#honeesspringfever

you should have known.

you could see the signs, they were there the whole time. the glances as you come out of the shower, towel wrapped tight, your mind scrambled because you could have sworn you brought your clothes with you. the press of a chest against your back as you struggle to reach a jar that you know for a fact you'd never leave that high up — tattooed fingers snagging it with ease, the low rumble of a voice, the words 'i got you' echoed against the shell of your ear.

personal space invaded, over and over again, satisfied smiles peeking out when you inevitably warm and avoid eye contact.

maybe you were blind to the signs. or maybe you were just ignoring them.

maybe you shouldn't have admitted to your college best friends on the eve of your graduation that you're a virgin.

maybe you should have noticed the look they'd shared as they tucked the information away for later. much later, almost a year later.

but ending up here in this very moment — a devil on your right and an angel on your left — was always going to happen.

alright, so maybe you'd known.

"c'mon," mattsun whispers on your left, lips brushing against the side of your head. "you can't tell me you've never thought about it."

you reach for the remote, trying to change the movie — change the scene — change anything. something that'll get this moment off the screen, trying to avoid looking at the girl on the screen who's very much enjoying the two men that are taking turns with her.

mattsun keeps the remote away with a simple brush of his pinky, and you don't reach again.

makki on your right, his fingers toying with the edge of your pajama shorts. "you give up easy," he whispers, his smile a little meaner, his voice a little rougher than mattsun's.

you flush and answer mattsun's question. "i haven't thought about it."

"aw, really?" smooth and sweet, on your left.

"liar." sharp and cutting, on your right.

he's not wrong.

maybe you'd known.

"it's just a little… scary, i guess," you mumble, giving in, giving them an inch.

makki takes a mile. "but you want it anyway, don't you?"

mattsun gives it back. "it doesn't have to be scary, baby."

you've never been able to say no to them. you've never really wanted to, not even now.

hanamaki takahiro knows that.

"you want it," he repeats, slow. his gaze locks with yours, and you know that he can see the want in your eyes. that he can feel when your thighs press together subtly, your shorts shifting between his fingers.

he smiles — knowing, satisfed.

"don't you?"

you watch his gaze drop to your mouth when you respond.

"yes."

he lifts his brows, waiting. mattsun's waiting, too, his fingers starting to knead the plush skin of your exposed thigh.

you don't make them wait long.

"i want it."

—

your skin is on fire, nerve endings tugged and snapped and frayed more than once. your fingers are buried in a mess of dark curls, mattsun's ice cold lip ring warm now. warmed by his breath and his exertion, warmed by the searing heat of his tongue on your soaking cunt.

"issei-" you whine, twitching when makki's teeth brush against your nipple for the fifth time in a row. it's his hands that hold you down whenever you start to writhe and rock against mattsun's face. "issei, please-"

"one more," mattsun groans, voice muffled and vibrating against your clit and two fingers curling tight inside you. you whimper, one hand reaching blindly and finding makki's face. you pull him up, moaning into his mouth when he shoves his lips against yours.

"make him stop," you plead, tearing up when makki just shakes his head. he nibbles on your bottom lip, fingers kneading your breasts and thumbs rolling torturous circles around your nipples.

"you're gonna need it," he mumbles. "'ssei's really big. he won't fit."

you feel, a shock to your system, when mattsun groans again.

"pussy so pretty," he mutters. "pussy so sweet, so tight." he gets lost in what he's saying, his fingers working you open again, even after your third orgasm. "she's so tight around my fingers."

makki's hips roll against your mattress, and his breath grows harsh when you reach down to grip him through his shorts.

"you want it?" he grunts into your mouth. you nod eagerly, and he laughs, the sound tight. "'m not gonna be nice about it. you sure?"

you clench around mattsun's fingers, nerves swirling in your tummy when the man groans louder.

"she wants it," he breathes. "she wants it, hiro."

makki disappears, and then the head of his cock nudges against your mouth. "open." you grow shy, eyes screwing shut when your lips part, but he's quick to correct you. "wanna see you when you suck dick for the first time." you whine, and then you gasp, because he's smacking the weight of his cock down on your mouth.

"i told you to look at me."

his gaze is heavy when you find it. heavy and laced with need.

he groans low when he pushes the tip of his cock into the warmth of your mouth.

you make sure to keep eye contact when your tongue runs along the vein on the bottom.

he drops his head back. "fuck, you feel so good."

mattsun sucks hard on your clit, and you moan around makki's cock, choking slightly when his hips jerk forward involuntarily.

"fuck-ngh-sorry," he bites, and then he reaches for mattsun. "make her do it again."

your eyes widen when you catch how mattsun rises to his knees and shoves his sweats down.

that's not going to fit.

"aw," he coos, seeing the look in your eye. "'s okay. i'll be gentle."

the press of his cock past your entrance hurts in a way that makes you want him even more.

he grins, finally showing that evil glint in his eye that you might have known was always there.

"this time, at least."

