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“Miya, truth or dare.”
Osamu slams his locker shut, glaring at Suna where he leans against the one next to him. “Fuck you.”
Suna just smiles, slow and unworried. Osamu huffs, turning around to drop his pile of clothes on the bench behind them, trying to ignore Suna’s presence as he finishes drying off from his post-practice shower and squirming into his boxers. He can feel Suna’s eyes on him, waiting for an answer he seems to believe will come eventually, an answer that Osamu wants to give far too much to be willing to.
It’s become something of a game to the rest of the team, trying to prompt one or both of the twins into a repeat performance, despite not being drunk or in the safety and privacy of Ginjima’s basement. The problem is it works sometimes, depending on the request. Depending on which twin they ask.
They talked about it after the fact, when they’d sobered up enough to be serious. Osamu glances at Atsumu now, where he’s arguing over something with their other teammates, still dripping from his shower, towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist. He glances away before his face heats up, suddenly remembering Suna’s presence. Their “talking” about it was more of admitting they both wanted it, admitting—hesitatingly—they both wanted to continue… trying things. They didn’t put a label on anything, and Osamu isn’t sure either of them intend to any time soon. They don’t really need to anyway; they have time and they’re figuring things out. It’s just them, and that’s the way they both like it.
Well, just them and their friends, sometimes, when they want to watch. When they want them to watch.
Osamu holds his shirt between his hands, staring down at it for a long moment before he sighs. “Which would you prefer?”
He can’t look at Suna, but he’s certain he’s smirking behind him. “The point is you’re supposed to choose.”
Osamu glances towards Atsumu again. He knows what that means, that Suna would take a truth all the same. He could walk away and Suna wouldn’t follow him, he knows, but he could see what he has to say first before he decides.
“Dare.”
“Really? Hmm…” Osamu puts his shirt down, waiting for Suna to tell him before he bothers trying to get dressed. He’s sure Suna had something in mind when he asked and a backup plan for if Osamu said ‘truth’ instead.
They all do it, just some more than others. It’d been annoying at first, an embarrassing reminder, but then Osamu had remembered how genuinely entranced they had seemed, and he wondered if maybe it had less to do with embarrassment and more to do with actual desire. It isn’t as if he and Atsumu hadn’t watched the video Suna had taken themselves—in fact the first time Atsumu had agreed to a truth, Aran had asked if they watched it.
Osamu had been mortified when Atsumu proudly admitted they’d watched it the next morning, sober, and gotten each other off while doing so. They had a talk later about how much information they should willingly give up.
“I dunno, I kinda want to see him suck your dick if I’m honest.”
Osamu nods robotically, barely even registering the crass phrasing, too busy tracking Atsumu around the locker room with his eyes. He’s flailing around, gesticulating wildly at Ginjima and Aran, some of their other teammates laughing at the spectacle he makes on their way out. The towel is slipping down Atsumu’s hips, his hair still damp and sending droplets of water down his skin. He’s pouting about something now, and it’s enough to have Osamu finally make his way over.
He places a hand on Atsumu’s bare shoulder, startling him from his conversation to turn wide eyes towards Osamu. He doesn’t get the chance to speak before Osamu’s leaning in close, lips brushing against his ear when he whispers, “Dare?”
Atsumu tenses slightly under his hand before relaxing again, Osamu pulling away as Atsumu glances around the locker room. It’s emptying out fairly quickly, mostly just those who’d been dawdling and those about to leave still left. It’s a handful of the same people who’d been there the first time waiting around while the last of the first years pack up. Kita is somewhere, probably cleaning, and the rest of them have already figured out what may or may not happen here.
It’s enough to do this with their friends; the entire team doesn’t need to know about it. Though, watching Atsumu catch his lip between his teeth as he looks around, maybe his brother disagrees. It’s better this way though; like this, they can all pretend this is still part of some game and not something damning they’ve all become complicit in.
They watch the last of the first years trickle out, Osamu watching over Atsumu’s shoulder, his hand still latched onto his brother. Suna has slunk closer, sitting on the bench pretending to pay avid attention to his phone. Gin and Aran are half-dressed now, pants still inconspicuously missing. The door is just swinging shut when Atsumu nods once, and that’s enough for Osamu.
