Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Osamu tried focusing on his next set of reps and not the view he had through the mirror. But Suna was stretching.

There was no way to ignore that. 

Suna’s body sloped into a sequence of beautiful arcs. The length of his upper body encased in compressive gear, muscles shifting with each prolonged movement. He reached both arms over his head to interlock long, pretty fingers. The fabric of Suna’s shorts bunched up, exposing the marks he left on him. Marks from Osamu’s mouth. 

His jaw felt itchy. 

Osamu gripped his weights tighter and forced out an exhale. His attention still drifted back to Suna’s thighs in the reflection. 

However, he was not the only one who’d noticed the bruises. Oikawa perked up, eyes lit with a delight that made Osamu dread whatever was about to come out of his mouth. “Suna,” Oikawa called out. He waved both hands to get his attention.

Glancing up, Suna lowered his headphones, eyebrows raised in question. 

“What happened?” Oikawa asked. “Are you okay?”

Hinata hopped off the leg curler to peer around Oikawa. His forehead furrowed. “You’re bruised! Did you get hurt during practice?” 

Tsukishima paused mid-way through his tricep dips. He smirked after catching one look at the marks on Suna and resumed his workout. Really, Osamu needed to hang out with that guy. 

“Nah, that happened a while ago,” Suna said, tugging his shorts down. 

When Hinata’s expression only collapsed with further concern, Suna’s mouth curved up at the corner. “It’s healing. I'm fine, Shouyou.”

He ignored Oikawa. Who did not appreciate the lack of acknowledgement, but refused to let it deter him. “Are you sure?” Oikawa asked, eyes wide with false innocence. “Did you get it checked out?”

“Get what checked out?” Aran asked, captain senses pinging. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Suna said. 

“Suna’s bruised pretty bad,” Oikawa steam rolled. 

Atsumu climbed off the leg press. “Ya should get the team trainer ta take a look,” he said, as if passing by and not hovering in concern.

“That’s unnecessary,” Suna assured, but it was too late. Oikawa already stirred everyone into a frenzy. 

“Oh, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa said, voice floating on a sing-song. 

Iwaizumi held his position, both weights held out at his sides, arms in a T. He gave Osamu a long-suffering look. “If I pretend not to hear him do you think he’ll go away?”

Osamu snorted. “Ya can’t fend off yōkai that way.”

Iwaizumi sighed, then glanced where Osamu had turned around when the volleyball team showed up. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“‘Cause Oikawa’s obsessed with ya, but I can make it outta here.” 

Iwaizumi scoffed. “If you think you’re leaving me for dead,” he grumbled under his breath. He remained exactly where he was, which prompted Oikawa to seek him out. 

“Iwa-chan,” he complained. “We need your expertise.” He brightened up when he spotted Osamu beside him. “Look, it’s Miya Osamu,” he announced, loudly.

“Yer the worst person I’ve ever met,” Osamu informed him. 

Oikawa made a face. “I think I might be genuinely offended by that since you’re biologically related to Atsumu.”

Iwaizumi choked out a laugh which he quickly turned into a cough. Oikawa glanced between them. “Oh, do you two know each other?”

Iwazuimi nodded. “We’re workout buddies,” he explained. 

“Hmmm,” Oikawa mused. “Can I interrupt your routine and ask you to look over our injured teammate?”

Iwaizumi followed after him. Osamu had no choice but to tag along since his brother waved him over. Atsumu punched his shoulder in greeting. 

“Oikawa, I swear,” Suna said, darkly. He turned to Iwa. “I’m okay.” 

Iwaizumi shrugged. “I’m already over here, might as well take a look to make sure.” 

“Yeah, what if it’s worse than you think?” Komori pointed out. 

“It’s not volleyball related,” Suna informed everyone, speaking very slowly. “So, you can relax. It’s not affecting my ability to play. You didn’t even know about it until today and they’ve been there for a week.” 

“Suna, ya can’t go undervaluin’ yer health,” Aran said, arms crossed. 

“I’m not,” Suna insisted. Aran continued staring at him. Suna’s jaw clenched as he pulled up his shorts to reveal part of a bruise. 

“This is a medical assessment,” Oikawa intervened. “Stop hiding your hurt, Suna.”

Suna shot him a look so poisonous that Oikawa actually took a step back behind Aran. Iwaizumi glanced up for permission and Suna made direct eye contact with him. “No one, except Oikawa, wants this.”

“Sunarin, quit bein’ stubborn,” Atsumu frowned. 

“Fine,” Suna said, leaning back onto his hands. “Evaluate me.” 

Iwaizumi carefully rolled his shorts leg higher. When he realized the marks were distinctly mouth shaped, he blushed all the way to the roots of his hair. “Oh,” he said, stiffly. Iwaizumi attempted to shift and hide the bruises from the team. 

“What is it?” Komori asked. “Is it bad? That sounds bad.”

“No, it’s not bad. Clean bill of health,” Iwaizumi said. “Nothing to worry about.”

Before he could pull Suna’s shorts down, Oikawa peered over his shoulder and gasped so loudly that Osamu was surprised he didn’t choke. “But Iwa-chan, what causes bruises like that?”

“Like what?” Atsumu frowned. “Lemme see.”

Everyone crowded closer. Komori let out a high pitched giggle, before smacking both hands over his mouth. Atsumu snorted. Bokuto squinted. 

“Suna, did you get in a fight?” Hinata asked. 

“Pretty sure teeth made those bruises,” Bokuto said, turning to Oikawa. 

“Gosh, Suna,” Oikawa said, alarmed. “Who bit you? Should we report this?”

Hinata looked ready to reach for his phone and dial the emergency line. “Shouyou,” Atsumu said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “He's fine. They’re not a bad kinda bites.”

Aran glared at Oikawa before smacking him upside the head. “Everyone, get back ta yer circuits. Suna ain’t hurt, Oikawa’s just a pest.”

“But what happened?” Hinata asked. Atsumu floundered, clearly not wanting to be the one to explain the situation. 

“Something kinky,” Oikawa interjected. 

Hinata squeaked. “Oh!”

“Cover your ears, Shouyou,” Suna warned. 

Still sitting on the ground with his legs stretched out, Suna turned to Oikawa. “What exactly did you want out of this? Am I supposed to tell you how I got these hickies, Tooru?”

Oikawa opened his mouth, but Suna continued before he could respond. 

“Do you need me to explain that when someone gets on their knees while sucking and biting the skin along your inner thighs, blood vessels burst and leave you with marks in the shape of their mouth like this?” Suna asked. 

“Um,” Oikawa said. 

Suna rose to his feet, clapping a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder. “Hope you found that informative. Let’s not do it again,” he said, squeezing briefly, before he flipped his headphones back up. Osamu bit back a smile as Suna purposely went to an open space far away from Oikawa and got into a plank position. 

Iwaizumi stood beside Oikawa. Arms crossed and judgment in his eyes. “You knew that whole time they were love bites and you still dragged everyone over here?”

“I seized an opportunity,” Oikawa defended. “Do you know how hard it is to get anything out of Suna?”

“I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want to share personal information with you,” Iwaizumi said, dryly. 

Atsumu tugged on Osamu’s tank. “Hey,” he said, dropping his voice to a much lower level, which was suspicious in itself. 

“Those teeth marks on Sunarin,” Atsumu began. 

Turning heel, Osamu walked away before Atsumu could continue. “Don’t wanna lose my spot,” he said, gesturing to the weights he’d left behind.  

“Oi,” Atsumu shouted after him. 

“Get back on yer press,” Osamu said, waving him off. “Not gonna blame me fer messin’ up yer every day is leg day shit.” Atsumu balled up the towel for wiping down the machine and chucked it at his head. Osamu laughed, ducking out of the way.

“Ya gotta build a strong foundation,” Atsumu said, for the twentieth time.

Iwaizumi made his way back over to Osamu. “Next time, you warn me, and we both get out,” he muttered. 

“I’m not sure if yer optimism is inspirin’ or delusional,” Osamu said. 

“Ha ha,” Iwaizumi said. “You should stick with inspiring because delusional might think the love bites on Suna’s legs look an awful lot like they could have been from your–,” he cut off, when Osamu shoved a water bottle into his chest. 