» dedicated to our resident matsuhana fuckers @nectardaddy and @mattsundaes <3 «

It starts slow, with Shinsuke's hands holding your cheeks as he kisses you softly while some movie neither of you is really too invested in plays in the background, its light illuminating your faces in flashes of color. He's the one who deepens the kiss, tongue pressing beseechingly against your bottom lip, as he pulls you into his lap, your thighs bracketed on either side of his own.

There must be something in the air.

Kita's hand laces through your hair, gentle yet firm in the way he keeps your mouth pressed to his so that he can pour into you a mixture of desperation and devotion so potent it nearly sweeps you away. You make a soft sound at the press of teeth into your lip, and the way you roll your hips down against the growing hardness below you is almost instinctual—the feeling of your soft sleep shorts dragging across the seam of his jeans sparks a fire low in your belly.

"C'mere," he breathes against you, though you don't think you could get any closer if you tried.

You're not sure where the intensity came from, but the soft way all of this had started is nowhere to be found now. Kita's grip on your hips has turned bruising, and he's moved you so that you're now straddling only one of his thighs, grinding down into the solid muscle beneath you. The soft sighs that had fallen from your lips before are now desperate pleas for more.

"I've got you," he assures you breathlessly when you bury your fingers in his hair, tugging insistently.

"Shin," you're close to begging, the roll of your hips uncoordinated, letting the need that's consuming your every thought make the decision to move for you.

"Promise I've got you," he tells you again, pulling down on your hips as he flexes the muscles in his thigh, sending zips of electricity across your skin. You make a keening sound, wrapping your arms fully across his shoulders and kissing him harder.

A moment later movement takes your breath, and you find yourself on your back, Shinsuke's body hovering over yours for a fraction of a second before he lets his weight settle fully against you, hands finding their way beneath your top to squeeze and grab at the soft swell of your waist and hips.

When he rolls down again you feel your panties glide across slick folds beneath your shorts, undeniably soaked through at this point. He presses down against you again and again until you're having trouble drawing in a full breath each time the seam of his jeans presses into your clothed clit just right.

You can't help the way you squirm against the weight of him, desperately grabbing at the hem of his shirt in an attempt to feel his skin on yours.

"Be still," he chides, though his voice is more breathy than it is commanding. Biting at his lip in an attempt to get him to bend to your will, he only responds by bringing one of his hands to squeeze at your cheeks, holding your jaw in place so he can look down at you. Kita's motions have stilled above you—you can feel the way tears prick at your lash line at his denial to move.

"You'll come like this first." You try to protest but he just tightens his grip on your face. "I'll fuck you afterwords."

He bends to catch the lonely tear that falls down your cheek, the press of his lips soft against your heated skin.

You don't have much of a choice but to nod. The "good girl" you get in response to your agreement like a balm to your quickly fraying nerves. Though he's never let you down, it's still hard to cease your squirming beneath him when you're feeling this desperate—somehow you manage, and you're glad you do because with the next calculated roll of his hips he's dipping down to suck at the skin of your throat, rosy bruises blooming when he pulls away, the sharp sting of it pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

His hips stutter and you inhale sharply, the sound melting into a long, drawn out moan as you realize he's coming, able to feel the way his cock kicks beneath his jeans. Ever attentive, he doesn't slow his motions against you though you're sure overstimulation is already beginning to make itself known.

"So perfect," he breathes against you, using his grip on your jaw to pull your face to his. He kisses you like he wants to crawl inside your soul and live there, teeth pressing against your lips and his own wrapping around your tongue to suck softly until you feel the waves finally crest, washing over your skin for what feels like an eternity. They swell further and you can't help the way you continue to press up into the weight of him. You don't even come down fully before you find yourself saying his name.

"Shinsuke," it's pleading, and when your hands go for the hem of his shirt this time he lets you pull at it with a rare smirk on his face.

"Guess you've earned it," he says as his hands pull your sleep shorts to the side, fingers already pressing into the molten heat he finds waiting for him.

the phone only rings twice.

"what's up?"

your skin breaks out in goosebumps. you fight a whine.

"hey," you say weakly, trying your hardest to stay casual. "you busy right now?"

he hasnt caught the flutter in your voice yet. "nah, just watching some stupid cooking show with the guys." his voice muffles, and you hear him yell, "shut it, samu! just watch yer stupid show!" he comes back, tone soft, like he always gets with you. "what's up?"

god, you're a bad friend.

if you were a good friend, you wouldn't be calling. you wouldn't be in this situation at all, soaking wet and desperate to come after trying and failing so many times. calling your best friend because you know he's what you need.

if you were a good friend, you would've forgotten that drunken night all those months ago. you would've stuck to that awkward promise made — laughs nervous and eyes careful, in that hotel room halfway across the world — that it was just one night and that your friendship wouldn't change.

if you were a good friend, your brain wouldn't have trained itself to picture miya atsumu whenever you're on the brink of an orgasm. your brain would have suppressed the memory of his hands on your skin and his mouth on your throat. of his voice, moaning your name and telling you how "fucking perfect" you feel around him, how he thinks you were made for him.

if you were a good friend, you wouldn't be calling just because your vibrator died.

but it's not that it just died. it's that it died three times in a row, after you fully charged it three times in a row.

it died three times in a row because the image of miya atsumu isn't enough anymore.

you're a bad friend.

