Chapter Text
Kei flops face-down on the beat up cushion, his face squished against the scratchy fabric. His glasses press hard against his face, pressure building on the bridge of his nose. If he is lucky enough, the cushion will suffocate him. In case he isn’t so fortunate he tries to assure his demise with a request: “Akaashi, please suffocate me.”
A far-off clang is followed by a shout of, “No! No suffocation!”
Kei’s head snaps up to look at Bokuto’s general direction. He has the hearing of a bat, Kei swears. “I didn’t ask you. Don't break things.”
Akaashi takes a moment to respond, his full attention on the magazine he’s flipping through. His voice is even next to Kei. “Why?”
Another crashing sound rings out, then a muffled curse. Stomps announce Bokuto as he crosses the room to loom over them. The apron tight around his waist barely covers his chest and is wet on the bottom, a dark stain covering the hem and crawling up. The sleeves of his tee are close to bursting as they stretch thin folded over his shoulders. Hand on hip, he points at Kei. He pokes his pointer finger into the barely-there meat of Kei’s cheek, hard, meeting bone. “Over my dead body.”
Kei turns his gaze to Akaashi. He still hasn’t looked up from his magazine, unbothered.“You can handle the two of us, right?”
This is not an uncommon occurrence so Akaashi sighs, earmarks his page, and monopolizes Kei’s attention by running a hand through Kei’s hair. “What happened?”
Kei is reluctant to admit it. “He wore glasses today.”
Bokuto hums, throwing the apron off. “Did he now?”
“Cute?” Akaashi asks, uncrossing his legs.
Kei flops onto his back this time. He removes his glasses so he can slap his hands into his face as hard as he wants to. Maybe he can slap himself into sanity. “He was sleepy. His hair looked like it had been through a tornado. He’s so cute.”
Bokuto laughs at him like it’s some kind of joke. Like Kei hasn’t been suffering for the better part of the day at having to stare at that physics-defying mop of hair and an infuriating smirk and glasses —which are a completely new addition Kei is unprepared for.
Kei wasn’t surprised when the tutor he booked walked in to their appointed time at the library looking like Kei should jump him regardless of any voyeurs present.
Highly recommended by other students, Kuroo’s reputation precedes him. He’s a fair when grading, encouraging, somehow-stacked-with-abs nerd.
Tall, handsome, intelligent.
Kei hates him on principle. Would like to wipe that disgusting smirk off his face the second Kei sees him walk into the reserved study room they meet in every week. He elicits a particular tidal wave of acute annoyance, one Kei doesn’t have to tamp down with anyone else.
Kei hates most people, but him especially. A person can’t be all those things.
If you’re hot and smart and patient and kind and good at teaching, you don’t also get to be cute and funny. That’s not how life works—Bokuto excluded.
And Akaashi excluded, too, dammit.
Kei already has his share of too-good-to-be-true people. It’s a statistical error for Kuroo to also be a well-rounded person with generally good intentions and an aura that makes Kei want to do silly things like make out with him and have him moan Kei’s name. Sometimes even crazy things like being around him and asking him questions about his life.
Akaashi runs another hand through his hair. “Sorry, I’m all out of murders right now. Try again later.”
A groan escapes him. He scoots until his head is pillowed in Akaashi’s lap to be miserable until the end of times. If he has to suffer, he’d rather do it while he steals some more of Akaashi’s errant hands.
Kei yelps as Bokuto folds him in half, picking up Kei’s legs to make room to sit. It only earns him a half-grumble. Being shoved around is just one of the hazards of having Bokuto as a boyfriend.
“Tsukishima, not to be too obvious but,” Akaashi speaks up after a beat, “you wear glasses, too.”
Bokuto leans closer. Kei can feel the warmth of Bokuto’s chest radiating against the thigh he kept caged against it, Bokuto’s hand now gripping the inside of it in a familiar gesture. When he presses a kiss against Kei’s clothed knee, Kei is expecting it. “So by that logic, you’re also cute.”
Kei buries his nose harder into Akaashi’s stomach. He hates them. “I’m not, I’m hot in an aloof jerky way.”
Bokuto clicks his tongue. Another kiss. “Super cute.”