He handed over Iwaizumi's discarded weights. “Ya inspire me every day,” Osamu said. “But also, bite mark identification is unreliable. Watched a documentary with Gin that said so. Keep that in mind.”

“Will do,” Iwaizumi laughed. 

They finished their usual routines. Then, Iwaizumi wandered off to chat with Ennoshita, the team’s intern physical therapist. 

Osamu entered the gym locker room. Coming to a stop when he found Suna standing in nothing but low slung shorts. His kitsune tattoo glittered with sweat. Not one moment went by where Osamu lived in peace while Suna Rintarou existed. He struggled to clear his throat. 

“Hey,” he greeted, forcing himself to move. At least out of the doorway. “Sorry again about the marks, especially after all that,” Osamu said, sidling past him to get to his locker. 

Suna shrugged. “One more week and no one would have noticed. But it's difficult to account for Oikawa.”

“Ya didn't wanna brag?” Osamu asked. 

Suna turned towards him and Osamu wasn’t sure if seeing his face or his tattoo was worse for his sanity.  “The marks are for me, not them,” Suna said, absently. 

Osamu focused on grabbing what he needed to shower. Anything but the fact that Suna was within arm’s reach and half naked and saying things that made his face hot. He chanced a glance over and ended up staring at the ink between Suna’s shoulders, extending down his arms as he rummaged through his bag. 

Suna caught him staring. As usual. “Come here,” he said, amused. 

“Why?” Osamu asked. 

Suna rolled his eyes. “You want to get a better look, no?”

Osamu closed the gap to stand right behind Suna. The kitsune was rendered expertly. Wisp like swirls of ink, as if the trickster fox was created with brushstrokes instead of a needle. 

“Is it raised?” Osamu asked, curious if the ink was flush with his skin. 

Suna shook his head no. “Right afterwards it was, before it healed, but not anymore. You can touch it.”

Tentatively, Osamu grazed a finger across the kitsune’s lines. Tracing the tattoo. If he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to tell that his part of Suna’s back was etched in ink, skin smooth and level. If not damp, sweat slick. Osamu's exploration led to him settling his fingers around the nape of Suna's neck with his thumb trailing the inked edge of the kitsune's ear. 

“Osamu,” Suna said, low and amused. “How you're touching me right now isn't very shy.”

He withdrew his hand immediately. 

“I don't mind,” Suna clarified. “But we can't fuck in the showers. They're acoustic and you're loud.”

Osamu glowered at him. 

“You should think of me when you jack off later, though,” Suna offered.

“I will,” Osamu said, belligerent. 

“Enjoy imagining yourself blowing a load across my back,” Suna said, casual as all get up. 

“It's real unsettlin’ when ya do that,” Osamu pointed out. 

Suna shrugged. “I can't always get a read on you, but you're crystal clear whenever you think about touching me.”

Osamu paused. “Since the library?” he asked slowly. 

“The whole time,” Suna clarified. He smirked at Osamu's expression. 

“Great,” Osamu grumbled. He opened his locker and rummaged up his shower stuff. “I'm just gonna go live in one ‘a those stalls.”

“Nooo, don't drown yourself in the shower. You're so sexy aha,” Suna said, deadpan. 

Osamu laughed. Mouth fully open and eyes crinkling, caught off guard. He wasn't as chronically online as Atsumu and Gin, but he knew that one. Suna blinked at him, surprised. He smiled in return. A full upturn of both sides of his mouth, dark lashes curved into arches as his eyes closed. Like a fox. 

Cute as hell. 

Osamu made a vague, strangled noise and fled to the showers. Suna was dangerous enough with his pretty resting face. Lethal when he teased. Anything else was too much. Osamu shampooed his hair.

He thought about what to eat for dinner and did not think about Suna’s smile. 

---

While flipping through his notes at Mochyo, Osamu pulled up Suna’s radio broadcast. It didn’t count as ‘watching’ if he wasn’t fully paying attention. 

“How goes it, bitches, bros, and non-binary hoes,” Suna greeted. “Let’s just see where we go tonight, yeah?”

Osamu frowned at his marketing study guide, half listening to the first song. Then, the chorus repeated. Osamu lowered his page. A song about control. Okay. Shaking his head, he continued scanning the midterm rubric.  

When the next song played, Osamu narrowed his eyes at the screen as the beat thumped. There was no way.

This one kept looping a sultry line of ‘do it for me’. 

Except, song after song played and they all felt targeted. Lines about if you think I’m pretty and intrusive thoughts and tongues. Not being shy. Every time Osamu talked himself out of it, convinced he was reading into the song choices too much, he took another hit to the psyche. 

“Alright, damn,” Suna said, mouth tipped up into a smirk. “I’m getting a lot of requests to mirror the playlist for you all. It’s up for anyone who wants to take a look.”

Osamu clicked the button on the side of the screen to display the playlist in full. He slid both of his hands into his hair, resting both elbows on the table. Part of him couldn’t believe this, but that was the reasonable part of himself that got bypassed by reality. He lived amidst people like Oikawa and Suna.

Nothing was unreasonable 

To: Gin (besto friendo)

do me a favor 

From: Gin (besto friendo)

…?

To: Gin (besto friendo)

pull up suna’s radio show

From: Gin (besto friendo)

this'll be good gimme a min

From: Gin (besto friendo)

k now what?

To: Gin (besto friendo)

look at the playlist

From: Gin (besto friendo)

what abt it?

Osamu groaned and dropped his head to the table. He remained there until a song about lip biting began.

To: Gin (besto friendo)

does it seem i dunno weirdly specific

From: Gin (besto friendo)

to what? idgi????? does he put puzzles in them???

To: Gin (besto friendo)

gin doesn’t it seem weirdly specific TO ME

From: Gin (besto friendo)

p sure you haven’t heard like 95% of these songs bc ur a gpa and he’s cool

Osamu scrubbed at his face as a British woman sang, ‘that’s not my name’, to a catchy beat. He hit call. “Gin,” Osamu said, trying to maintain a level tone. “I think the whole playlist is ‘bout me.”

Gin oohed loudly. “I see what yer sayin’ now, but what makes ya think so? It’s kinda all over the place.”

What was he supposed to say? There was a song about strawberries. Another about sweaters. One that explicitly had a lyric ‘the way I move makes you follow my rule’. How did one go about trying to explain what was happening with the game he’d started playing with Suna? He didn’t even know what it was and he was the one playing. 

None of his suspicion about the playlist made sense unless he explained every interaction they’d ever had plus a sprinkle of more shit starting. “Nevermind,” Osamu said, defeated.

Maybe he was just being paranoid. 

“Why don’t ya just ask him, if it’s botherin’ ya?” Gin asked. 

He stared up at the aesthetic vine display, seeking answers. “I can’t, ‘cause I told him I don’t watch his show,” Osamu grumbled. If the songs even were about him. 

Gin, very clearly, fought off a laugh. “Right, well uh, maybe just enjoy it? If he did make a playlist about ya, that's kinda flatterin’.”

The lyrics ‘Bet you've been a fan of me, see me in your fantasies. Everything I got, I got working for me. So eat that, peep that. I'm the one to beat, yeah,’ blared from his headphones. Oddly, Osamu did not feel flattered. He sighed and hung up. Suna did this on purpose.

There was no other explanation. What an absolute bastard. 

The next few songs made Osamu’s cheeks hot. When the latest song trailed off, Suna stared directly into the camera. He leaned close to the mic. “This next one is deeply personal to me. Since I find the lyrics so relatable, I’d like to share it with you all.”

A heavy beat proceeded before the track kicked on. Osamu choked on his coffee once the lyrics launched from zero to sixty. 

From: Gin (besto friendo)

OMFGGGGGG LOLOLOL he got me with that intro

From: Gin (besto friendo)

but dude shit is wild if he made this playlist abt ya

Then, he sent through the ‘is this fucking play about us?’ audio. 

Osamu tried to ignore Gin’s texts and the resounding repetition about licking popsicles.

He thought maybe Suna finally did it, that he might have broken his spirit a little when he heard the line ‘Dip into my dots, like a lot, we just love to play. Wouldn’t say I’m picky but I like it extra sticky’. 

“If anyone has a request, remember to drop them through the server,” Suna said, pointedly. 

