an accumulation of little despairs

To say that loving and living with Kageyama Tobio and Tsukishima Kei is a peaceful, happy, warm life would be a lie.

It's a three-bedroom apartment full of sarcasm and tugged-on hair and two bedrooms that haven't been used in months. It's mornings with the coffee pot almost empty before the third person can even get to it. It's two men who argue incessantly about nothing just to have an excuse to make out afterwards, with you caught in the middle. It's bite marks and fought-over TV remotes and falling asleep with one man's hands on your waist and the other's fingers tangled in your hair.

It's the regular need to emotionally regulate, because being the girlfriend of two ginormous men who bicker like children and forget that you can't reach the top shelf when you most need it is not for the weak.

But you're okay with it. You're okay with pulling on Tobio's ear when he leaves his clothes on the floor next to the laundry basket instead of in it. You're okay with picking stupid fights with Kei when he leaves empty containers in the pantry instead of throwing them out because he's lazy or forgets half the time. You're okay with being astonished at the stupidity of man more often than not.

Because you love them.

You love how Tobio gets when he's sleepy, how his hands always find their way under your shirt and his face always ends up buried in your chest, his snores gentle against your ribcage. And when he wakes in the morning, he spends five minutes — without fail, like a ritual he can't skip — pressing his lips lazily along the lines of your shoulder and spine, his love quiet but doting. Never too loud, never too demanding. Always soft, like you're a goddess that he's still shocked to have gotten attention from.

You're the same way with him. Kei had commented on it once, when you'd both been curled around each other on the couch, very early on. 'I expected you to take charge. He needs something like that.' You'd only shaken your head and pushed your face further into the crook of Tobio's neck, feeling his soft snores against your temple. 'I'm not strong enough to lead this,' you'd said. 'He makes me feel soft.' And then you'd laughed, because what you'd felt even then had been impossible to explain.

'He makes me feel like a girl. Is that stupid?'

Kei had only shaken his head, fingers wrapped around your ankle and thumb pressing circles into your ankle bone. 'Something about femininity and safety, probably.' And then he'd chewed on his lip, examining you. 'Do I make you feel that way, too?'

Back then, you'd been nervous. Things were still new. You were used to arguing with Kei, used to the back and forth. Not this. This weird vulnerability.

'No,' you'd said, smiling when he'd looked almost offended. 'You make me feel real.'

He hadn't understood, and you hadn't blamed him for it. What you'd said was nonsense.

'Do you normally feel fake?'

'Not fake,' you'd laughed. 'But maybe kind of lost. Like everything is happening around me, whether I'm there or not.' You'd flushed with warmth, because the tips of his ears had started going red.

'You feel like an anchor. I know that if I can just find you — if I can just get to you — I'll be fine.'

And that feeling hadn't changed. Even as stupid high school kids, when life was suddenly starting to feel a lot bigger than the house you grew up in and the friends you'd lived next door to, Kei had been constant. A constant pain in your ass, sure, but he was there. Certainly and without fail.

As you'd grown up, you'd always had the sense that he'd stay — from stupid arguments at fifteen years old all the way to much less stupid arguments, twenty-three and trying to figure each other out. You'd always known he would be there, even on the worst nights. The distance between you was never more than a few feet, because even when you wanted to cry and scream and slam doors, Tsukishima Kei would never let it happen.

All he needed was a firm hand pressed between your shoulder blades and his mouth pressed to your ear, comfort whispered into your skin until you could calm down. Anchored until you were ready to come back.

Falling in love with Tobio had happened with awareness, with that fluttery, first-crush feeling that made you melt into him and around him. But falling in love with Kei had happened when you weren't looking, appearing overnight like a shock to the very cells of your body, as if he hadn't been there the whole time.

Watching them fall in love with each other had been a car crash. It was denial and avoidance and constant irritation, to the point of you wondering at one point if you'd all need to break your lease together. It was clumsy encounters in the kitchen and embarrassment turned to arguments, faces red with something that couldn't possibly be anger.

It was wondering why neither of them would get jealous when the other would spend time with you. Wondering why they would only find excuses to be there, too. Why they would examine you with curious eyes, watching how you'd act around the other man.

It was Kei blurting out that he knew you and Tobio had kissed, and Tobio radiating heat from the humiliation. It was Tobio snapping that Kei should just kiss you, too, if he was that obsessed. It was you, trembling with nerves as you'd agreed with one, single stipulation: that Tobio and Kei do the same.