Akaashi agrees. “Very. The logic is there.”
“I am not cute,” Kei bristles.
Bokuto continues with his petting. “You have a crush, which is the ultimate of cute.” Bokuto’s touch is intimate because of the placement of his hands, the position he has Kei in, but it stays superficial. He isn’t thinking anything of it, probably.
Kei is thinking a lot about it, his breathing growing heavier by the second. “I don’t have a crush.”
Bokuto coos, “Aww, he’s in denial.”Another hard press sends syrupy fire up Kei’s spine, his hands now on Kei’s calves. Bokuto’s hands fan the embers he lays along Kei’s body without effort, every exhale feeding it oxygen straight from his lungs to settle on Kei’s skin.
“Last time that happened you ended up with two boyfriends,” Akaashi chuckles.
“No.”
“Oh, yes!” Bokuto says,“You have a love crush.”
“I’ll show you a love crush.” Kei pulls his legs back with force, only winning against Bokuto’s grip by catching him off-guard. It’s nonsense. The position doesn’t help his breathing at all, not with the way Bokuto's eyes now glint with realization of all the access he has. Oops.
Bokuto’s gaze brightens but his voice goes smoky. “Please do,” he says before his hands find Kei’s legs and uses them to hoist Kei half into his lap. Bokuto’s grip shifts. The mindless presses become deeper, slower. They drag up to his hips until they hit the waist of Kei’s pants, pulling.
Kei is about to get fingered to high heavens, isn’t he?
He turns his head to press his nose against Akaash’s stomach again, stretching his neck to mouth at the growing bulge in his pants. Since he’s already there…
Akaashi sighs, pulling the waistband of his pants to take himself out and feed Kei his half-hard cock. He uses the hand he’s been carding through Kei’s hair to maneuver him with a light touch, keeping Kei’s pace slow. When Kei tries to pull off, Akaashi holds him there. Kei looks up at Akaashi for the first time since putting his mouth on him and Akaashi says, “More than one way to suffocate you.”
Kei moans, drooling.
Bokuto’s fingers sink into him, gathering slick by his entrance to rub in barely-there touches. It’s maddening, the way Bokuto has taken to Kei’s cunt like a plaything to tease and finger and fuck when he has idle hands.
Bokuto’s hands often find themselves idle.
It’s not good. They’ve made him docile. He used to have fight in him, would have at least made them work for it.
(All lies. He’s been allowing them everything since the moment they met.)
Akaashi reaches for his discarded glasses, pulling on Kei’s hair to allow him room. Kei reaches for them, placing them haphazardly on his face. Akaashi gives a half-laugh, and takes all the time in the world setting them straight. They’re smudged now, by Kei’s and Akaashi’s hands, their fingerprints all over the glass. They’re going to get in the way and press on his face in the worst way.
One of Bokuto’s hands reaches to turn Kei’s head his way. “See? Cute,” he breathes.
Akaashi strokes Kei’s cheek lovingly, bringing him back. “Want to stop thinking for a bit?”
Kei nods, opening his mouth for Akaashi to slip back inside. Widens his legs so Bokuto has more room. Bokuto pulls himself out and grinds his cockhead on the juncture of Kei’s thighs, just a little to the right of where Kei is seeping wet on to his lap.
Akaashi goes back to his magazine. His shape and taste in Kei’s mouth are a sedative. The weight of his hand on Kei’s hair doesn’t leave, running and patting with gentle touches that clear every thought of a painfully pathetic crush from Kei’s mind.
The odds are he’s fucked in that department, but here—their hands stroke and push and tease and caress until he’s out of thoughts.
When the doorbell rings, Bokuto answers before Kei can intercept him. He opens the door with unparalleled force, swinging it wide and sending out a brash, “Hello?”
Kuroo stumbles. He recovers but his words come out unsure. “Hi, yes, is uh— is Tsukki here?”
“Tsukki? ” Bokuto's head swivels with breakneck speed to look at Kei, who has trailed behind him in unsuccessful pursuit. In his most accusing tone, he fires, “You let him call you Tsukki! And you didn’t tell me?”