When ‘Not About You’ played, Osamu wished with all his might that Suna’s fruit jelly fell from his hand and spilled out onto the floor. He had never wished such a fate on anyone before. The song titles began to slide into blatant provocation. When it got to ‘Come and Get It’ and ‘U MAD’ and ‘Shut Me Up’, his blood pressure skyrocketed. 

Suna wanted Osamu to admit he was watching. Well, he’d be disappointed. He typed out key terms for the next chapter with unnecessarily loud contact on his keyboard.

Akaashi approached him. Slowly. With caution. “Everything okay over here?” he asked, the question steeped in obvious concern. Then, his gaze flickered to Suna’s show pulled up on Osamu’s screen. “Nevermind.”

Osamu stared up at him, plaintive. “He’s doin’ this on purpose, right?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Akaashi laughed. He patted his shoulder and went back up front, returning with a sympathy pastry. 

“Right?” Osamu asked. 

“Let me see the playlist,” Akaashi requested. 

Osamu pulled it back up. In the interim a variety of songs continued playing including, ‘Lookie Lookie’, ‘Buttons’, ‘Play With Fire’, and ‘Paint the Town Red’. Akaashi’s glasses reflected the screen as his eyes scanned the previously played tracks.

“This is expertly done, really,” he commended. Osamu sighed and tugged at the roots of his hair in frustration.

“And very much on purpose,” Akaashi confirmed. “What does he want?”

Osamu slumped down in his chair. “I told him I don’t watch his show.”

“Naturally,” Akaashi said, bone dry. He glanced between Osamu and the digital version of Suna pulled up on a full page window on his laptop.  “I have an idea for you. A wild suggestion. You could just stop watching,” he pointed out. 

Osamu’s gaze drifted back to the screen where the flannel Suna wore over his sleeveless shirt barely covered his shoulders. “I hear you, but I can’t,” he muttered darkly. 

Akaashi huffed a laugh. 

Osamu hoped he could tough it through this. The end of Suna’s shift wasn’t that far off. 

Suna spoke to the audience between songs. “You may have noticed a bit of a theme to tonight’s music choices,” Suna noted, absently. 

He glanced at the server comments. “Good guess, but thirsty bitch isn’t the theme. The theme for this random, not at all targeted playlist, is provoking thought. Have anyone’s thoughts been provoked? Send in your requests. Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

Osamu’s eyelid twitched. 

“Just request a song,” Akaashi suggested. “I’m concerned you’re going to have an aneurysm. I don’t have the training to handle that.” 

Osamu clicked to the radio show server like his hands were made of lead and created a username to send in a song request. He glowered at his screen the entire time. Moments later, Suna smirked as he peered at the messages.

“Oh, what’s this? A request from‘EffOffYaFoxDemon’? I’ll get this queued up.” He turned to look directly into the camera. “After all, I do aim to please,” Suna assured.

Then, he winked. 

Despite the chorus of Osamu’s request being ‘do re mi fa so fucking done with you’, Suna immediately countered him with a song choice that prompted him to mute the show. 

That was the best Osamu could do. 

Akaashi snorted from beside him. 

---

Osamu walked up to the address, slowing when he spotted two people near his age out front. 

A guy with short, pinkish brown hair perked up, waving both arms in greeting. “Hey! Osamu, yeah?”

“Yeah, hi,” he said. “Sorry, I know one ‘a ya is Makki and one is Mattsun, but Kuroo didn’t tell me anythin’ aside from yer names.” Osamu's workout buddy pool had recently expanded. Including Kuroo, the science segment broadcaster at the radio station.  

The other guy, with a lot of eyebrow and a somewhat sullen expression, shook his head. “Classic Kuroo,” he noted. “I’m Mattsun.”

“Makki!” the first guy enthused. His voice was strangely animated considering how his facial expression remained entirely neutral. 

“I appreciate ya recommendin’ me fer this,” Osamu said, bowing to them both. 

Makki began heading for a side door, gesturing for him to follow along.

Mattsun hauled himself up to join them. “No problem,” he said, while Makki punched in an entry code. “We appreciate the help. A bunch of seniors graduated and they only started looking for replacements recently with event season hitting.”

Osamu made a face in commiseration. “The last caterin’ job I worked was 200 guests with ten ‘a us total.” 

“Ew,” Makki frowned. 

“If ya still stuck 'round here with understaffin’, ya must like it,” Osamu said. Both an observation and a little digging. 

Makki glanced back over his shoulder. “They’d have to fire and ban me from the premises to keep me away. Even then, I’d find a way in.”

Osamu blinked in response. Not expecting that level of dedication. 

“Feel free to ignore him,” Mattsun assured. 

Makki laughed. “I’m serious. The pay is good, they don’t over commit scheduling, we get free dibs on leftovers, and our manager is a riot. We’ve been doing this song and dance for years.”

He looked left and right before lowering his voice. “Mattsun’s family is connected, if you catch my drift,” Makki whispered. “They know where the bodies are buried.”

Before Osamu could figure out how to respond to that, Mattsun rolled his eyes. 

“My family runs a funeral home,” he explained. “The connection being funerals are events and this is an event catering company.” 

“Your uncle vacationed in Greece with the boss man last March,” Makki pointed out. 

“The connection being this company is run by a family who caters events and is friends with my family who arranges funerals,” Mattsun amended. 

“Match made of hungry mourners,” Makki said. 

“Don’t leave,” Mattsun said, turning to Osamu. 

He huffed a laugh. “I’m not gonna. Have ya never met Atsumu?”

“No, actually,” Makki said. 

“‘Kawa made us pledge allegiance to him as our Setting Overlord, so we’re not allowed to speak to Atsumu in public because that’d be considered a display of grievous disloyalty, and we’ve never seen him anywhere outside of a game.”

“I–what,” Osamu said, losing the plot. “Oikawa ?”

“Yeah, Oikawa Tooru,” Makki confirmed. He held his hand up overhead. “About yay high, scary determined, great hair, obsessed with aliens, annoyingly good looking, and also just annoying. We’ve been besties since, what, the 9th grade?”

“Oikawa,” Osamu repeated. 

“Did Kuroo not mention we’re friends through Oikawa?” Mattsun asked. 

“Kuroo is friends with Oikawa, too?” Osamu frowned. 

Makki narrowed his eyes. “This feels like a set up. To be fair, though. Kuroo is friends with everyone.” 

“I’ll text ‘Kawa,” Mattsun said, ushering them further down the hall. “We need to get Osamu his uniform and find Suga.” 

Despite the usual learning curve of a new gig, Osamu could hardly complain. The food was churned out on schedule. They had enough staff to meet the needs of the attendees. Their uniforms weren’t uncomfortable or ugly, and the crew was nice, if not weird.

Suga handed him a green tea. “So, do you accept us in your heart?”

Deceptively mild-mannered and easy going, Suga was a great manager. But his mischief could only be contained for so long. That put-together image lasted approximately one hour before Osamu witnessed Suga stopping Makki from returning to the main room, both arms laden with plates. Suga pressed a fake mustache onto his face before sending him out. He did this four more times.

All different mustaches. 

Makki and Mattsun both turned in sync to look at him. 

“Like, am I gonna answer yer call when ya need someone ta fill in?” Osamu asked. 

“No, not that,” Suga tutted. “It’s less about catering and more about culting, Osamu.”

Makki nodded encouragingly. He still had one of the mustaches on. One with very curly ends. Mattsun nodded along as he drank his own green tea. 

“Yer payin’ and feedin’ me. So, sure,” Osamu granted. 

Suga clapped his shoulder. “Good man.”

“One of us, one of us,” Makki chanted. They finished the last of the clean up and closed out for the night, leaving together.

“Yoo-hoo,” Oikawa called. He stood across the street with his signature finger wave. 

Osamu cut a glance to the others. “Later,” he said, veering off to avoid whatever that might turn into. 

“Wait,” Oikawa called after him. 

Osamu didn’t stop, necessarily, but he did slow down. “Why would I wanna do that?”

“I come in peace, Osamu-kun,” Oikawa promised. 

Osamu turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Really,” Oikawa insisted. “I want to get on your good side.” 

“What ya want is somethin’ from me,” Osamu guessed. 

Oikawa blinked his big brown eyes. “I’m definitely not being nice to you now that I’ve tried milk bread you made.”

“Milk bread?” Osamu repeated. “All it woulda taken ta get ya ta lay off is milk bread?”