"i just," you start, shifting in bed. your nerves kick in, realizing you actually have to say it. "nothin'. nevermind."

"no, what's wrong?" you hear him get up, hear as the television starts to fade into the distance. you don't answer, your heart pounding in your throat and ears. the door to his bedroom closes. his voice is even softer now that he's alone. "yn? c'mon, talk t'me."

you cant help it. you whine. you whine his name.

"tsumu…"

it's silent on the other end. you're burning with humiliation.

another door closes, deeper into his room, and then he turns the shower on.

he's making it hard for his brother and suna to hear him.

your stomach swirls with need.

"yn," he mumbles. his voice is thick, a little nervous. "you serious?"

you let out a weak sob. "im so sorry, tsumu-"

"no, no, no," he says, low in your ear and low under your navel. "dont say sorry. just answer me." when you just whimper, he sighs shakily. "please, yn. answer me."

tears prickle behind your eyes. "i need you, atsumu-"

"fuck." it's punched out of him on an exhale, before you can even finish speaking. "fuck, yn. why did we even bother with that stupid fucking promise?"

you gasp, eyes wide and watery. "what-"

"you know how fucking hard it's been?" he laughs bitterly. "how hard it is to look you in the eye every day and act like i dont think about that night?"

you whisper his name. he sighs hard, like you're hurting him.

"why now?" his voice is hard. you would be worried that hes mad, except you can hear the tremble in his voice. "what-why tonight? what happened?"

your head swims with nerves and embarrassment when you say it, your voice cracking. "thinking about you stopped working."

youre glad he turned the shower on.

the moan that rips out of him is haunted, like something just cracked inside of him.

"w-what?" he chokes. "are you fucking naked right now?"

you dont answer. he whispers your name, broken.

"were you just masturbating?" he laughs, pathetic. "thinking about me?"

you sink low in your bed, groaning. "this is so fucking embarrassing, tsumu-"

"were you thinking about that night?" his voice is sharp now, urgent. like he needs to know, like it's the most important thing he's ever asked you. "were you thinking about how i made you come on my cock that night, yn?"

your moan is explosive, like a bottle unstoppered suddenly and forcefully.

"fuck, atsumu-"

his clothes rustle in your ear. "were you thinking about how i stuffed your pretty little mouth full of my fingers and made you suck on them?"

you start to shiver. "tsumu-can i-"

"fuck-yes," he grunts. you hear his breath hitch. "i am." when you whine, he laughs, pained. "i have been. ive been fucking my fists for months think' aboutchu."

it's all too easy to slide your fingers into the heat of your cunt and imagine it's him instead.

"atsumu-nngh-" your moans are tight and broken in the back of your throat. two of your fingers, and then three. it's still not enough, it still doesnt feel like when he did it. "i didnt mean for this-"

"i know," he bites, and you think you hear the slick sounds of him fisting his cock. "i know, baby. i didnt mean for it to happen, either."

he pants into the receiver for a moment, groaning when you moan his name.

"cant stop thinkin about you, yn. 'bout that night. how pretty you looked under me, with your knees all the way up t'yer ears."

you clench around your fingers, aching for him. "you said i was made for you," you whisper, admitting far too much with just those few words.

he laughs again, pathetic like the last time. pained like the last time.

"yeah. meant it, too."

you told yourself you wouldn't end up here.

your friends all knew you would.

'careful,' they'd teased. 'you're gonna end up in his bed.'

in your defense, you're not in his bed.

you're in his car.

"fuck-" he grunts, pressing a hand against your navel and rolling his hips. "couldn't even wait to go home, could you-"

you hold your hands above your head, not wanting to hurt yourself on the car door. "this was your fucking idea."

"and you listened?" he laughs. "that's a first."

you groan, annoyed. "your voice is getting on my nerves."

"please," he snorts. "you seemed okay earlier with my mouth pressed against your ear."

he's not wrong.

the grad student happy hours have always been a bit of a grey area for you. lab meetings and department receptions? the line is clear.

seeing him in the hallway or in the grad library? it's never more than a roll of your eyes and a roll of his, shoulders roughly brushed and irritated greetings.

happy hours are dangerous.

the bar light is always low, which you're convinced is the only reason he looks good. alcohol is flowing, which you're convinced, again, is the only reason he smells so damn good. and words come easier.

which is how you always manage to end up in some corner, blocked from view by the towering frame of kuroo tetsurou, as you argue about things that never really matter.

last month, it was about which companies you're both applying to.

the month before that, it was about who has more publications and invited talks.

today — tonight, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his fingers cold with drink condensation when he cuts your thought off with a gentle nudge against your forearm — you're arguing about nothing.

literally nothing.

except for the fact that you'd both been accepted to and accepted the offer from the same company. the same company, in the same department.

it's already done. contracts have already been signed.

so the argument is about nothing.

but, still, when you start to get heated and declare that you just need to stay away from each other, he's quick to cut you short. cold, slightly wet fingers and his personal space mixed with yours. his mouth pressed to the shell of your ear, like he always manages to do, even though the music in the bar is never really that loud.

he cuts you short, cuts that idea off — staying away from each other — before you can fully form it.

almost like he doesn't like it.