That night had ended in your bed, murmured confessions and sex that felt like falling in love.

It was easy to fall in love.

But that doesn't mean every day is perfect.

—

It would have been fine any other day. You're used to him, to the way he chooses to care for you. You're used to the cutting voice and the rolled eyes and the irritating, little smirk that you fell for all those months ago.

But you've just gotten out of the work day from hell.

Your boss is an egotistical maniac who gets off on torturing his employees, and his boss is a walking, talking, perverted HR violation. And you've just had the distinct pleasure of dealing with both of them in their worst moods. You and your co-workers had banded together, heads down and work output high, check-ins made through passing eye contact and texts from the bathroom.

So, yes, maybe you'd forgotten to drink a lot of water and eat a normal amount of lunch. Maybe you have a killer headache and hunger pangs, and maybe you're in a shit mood. Maybe you want nothing more than to curl up on the couch and have your two tall, beautiful boyfriends pamper you like the princess you want to be.

Maybe, as you're shouldering the apartment door open, energy low and head throbbing painfully, you're hoping for a hug and a kiss on your forehead and maybe a foot massage.

But that's not what's on the other side of the door.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Kei asks, examining you from the kitchen counter as he prepares dinner. "You look like you got run over and then arrested for standing in the way of the truck."

You give him a weak smile. "Creative, Kei. Thank you." Your lunchbag is heavy when you drop it on the counter, the noise of it clearly telling him that your containers are still full.

He lifts a brow. "You didn't eat?"

"No time."

"You get a break time, don't you?" he snorts, shaking his head, his knifework quick and easy. "You never use it right."

You feel the tick of irritation in the back of your mind, throbbing in time with your headache. "I didn't have time-"

"What's going on?"

You turn, finding Tobio as he emerges from the steaming bathroom, wet hair plastered to his forehead and skin flushed with heat. You just smile, because you know at least that he'll baby you. That's all you want. You just want to be babied.

"Hi, baby," you sigh, smiling up at him as he approaches. His smile is small and warm, and his eyes betray how nervous you still make him. He presses a kiss between your eyebrows.

"Oh, so he's baby and I'm just Kei, is that it?" Kei teases, his normal style of poking at your nerves. You can tell, even now, because he's smiling to himself as he does it. But you're not in the mood, so you just clench your fists and try to regulate your breathing.

"Yes, Kei, because you're being an asshole," you try to joke, your voice tight in your throat.

Tobio takes your side, just like he always does. "Stop being an asshole-"

"I'm not being an asshole!" Kei laughs, the sound loud and sharp. "She doesn't eat right at work, so she comes home crabby and hangry." Your emotional regulation starts to fail at his words, your heartrate rising and a prickle stinging behind your eyes. You're not crabby just because you didn't eat. He's minimizing your feelings. "And she probably didn't drink water, either," he continues, completely clueless to your mood shift. If he would just look up at you — if he weren't busy making dinner like the good boyfriend you know that he is — he would know you can't handle the taunting right now. You just need him to look at you.

"Babe," you try, your shoulders tense. Tobio's hand slides up the length of your spine, and you feel his eyes on your face. "I didn't have time, I told you-"

He's not listening, too busy doing his usual routine with that little smirk on his face. "She's dehydrated and hangry, even though we pack her lunch and water bottle every day, and then she wonders why she's in a bad mood-"

"Just stop!" you bark, damn near stomping your foot.

To his credit, he does stop. Right away, in fact. The moment he hears the snap of your tone, the pitch of your voice. He stops, eyes flying to your face.

To his credit, he realizes right away that you're in a terrible mood and that tonight wasn't the night for his usual game.

Because he's a good boyfriend, you try to remind yourself. He's a good man.

But you're tired, you're hungry, you're sad that it seems like you're not grateful for your boyfriends sending you off every morning with a wonderful lunch and a wonderful cup of coffee and a wonderful, expensive water bottle full of ice cold water just the way you like it.

All you'd wanted was a hug, a kiss, and maybe some affection. And now you're standing in the kitchen fighting off tears because you couldn't self-regulate fast enough to combat what would normally be a perfectly good banter session.

"I wanted to eat," you complain. "And I did drink water. I drank it all, but I couldn't refill the fucking bottle because I didn't want to get my boss's attention and because his boss kept looking at my ass whenever I would go anywhere! I even tried not to go to the bathroom as much!"