“I am easily swayed,” Oikawa acknowledged. 

Mattsun cut the distance between the two of them. “He once used an entire month's allowance buying out the local bakery’s fresh milk bread stock,” he confirmed. 

Osamu narrowed his eyes at Oikawa. “When would ya have tried milk bread I made?”

Oikawa jutted his lower lip out. “Atsumu gave me a piece from his bento after he caught me sulking. I’m still not cleared to play a full match.” 

Osamu involuntarily glanced down at Oikawa’s knee. Of course he knew Oikawa had injured his knee in high school and tweaked it recently. He hadn’t known it was bad enough that Oikawa still was limited in his play time. 

“So, yer gunnin’ fer sad boy milk bread?” Osamu asked. He had a feeling Oikawa didn’t want well wishes or sympathy. 

Oikawa waved a dismissive hand. “I’d try and convince you it should be pretty boy milk bread, but if you did make that, it wouldn’t go to me anyways. Would it?”

“Ohhhhh. Do tell. Who’s prettier than Oikawa in the eyes of Miya Osamu?” Suga asked, leaning closer. 

“Suga-san,” Osamu objected. “That isn’t very cult etiquette of ya.” 

Suga sputtered a laugh. “My apologies. You’re absolutely correct.”

“Hey, wait. Why am I not initiated into your cult?” Oikawa objected. “I’ve known you all for years.” 

Mattsun patted Oikawa on the back. “You’d have to work with us, bud.” 

“Yeah, join the ‘family’,” Makki said with emphasis on the last part. 

Mattsun shot him a look. “Stop suggesting we have organized crime connections. We’re going to get investigated.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Makki agreed. “I’m mostly kidding. Not about the seafood supplier, though.”

Mattsun’s impressive eyebrow landscape shifted to indicate his disbelief. “What are you, same age friends with my grandparents? Just because he has full sleeves doesn’t make him yakuza.” 

“Tattoos. What are your thoughts on tattoos, Osamu?” Oikawa chimed in. Osamu shot him a dirty look. 

“Wait,” Suga said, tapping a finger to his chin. “Someone you both know, pretty boy, tattoos. Osamu, do you have a thing for Suna?”

Makki spun towards him. “Oh my God, tea? Day One Tea?”

“That’s logic, not tea,” Mattsun argued. “Suna is—,” he glanced at Oikawa before amending his next words. “One of the most attractive members on the team.” 

Osamu gestured towards Oikawa. “This what ya call layin’ off?”

“Yes,” Oikawa said, seriously. “No remarks from me means I’m incapacitated or deceased.”

Osamu bowed to Suga, Mattsun, and Makki. “Thanks fer lettin’ me join ya and takin’ care ‘a me tonight. Ya have my number if ya need me fer another gig.” 

“Osamu,” Oikawa whined. “Don’t leave. Let’s get dinner.” 

“I’m down,” Suga agreed. 

“Me, too,” Mattsun said. 

“Samesies,” Makki nodded. 

Well. While Osamu wasn’t sure where he stood on Oikawa, food might make the decision process more tolerable. They ended up at a nearby hot pot place. 

“Pose!” Oikawa instructed. 

On reflex, it seemed, Makki flashed double peace signs. Mattsun tilted his head and Suga propped his chin in the flat of his palm. Osamu shot Oikawa a side eye for interrupting his meal.

“So, are we cool?” Oikawa asked. Only after Osamu ate three servings loaded with veggie stuffed broth and beef. 

“We’re cold,” Osamu said, distracted. He inspected the egg dumplings and selected the one with the best sealed edge. 

Oikawa leaned against him. “So, new chilly friend.”

“If ya ask ‘bout the kiss marks, we’re no longer icy,” he informed him. 

Oikawa widened his big, brown eyes at him as if the suggestion had never occurred to him. Which meant, it was 100% what he was about to ask. 

“I’ll place an order of wagyu,” Oikawa offered. 

“If–,” Osamu prompted. 

Oikawa shrugged. “Can’t I simply celebrate this newfound peace?”

“No peace, only problems,” Mattsun noted, lazily twirling the ladle through the broth. 

Makki nodded his agreement. “Your life mantra.”

“Could you make this?” Oikawa asked, holding up his phone with a recipe for chocolate marbled milk bread. It looked mouthwateringly good. 

“Maybe we’ll get along after all,” Osamu hummed. Oikawa beamed in response.

“Send me the recipe and order that wagyu,” Osamu instructed. “I’ll make yer boujee milk bread this week.”

Oikawa’s arm shot up. “Oh, waiter,” he sang. 

---

“MVP!” Atsumu shouted, a hand resting against his own chest. 

“Ya can’t announce yerself to be the MVP,” Osamu critiqued. Aran and Atsumu had both separately sent the address for the izakaya the team was celebrating their latest win at and he was in a good mood after receiving his nutri sci presentation score. 

Hinata laughed and raised his hand. “He’s got my vote!” 

“See, there ya go,” Atsumu said, ruffling Hinata's hair. He turned to Tsukishima. “Do I got yers, too?” 

Tsukishima reached for his drink and spared Atsumu a side eye. “I'd vote for the match volleyball over you.”

“Tsukki,” Atsumu protested. “Ya gotta give me yer vote. Ya told me ya like me better than Oikawa.”

“What I actually said was that you're slightly less unbearable than Oikawa,” Tsukishima corrected. “The bar is in hell.”

Osamu laughed and Atsumu sent a knuckle shot into his upper arm. "Oh, shut up. That's still a win. MVP!” Atsumu called out. Hinata clinked their glasses together. 

An unfamiliar voice cut in from behind them. “Think you’re hot shit, huh?” 

Some guy, who went overboard with hair gel and only focused on arms day, stood glaring at Atsumu. “You're just a body on the court. You got play time because your team’s star setter is injured,” the drunk asshole spat out. 

Atsumu's eyes only narrowed slightly in response, but his comment hit a nerve. 

“Thanks fer yer input, but I don't recall ya bein’ on the line up,” he snarked. “So, why don't ya find somewhere else ta share yer thoughts while we celebrate our win.”

The guy fumed. “Who the hell do you think you are, asshole? You're lucky to have made the line up.”

“He got recruited by the last five winners of the Intercollegiate Championships,” Tsukki said, blandly. As if he couldn't be bothered by the interruption but found the inaccuracy in the guy's statement too bothersome to go uncorrected. 

Atsumu shot a triumphant smile at the rude stranger who, then, charged forward. Osamu shouldered himself between them before processing what was happening. He deflected the guy from making contact with either of them. This behavior was unacceptable generally, but aside from that. 

No one messed with Atsumu. 

Infamous Miya brawls notwithstanding. That was their constant proximity boiling over, couched in absolutes. 

They’d calm down.  They’d resume orbiting one another. They'd always have each other's backs. 

This was some prick coming in uninvited to pick at Atsumu’s insecurities. Despite his brother annoying the shit out of him since birth, he was the most important person in his life. Not that he would ever admit that out loud. 

But, still. They were a package deal. For better and worse. This guy needed to back off or he’d become very familiar with Osamu's worse. 

“Hey, cool it. Alright?” Osamu intervened. He stared the drunk idiot down to indicate that his suggestion was mandatory, not optional. 

The guy stepped back. Seemingly heeding his warning. Atsumu nodded to Osamu, relieved as he turned towards the bar. That’s when this fuckhead decided to try and deck his brother, fist formed and flying at the back of Atsumu’s head. 

Osamu reacted on instinct. He caught the bastard's punch mid-air and twisted his arm ninety degrees. Atsumu whipped around, eyes wide as the bartender gasped. 

“I thought I told ya to cool it,” Osamu said, evenly. A dangerous sort of calm that indicated he was about to lose any sense of civility about the situation. Osamu let go of the guy when he cried out at the strange angle his arm was bent into. Only for the dick to come at them again. 

Unreal. 

Releasing an irritated hiss between his teeth, Osamu kicked the barstool forward to trip the guy up. He lost his footing and Osamu shoved the fucker’s head forward with his own momentum. Osamu held him in place, squashing the right side of his face down against the stool. 

“I said–,” Osamu began. He leaned into the hold so the guy could see him. Since he attempted to scrabble away, Osamu was sure he looked as hostile as he felt. “–fuckin’ cool it. Go after my brother again and yer gonna hafta pick up yer teeth like candy, ‘cause I'm crackin’ yer mouth open like a goddamn piñata. Got it?”