Kei might have omitted that tidbit on purpose. This is exactly the kind of thing he was trying to avoid. By the doorway, Kuroo turns his eyes on Kei. A greeting and a question wrapped in a single glance. Kuroo is dressed differently than he does when they meet at the library, more relaxed. The long sleeves of his black sweater are pushed back to his forearms and he’s foregone a coat. In his mind’s eye, Kei has the impulse to grab him by the chest and pull him in. Throw him to the wolves and ride him with abandon.
Instead Kei takes his glasses off. Pinches his nose.
“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi tries. He always does, which is why Kei loves him. Unfortunately, he loves Bokuto as well. Kei controls his sudden rage—it’s a response to Kuroo being present. It’s not Bokuto’s fault that he was born without the embarrassment gene.
“Kuroo, these are my boyfriends. Bokuto, Akaashi, this is Kuroo. I just need to get my bag, give me a second.”
Kuroo looks confused for a split moment before schooling his expression. He stands up straighter than he needs to and puts a hand on his puffed-out chest. “Nice meeting you, sirs. I’ll have him back by ten.”
“We’re dating, they’re not my guardians,” Kei scolds, tampered anger making a furious return. “And ten is ridiculous.”
This is not how he was going to broach the two boyfriends conversation but maybe it’s more effective this way. More embarrassing, but effective.
Not that Kuroo needs to know anything about Kei’s love life, since he is a completely and utterly unaffected and uninterested party.
It’s just that both Akashi and Bokuto—and Akaashi plus Bokuto—go with him to the library and sometimes hold his hand or kiss his cheek goodbye or look at him with amused, adoring eyes that make Kei melt. No, Kuroo doesn’t need to know anything, but Kei would rather he not think Kei is a cheating bastard in case he does happen upon them in their more affectionate moments.
“Have a good study session,” Akaashi calls on his way to the bedroom.
Bokuto follows him to the door. “Are you coming back here?”
Kei has a feeling he’s going to need emotional support at the end of the night. “Yes.”
“‘Kay.” Before Kei can react Bokuto grabs him hard by the chin to give him a wet, loud smooch. “Bye.”
His cheeks burn at the kiss in front of his crush —and he might have to grit his teeth at the word but he’s accepted his situation for what it is—while Kuroo looks completely indifferent to both the dual boyfriends admission and the PDA.
Fuck him, honestly.
They start away from the door in silence. Loud, too loud, with enough volume to reach past the door and out to the hallway where he and Kuroo stand, Bokuto’s voice rings out. “He really is as hot as Tsukki said!”
“Excuse me for a second,” Kei says, half turning, “I’m going to go break up with him. Be right back.”
Kuroo laughs. It’s a terrible, horrible sound and Kei is finally vindicated. Messy hair and a shitty laugh. Rejoice, he has flaws.
Kuroo follows next to him with his hands in his pockets. “No need for heartbreak, I’m flattered. Especially when your boyfriends look like that. Like wow. I’d ask how you pulled that off but well… ”
“Well, what?” Kei frowns.
Kuroo swivels to face him, eyebrow raised, teasing dialed to a thousand. “Didn’t take you for one to fish for compliments, Tsukki.”
Kei is blushing. Again. Perhaps he could find a bridge to throw himself off somewhere on the way. Better yet, maybe he could drag Kuroo down with him as he falls.
Kuroo seems not to notice Kei’s inability to maintain a flush-free expression in his presence and carries on the conversation as he normally does.
Perhaps he doesn’t care even if he does notice. It’s likely that Kuroo is used to everyone he spends more than five continuous minutes with developing an infatuation with his face and this is just par for the course. Kei wants to wrap his hands around that strong, tan neck and twist.
They make it to the café with no casualties other than Kei’s ego. They sit on a four-top to have enough room for books and Kei is grateful for the distance. Settled, they go through small talk that Kei only half pays attention to. While Kuroo puts him up to date with whatever, Kei has a conversation with his inner self. Mentally, he takes himself by the shoulders and shakes. Be strong , he says. Don’t let him win. He’s beating your ass at this. Do you want to let him know that you want to do unspeakable things to him? Get a grip! You can win this.