Kei is stunned, the knife sitting limply in his palm. Tobio's hand is firm against your spine, warm and safe.

You can see the battle in Kei's eyes. He's not good at confrontation, he never has been. He's always snippy and his ego is big enough that he struggles to admit when he's gone too far. But he's gotten better with you. In fact, he's always been better about it with you. He's never been too sharp with you, and he's only gotten softer over time.

That's why he folds almost the exact moment that your brows start to crinkle in that telltale way. It's why he drops the knife and approaches you with his hands out, like he's trying to reach you.

"Babe-"

You smack his hands away. You're tempted to keep going, to keep yelling about your awful day and your terrible headspace. But you know it won't help, that it'll only make both of you feel worse, so you just shrug his comfort away. You're upset that he wouldn't listen, and you're ashamed that you reacted so strongly.

So you do the only thing you can think of. You turn to Kageyama.

You don't see the way Kei deflates. You just push your face into Tobio's chest and sigh, feeling the expanse of his palms against your back and arms. Feeling the way he tangles one of his hands into your hair as he uses the other to gesture to Kei over your head.

"Just-" he starts. You feel his voice rumbling all around you. "Just fuck off for a little bit."

"Y/n," Kei tries again. You feel his fingers brush against the back of your shirt. They're always a little bit pointier, a little bit colder than Tobio's.

"Kei." Tobio's voice is warm, melting into your headache like honey, pulling it away. "Give her a minute."

And then he whisks you away, all fingers and voice and guidance. "Just close your eyes," he whispers, taking over. You do as he says, the same way he does as you say when he's in a similar place — lost and upset and hurt by things that shouldn't.

You rest your eyes, feeling the gentle push and pull of his touch, of his voice. "Lift," he murmurs into your hair, peeling your clothes away from your body and tossing them somewhere unseen and unneeded. "Hold my hand," he breathes, leading you along to the bathroom, still steaming from his shower. "Relax," he coaxes, leaving you only to fill the tub with fresh water. The room heats again, and you smell the scent of your favorite bath bomb, the one from your overcrowded basket that Tobio is normally too afraid to navigate.

You only open your eyes when he tells you to, all too touched to find that doting look in his eye. That look that scans you quietly but earnestly. Lovingly, even in his silence.

He doesn't say anything else, just helping you into the bathtub. He grabs one of your clips, very clumsily pulling your hair back.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I suck at this."

You don't let him see how emotional you're getting, though you get the sense he can tell anyway. "'s perfect."

He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, and you let out a watery laugh when he bites down gently on your skin.

"'ll be back," he whispers. "Just relax." As he's leaving, he calls back, a grin peeking out. "Don't fall asleep and drown, though."

You laugh again, holding it together just until the door creaks shut.

You hide your face in your hands to cry, just so they can't hear it.

You feel terrible. You know that Kei is struggling, that he'd been blindsided by your reaction. And it's true that he probably could have paid more attention, but you can't really blame him. Not when this is normal, when jokes and nights like these are normal.

But it's always hard to solve issues between you and Kei.

With Tobio, one of you always caves first. And not in a 'You win, I lose,' kind of way. It never feels like that. It only ever feels like relief, because tension with Tobio results in an echoing, lonely feeling in your chest. One that only he can fill. And he's always too willing to give you space, even if he feels the same emptiness. He always wants to defer to you, because he's always been insecure about giving you what you need. So it's always you to give in first, quiet hands and watery eyes and a deep, yearning relief when he's all too eager to pull you back to him.

But with Kei, it's never that simple. It's never heartbreak that's solved with just a look and mutual apologies.

It's turmoil and frustrated sighs and an internal argument between your ego and your desire to make up with him.

But you feel so tired, and you feel so bad. You don't want to drag this out, and you're not even sure that you could. Your ego isn't here. You don't need drawn out tension and the frustration of skirting around each other because neither of you wants to give in.

You just need Kei.

—

You do end up falling asleep in the bath.

Tobio comes to collect you after half an hour, but you don't stir until you're already in his arms, soaking wet and ruining his clothes. You make a noise of confusion as he wraps you in a towel.

"Told you not to fall asleep," he jokes. "You're all wrinkly. Like a rat."

You groan, too tired to be offended. He just laughs and takes you out into the living room.