The drunk moron went limp until security responded to the staff's call for help. They hauled him away, bowing excessively in apology. Osamu rolled his eyes as the guy tried to fight them, too. 

“MVP,” Tsukishima said, dryly. He raised his drink to Osamu. 

“That was awesome,” Hinata enthused. “You were like gah, phuh, hyah, and he went down.”

Atsumu shoved a glass of whiskey into his hands. “Here,” he mumbled, staring down at the counter. 

“Thanks,” Osamu said. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Ya wouldn't be on a team with Oikawa if ya weren't playin’ at his level,” he reminded him. “Stop thinkin’ so much. Yer gonna hurt yerself.”

Atsumu directed an elbow into Osamu's side. “Says the idiot who gave himself a migraine studyin’ fer exams.”

“I'm the brawn,” Osamu shrugged. 

“I can still kick yer ass,” Atsumu argued. 

“Since that guy bullied ya, I'll let ya have this one,” Osamu snorted. 

Atsumu made a face. “Yeah, well. I coulda handled it.”

Osamu nodded. “I know ya can, but ya shouldn’t have ta. Yer here to have fun, so go have it.”

Atsumu grinned and threw back his shot. “Gotta find Bokkun. He owes me gyoza ‘cause I nailed more than five service aces.” He squeezed Osamu's arm as he passed, fist bumping Aran who slid into his place. 

“Nicely handled,” Aran noted. 

Osamu shrugged. “Been in a scuffle or two.”

Aran snorted. “Yer ma told me she used ta wonder if she shoulda put ya in boxin’ instead ‘a volleyball.” 

“I ate glue as a kid, Aran. Think that made it clear I shouldn’t be put inta any kinda sport where I’d be getting my head rocked,” he noted. 

Valiantly, Aran attempted not to laugh. “I remember ya almost got kicked outta that zoo trip when ya tried ta put a poison dart frog in yer mouth,” he reminded. 

“I woulda done it, too,” Osamu insisted. “Ōmimi ratted me out.”

“Ah, well,” Aran said, shaking his head. “Ya turned out alright. Toast with me, yeah? Ya kicked ass, the team snagged another win, and that TA who was literally ruinin’ my academic life got put under review. All my work was regraded and I’m more than cleared ta keep playin’.”

Osamu clinked his glass to Aran’s. “That’s amazin’. Glad ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout that shit anymore.”

“Me, too,” Aran agreed, blowing out a long breath. 

Hinata hurtled to their side. “Captain! C’mon, the team is taking a victory shot together.” Aran let himself be ushered away, waving to Osamu. He watched everyone cheers to their hard work. A well earned drink. 

Osamu glanced up when he felt someone boring their eyes against the side of his face. 

The tip of Suna's tongue slipped between his lips, standing across the bar. He separated from the others and disappeared into the crowd. Based on the direction he went, the only path led to the restrooms. 

Osamu cycled through pretending he didn't care, convincing himself he wasn't going to follow after him, and ultimately deciding it couldn't hurt. He pushed through the bathroom door. Suna stood over the sink, water dripping from the tips of his hair. 

“Ya alright?” Osamu asked. 

Suna's gaze snapped to his through the mirror. “Yeah,” he said, glancing away. 

“Ya sure?” Osamu frowned.

Sighing, Suna looked back up, grey-green eyes blazing. “I saw you earlier,” he said. 

“Okay?” Osamu said. Suna's response was definitely meant to provide some type of answer. He paid more attention to his appearance. Suna held the counter in a tight grip, cheeks flushed. Oh. Seeing the way Osamu handled himself turned Suna on. 

Drying his hands, Suna stepped away from the sink. Only to lean back against it when Osamu inserted himself into his space. Suna made a quiet, throaty noise. 

“Ya liked that?” Osamu asked. Suna's eyes fell closed. He nodded.

They were standing so close that every choppy breath Osamu took brought him in contact with Suna. “How much?” he asked. 

Suna reopened his eyes. “More than I should,” he admitted. Shaking his head, Suna rested his cheek against Osamu’s shoulder. “I'm drunk,” he admitted. “So, we can’t–,” Suna trailed off. “I didn’t plan for this. Seeing you like that, again.”

Osamu carded a hand through Suna’s hair. “Like what?”

“Operating on instinct,” Suna said. “When you stop being careful because something else takes up all your concentration.” 

“Whattaya mean ‘again’? Ya’ve never seen me fight before,” Osamu said, tracing his fingers against Suna’s shoulder where he knew his tattoo was beneath the fabric. 

Suna tipped his head up. Eyes glassy, flush extending from his cheeks down. “I saw it when you were cooking, too,” he said. “And in the library. When something has your full focus and everything else fades away. It’s very fucking attractive, Osamu.” 

Osamu stepped back. Otherwise, he’d be tempted to pull Suna closer. 

Grey-green eyes swallowed him up, like no matter how long Suna looked at him would be enough. “I can't touch you this time,” Suna said, slowly. “But you can touch yourself.”

Osamu stuttered out a noise that was somewhere between a muffled moan and a whine. He should have known Suna’s words would find a way to cause trouble. They always did. Suna rested his palm flat against Osamu’s stomach, searing through the fabric.

“Would you do that if I asked? Put your hands on your cock and pretend they're mine?” he whispered lowly. 

Osamu clenched his fists at his side. “I do that without ya askin’,” he admitted. 

Suna's eyes dilated. “Would you show me?”

The reasonable response might be to ask when or where. Maybe there was nothing reasonable about this. Osamu's head was cloudy, so full of Suna, he didn't consider anything but doing exactly what he said. 

He slid a shaky hand down the front of his pants. 

“Fuck,” Suna whispered. “You–,” he cut off as someone walked into the bathroom.

Suna quickly shifted so they were no longer breathing in each other's space. His fingers spanned Osamu's lower back, pressing him forward towards the counter so Osamu could withdraw his hand undetected. He moved to leave, but paused at the door, glancing back at Osamu. Suna exited the room with a rueful smile. The random guy carried on, none the wiser.  

Osamu was at a crossroads.

He could adjust his pants and go back out once his boner subsided. Or. He could make a terrible decision. 

Abruptly, he turned and entered a stall. Once Osamu was sure he was alone, he shoved his pants down. He'd been hard from the minute Suna made that soft breathy noise, pretty eyes fluttering as Osamu pressed close. 

This wasn't the time or place to be standing with his dick in his hand, so he went straight to the point. Stroked himself steadily, the heat of Suna's palm still lingering on his skin. The dazed distraction in his usually keen gaze. The catch in his voice, the way his long fingers gripped the counter so tight the veins in his hands popped through. 

Osamu muffled his groan as he spilled over his fingers, wiping himself clean and flushing the evidence. He scrubbed at his hands and rejoined everyone out front. 

“Where ya been?” Atsumu asked. He raised another drink he'd ordered for him, the glass covered in condensation. 

“Bathroom,” Osamu said. Akaashi's eyes were way too focused on him. 

Bokuto had invited him out to celebrate. Osamu didn’t know which step of the plan that brought him to, but it seemed to be going well. “Bathroom,” Akaashi repeated. “All by yourself, handsome?”

“Yup,” Osamu confirmed. 

Akaashi studied him for another moment. “Your cheeks are sex glowy,” he countered. Then, he smirked. “Oh, you were serious. You solo jacked it at the izakaya.”

“I went to the bathroom,” Osamu maintained. 

Akaashi clocked the way Suna tossed back another shot. “Did he ask you to?”

“‘Kaashi,” Osamu sighed. 

Akaashi patted his shoulder. “I really missed an opportunity when we slept together not bossing you around. That's on me, though.”

“Does that regret keep ya up at night?” Osamu asked, dryly. 

He settled his eyes on Osamu. “Sometimes,” Akaashi admitted. 

“Wha–really?” Osamu asked. 

Akaashi nodded. “We're friends, but it's not like I forgot what you look like with your mouth around my dick. I think you'd really like cock warming, if you haven't tried it.”

Osamu nearly swallowed his drink wrong. “Ya can't just say things like that,” he said, looking around to check whether anyone overheard. 

“Am I wrong?” Akaashi asked. Very unbothered, considering his topic of conversation. “Imagine it.”