Atsumu has barely turned to face him before Osamu’s pressing him down by his shoulder. Atsumu goes down easily, sliding to his knees on the cold tiles, face tipped up to stare at Osamu. He doesn’t spare any attention to their friends shuffling around them; how Aran moves to block sight from the door just in case anyone forgot anything; how Suna has turned to straddle the bench now, attention focused on them; how Ginjima grabs a clean towel, tossing it over for Atsumu to kneel on, or maybe to use for cleanup. He’s too focused on Osamu, waiting for him to continue, to tell him how this will go. So trusting in Osamu’s intentions.
He doesn’t quite know what to do or say now, though. The handful of other times they’d agreed to this game, it had been Atsumu leading. It had been them asking Atsumu the loaded question, and Osmau following. Atsumu was easier to goad than Osamu was, even if he wouldn’t follow through with it if Osamu wasn’t willing. Still, rarely did they ask Osamu first, and this was the first time he’d answered with ‘dare’ at all.
Atsumu sits still, head tilting slightly to the side as he waits. Osamu hesitates still, watching Atsumu raise one thick eyebrow before pointedly staring at the chub forming in Osamu’s underwear and looking back up. Osamu nods, hand trailing up to land in Atsumu’s hair instead, tugging gently. Atsumu shivers, from the gesture or from the chill, Osamu can’t tell and it doesn’t matter.
Atsumu rises up on his knees, blindly grabbing the towel Ginjima had given them, carefully kneeling on it as he shifts closer to Osamu. His hands land on Osamu’s hips, fingers trailing lightly over the space where the band meets Osamu’s skin, and it’s his turn to shiver now. Atsumu curls a finger underneath the band, tugging gently before letting it snap against Osamu’s skin. He toys with it, grinning smugly, and just when Osamu’s about to get things moving along on his own, Atsumu moves for him.
He doesn’t take Osamu’s underwear off, though. Instead, he leans forward to mouth at Osamu’s growing bulge through the fabric. Osamu hisses softly, fingers curling unconsciously in Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu sucks at him through his underwear, and Osamu distantly wonders if this is pleasant at all for Atsumu, but the thoughts leave him as Atsumu finds the head of his cock and tongues at it instead.
He looks to be enjoying himself at least. When Osamu bows his head, Atsumu is there, still grinning, eyes twinkling as he thoroughly soaks the fabric with his spit, burying his face against him. Osamu isn’t the only one enjoying Atsumu’s little show, their friends murmuring amongst themselves. If Osamu cared to look, he’s sure he’d find them hard if not already touching themselves. Osamu wouldn’t blame them if they were, even if the thought sends the same dizzying thrill down his spine that it always does.
When Atsumu does finally peel his underwear off, it’s damp and sticking to his skin. He winces slightly at the cold air, wanting now more than ever to be buried in Atsumu’s warm mouth. And just like always, Atsumu seems to have completely different plans. He wraps a loose fist around Osamu, but otherwise that’s all the direct stimulation he gets. Atsumu presses quick, wet kisses along his skin, nipping at his thighs and up to his hips. Breathing hotly against Osamu’s cock, as he languidly moves his hand, before sucking bruises into Osamu’s thighs again.
Osamu grunts at a particularly mean bite, tugging harshly at Atsumu’s hair. “C’mon,” He rasps, voice low so as to not disturb the quiet locker room. “This wasn’t the dare.”
Not that anyone else is complaining. They’re all focused on the two of them, silent as they watch the scene unfold in front of them. A show, just for the three of them.
Atsumu rolls his eyes, tightening his grip a bit more as he strokes Osamu. He pouts, but the amusement still lingers in his eyes. “You didn’t tell me what the dare even was.”
Osamu furrows his brow, far too aware of their audience to want to have to vocalize more than he already has. His jaw jumps, and he uses the grip he has on Atsumu’s hair to drag him closer, until his lips are bumping against the head of Osamu’s dick. “Blow me.”
Atsumu has the audacity to wink at him, angling his face to show off to Suna and his ever present phone before slowly taking Osamu into his mouth. He rests one hand on Osamu’s thigh, the other holding the base of his dick as he bobs his head slowly, taking more and more of Osamu’s length in with every pass. His mouth feels good, warm and wet, and far better than his hand had the other few times. Osamu has to bite back all his embarrassing sounds—the last thing he wants is to hear them echo back at him in here.
There isn’t much for Osamu to do, one hand limp at his side, the other holding onto Atsumu’s hair for dear life. There’s a part of him that wants to push and pull, to fuck Atsumu’s mouth like he’s seen in porn, but another part is too worried to try. Worried about what, he couldn’t exactly say, but the eyes on him and his brother certainly play a part in it.