"Kei?" you mumble, still half-asleep.

"He's in the bedroom," Tobio's voice rumbles, through your skin and chest. "He's just giving you a little space."

You frown. "He didn't do anything."

"I know," he concedes. "But he did. Kinda."

You don't know what to do with that.

"So he's just giving you a little space," he sighs, sitting down with you in his lap. There's a bowl of pasta on the table. Your eyes sting a little when you see it.

"Kei?" you call again, sagging into Tobio's hold. He presses a kiss to your head.

"Yeah. Think he's tryna say sorry," he whispers.

You try to get up. Kei shouldn't be alone in the room, not while you're out here eating dinner that he made. But Tobio just pulls you back, towel wrapped tight around you and pasta bowl set firmly in your hands.

"Eat." When you start to protest, he hugs you tighter. "Just eat. You won't feel better until you do."

It's delicious. It's perfect. It's almost impossible to eat. But you eat it, because Kei made it.

And then you cry.

It's not like you had gotten into a serious relationship argument. It's not like he'd treated you poorly or made you feel small after realizing what the issue is.

You're just tired. Tired and overwhelmed and wanting your boyfriend more than anything in the world.

So when Tobio carries you through the apartment in the direction of your bedroom, you let him. You let him and hope that the Kei you find on the other side is also willing to ignore his ego tonight.

The Kei you find on the other side is stiff with tension. He's sprawled across the bed, scrolling on his phone hollowly. It's obvious he's not actually watching anything. He's dissociating too much.

When you're carried through the door, he sits up with a jolt.

"Hi." His voice is soft when he says it, so much softer than usual. Soft in that way it only gets when he's trying not to go too far.

You're damp and your hair is tangled and your skin is flushed. Your eyes are watery and hurt and full of yearning.

"Kei," you whisper. Tobio sets you on the bed, still wrapped tight in your towel and looking all too weak. "'m sorry. I was in a bad mood-"

"Nah," he breathes, sitting close and threading his fingers through the damp, messy hair at the nape of your neck. "I was an asshole-"

"You weren't-"

"I was," he insists. When he tugs you close, you lean in, grateful for his warmth. The mattress sinks down on your other side, and then Tobio's mouth presses against your bare shoulder. You see his hand press into Kei's knee, caging you in. Kei just keeps your eyes on him. "I shouldn't have started joking. I saw how tired you were. I should have checked on you first, without fucking around."

You pout up at him. "It's usually okay. I promise."

You catch what you think is a glimpse of something fragile in his expression, but he blinks it away.

"Okay," he mumbles. "How was dinner?"

You groan and lurch forward, arms snapping around his neck and clinging tight. When your towel falls away, his hands find your waist.

"Alright," he chokes, helping you as you clamber into his lap. "That good, huh?"

You push your mouth against his, reveling in the way his groan vibrates through his chest and into yours. His tongue flattens against the seam of your lips just by habit, and you're eager to let him in. His breath warms the inside of your mouth, even as he's pulling away.

"Wait, hang on," he pants, trying to put some distance between you. You don't let him, settling into his lap with the certainty of a woman who knows what she needs. He laughs, half-pained, and shakes his head. You can see him struggling not to take in the sight of your body. "I don't wanna take advantage of this. You had a bad day-"

You just pull him into another kiss. "Exactly. I had a bad day." You card your fingers thrugh his hair and tug lightly. His mouth falls open and his grip on your body gets tighter. "Make it better, Kei. Please?"

He glances urgently to the side, and you follow it, watching Tobio meet Kei's eyes. They communicate silently, nothing more than a lift of Tobio's brows and a weak grunt from Kei.

And then you're on your back, the breath knocked out of you as Kei climbs over you. His eyes trail down the length of your body and then find you again, full of appreciation and gratitude. His fingers trace circles into your skin, soft and ticklish.

"You sure?"

You roll your eyes and look to Tobio for help. "Will you tell him, please?"

Tobio just grins down at you, sweet despite the obvious heat in his eyes. "She wants you to take care of her." And then he stares at the side of Kei's face, his smile becoming a little bit evil. "Think you can do that, or should we swap places?"

"Shut up," the blond grunts. He slides down the mattress, ignoring your noise of surprise, and wraps his hands around the undersides of your thighs.