“I don't need ta,” Osamu objected, testily. “I know I'd like it.”

Akaashi smiled and patted his cheek. He flushed and made a tactical retreat to join Atsumu, Aran, Bokuto, Hinata, and Komori.  They played two rounds of pin pon pan before pausing as Bokuto insisted he misheard Atsumu because of his accent. 

“You're very relaxed,” Suna noted, as he joined their booth. He stilled then, an edamame pod hovering loosely in his grip once he took another look at Osamu.  

Suna raised a singular eyebrow in question. Osamu's ears went hot, but he nodded, a quick dip of his head. Threading the beans out of the casing with his teeth, Suna downed the rest of his drink. Then, he batted Atsumu's hand away from his vodka to throw that back, too. 

“Hey,” Atsumu protested. He clocked the expression on Suna's face and stopped mid-complaint to pat a hand over his shoulder. “Seems like ya needed that more than me.”

Suna didn't look back towards Osamu. He felt the irrational urge to catch his attention when Suna glanced at his phone. Something must have surprised him, because he nearly dropped it a moment later. He cleared his throat, eyes darting to Osamu briefly, then away again. Suna slipped his tongue between his lips before rising from the booth.

“I'm out. Need to delete Sims’ pool ladders.”

Atsumu nodded, as he waved, before his face contorted in confusion. “Wait, what?”

Suna didn't respond as he tapped at his screen, arranging a ride. 

“I'll make sure he gets off,” Akaashi assured, looking straight at Osamu as he spoke. He pretended not to hear him. 

Once Suna departed, Osamu sent a quick text. 

To: Project Partner 

u ok?

From: Project Partner 

all good just

From: Project Partner

too turned on to stay after finding out you couldn't wait and akaashi telling me you would ‘respond positively to the suggestion of cock warming’

To: Project Partner 

is nothin sacred

From: Project Partner

would you respond positively if I asked you to warm my cock in your mouth, osamu?

Osamu swallowed hard, grip tight on his phone. He made sure no one could see his screen as he responded. 

To: Project Partner

yeah 

To: Project Partner

have fun deletin pool ladders 

The next message that came through half an hour later was a picture of Suna's laptop. The screen displaying a Sims swimming pool. But the computer was next to Suna. On his bed. 

It wasn't close to a dick pic, by any means, even if Osamu felt his mouth go dry. 

The picture was taken from an angle that indicated he was laying down. Shirtless, even if all Osamu could see was the bare skin of Suna's shoulders. A jut of collarbones, the upper curve of his pecs. Thin silver chain links pooling against the base of his neck. Green-grey eyes fucking shimmering. His hand in the shot, fingers curled over the keyboard. 

Osamu was infuriated that this was the hottest photo he had ever been sent. Beating out actual nudes. 

Aran passed him a beer, catching a glimpse of his phone. They both blinked at each other in silence. “That's tasteful, actually,” Aran said, after a long moment. “I forget he models.”

Osamu covered his face and groaned.

“Hey, it's fine,” Aran assured. “I already knew he'd charmed ya. That time we went out fer yakiniku, I peeked outta the gym ta tell ya we’d be ready soon, but ya were busy givin’ him yer sweatshirt.” 

Osamu turned to him, affronted. “Then, why didja ask where it went?”

“Checkin’ how far in denial ya were,” Aran shrugged. “So, ya gonna send him somethin’ back?”

“No,” Osamu said, immediately. 

Aran took another drink of his beer. “Just gonna let him have the last word like that?”

Osamu glared at the table grain before hauling himself up. No sexting would be happening here. He wasn’t great at selfies, let alone sultry selfies. Osamu shoved his hands into his pockets and discovered a lollipop of questionable origin. Likely Atsumu. 

That worked. 

He stepped outside, sliding the lollipop into his mouth before taking a few quick pictures. No obscene cheek bulges or tonguing of the candy. Less was more. He hit send before he could think on it any longer. 

Osamu’s phone rang shortly after. 

Suna was calling him. Why was Suna calling him? 

“Hey?”

Suna hummed, the sound low. Reverberating against his ear. “What are your thoughts on phone sex?”

“I’m in public,” Osamu reminded him. 

Suna barked out a laugh. “I’d tell you what I am right now, but if you’re anti-phone sex, you wouldn’t want to hear it.”

“Ya can tell me,” Osamu said, after a moment. 

“I’m naked,” Suna informed him. “And I was touching my dick until you sent that. You and your fucking oral fixation. My hand didn’t cut it after that.” His breathing shifted, hitching slightly. 

“What does?” Osamu asked. 

“Prostate vibrator,” Suna said. His voice was so much grittier through the phone. “But I’m thinking about your mouth on me.”

Osamu bit at his lip. “Are ya gonna regret callin’ me once ya sober up?”

“I may be a little embarrassed,” Suna admitted. “But no. I'm not as drunk as before and I know you like my voice.”

He moaned then, rough and low. Osamu clenched his jaw. “Fuck.”

“See?” Suna teased. “I’ve been hard since you slid your hand into your pants in that bathroom. I thought I had it under control until I found out you were so turned on you couldn’t wait. That you pretended my hands were on your cock and it got you off. You’re so vocal during sex. Was it difficult staying quiet to make sure no one heard?”

“Yeah,” Osamu panted. 

“We’ll fuck somewhere you can be as loud as you want,” Suna promised. “So, I can hear how good you’re feeling.” 

Osamu crouched down. Buying some measure of plausible deniability if someone stepped outside. This way they wouldn’t notice his massive boner right away. “Yer such a dick,” he sighed. 

Suna laughed. “Am I making things hard for you?” 

“Ya always do,” Osamu muttered. 

“Mmmmm,” Suna hummed. “I won't for much longer tonight. I’m close,” he confessed. 

Osamu tried to take a breath, but it was shaky. “Can I see?” he whispered. 

Suna switched the call to a video and it was like a physical blow. There was a gleaming sheen of sweat clinging to Suna's bare skin. “What do you want to see, Osamu?” 

“Yer face,” Osamu said. “Wanna see yer face when ya come.”

Suna's eyes flickered towards the camera, mouth curving upwards. “You will,” he murmured. Head tipping back, Suna moaned. “I miss the marks you left,” he confessed. 

“They looked good on ya,” Osamu said, somewhat helplessly. 

“Yeah, you did,” Suna teased. “But I didn't just look at the marks. I pressed against them when I fucked myself.”

That image stalled him out. Osamu struggled to respond. “Oh,” he breathed. “Now, I just wanna put more on ya.”

Suna tipped his head back further, the column of his throat bobbing. “Fuck,” he grunted. Downturned mouth parting, Suna made a soft noise as he arched against the bed. Eyelashes blurring on screen, cheeks splashed with color. 

Osamu had never experienced anything that got his blood roaring like Suna's pleasure. Half-lidded, grey-green eyes glanced down at the screen as his tongue slipped between his lips. 

“I'm gonna go,” Osamu said, somewhat stilted. 

Suna hummed. “Oh, why’s that?”

“Mostly ‘cause lookin’ at ya right now might be enough fer me ta jizz my pants,” Osamu grumbled. Which, after he said it out loud, was something he realized should have been kept an inside thought. 

A lazy smile pulled at Suna's mouth. “You could go,” he agreed. “Or I could let you watch me lick the cum off my fingers.”

His dick throbbed painfully, pressing against his zipper. Osamu covered his face for a moment, breathing unsteadily.  “Would ya actually?” 

Suna brought his cum soaked hand into the frame. Long, crooked fingers dripping. “Is that what you want?” he asked, leisurely. Like he had all the time in the world to take a poll. 

Osamu glared at him through the screen. Suna only raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” he hissed between his teeth. 

Suna tipped his head to the side. Cum soaked fingers still in frame as it trickled down his wrist. “Yeah?” he asked, feigning confusion. “What is it exactly that you want?”

“Gimme a sec,” Osamu groused, way too turned on to be in a communal space and saying this shit out loud. He shifted his shirt to make his hard-on less obvious before beelining for the bathroom. Annoyed with himself for getting into this situation. He was never going to be allowed back into this place for being a deviant. 

Luckily, the restroom was empty as he locked himself into a stall. Osamu looked at his phone again once he got a hand around his cock. 

“Same stall?” Suna asked, clearly amused.