'how about — instead of being unreasonable — we learn to co-exist?'

'yeah?' you'd bitten. 'and how do you suppose we do that?'

his answer had involved dragging you to his car. you think. you don't remember.

everything after the surge of his lips against yours, in the shadows of that dimly lit bar, had been foggy.

and now you're here, right where your friends always said you'd end up.

the drag of his cock along your walls is marked by the wet plap of his thrust. he laughs when it starts to happen every time, but you can hear how breathy it is. how shaky he sounds when he mocks you.

"so fucking wet-ngh-" his fingers grip your waist tight and start to drag you down on him. "you like me that much?"

you want to deny that. but even years of fighting has left you unable to face this moment with your head screwed on straight.

so you just bite down on your lip and let your back arch when he starts to throb inside of you. "you gonna come already, kuroo?" it's embarrassing how weak your voice is. "can't last long, can you?"

you think you hear him whisper something that sounds suspiciously like "not with you", but it's cut short by the ringing in your ears and the creak of the car as he picks up his pace. the tip of his cock smacks against your g-spot, twitching every time you whine.

"where d'you wan' it?" he grunts. the metal of his belt smacks against the seat as his hips start to stutter. "c'n i get this pretty little dress dirty?"

you whimper, not sure why his question catches you off guard. "tetsu," you whisper, eyes falling shut as you imagine him calling you pretty like that.

his breath stalls on the inhale. "fuck," he breathes.

the edge is gone from his voice. almost like it was never really there.

"what'do you need?"

your chest heaves with each gulp of air your struggle for. "tetsu-"

"tell me," he starts, grip softening marginally. "c'mon, yn. tell me."

"need you to come-" you gasp. and then your breath falls out, pathetic. "-inside."

your body warms. warm and full and happy.

your orgasm is just as warm.

the car stops creaking, and the windows start to de-fog. you pant underneath him, and he does the same, eyes watching you hazily.

"come home with me."

there are so many things that could lead to koutarou being in this position.

he's ashamed to admit he used to dream about things like this in high school, when he was just learning what it meant to notice other people and have other people notice him, too. and then in college, when he'd gotten used to noticing you — the way you hold yourself, the way you treat him — and when he'd gotten used to him — ever gentle, ever doting, koutarou's own name a whisper on his tongue.

that's when the dreams stopped being novel and became forbidden.

those are your friends, he'd think, gaze tracing the way you and keiji would look at each other.

you can't look at them like that, he'd say, trying not to notice the manicured hand on his bicep and those big, cyan eyes staring at him with wonder.

you can't do this. it's not okay.

it's not okay to imagine bending one best friend over while the other leaves marks on his throat.

it's not okay to imagine shoving his tongue down one best friend's throat while the other shoves his cock down theirs.

it's not okay to fuck his own fist and imagine your face, keiji's face. it's not okay to wonder what you might sound like in his bed, what keiji might sound like as he comes.

as it turns out, it's a million times worse than anything he'd ever imagined.

as it turns out, you and keiji had both been thinking things that aren't allowed, too.

and now he's here, with you laid out on the mattress. with keiji on his knees, face buried between your thighs.

with koutarou buried to the hilt inside of keiji, watching your tits bounce with every harsh smack of his hips against keiji's ass.

"fu-nggh-kou-"

you laugh breathily, fingers tangled in keiji's hair. "he can't hear you, keiji. he's too busy looking at my tits."

"shut up," keiji mumbles, panting as he drags his tongue through your folds. he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks gently. koutarou has the distinct pleasure of watching your back arch and your mouth fall open.

keiji laughs against your skin, voice muffled. "you're not the one he's nailing to the bed right now."

you growl, tugging hard at keiji's roots and smiling blissfully when the man moans against you. koutarou wonders if you two even realize he's still here, or if you're arguing over the idea of him.

he wouldn't be mad about that, if he's honest. but still, he grips keiji's waist harder and snaps his hips forward, his gut swirling wonderfully, because keiji's crying out and gripping your thighs tighter and drooling all over your cunt. your head is thrown back, fingers loosening in keiji's hair as you stare up at the ceiling.

"fuck," you whisper. "good boy, keiji. you're so good for him."

and then your eyes find koutarou's, over keiji's head and over the sound of the man thanking you pathetically.

"isn't he, kou?"

koutarou breaks out into shivers, his skin alight and his nerve endings fraying fast when you look at him like that.

"yeah," he breathes, hips stuttering and then regaining pace when you glance down his body in warning. "he's a good boy. for both of us."

keiji gasps, shudders. koutarou can feel him getting close.

keiji reaches down, tries to grip his own cock to get himself there. you squeeze your thighs hard around his head, hard enough that he groans.