Kei steels his spirit, avoids looking at Kuroo’s attractive face by settling on his clavicle. Starts imagining running his tongue—No! No tongue anywhere!
Kei’s eyes dart to Kuroo’s hands and stay there, mimicking paying complete attention to the textbook Kuroo is using as a guide. That is, until Kuroo decides that Kei is doing too well in resisting him and pulls his glasses out.
“Man, I’m getting old.” Kuroo slides the glasses on his stupid face, Kei tracking the motion. “Didn’t use to need these.”
Thin black frames with a bit of red at the temple tips, as if dipped. Normal—boring, even, if Kei was in any position to judge—glasses. Kei wants to kiss him so bad. This is dangerous territory. If he doesn’t curb this he’s going to do something foolish. “You are literally in your mid-twenties.”
“The youth have it so good.”
“We are like three years apart.”
“To think back to those golden days.”
“I’ve needed glasses for eighteen years.”
“Skill issue,” Kuroo deadpans, glancing down to the other books he’s brought with him.
Thankful for the break in eye contact, Kei tries to regulate his heartbeat. Kei needs to build immunity to him, to this, to his whole dependable-man deal. He’s so competent . Like he’d only make Kei’s life easier if given the chance. Like Kei could trust him (does trust him with his academic needs) and come out on the other side victorious.
Kei could call him with a problem and he’d take time out of his busy day to solve it without a moment’s notice. He’d rib and tease and at the end he’d have fixed three other things Kei didn’t even notice were askew.
Kind of like he’s doing right now.
He missed two classes due to illness and now he’s fallen so behind he doesn’t get the lectures at all. He mentioned it at their last tutoring session completely offhand and Kuroo offered to teach him this different class on his own time.
Kei wants to fuck him.
Offering orgasms in exchange for tutoring is wrong, right?
He sighs, annoyed at himself. He has let the illness that is being around Kuroo impede him from being a functioning, polite human being. “Thanks for this. I was sick—”
“It all builds on this, right?” Kuroo cuts him off, not unkindly. “Don’t sweat it. You’re one of the few people I tutor that don’t make me lose faith in education.”
Am I your favorite one?
No, no, no. He doesn’t need to be the favorite, he needs to buckle down and actually listen to what Kuroo is explaining. Except Kei keeps losing focus, staring at him. His face, his forearms with his sleeves rolled up as he writes the answer to the problem Kei should be paying attention to.
Kei is visually tracing the veins in his hand when Kuroo drops his pencil. “Are you following? Or did the equations fry your neurons?”
Kuroo is expectant. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he looks up at Kei.
“Cute.”
Kuroo’s head tilts.“What?”
Damn it all to the seven circles of hell.
This is not what he’s supposed to be doing. He’s going to fail and then he’s going to make Kuroo drop him from his tutoring roster which would be so embarrassing.
Like, I had to drop this guy who already had two boyfriends because he kept staring at my lips and my eyes and my arms, and calling me cute, can you believe it?
“The cakes,” Kei salvages. “They’re cute.” Thankfully, they are on display in a fridge right in his line of sight behind Kuroo.
Kuroo pushes his glasses up with his pointer finger before throwing a killer smile straight to Kei’s guts. A little mocking but a lot sweet. It lands as butterflies in Kei’s stomach and drips to settle as a throbbing down low. “I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth. Want one?”
Please no. Don’t let him be generous and actually buy Kei a treat. Let him be a dick and have him tell Kei he’s wasting both of their free time by not being focused. “You don't have to—”
Kuroo waves him off. “Wait here.”
Kei watches Kuroo up and leave. He takes advantage of Kuroo’s turned back and drops his forehead to the table. Fuck it all, fuck the cakes, and fuck Kei. And Kuroo. And fuck Bokuto and Akaashi too, actually, for whispering filthy things into his ears this morning: asking if he was going to slip under the table and suck Kuroo off as payment for his kindness, if Kei was ever going to tell him there’s a perfectly wet place for him to use if he ever so wishes, if Kei had ever though of dragging him into an alley and showing him—
Kuroo brings back two. “I didn’t know any of them so let’s share these and then wait for the sugar rush to take me out of commission.”