“No,” Osamu said. Eyebrows drawn together as he frowned at the screen. “This is fuckin’ unhinged,” he muttered under his breath.  

“Oh, for sure. I can't believe you're doing this,” Suna agreed, conversational as he sat up higher on his bed. More skin displayed on the screen. Osamu's hips jerked forward into his fist as he gazed at the tattoos winding down Suna's arms.

“So, you’ll have to remind me. What was it you wanted, again?” Suna asked. 

He was mad that even the teasing cadence of Suna’s words was enough for him to jerk it to. “Yer the one who suggested it,” Osamu muttered. 

“Suggested what?” Suna asked. As if he was genuinely unsure. 

Osamu meant to scowl at him. Maybe just close his eyes and get off to Suna’s voice. Instead, his mind went totally blank as Suna absently licked at the cum sliding down his forearm so it didn’t drip.

He bit at the inside of his cheek to stifle a moan. Struggling to regain an understanding of human language, Osamu made a pained noise. “I wanna watch ya lick cum off yer fingers,” he gritted out in a whisper. 

“Oh, why didn’t you say so?” Suna said. 

Osamu started to snark back before his mouth dropped open. Panting as he fucked into his fist at the sight of Suna gliding a cum soaked finger between his lips. 

A whine built up in the back of his throat. Suna shushed him gently and it only turned him on more. At the flash of tongue when Suna slipped a second finger into his mouth, Osamu shot off.

He cleaned himself up quickly. “Fuck,” Osamu muttered. “Fuck,” he repeated, glancing around the bathroom as he washed his hands like something here would give him away. The horny bastard who jacked off in the same public restroom twice in a night. 

“Hey,” Suna said, voice drifting from his pocket. “No one will know. It's all good.”

“Akaashi will know,” Osamu countered. He pulled his phone back out. 

“No one but Akaashi will know,” Suna amended. “Which doesn't count, because he's the Ghost of Slutmas. Past, present, and future.”

Osamu snorted on a laugh. He tried not to linger on the phone screen for long because he genuinely feared looking at Suna too long might get him going again. 

“What happened to your lollipop?” Suna asked, absently. 

Osamu blinked. That was a good question. “I think I bit it when I saw you were calling,” he recalled. 

“Strong teeth,” Suna commended. “Thanks for answering my call. We had a very productive conversation.”

Osamu flushed. “Don’t ya have pool ladders to delete?”

Suna grinned. “I'm on it. Later, Osamu.”

“Bye,” he managed. Distracted as Suna’s camera briefly dipped lower, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bone when he picked up his phone.

“You said bye, but your eyes aren't leaving,” Suna noted. 

Osamu made a face. “Yeah, well. As an objective, third party without any personal stake in the matter, yer insufferably nice ta look at.”

Suna winked. “An unbiased opinion from the man who had phone sex with me only looking at my face.”

He’d argue he also looked at Suna’s hand, but that hardly helped his case. “Weren't ya too drunk fer any ‘a this before? What happened ta that?”

“Didn’t stay drunk after walking around my building a few times and taking a cold shower,” Suna shrugged. 

“The cold shower helped a lot,” Osamu snarked. 

Suna shrugged. “Not when all I thought about was how eager you were to put your hands on your cock for me.”

Osamu rubbed at the back of his neck. “Okay, bye,” he said, abruptly hanging up while Suna laughed. 

He rejoined the team. 

It took less than three minutes for Akaashi to ease into his space. “Really nice bathrooms here?”

Osamu sighed. “He's too pretty, Akaashi. I'm doin’ my best.”

“Your best is some depraved behavior that qualifies why you match my freak,” Akaashi noted. 

Osamu huffed a laugh. “Gin asked me the other day if ‘not in a bed’ sex counted as kinky.”

“Just make sure you think it through,” Akaashi said. He reached over to fix the bits of hair Osamu mussed up. 

“Think what through? I told him it counted ‘cause he's been so determined ta find a way ta be kinky.”

Akaashi shook his head and smiled, fond. “What a kind liar you are. I meant this game you're playing with Rintarou. You already know whatever you’re doing with him isn't like it was with me.”

“Maybe it will be, but on a delayed release,” Osamu mused.  

“Release is hardly the problem,” Akaashi said, pointedly. 

Osamu sipped at his drink. “So, what part am I supposed ta think through?”

“Why he has this effect on you,” Akaashi said. 

Osamu considered every interaction he'd had with Suna. Sure, he was the prettiest person Osamu had ever met. A compelling mix of apathetic anarchy and quiet care. But that didn't explain why he responded to him the way he did. There had to be some reason. 

Akaashi probably already knew and this was his way of hand holding Osamu to the conclusion.

“Dunno,” Osamu shrugged. “Why?”

Akaashi finished off his martini. “You'll figure it out.”

“Will I?” Osamu asked, skeptical. 

Leaning forward, Akaashi dropped a kiss to the crown of his head. “I know that most of the time neither you or Atsumu claim ownership of the brain cell you share, but I believe in you.”

“Appreciate that,” Osamu nodded. 

“I'm here to help in only the most unhelpful of ways,” Akaashi assured. 

---

Osamu strode across the dark gym en route to the locker room. Faint strains of music slowed his pace. He wandered closer to the court where a lanky figure laid, sprawled across the floor. 

“Ya okay?” Osamu called over in concern. No response. “Hello?” Osamu prompted. 

The person sighed. As if hoping by remaining silent Osamu would have gone away. “I’m not injured,” a lilting voice responded. “Physically.”

“Not what I asked,” Osamu pointed out. He crouched beside him. “What’re doin’, Suna?”

Suna's head lolled to the side as he peered up at Osamu. “Taking a moment,” Suna said, breezily. 

“Alone? In the gym at night? Without any lights on?”

“I find it restful,” Suna assured. Osamu snorted, skepticism clear. 

After sighing again, Suna pressed the heels of his palms hard against his eye sockets. “You don't have to stay.”

Osamu remained where he was. “I don’t hafta,” he agreed. 

Suna kept his hands over his eyes. “You don't owe me one. I'm just–,” he trailed off. 

“Languishin’?” Osamu offered. 

“Fancy word,” Suna noted. “Very Keiji of you.”

Osamu crossed his arms. “Yer deflectin’,” he said. 

“Yeah, because you didn't sign up to deal with my mental breakdown of the week just because you happened to be in the gym at the same time as me,” Suna sighed. 

Osamu shot Suna a look he couldn't even see at the moment before sitting cross-legged on the ground.

“Alright, babes. What haunts ya?”

Suna's mouth tipped upwards. “Guess we're doing this.” He propped his head into the curve of his elbow. “The world seems to make sense to everyone else, like I don’t understand the rules, and they do,” Suna sighed. 

“Yer good at bendin’ the rules ta get what ya want,” Osamu said, nudging his knee against Suna’s ribs. 

Suna hummed. “Not when what I want is to go pro. I’m missing marks I should be hitting at a uni level. I’m not tall enough. I start slow. I don’t get how everyone is practicing the same way, but they’re making progress, while I’m standing still.”

“Like yer on a treadmill,” Osamu agreed. 

Suna blinked at him. 

“Like yer runnin’ and runnin’, but the track is looped, so yer goin’ nowhere fast,” Osamu said. 

Suna's eyes flickered across his face. “God, your brain is amazing.”

“Fuck off,” Osamu grumbled. He kicked his foot out at Suna's elbow. “I'm bein’ fer real.”

“So am I,” Suna said. “It's exactly what you said. I'm running in place. I've been running in place.”

Suna's knuckles were a little swollen on one hand where his fingers got jammed. Dark purplish bruising that splintered outwards. Osamu lightly touched where the tape wrapped around his knuckles.  

“Even if ya are, it's not a waste. Makes ya stronger. Builds endurance,” Osamu said. “And fuck the rest of it. Get so good they can't say shit about yer height or yer startin’ condition.”

Suna stared up at him.

“Keep runnin’. The ground'll stand still some time and when it does yer gonna be ready, Suna,” Osamu shrugged. 

Suna blinked at him. At a rate so rapid Osamu didn’t think people could open and close their eyes at that speed. 

“Ya good, there?” he frowned. 

“Yeah,” Suna said. “It's taking all my mental capacity not to cry.”

Osamu glanced down at him. “I can turn 'round,” he offered. 