"dont you dare."

keiji reaches up and grips your thighs, digs his nails in and buries his face deeper against your cunt. "youre fucking evil," he grunts, barely heard over his own sounds as he sucks and moans and spits on you. "kou would let me touch myself," he complains quietly, moaning every time koutarou's thrusts push him forward. "right, kou?" he asks, his voice sweet and loving.

your back is locked tight from keiji's efforts, and your breath keeps leaving you in pained huffs. "no he wouldn't," you bite, a whine passing through when keiji starts to suck earnestly on your clit. "he wouldn't let you if i tell him no."

koutarou groans, stars bursting in his vision. he's really close.

you keep talking, panting and biting out the syllables like they're causing you actual pain. "just like he won't come unless i tell him to. right, kou?"

he can't answer. his head is swimming and is ears are ringing and he can feel keiji reaching his peak.

your words are slurring. "won't let him come 'til i do, keij-nggh-better hurry up-"

keiji comes first, his body twitching and jerking and pushing him up against you harder. kou has to dig his nails into keiji's waist just to keep him steady, because you haven't told said he's allowed to come yet and he's so fucking close.

keiji's words have lost their bite with you. he melts, now, pulling you close lovingly. "please come, miss, please. want him to come inside me. need you to go first, please-"

it must be those pretty cyan eyes and the tears welling up in them, because the moment you lock eyes with akaashi keiji — red in the face, crying, sweating, pleading — you lose yourself to him. your head flies back and your hand reaches out for koutarou. he takes it, holds tight, and feels when you tug him closer just a little. when you whisper, through your own orgasm, that he should let go, too.

he almost crushes keiji to death when he falls down on top of him, crying out with the force of years of wanting the two of you in his bed exactly like this.

he's nervous when the three of you come to your senses. he's nervous because he's wanted this for so damn long, and now he's facing the consequences.

but you and keiji just look each other in the eye and start to giggle. keiji presses kisses to your thighs and you run your fingers lovingly through his hair. and then you both reach out for koutarou, hands grabbing at the air and quietly begging him to join you.

maybe he is allowed to want this.

"Okay, run me through this one more time."

Bokuto sighs, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest, "Kaashi, if I'm getting it and you're not, we might have bigger problems."

He winks at you when you giggle despite the way his boyfriend is currently scowling at him.

"I'm just not understanding why you're asking us," Akaashi elaborates, still straight faced.

It's your turn to sigh, but it's more of an exasperated groan. "I trust you two—this is a very important item on my bucket list, and if you're worried about Bo we'll keep his face out of the frame, no big deal. Honestly I don't even have to post it anywhere, it's more for me than anything."

The two men share a look, and you can tell they're having a discussion though they don't say a single word.

Finally, it's Akaashi's who's sighing, "Okay, fine. We'll do it."

You hop up out of your chair, bringing your hands together excitedly, bouncing over to wrap your arms around the both of them, "Yay! Thank you!"

As silly as it sounds, the set up really does feel strangely professional—crisp white sheets ruffled artfully on your guestroom be and studio-worthy lighting all framed perfectly in the lens of one of Akaashi's cameras that you know costs as much as several months worth of your rent.

You're kind of impressed by how relaxed Akaashi seems to be about all of this, calmly laying out the shots he's planning and showing you the angles he'll be featuring. You and Bokuto on the other hand are both jittery with nerves, the excited kind that make your skin prickle with anticipation.

You find that, despite the way Akaashi sounds almost clinical as he gives direction, the feeling of Bokuto's tongue lapping at your cunt still easily has your heart racing and heat pooling low in your belly. You card your fingers gently through his hair, earning a soft hum that you can feel the vibrations of when his lips wrap around your clit and suck.

"Kou-"

You forget yourself for a moment, biting your tongue before his full name slips out, glancing over at Akaashi to catch the disapproving way he's looking at you.

"Sorry," you try to tell him, but it comes out as a moan because of the way Koutarou is pressing a finger into your cunt. He's the one that answers your apology either way, barely even looking up from where he's watching your muscles tighten every time he pets over your g spot, "S'okay, lots of Koutarou's in the world—Kaashi can cut it out."

That's right, not only did Akaashi agree to film your bucket list sex tape, the one that features his own boyfriend, but he'd offered to edit it as well because in his words, "If we're gonna do this we're gonna do it right." You bite at the swell of your lip, smiling softly as you let your head fall back against the pillow with a content sounding sigh.

"Baby."

Akaashi's voice draws you out of your dreamy haze, away from the feeling of Bokuto's facial hair scratching softly at your inner thighs, and you can't help but whine when he stills between your legs, two fingers still buried deep but no longer moving. It's almost worth the loss to watch the way Bokuto's cheeks get warm at the pet name. "Yeah?" he finally manages to rasp out, petting absentmindedly at your thigh with his free hand.

"I'm gonna set up the next shot," Akaashi tells you both.

You yelp in surprise when you suddenly find yourself being flipped onto your stomach, hips hoisted effortlessly into the air while a large hand gently presses your back into a pretty arch.

"Like this?" Bokuto asks from behind you while you sit in stunned silence, face feeling warm.

"Koutarou what the fuck," you breathe, hands slapping over your own mouth when you realize you've said his name again. The man in question just huffs a laugh, bending at the waist to cage you in, his large frame nearly obscuring your own figure so that he can speak directly into your ear, teasing and low, the sound making your whole body go hot, "You're not very good at this."