Instead, he loosens his grip on Atsumu’s hair slightly, petting through the dyed strands hesitantly, voice strained. “You’re doin’ so good, ‘Tsumu, feel so… good.” Osamu swallows hard, trying not to cringe at his own ineloquence.
Atsumu doesn’t seem to care. He pauses for a brief moment, half of Osamu’s cock crammed in his mouth. His eyes widen as he processes the words, and then they close as he moans, loud and long, the vibrations against Osamu’s dick making him tighten his hand all over again. He doesn’t even have to push Atsumu, all of a sudden his enthusiasm doubles, trying to force more of Osamu in his mouth at once bobbing his head faster until the room is filled with the slick, wet sounds of his mouth around Osamu’s cock. His cheek bulges as he tries to force himself further down, eyes tearing up as he gags, having to pull back to breathe before repeating the process all over again.
It’s enough to make Osamu have to look away unless he wants to come right there. It’s the first time he’s looked at their friends since this started, and even still it’s barely more than a glance. How could he possibly make eye contact with any of them when he’s in the process of being sucked off by his twin brother? There isn’t all that much to see, anyway. For all the twins have exposed themselves for their friends, they don’t do the same.
It’d be funny, if Osamu was capable of stringing coherent thoughts together right now, that he’s seen all of their dicks in the shower and the locker room before, but never during this. Ginjima’s hands fidget at his side, but he staunchly refuses to touch; Aran’s hand disappears into his briefs, clearly moving underneath the fabric; Suna’s discretely humping against the bench, fully clothed and phone in hand. Clearly it isn’t shame that keeps them cosplaying modesty, but he supposes it is another line in the sand. Another line keeping them from being more than just observers.
Atsumu gags again, louder this time, and Osamu’s knees buckle as he feels his cock breach Atsumu’s throat for a moment. It’s only a moment before Atsumu pulls back, trying not to cough, but it pulls Osamu’s attention back to him. Which, if the teary scowl is anything to go by, was the intended outcome. Osamu’s breathing is laboured, lip caught between his teeth, and he’s sure his face is flushed an ugly shade of red, but when he meets Atsumu’s eyes, he can’t look away. His brother looks determined as his mouth sinks down his cock once again, eyelashes fluttering as he goes further and further down, tongue dragging against the sensitive skin. He pushes past his gag reflex, Osamu’s cock bumping the back of his throat once again, and this time the tears fall from his lashes as he holds himself there, daring Osamu to maintain eye contact.
His hand moves as best it can, stroking what he can’t fit in his mouth, the other hand slipping down to roll Osamu’s balls. It has Osamu’s breath hitching, but when Atsumu swallows around him, he can’t help how he bucks his hips, shoving his dick even further down his brother’s throat.
Atsumu moans again, more strained this time, but it’s too late—Osamu’s already coming, without even a chance to warn Atsumu. Some of it ends up in his mouth, but Atsumu ends up spitting it onto the towel under him as he coughs, still managing to stroke Osamu through his orgasm as the rest of his cum lands in stripes across Atsumu’s face.
Osamu’s breathing is ragged, and his ears are ringing slightly as he stares down at his brother. He can hear their friends groaning and muttering to themselves and each other, but all he can focus on is Atsumu. He clears his throat, sitting back on his knees, and grins up at Osamu, cheeks sticky with cum and tears, but looking triumphant all the same.
Osamu sinks slowly to his knees in front of Atsumu, intent on kissing him, maybe—cleaning him up a bit at the very least. He doesn’t get the chance, interrupted by an unexpected voice echoing in the locker room.
“I hope you two intend to clean up after yourselves.”
Osamu flinches, both he and Atsumu turning to find Kita walking in, rubber gloves still on his hands from cleaning. They respond “Yes, Kita-san,” in unison, and the others in the room sound sheepish in their own greetings. Osamu watches Suna tuck his phone away, catching his eye just for Suna to wink at him as he grabs his bags to leave.
“I think I need another shower,” Atsumu says after a moment, not quite moving to stand, but giving Osamu a look instead.
Osamu nods like he’s in a daze, and maybe he is, the events of the past few minutes catching up to him as he catches sight of his brother’s erection for the first time. “I’ll join you.”
Atsumu half drags him back towards the showers, and Osamu knows there are eyes following them. Still, he’s glad for this little bit of privacy as they turn the corner, Osamu falling to his knees while his brother turns the shower on.