Kei focuses at them. Makes his lips work around the words and the screeching bouncing around his brain. I should be bouncing on your di— “I should be treating you.”
Kuroo splits one down the middle with a fork, then the other. “Eat your cake, Tsukki.”
They suck, but Kei eats his share without complaint anyway. He manages to listen to some of what Kuroo says, but he’ll need to re-read the text on his own time. The sugar rush does take Kuroo out of commission, but it takes an hour and half to do so. He is frustratingly efficient with his time and all it does is make Kei more aware of how much he likes that.
When they’re approaching Akaashi and Bokuto’s apartment on their way back, Kuroo slows down. “Hey, I wanted to tell you. I’m cutting my tutoring hours.”
Kei minutely falters. He stays silent for too long while trying to find words to paraphrase was it something I did? into a less pathetic sentence."Okay.”
It shouldn't be enough. It's rude. The tone, the words, the silence matching their pace as they walk. Kuroo elaborates anyway.
He doesn’t let Kei’s awkward behaviour seep into their steps because he’s Professor Perfect who is dropping Kei from his teaching hours. If earth could swallow Kei whole, right now would be a good time. It would save him from having to listen to Kuroo put it’s not you it’s me into academic speak even though Kei is pretty sure Kuroo noticed Kei being odd and it is him and Kuroo cannot wait to never see him again.
“They’re just getting to be a lot. I got an offer from this after-school place, and the pay is pretty good. Had my first day there last week.”
Kei smiles at his shoes. Kuroo sounds so excited. He deserves this, something that is easier. Better for him than spending hours upon hours in a tiny library room with clueless college students. “Was it good?”
“I'm dealing with middle schoolers so I’m sure they’ll be scoundrels once the ‘new tutor’ vibes go away.”
There’s a sunken weight in his chest. At least Kei didn’t get dropped because he couldn’t stop leering. “Sounds terrible.”
“They’re good kids.” Kuroo stops in front of the door. “I’m keeping some people on.”
Will they ever meet again? With no more tutoring, there isn’t a need for their paths to cross. Kei wants to roam his face. A rebellion against his incessant need to appear detached. A parting gift. Instead, he continues to speak to the floor, eyes boring into the familiarly worn welcome mat. “Isn’t that a lot? With a horde of middle schoolers coming after you.”
“It’s just you and this one other guy who is totally lost. I feel bad leaving him stranded.”
He’s keeping Kei on? Oh that’s—that’s Kei's heart in his ears, using his eyes as drums to set a frantic beat. Kuroo’s words sink in fully. “I’m not lost, am I?” Kei stops avoiding his face. There’s no way he’s that bad of a case.
Kuroo smiles at him. Again. His eyes squint behind glasses.
Kei’s throat balloons up with words he swallows back down. Sweat rolls down his back. The drum roll doubles.The words out of Kuroo’s mouth threaten to make the cakes in Kei’s stomach come back up.
“No. You’re my favorite,” Kuroo says. “You actually follow and make me feel like I’m not the worst tutor there is. I’m bringing it up because we would have to change the reservations to Fridays at seven instead. Is that okay?”
Kei wants to say many things to that: I’m really your favorite? I want to kiss your dumb fucking face. Why are you still wearing your glasses, you fucker? There’s nothing to read here. You want me to reserve my Friday nights for you?
Kei says, “Yeah, that would be fine.”
“I’ll change the reservation.” Kuroo checks his phone before giving him a cheeky smile. “Before ten, as promised. Tell them I said goodnight. See you on Friday.”
“See you.”
Kuroo raises an eyebrow at him, pointing to the door with a flourish of his hand. “Dropping you off means on the other side of that door, Tsukki.”
Kei rolls his eyes but gets inside the apartment anyway.
Closes the door.
Stands there.
He’s a maelstrom of misplaced aggression. Every thought and feeling he’s had in the past three hours has risen up to slam against his skull, pressing on the bone to burst out. They bubble over, a cauldron mix of bad choices and poorly suppressed glances overflowing straight up through his chest to curdle into sweet icing in his mouth. There’s a pair of shoes missing from the entryway, so they might not even be home. He doesn’t care who just—
Kei stands by the doorway, counting. When he gets to twenty he calls out, “Someone come make out with me. Right now.”