You start to protest, but then he's sucking marks into the flushed skin at your shoulder and all that comes out is a pleasured sigh.

"Oh fuck," you cry brokenly at the press of his cock against your folds, the way he nudges it against your clit before sinking into you, barely an inch, only to pull back and do it all again. He teases you like that for what feels like an eternity, until you're whining with each exhale and pressing back against him. Koutarou hisses a breath through clenched teeth when he finally rolls his hips until he's fully inside you, panting out the sound of your name, "You feel so good, mmh-"

Stretching your arms further in front of you, you press your chest to the mattress, humming while you wiggle your hips, "Yeah?" Your teasing works, and Bokuto makes a soft choking sound behind you.

The next time he flexes his hips, he doesn't give you a chance to breathe, fucking in hard, keeping his pace steady until you're having trouble forming a full thought with how clouded with pleasure your brain has become. You have to work to keep your eyes from falling shut, choosing to focus on Akaashi instead, who's standing behind the camera a few feet away from the edge of the bed.

"Kaashi," you purr, blinking up at him. Bokuto slows a fraction, listening quietly as Akaashi narrows his eyes at you like he's bracing for something, saying your name in that soft exasperated way of his.

"You wanna know what else is on my list?"

He just looks at you, waiting for you to continue or just flat out refusing to answer, you're not sure, nor do you particularly care—you can see the way the tips of his ears have gone red. You drag the suspense out a little, pressing your hips back so that Bokuto sinks in a little deeper, making a soft, sultry sound.

"Double penetration," you inform him, feigning nonchalance while something warm and wanting settles in your chest, quietly hopeful.

Despite his caution, your response isn't what he was expecting, and all he hears for a moment is static, brain whirring to process what you're asking him. He distantly hears Bokuto's voice, pitched in a whisper that's not really a whisper, "I think you broke him." You only giggle breathlessly, the sound tapering into a moan when Bokuto brings he hips back to fuck into you again.

"Y-you don't have to," you assure him, uneven and breathy because Bokuto is still thrusting into you, just a little less aggressively than before, "seriously no-ah pressure."

You miss the way him and Bokuto make eye contact, another silent conversation, and Bo's smile grows wide.

"Okay," Akaashi states, "fuck it."

There's a bit of maneuvering as he adjusts the camera, the sound of your soft whine when Koutarou pulls out of you, leaving you miserably empty, and then you're hovering over Akaashi's lap where he's halfway propped up against the pillows, already hard and leaking.

You open your mouth to tease, but he beats you to it, "You know what the two of you look like—don't even." The smirk that pulls at his lips when your cheeks flush at the oddly delivered compliment isn't lost on you.

Bokuto's kneeling behind you, and you can feel the press of his cock at the small of your back as his hands wander, squeezing at your thighs before he leans over you to touch Akaashi. You watch the man below you bite down on his lip at the feeling of Bokuto's fingers wrapping around him, leaning forward to pull it from between his teeth so you can kiss him, soft at first before it becomes nothing more than the heated slide of tongues and teeth.

This is, surprisingly, your first time kissing Akaashi, though you're not surprised to find he's good at it, tongue moving languidly against yours before he sucks at your bottom lip, pulling away only long enough for you to take a breath before he's pulling you in again.

When you shift back to sink down onto him he makes a sound you're finding it hard not to get addicted to. You're so wet at this point that it's nothing to take him all the way to the hilt in one go, settling comfortably in his lap while Bokuto kisses his way across your shoulders, hands overlapping Akaashi's on your waist.

Akaashi rolls his hips beneath you once, like he can't help it, cheeks flushing softly when you make a quiet sound and raise your brow at him, more than a little smug. Bokuto's hands wander higher, grabbing at your chest and gently pinching your nipples until you're keening and Akaashi is cursing hoarsely at you every time you clench down on him—it's not like you can help it, you're more than a little worked up right now.

There's a click behind you, the bottle of lube in Bokuto's hand, soon followed by the slick sound of him coating his length before taking hold of your waist and flexing forward. Akaashi full-on moans beneath you at the feeling of Bokuto's cock rubbing up against the base of his own, and it has you squeezing around him again.

Before you realize what's happening, Akaashi is readjusting, sitting up a little further so that he can look at Bokuto over your shoulder before he pulls you in to kiss you hard.

You feel a small, open-mouthed, kiss against your shoulder and then it's all heat as Bokuto begins to press in alongside Akaashi. It's slow going, a gentle thrust in and then out again, pushing a little deeper each time. At some point you get so breathless that Akaashi is forced to stop kissing you, instead taking your face in his hands to watch the way your eyes threaten to roll back into your skull when you feel Koutarou's hips press flush to your own skin.

"Holy shit."

It feels incredible, the sensation of them both inside you, trying hard not to move until you give them the go-ahead.

"Okay?" Akaashi asks you, voice hushed and warmer than you're used to hearing it. It makes your heart skip at beat, and you can't help the way you smile gently at him.