"Wha-"

"Shh," he murmurs, pressing his mouth against your inner thigh. He drags you close, arms curling up and over the tops of your thighs. He pushes you down into the mattress until you can't wriggle away, teeth grazing your sensitive skin lovingly. He's teasing you, the tip of his tongue somehow even warmer than the post-bath warmth between your legs.

"Kei," you breathe, propping yourself up on your elbows and watching him. His eyes flick up to yours, and his smile wide against your skin when you let out a quiet moan at the impossibly beautiful sight of Tsukishima Kei on his knees for you.

On his knees is how he takes you, sliding to the edge of the bed and dragging you with him. Throwing your legs over his shoulders and burying his face between your thighs. Moaning against you when you cry out and fall back onto the mattress, your arms crossing weakly over your eyes.

His mouth is searing hot against your core, tongue sliding through your folds with a reverence you never knew was possible. Lewd noises bounce off the walls, and not a single ounce of you can tell if it's because he's just that good at unraveling you or if it's because you can literally feel him drooling all over your cunt. The thought that he's that far gone has you clenching around nothing, your thighs tightening around his head.

"Fuck, Kei," you pant. One hand flies down and tangles in his hair, yanking hard with every suck of your clit into his mouth. He groans, his own hand covering yours and squeezing tight.

"'s it," he grunts. "Use me. Use me to make your day better." A whine, desperate and needy, falls past your lips. Your hips start to roll against his face, and your heart flies into your throat and ears when he laughs into you. "There you go, pretty. Keep going," he rumbles. And then he presses his tongue flat against your folds, panting on your skin as you roll your hips into his mouth. Each jerk of your body pushes your clit against his tongue, over and over again until your breath is caught in broken, needy whines in your throat.

And then, when you're not paying enough attention — because you never are with them — Tobio leans down over your body and takes one of your nipples in his mouth.

You cry out, eyes flying open and legs clamping tight around Kei's head. He grunts, a laugh following as he watches you react to Tobio. You can see Kei through the dark strands of Tobio's hair, but it's Tobio's eyes flicking up to watch you, too, that makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

Gold and cobalt, watching every flicker of emotion on your face. Dedicated, committed to you.

When you come, it's with an arch of your back that has Tobio gripping your waist with one hand just so he doesn't fly off. It's with a clench of your thighs so tight that Kei's hands grip hard to your hips, fingertips pushing bruises into your skin. It's with one hand yanking hard on Kei's hair while the other falls to the mattress and searches to cover the hand that Tobio's using to palm himself.

Both men grunt and pant against you as you cry out for them, gold and cobalt watching you like there's nothing else in the word worth looking at.

You're trembling by the time it's over, thighs and fingers sore from the strain. Tobio and Kei are flushed with effort, breathing hard as they hover over you. Tobio looks proud, proud to see the tension of this day leave your body all at once. But it's Kei whose eyes you find, because it's Kei who you want to check.

He looks relieved, like he's also glad to see the tension leave your body but that he's more glad it was him who could do it for you. He also looks a little nervous, like he's not sure it was enough.

Tobio sees it too, climbing off of you and settling onto the mattress behind you, his back against the headboard.

"C'mere," he breathes, beckoning you to him. You go on shaky legs, all but pulling yourself to him with your arms. Kei helps you there, his palms warm on your skin and his mouth pressing to any part of you that he can reach while you move. When you try to straddle Tobio's thighs, he just turns you by the hips and drags you down into his lap. Your back falls against his chest, and you look up at him as best as you can, your eyes wide. He just gestures to Kei, who's equally confused. "You, too. C'mere."

Kei just gives him a look. "I'm not sitting in your lap, asshole."

Tobio's fingers snag Kei's jeans by the belt loops. "Just take your clothes off, you idiot."

You giggle, exhausted and a little delusional, and start to undo Kei's jeans. He helps you, fingers squeezing around yours and his head dipping every few seconds so he can catch your mouth with his. By the time he gets his jeans and boxers off, you've got one hand wrapped around his cock and the other tangled in his hair again, and he's got his tongue shoved down your throat while Tobio plays idly with your nipples.

The slide of his cock through your folds is slick and wet and loud, and it would be humiliating — Tobio has his hands hooked around your thighs and is holding your legs wide open — if not for the simultaneous moans falling out of their mouths. Your eyes flutter open, watching the way Tobio stares down your body and the way Kei's pupils dilate when he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance.