There’s a crash, followed by Bokuto’s voice yelling back, “On my way!”
The missing pair of shoes are Akaashi’s, who got invited to dinner with friends. By the time he gets back, Kei has worked all the awful feelings he’s been carrying out on a very willing, thoroughly ravished Bokuto.
They kiss until their lips are rosy and tender, until Bokuto has red and purple blooming on his collarbone, right below where it would show on his t-shirts. Kei is nothing if a gentleman with hickey placements.
Akaashi comes back with just enough of a limber body to know he’s had a drink or two past what he normally has. He perches on the chair (he’s not calling it a cuck chair, even if Bokuto does, and even if it is Akaashi’s preferred spot to sit and watch Bokuto turn Kei inside out,) eyes closed and head tipped back. He’s not one to come home drunk, much less when he’s not with either one of them. Somewhere along the movie that Bokuto is focused on and that Kei has paid no attention to in lieu of tracing Akaashi’s features, Akaashi’s alcohol-addled gaze settles on Kei. The half lidded look is great on him, less drunkard and more sex. Maybe it's the cuck chair.
When Bokuto leaves for the bathroom, he steals the warmth of Bokuto’s seat, sinking in with a hum. Their thighs touch in the proximity. Kei knows he’s rearing up to say something. The way he blinks the way his tongue traces his chapped lips give him away. Akaashi waits until Bokuto is back and dropping into Akaashi’s chair with an oof before he asks, “So, opening with I have two boyfriends to your not-date?”
“It wasn’t a date,” Kei agrees with a side-eye, “and I do have two boyfriends.”
Akasshi huffs and throws a leg over Kei’s.“Tsukishima.”
There’s reproach in Akaashi’s tone. It settles in Kei’s gut swift as a kick and pushes, digging. It burrows into the core of his conflicting emotions. He is supposed to, what? Lie about their relationship?
The one thing he is willing to preserve at all costs?
Kei’s feelings right now are nothing but proximity to an attractive person. Ephemeral impulses powered by being around someone like Kuroo, who seems to be immaculately made—except for the hyena laugh.
And the hair.
And the annoying quips.
A crush.
Horrible, titillating, superficial feelings held together by sweaty hands. The second Kuroo gets busier and starts dropping Kei’s hours too, they’ll go back to how they were before. Strangers.
Kuroo will get a new favorite.
The thought rankles, so Kei is overtly curt when he says, “It’s not like that.”
“You like him,” Akaashi insists, like he’s informing Kei of his own feelings.
So what? What does like matter compared to everything they have? Can like hold a candle to how perpetually-reserved Akaashi drapes over him? Does like matter when Bokuto holds himself still to wrap around Kei after they kiss, just to hold him close?
Like is embarrassed cheeks and temporary desire. It will leave him empty when it fades. Compared to how Kei loves them, it is a child’s game.
“Yes.” Kei seethes, weighted words falling from his mouth. “I like him, but I love you both. I’m not going to hide you just because of a stupid crush. If he has a problem with that, he can deal. It’s a non-issue anyway, seeing as I have two boyfriends and a tutor, who is paid to help me.”
The words feel like betrayal against a mirage of Kuroo in front of him in café seating. Kei stands by them.
“I’m sorry,” Akaashi apologises, but a smile blooms on his face. He shifts closer to Kei, cupping his cheek with his hand. “I love you, too.”
Akaashi leans in for a kiss but deviates at the last second. He pecks Kei’s cheek (too wet. Drunk Akaashi is sloppy,) before he goes for Kei’s ear to say, “Look to your left. He is being so ungodly cute right now. He’s trying to play down that he’s happy you said that.”
Kei glances at Bokuto. The edge of his glasses make the sight blurry where they stop, but the sliver he catches through the lens shows fidgeting and strongly gripped hands. He’s thinking of ways to exploit it best when Keiji straddles him. That half-drunk expression full of sex has Kei in the crosshairs. There’s no way to escape it.
“Keiji,” Kei moans. “Why am I getting it? He’s the cute one.”
Bokuto laughs.