"Yeah," you reach back to lace your fingers through the shaggy hair at the back of Bokuto's head, "feels really good. You can move now—slow."

Twin kisses are simultaneously placed on your jaw and neck, comforting in the way you're used to while also somehow feeling new.

Akaashi is the one who lights the fuse, carefully rolling his hips beneath you. You keen, fingers pulling at Bokuto's hair when he follows suit, pulling himself from your heat with a soft, slick sound before pressing right back in.

It gets quiet for a while, intimate in a way you hadn't expected. The soft sound of skin on skin interspersed with hushed murmurs, encouragements and praise all wrapped together. Your heart feels full, ribcage crowded with something warm and familiar, soft.

Bokuto says your name languid and familiar, and when you turn to see his face he kisses your cheek gently. "Love you," he whispers against your skin, and you can feel the smile on his lips.

You laugh quietly before easily replying, "Love you, Bo." Turning from him, but keeping a hand on his cheek, you look down at Akaashi, playfully expectant. He tweaks your nipple, still shallowly rolling his hips, and you narrow your eyes at him. Finally, he huffs a laugh through his nose, pulling your face close. "Your pussy's good, but I'm not gonna tell you I love you," he pauses, leaning over your shoulder to kiss Bokuto gently, "you two are too soft."

His words are, to say the least, insulting—but they're wrapped in tenderness, said through a soft smirk, eyes full of amusement as he watches you. There are some things about Akaashi that you just get, no extra explanation needed.

The unknown span of time that follows is filled with quiet laughter and the low, breathy moans that fall from your lips, the sound of skin on skin, and the feeling of hands that wander, leaving heat in their wake.

When you fall, it's in quick succession, filled, not once but twice, before you're pulled into a warm chest.

Bokuto returns to the bedroom, three water bottles and a bag of skittles in hand, to find you and Akaashi still spread out on the bed. He's leaning over to set his haul on the nightstand when he hears the sharp crack of two hands coming together with force. He turns to look at the two of you, huddled around Akaashi's laptop on the bed, clothes thrown on haphazardly, expressions soft and a little smug as you watch back the film.

"Did you guys just high five?"

You'll be lucky if the chorus of your combined laughter doesn't wake the neighbors.

buzz.

buzz.

buzz.

you sigh, ignoring the back to back texts. it's not hard to guess who they're from, especially after you'd locked eyes with a hazel gaze from across the room, not even an hour ago.

buzz.

"so, what's your major?"

you smile, trying not to make it clear how boring you find this. the guy's cute, sure, and you'd come tonight hoping to meet someone new. someone to get to know properly. in the future-seeking kind of way, the way that leaves very little room for 2am booty calls and sentences that end in 'no strings'.

the way that buzzes in your back pocket for the fifth time in two minutes.

you tell this guy your major, and he's nice enough to follow it up with the ever-stimulating "cool! what'do you wanna do with that?".

are you the issue here? is it bad that you find this kind of interest dreadful and annoying?

is it because you look like the kind of girl who enjoys these stupid, pointless ice breakers?

well, you did. you do. when it's him. when it's whispered into your pillow in the middle of the night, long after he should have left.

buzz.

you clench your teeth, mumble an apology and gesture to the phone you pull from your pocket. you give some excuse about your roommate — the same roommate who's across the room right now, the same roommate who'd warned you that he'd be here — having an emergency at home.

you bless every higher power that could possibly exist for allowing you to have a privacy screen on your phone, because the texts that pop up are most assuredly not from your roommate.

[11:17 PM]

him: question

him: does your new boy toy know that you need to be choked to cum

him: or are you still faking it so you dont freak him out

[11:20 PM]

him: aw cute he looks nervous

him: totally your type

him: wishing you guys lifelong happiness <3

you bite down on a groan, pressing your phone to your chest and finding a corner to disappear into.

[11:22 PM]

you: youre a fucking freak.

he responds immediately.

him: i know.

him: you like that about me.

you: youre wrong

you: i told you to stop texting me

him: no

him: you told me YOU were done texting ME

him: we wouldnt be here if you'd just blocked me like you said you would.

him: right?

you grit your teeth. he's right, but you won't admit that.

him: so? does he know all your dirty little secrets?

you: not yet, but he will

you: might find out tonight even

him: liar

you: how would you know

him: because i know you, yn.

you start to tell him that he doesn't, that he won't ever get to know you in the way you want. that it's his fault that you're acting like this.

but you don't get the chance.

he's sending you a video.

you know what it is just by the thumbnail.

you know you should block him. that you should call him names, tell him off.

but you don't. you just hit play, in the middle of the party, with your back pressed to the wall and a wave of arousal pressing down on your skin.

the volume is off, but you don't need it. you know what he sounds like when he moans — the sounds are burned into your skin, laid there for life.

he leaves his face in frame, because he knows how much you like it. even with his cock in the forefront, even with his fist stroking it slowly, torturously, he knows that your favorite part is his face. his eyes, his hair, the little mole under his eye. his eyelashes when they flutter, his lips when he bites down on them, his pupils when they dilate, caught on camera just for you.

your fingers are shaking when you type out a response.

you: what the fuck koushi.