Your head falls limp against Tobio's shoulder as Kei pushes inch by inch of himself into you. You wriggle your hips, the way you always have to because they're both a little difficult to adjust to. Your ears are ringing and your head is spinning, made worse when you watch, bleary-eyed, as Kei pushes his mouth roughly against Tobio's. He tugs Tobio's bottom lip between his teeth and then shoves his tongue into his mouth, moaning as he bottoms out inside of you.

When he pulls away, Tobio drops his mouth open and lets his tongue fall out expectantly. Kei's cock throbs hard inside of you, pulling a whine out of you, but you still watch, because you would never want to miss the way Kei rolls his tongue around the inside of his own mouth. You would never want to miss the way he lets his tongue hang over Tobio's, the way his saliva slides down his tongue and falls onto Tobio's. You would never want to miss the way Tobio swallows it down with a grin so evil that Kei's hand snaps out and grips him hard by the cheeks.

"Fucking asshole," Kei bites, his cheeks flushed with desire and his eyes glazed over. His ears are burning pink, but you know that's only because he can feel you reacting to the sight. He can feel you seeing right through him, seeing what Tobio does to him.

He always takes it out on Tobio, because he would never take it out on you.

In fact, when his attention comes back to you, it's gentle. He still has Tobio's face in his hand, but his other hand is coming down to lie flat against your stomach. You both watch as he slides his hips back and then nudges them forward. You both watch as his hand lifts, because his cock is making your stomach bulge against him. You both moan, just like you always do, because you'll never get tired of it.

His pace never increases. He doesn't snap his hips like he usually does, and he doesn't grip you tight or manhandle you or put you in positions that make you burn with embarrassment.

He just holds you gently and rocks his hips with a soft, slow rhythm. It's torture, because your head is spinning and your nerves are stretching like taffy, slow and warm just like every stretch of your cunt around Kei's cock.

His hands wander your body lovingly, nails scraping against your skin and fingers gripping the underside of your chin. He forces you to look up at him, watching with wonder as your body bounces softly with every pulse of his hips.

"I was too mean tonight, huh?" he whispers, eyes searching yours. You furrow your brows and shake your head, but he doesn't give you the chance to talk. "I was, wasn't I? I wasn't careful with my girl's feelings tonight."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you're overwhelmed with both the feeling of him fucking you slow and the feeling of his eyes searching your soul the way that only he can.

"My pretty girl just wanted to come home and be loved," he continues, his pace picking up just slightly, like he's growing frustrated with himself again. "I didn't love her right."

You whine. "You always love me right," you whisper. He shakes his head.

"I could have loved you better tonight," he breathes. You catch that glimpse of something fragile in his eyes again. "'m I still good enough, baby?"

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, squeezing tight. "You're more than good enough, Kei."

"Still love me?"

"I'll always love you."

He groans, his hand slipping off your chin and sliding across your collarbones. He rests his palm against the base of your throat, fingers wrapped loosely around your neck. He doesn't squeeze or grip your throat at all, not like he usually does. He just lets his hand rest there, like he's reminding himself that you're his. That this is his.

You push your throat up into his palm, just in case he starts to forget again.

It's Tobio who moans, quiet and vulnerable as he watches you. As he watches the way you love Tsukishima Kei, so different from the way you love Kageyama Tobio. But the love is the same — full and whole and with everything you have.

When Kei's hips stutter and then push forward, his pace climbing steadily — desperately — Tobio presses his lips to the crook of your neck.

"Tell him again," he whispers, starting to suck on that spot. His fingers knead at your breasts, eager and urgent.

You wiggle your hips, feeling that blissful impact of Kei's cock smacking up against your g-spot and crying out when the feeling radiates across your whole body.

"Love you, Kei."

"Again," Tobio grunts. His fingers thumb at your nipples, tweaking and tugging and rolling them with the exact pressure you need.

"L-Love," you pant, clenching around Kei every time he bottoms out. "I love you, Kei."

"Me, too," Kei grunts through his teeth, flushed and warm. "I love you, too."

"Again," Tobio bites. When you glance up, he's staring into Kei's eyes. "Say it again."

Kei's pace breaks again, his eyes searching Tobio's with embarrassment. "I-"

"Oh, god," you breathe, overwhelmed by them. Overwhelmed by Kei and the things he's doing to your heart, to your body. Overwhelmed by Tobio and the way he chooses to take care of you, to take care of both of you.