“A reward for being so honest.” Akaashi finally gives him that kiss. Pulls away. “And I topped him while you were out,” Akaashi licks against Kei’s teeth before sliding down to the floor.
Kei burns with jealousy at having missed it. Could he manipulate an encore, audience included? “When has that stopped you?” He fires at Bokuto. “Coming once isn’t enough.”
In response, Bokuto hops off the seat and makes way behind Kei. Bokuto pulls his head back, neck stretching, and gives him another kiss. A deeper one, fucking into Kei’s mouth. Kei mumbles into Bokuto’s lips when they separate.“Are you going to fuck me, then?”
That would be very okay too.
Bokuto towers over him, reaching to lift his hips so Keiji can pull at his pants. He needs to start wearing shorts. “No. I’m gonna watch. Hold you open.”
Kei paws at his zipper. He’s desperate to give into the impulse to suck and hear his name sung with moans. “Let me.”
Bokuto grabs his wrists to ward him off. “No. This is about you, no distractions.”
Akaashi pushes on Kei’s knees. “Koutarou.”
Bokuto kisses Kei’s wrists before pulling Kei forward and setting his hands between his back and the cushion. There’s nothing to tie him, so Kei clasps his hands together and traps them with his bodyweight only because he’s asked to. This is him now, unbound but trapped by his own willingness to please them. To think he could deny them is ever so naive.
Bokuto leans over and grabs Akaashi’s offering, spreading Kei in obscene display. Kei’s cheek burns, his chest.
“Keiji is trying to make you come. Focus on him.” Bokuto’s words are hot in his ears. “Look at him. He’s making you feel good, just you.”
In this position he’s at their complete mercy. If Kei looks at Keiji directly he’s going to spiral. The squelches coming from where Keiji’s mouth meets Kei’s wet cunt are enough to have fever rising behind his eyes. His nails dig into his palm, anchoring him from the debauchery.
Bokuto takes advantage of his position. “Love you,” he nuzzles into Kei’s cheek, hooking the back of Kei’s knees in the crook of his elbow more securely.
“Kou,” Kei’s voice breaks with a strong suck from Keiji’s mouth.
Like a mirror, Bokuto’s nuzzling turns into suction, right on the sensitive skin at the bottom of his jaw. The dual feeling displaces him. He loses sense of where he is, who touches him. The pleasure at his core is melding with Bokuto at his neck, Keiji’s tongue against him mixes with the hair tickling his face. Bokuto sucks Kei’s skin against his teeth. He pulls away from Kei to whisper, “Let him see that. Wish he could see you getting it so he knows what he’s missing out on.”
Akaashi picks that moment to bring his perfect fingers into the mix, leaving Kei unable to respond. When he catches a breath he lets his cheek bump Bokuto’s jaw and says, “Just need you.”
This is enough, they are enough for Kei. More than, they push and pull so he sways between them, vulnerable to their whims and their desires. Where they lead, Kei will go.
Kei comes undone on Keiji’s tongue, the feel of Bokuto’s hot hands behind his knees, the weight of their love, pressing on every inch of his skin. He shakes apart. Calls out their names.
A third one blooms in the back of his tongue but Kei holds it back with his teeth. He can bury words and stay his hands and deny, but when his body convulses he wants another set of hands to add to the assault.
This has to be enough.
The next morning Kei notices three different red marks on his neck, plainly visible. When they start to fade it’s Keiji who brings them back to life. He covers them with high collars and turtlenecks—except, he conveniently forgets to do so the day of his and Kuroo’s session, wearing a crew neck that does nothing to conceal them.
He swears he sees Kuroo zero in on them for a moment before carrying on as usual. Imagines the press of his awareness over the sensitive skin mixed with his explanations. Kei is on edge the whole time, waiting for the moment Kuroo sets up a joke at his expense, a casual mocking of the juvenile markings before moving on. He’s not expecting the complete gloss-over. How foolish of him, to expect anything. Kei is the only one paying any mind to Kuroo’s reactions. Kuroo is like he is with everyone else.
Before he leaves, Kuroo pauses. He starts, “You have—”takes a stuttered breath—“Nevermind. See you next friday?”
Kei doesn’t let himself hope. “See you.”