you: what the fuck. this isnt okay.

him: then block me.

you: i will.

him: you wont.

him: you cant.

you: you dont fucking know that.

him: i do know that yn.

him: because i cant block you either.

this is what you're talking about. this back and forth, the strings that are there even when he says they aren't. even when you beg him to tell the truth, even when you tell him that you can't handle the mixed signals, that you're close to walking away.

he pushes and pulls, and you can't help but fall into the current. the tidal wave of sugawara koushi.

your phone buzzes. it's another video.

just as long, just as pretty.

just as horrible, because you can see his mouth forming the syllables of your name when he moans.

you want to hate him.

you: where are you.

him: fuck

him: you sure?

you: im never sure with you.

him: i know baby. im sorry.

you: no youre not.

him: i am. i promise.

you: i stopped believing that years ago

it takes him longer than usual to respond. and then-

him: bathroom. second floor.

you try not to let it hurt.

the door is wrenched open before you can finish knocking. he's got you pressed against it before you can even look him in the eye, and youre glad for it. you've always been weak to them, to him.

when he fucks you, it's against the door, right where people can hear your moans. when there are knocks, he just bites marks into your skin and tells you to moan louder, scream his name louder.

"tell them," he grunts, "tell them you're mine."

you bite out a weak, "fuck you."

his kiss promises things you know he can't give.

"tell them," he begs. "please."

drowning in the tidal wave is always so tempting.

@nectardaddy this ones for you, pookie

"you really want this, don't you?"

he's giving you that look, the one that's half-amused and half-examining. you used to think he was judging you when he would look at you like that — back when time spent together was new and nerve-wracking. back when you couldn't tell how he was feeling just by the look in his eye. back when half-examining felt more like half-mocking.

but you know now that it's not that.

you know that that look only comes out when he's thinking about things he shouldn't, putting you in positions that are entirely inappropriate for the situation.

even though it's you who brought it up at the cafe, half-whispered and leaning in close to his ear, he's the one whose mind is racing.

"please? just once?" you ask again, dragging the toe of your shoe across his ankle under the table. "it's always me."

he looks at you like that — like that — only a moment longer, and then he blinks it away, gaze returning to his work. "that's because i like you like that."

"and i could like you like that," you try. "if you just let me try."

he smiles to himself. "it might not even do anything for you. or me, for that matter."

it might sound like he's rejecting you, but you know that voice. you know that tilt of his head, that look in his eye.

after so many times of trying and failing, he's finally considering it.

"i know," you concede, gentle. "but think about it. what if it does do something for you?"

he just hums, unconvinced. "it's not impossible, i guess."

—

"nngh-baby?"

"yes, pretty boy?"

he's panting hard, skin shining with sweat. he reaches for you, a broken sound leaving his throat when you knock his hand away.

"c'mon, don't do this to me," he laughs pathetically.

you let him feel you, rolling your hips and sighing happily when your folds slide along the shaft of his cock. you've only spent five minutes grinding down on him, but you know from experience — from wearing that silky length of white fabric over your eyes — that he feels like it's been hours.

"but you always tease me," you pout. you roll your hips again, biting down on your lip to keep your moan from slipping out. you don't push him away when he finds your hips, because you know what comes next. even with the roles reversed — even with akaashi keiji blindfolding and trembling beneath you — you know him.

the lift of your hips is followed by the press of his cock against your entrance. you sink down, head lolling back as a moan falls out, almost like he'd pushed it out of you.

"keiji," you breathe. not a warning, not a call, nothing but his name. just because you love to say it, and you know he loves to hear it.

"fuck-" he exhales, breath sharp and punctuated by the jerk of his hips up against yours. "you feel so good like this."

you start to bounce, your words bouncing with you. "what'do you mean? i ride you all the time."

he grunts, and you let out a weak laugh. he can hear what you're not saying, but you say it anyway, just to maintain some semblance of control.

"what's different this time, keiji?"

he grimaces, but his moans come out anyway. his muscles keep tensing, and his cock keeps twitching inside you. "you know what's different." when you make a noise like you have no clue what he's talking about, he grits his teeth. "fucking brat," he whispers. "such a fucking brat."

you stop bouncing and let him roll your hips back and forth, his cock buried to the hilt in your warmth. you give a few teasing clenches, beaming when his back bows off the bed and his fingers dig bruises into your hips.

"your brat, though, right?"

his laugh leaves him in a loud, frustrated exhale, like he can't believe you're asking for compliments when you're torturing him like this.

"yeah," he whispers.

and then he rolls you onto your back, a mere half-second of effort that throws you off balance.

he's still blindfolded when he towers over you, arms caging you in.

"my fucking brat." his voice is sweet, even when his words aren't. "take it off."

your fingers curl around the fabric and slide it down his face slowly.

his gaze is even more overwhelming when you haven't seen it in a while. eyes pure cyan and a glare that speaks of promises you hope he keeps.

the blindfold dangles between you as he fucks you into the mattress, until the bed starts to creak and the headboard starts to smack against the wall. until you're crying his name and unable to think about anything else.

something tells you this isn't the last time this'll happen.