Overwhelmed by the way both their eyes snap down to you the second you start to fall over the edge, your spine tightening and your body twitching in their arms.

Gold and cobalt, warm on your skin.

—

When you wake, it's in the dark of your bedroom and in the hold of someone's arms. His fingers are pointy, a little cold when he drags them down your skin, and his chest is warm against your back.

"Kei," you breathe. He hums into your bare shoulder, his breath warm. Your body feels a little sore, and you feel full of him.

He hasn't pulled out yet.

You clench at the realization, hearing when he swallows hard and breathes out shakily. But when you start to move your hips, he steadies you, shaking his head.

"Mm-mm," he sighs, holding you closer. "Jus' wanna feel you."

Your heart races in your chest, full of love and want. "Did you at least finish?"

He smiles into your hair. "Of course I did. Right where you like it."

Your cheeks burn at the loving taunt, even as you feel the warmth still spilling out between your thighs. "Asshole."

He snorts. "Not quite, but maybe next time." He just laughs when you elbow him.

You turn your head to look at him. "Tobio?"

His lips brush against your cheek. "Sent him to get you ice cream." When you perk up, his grin widens. "Told him if he gets you two pints, he can have me next."

You laugh, your body melting into his. "You sold your body for ice cream?"

"Two pints of it," he murmurs. It's quiet for a moment, one where he just drags his lips over your skin while he thinks. "I really am sorry, by the way. For earlier."

You curl your fingers around his and pull the back of his hand to your mouth. "Me, too," you say between kisses.

Neither of you says more than that, because neither of you needs to.

When Kenma pokes his head into your room, it's almost three o'clock in the morning. He's just finished his Friday night stream, but the quiet he'd expected when slipping his headphones off is not there. Instead, there's a whimpering noise he can hear through the wall, muffled enough that his mic hadn't caught it but loud enough that he's immediately concerned.

He'd knocked twice, quietly murmuring your name, but you'd only let out more whimpers, almost pained. You must be having a nightmare, he reasons, letting himself into your room and trying not to feel guilty.

The blankets have been kicked to the floor, your pajamas riding up in places that he won't let himself notice, because he's worked very hard over the last three years to ignore any hint of anything that isn't roommate-friendly. Not for your sake, because you're not shy at all about boundaries or personal space or anything. Why would you be? You're his best friend.

No… It's entirely for his sake. For his sanity. If he lets himself want to see you in this way — be near you in this way — he won't ever recover.

So he pretends he doesn't see you like this and moves to your side, one hand on your shoulder. You're sweating, your skin sticky and your breath coming out in uneven pants. Your eyebrows are screwed up tight, like you're hurting.

"Hey," he whispers, mumbling your name. He shakes you when you don't stir. "Y/n. C'mon. You gotta get up."

Your body jerks with sudden consciousness, and your eyes fly open. When your gaze finds his, Kenma's spine tightens.

Your pupils are dilated, and your eyes are glazed over with something heated.

"Koz?"

A shiver runs down the length of his body, starting from the crown of his head.

He brushes it off. "Yeah. You were having a nightmare." When you just blink up at him, hazy and lost, he presses his palm against your forehead. "You good?"

Your breath hitches, and you lift your hands to your face, groaning. "Yeah. All good."

He gets the sense that you're lying. "Was it bad?"

"Mhm," you breathe. "Bad."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nope," you laugh, shaking your head and reaching for the blankets with trembling fingers. "Definitely not."

Kenma shakes his head, resolved to never hearing about this mystery nightmare. And then, as you're tugging the blankets over your legs, he watches your thighs clench together tight.

His mouth is suddenly quite dry. "Oh."

You pause, glancing at his face. When you see what he's looking at, you yank the blankets up to your chin. "Koz-"

"Sorry," Kenma laughs, a little delirious. He looks around, standing from your bed with an urgency that he's never felt before. "My bad. I'll go."

"Wait-" Your fingers snag on his wrist. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dream about you-"

"About-" Kenma blinks down at you, his eyes wide. "About who? About-What?"

You stare, your hand covering your mouth. "Oh, god."

He echoes you. "Oh, god." When you sink under your blankets, murmuring 'please go away', he's quick to listen. "Yep. Got it."

