolls his eyes at how slowly he’s moving, so obviously on purpose, and means to snap at him to hurry the hell up. Except Oikawa saves him the trouble and finally tugs at the back of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head in one fluid, but slow, motion.
His abs peek out from under the fabric first, just a little stretch of skin that slowly expands as he continues to undress, until the dip of his navel disrupts the smooth skin. The shirt slips over his chest, broad shoulders, and then his arms, before finally pooling on the floor and leaving the setter’s torso completely bare.
Iwaizumi glowers at him as he pauses to stretch again, this time without the shirt’s constriction, and another hazy smile spreads across his lips. His back muscles stretch and pull along with him, the movements running all the way up his spine and teasing the little hairs on the nape of his neck.
"Would you hurry up?” Iwaizumi snaps, impatiently tapping one foot and watching him toy with the drawstrings of his sweat pants.
"But it’s so chilly," he complains, meshing his lips together in thought, a certain twinkle in his eyes. "Makes me not want to get undressed. Maybe if I do it quickly?"
And without warning, his sweatpants are around his ankles, leaving him standing only in his boxers, and as he wiggles each foot out of the fabric, Iwaizumi can’t help but notice the movements of his sturdy calves, or his thighs. Or that small strip of hair that runs down from his navel and disappears underneath his boxers.
He swallows.
Oikawa’s fingers come around to tug at the waistband of his boxers, and when they hook into the underwear and pause against his hips, Iwaizumi meets his eyes.
"You’re staring, Iwa-chan," he teases, his eyes darkening to match the mischief in his smirk. "This isn’t a goddamn strip show, you know."
And then the boxers slide to his feet as well.
Iwaizumi flits his gaze away, running his eyes over the ceiling instead to avoid direct exposure, but he’s very aware of the nearby rustling as Oikawa pulls his feet out of the cloth, or as he picks up all his clothes off the floor, or his light humming and the pitter-patter of his footsteps as he comes closer.
He comes to a stop before the ace, though Iwaizumi only knows because he glances out of the corners of his eyes and sees lots and lots of naked skin.
"What?"
"Do you mind, Iwa-chan?" he asks cheerily, gesturing behind him with a vague motion of his hand. "You’re in front of my locker."
"Oh." He shuffles to the side enough to give him access, and Oikawa picks his humming back up as he tosses his practice clothes into his locker and pulls out his uniform in their place.
"Watch these for me while I shower, would you?" he requests, pressing his clothes into Iwaizumi’s side and stepping much closer than is really necessary to do so.
He snatches them quick as a whip and moves away, and though he can't see his face, he can sense the waves of smugness Oikawa's exuding as he finally skips into the shower and curses at himself. He's done this so many times before, so why does he always let it get to him?
It's not long until the locker room is filled with the scent of Oikawa's fruity shampoo. The setter likes steamy showers to help him unwind, so pretty soon the room is hot and humid and the heavy scent is everywhere, invading his senses. Iwaizumi tries not to think about the last time he had smelled it -- lounging on his bed when Oikawa had shifted and his hair had pressed into his nose -- but it's a total failure.
The creak of the faucet shutting off and the silence that follows it alerts him that Oikawa's almost done, meaning his little game might just end and they could actually make it to class on time.
But then there's a surprised "Oh!" from inside the shower. "Oops. Looks like I forgot my towel." There's a pause for thought, and then he decides, uncaring, "Ah, well, it's just you, Iwa-chan, so it doesn't matter."
"Don't you dare, Asskawa," he hisses, but he can already hear footsteps heading his way and in just a moment a very wet and very naked Oikawa would step out of the shower room and give him an eyeful of... well, everything.
He heaves Oikawa's locker open, snatches his towel, and crosses the locker room just as Oikawa's sopping wet upper body sticks out from behind the wall. He manages to slam the towel in his face before the lower half of his body can follow.
"Wow!" He goes tumbling back, out of view, the towel clutched in his hand. "Careful, Iwa-chan!" he gripes. "I almost slipped. Then you would have been sorry."
The towel is thankfully wrapped around his hips as he comes back into view, but then he puts his hands into his hair and slicks back his wet locks, his eyes half-lidded once again as he sighs at the feel of cool air on his wet skin, and he actually doesn't seem to realize what exactly he's doing and what exactly it's doing to Iwaizumi.
"I'm... gonna wait outside for you from now on," he announces in a daze.
"What?" Oikawa frowns at him, a hand running down his hair to rest on his slightly angled and exposed neck. "Why?"
Iwaizumi doesn't reply as he tosses him his uniform, snatches his bag, and practically flies out of the locker room.