"Wait!" you call out, just as he's rushing through the doorway. He stops, staring out into the hallway while you stay silent. "Come back…" Kenma doesn't move, trying to decide if this is real or if you're about to stab him for even knowing about this dream, which was entirely out of your control and which he's totally okay pretending never happened.

But then your voice changes. Thickens with nerves, with something stronger. "Koz… Come back?"

He's at the foot of your bed before he can think of any logical reason not to be, staring down at the blankets and doing his very best not to look into that heated gaze he knows you've got.

Your breath is stuttered, nervous. "Can I ask for something?"

He'd give you anything, even the thing he knows is coming. "Yeah. Yes."

"Will you-" Your voice going quiet, whispered and uncertain. "Will you help me?"

Kenma's eyes flit about the dark of your room. He's coming concerningly close to the end of his rope of self-control. "With?"

"Kenma-"

He shudders visibly, even in the moonlight. You only call him by his name when you're about to say something real. Something heavy.

"Please help me." When he doesn't answer, just shifting his weight and curling his fists into his pockets, you visibly shrink in your bed. "Or-Unless you don't-"

"I want to," he blurts, carding his fingers through his hair and tugging hard. "I definitely want to. I just-" He doesn't finish his sentence, just sitting next to you, within arms' reach. When you tug on his hoodie, he lets you drag him down over you, his sigh heated against your skin. "Are you sure?" he asks. "You just had a dream. It's okay if it's just that. You can't control them."

Your hand trails up his chest and curls around the hair at the base of his neck, playing with it softly. He shivers, a hand brushing across your waist and planting into the mattress at your side, caging you in.

"I don't have dreams about any of my other friends, Koz," you whisper. "But I've lost track of how many have been about you."

His eyes find yours, close and wide and shocked. "Wha-"

"Please, Kenma. I want this."

There's only a moment of silence, and then Kenma is dropping his lips to yours.

Your breath hitches against his mouth, your lips parting, and he's desperate enough to just push his tongue past them right away, all pretense and hesitation leaving his body in a moment of pure weakness. His fingers slide against your waist, dipping under the hem of your shirt and pressing firmly against the warmth of your tummy.

He shuffles nervously over you, following the lead you set. Following the arch of your back with a press of his fingertips against your spine. Following the moan of his name with the moan of yours. Following the spread of your thighs with the slot of his hips between them.

When he rolls his hips, you bury your fingers in his hair and whine, the sound high-pitched and needy. He can feel your heartbeat between your thighs, pulsing against him rapidly and picking up every time he does something new.

His fingers hook under one knee, tugging you around his waist as he starts to roll against you with an unsteady rhythm. His breath is getting heavy, but so is yours. Every push of himself against you is accompanied by the harsh shove his breath past his lips, dizzying and hot and slick with saliva. He feels you start to tug on his hair, little grunts of need getting caught in his throat.

"More," you whisper, your hips clumsy and rough whenever you reciprocate his eager desperation. "More, Koz, please." He presses down harder, his rolls lasting longer and pushing particulary close at the peak. He can feel his pants slipping down his waist, and he knows they're going to be gone soon. Especially with the way your pretty hips keep shimmying up against him, like you're trying to stamp the imprint of his cock against your soaked panties.

"More-Kenma-"

Kenma groans into your mouth, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth. "You sure?"

"Please," you whine, shifting back and forth. "Take them off-"

He doesn't need to hear anything else, his sweats and underwear shoved down to his thighs in an instant. The slot of his cock against your panties is torture, soaking wet torture. The noises coming from between your thighs is obscene. He chases it, curious about what it would sound like without the fabric. If it's just skin on skin, wet and warm and desperate-

"More-"

"Oh, god," he moans, slipping two trembling fingers under the gusset of your panties. "Please tell me you're sure-"

"'m sure, Koz, please, god-"

The fabric tears slightly when he yanks it aside, but neither of you hear it over the moans that echo around you when Kenma slides his cock between your folds.

It's as messy as he'd hoped, loud and lewd and sticky and everything he's ever dreamed of. He hopes it's what you've dreamed of, too.

"Is this what you wanted?" he grunts, hips slapping against your skin as he ruts desperately against you. "Is this what you were dreaming about tonight?"

Your breath stutters, chest rising and falling unevenly. "N-No-"

Kenma's heart nearly stops. But it picks up again when you reach between your legs and find his cock, your fingers making his thighs shake.