Suna hiccupped, caught between a huff of laughter and tears. They sat together in comfortable silence broken only by Suna’s intermittent, quiet sniffles. Then, he took a deep breath. 

“Okay,” Suna said, slightly hoarse and waterlogged. “Today’s mental breakdown is concluded.”

Osamu’s eyes drifted back to him. He sucked in a sharp breath. Osamu didn't know why he was surprised. Of course, Suna was an unfathomably pretty crier. The tip of his nose and cheeks rosy. Sharp, grey-green eyes glossy with tears.

As if he went and stored constellations in his goddamn irises. 

Suna’s tear sheened eyes made him feel a little weird. Like he wanted to kiss both his eyelids and use the osmosis of his mouth to infuse Suna with fulfillment. A very normal, achievable thing. Osamu forced himself to stop looking at Suna, instead picking at a loose thread on his jeans.  

“You're good at pep talks, too,” Suna told him. 

Osamu shook his head. “I gave the same advice ya gave me, but with less cookin’ metaphors, ‘cause I don't think ya cook.”

“I don't,” Suna confirmed. “Unless pouring milk into cereal counts as soup.”

“Stop talkin’,” Osamu said, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Suna choked a laugh. Glancing down at him, Osamu wondered how much he'd projected onto Suna. Assuming his intent.  “Never woulda thought ya couldn't track the rules when ya live life like a chess match,” he pointed out. 

“I don't play chess,” Suna said, nose crinkled.  

Osamu stared at him in prolonged silence. “Ya don't play chess?” he repeated. 

All this fuckery about a masterclass chess match Suna was executing. The complicated moves and the butlers or bishops or whoever was on the damn board all for Suna not to be playing him like a chess match? 

Suna shrugged, his sweatshirt bunching up weird with the motion while lying down. “Nah, too structured. I know how, but I always preferred marbles.”

“I like marbles,” Osamu blurted out. He understood marbles. He didn’t understand Suna or this game they were playing. 

His ears turned red at the amused tilt of Suna’s mouth. 

Osamu coughed and cleared his throat. “We had the worst lookin’ marbles ya’ve ever seen, though, ‘cause I kept eatin’ the pretty ones.”

Suna pressed his lips together to prevent a smile. “Bet your mom was on a first name basis with poison control.”

“They still send holiday cards,” Osamu sighed. 

Suna impressively shifted into a seated position from his lazy sprawl without pushing a palm against the floor. His core strength was outrageous. Osamu kind of wanted to ask him to do it again so he could press a hand against his abdomen while he did. 

To feel the power shifting beneath Suna’s skin. 

“Why did you think I play chess?” Suna asked.

Osamu rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yer always lookin’ ahead, anticipatin’ how people will respond. Gettin’ ‘em inta the positions ya want ‘em in.”

“What a flattering take on my bullshit,” Suna said. He leaned in to peer up at Osamu. “Are you in position now?”

Osamu, very coincidentally, leaned back on his hands so Suna wasn’t close enough he’d be tempted to kiss him. Not that he planned to kiss Suna again. That was a one time thing. Probably.

“Dunno. Is this where ya want me?” Osamu asked. Clearly, he was still distracted. 

Suna tipped his head to the side and hummed an ambivalent response. “To be clear, I didn’t put you in position to play with me. You folded on your own. I just nudged the back of your knees on the way down.”

Osamu scoffed. “Yer so full of it.”

Suna smiled. The small, secret one. 

Osamu’s heart skittered. He wished his body got the memo that it didn't need to respond to Suna Rintarou like this. Standing, Osamu brushed off his pants. Pretended he wasn’t having a cardiac event over a pretty boy smiling at him. 

“I need ta grab Tsumu’s bag ‘cause he left it, again, but then yer comin’ with me,” Osamu instructed.

He walked off before Suna could respond. Osamu slung Atsumu’s duffle over his shoulder. He texted him next week’s grocery list adding in extra snacks as payment for his services. When he left the locker room, Suna still sat in the same spot, but now on his phone. Feeling more like himself, then. 

“Where to?” Suna asked, without looking up. 

Osamu held out a hand. Suna glanced up, sliding his phone into his pocket before he accepted the offer. 

His hands were familiarly calloused and solid, oddly warm. Accursed, beautiful fingers wrapped around Osamu’s palm. It sent a shiver all the way to his soul, which promptly exited his body. Osamu hauled Suna up more abruptly than planned. Off kilter being this close, touching him. 

“Whoa,” Suna said, steadying himself. 

His eyes dropped to Osamu’s biceps. Not that Osamu noticed. Or planned to think about it again later. More than once. Something about the darkness blanketing them in their own liminal space was getting to him. 

He really needed to get out of here. “Food,” Osamu said, starting for the exit. 

Suna fell in step beside him. “Should have guessed.”

“I almost gave ya my puddin’ cup,” Osamu told him. “That’s how sad ya were.”

Suna bumped their shoulders together. “It couldn’t have been that bad since you kept it.”

“It was,” Osamu contradicted. “It’s just that I forgot I already ate that puddin’ earlier,” he informed him. 

Suna barked out a laugh. 

Osamu held the door open to Mochyo, gesturing Suna inside when he paused with a raised eyebrow. “Such a gentleman.”

“’m gonna close the door on ya,” Osamu said. Suna’s mouth quirked up as he walked past. 

Mochyo closed soon, but not quite yet. Yahaba waved in greeting. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Toasted mocha latte,” Osamu ordered. “And whatever he’s gettin’,” he said, fishing out his wallet. 

Suna narrowed his eyes at him. “I will not accept pity coffee,” he said, in no uncertain terms. 

“But, Shigeru, I will accept whatever bakery you have leftover in the back and a French Vanilla Swirl latte.”

Yahaba looked between Suna and Osamu. “Sorry, Samu. Last week, I saw you help an auntie carry a large order down the street. Meanwhile, I saw Suna get a guy who was mean to Yachi’s car towed.”

“Did ya really?” Osamu asked Suna, impressed. 

He nodded. “I have a picture of her doing a double thumbs up as the guy yelled at the tow truck, too.”

“Lemme see,” Osamu said. As Suna pulled up the picture, Yahaba entered their orders and went to rummage up Mochyo’s kitchen rejects. 

Ikura strutted across the counter. He paused to slow blink at Osamu when he didn’t immediately reach for him, pawing at Osamu’s wrist. “Ya big baby,” Osamu murmured, as he scooped Ikura up. 

Beside him, Suna offered his hand for Ikura to sniff. He nudged his head into Suna’s palm, extending outwards to reach him without making any attempt to escape Osamu’s arms. 

“Hello, handsome,” Suna murmured, stepping closer to pet the store cat. He bent down and kissed Ikura on the forehead while gazing up at Osamu. Which was not connected, in any way whatsoever, to the fact that his heart slammed hard against his ribcage. 

In an effort to look anywhere but his eyes, Osamu’s focus dropped to Suna’s sweatshirt. Or, rather, his sweatshirt. 

“I thought ya promised ta give that back,” Osamu said, jerking his chin towards the Inarizaki logo emblazoned on Suna’s chest. 

Suna’s head tipped to the side. “Did you only notice I was wearing it right now?”

“The gym was dark,” Osamu defended. 

Sparing Osamu an eyebrow raise, Suna reached for the plate of assorted goodies Yahaba slid over before preparing their drinks. “I said I’d give it back. I never said when,” he noted. 

“Give it back now, then,” Osamu prompted. 

Suna shook his head. “Now doesn’t really work for me.” 

“Why not?”

“I don’t have anything on under it,” Suna said, glancing up at him. 

“How do I know yer not just sayin’ that?” Osamu asked, suspicious.

Suna could be telling the truth, but there was no guarantee. Not even a high likelihood because Suna treated obstacles like garnishes on everything he did. Before Osamu processed what kind of response his question might prompt, Suna already lifted the hem of the Inarizaki pullover up to his navel. Definitely no undershirt. Just bare skin and lean muscle. 

Osamu clutched Ikura tighter for some measure of comfort in these trying times. “Ya made yer point,” he said. 

Maybe he would have been better off focusing on his eyes. 

Suna hummed as he released the fabric. “I might have to give it back for a while, though,” he mused. Osamu refused to ask why. This was clearly a trap. 

“It doesn’t smell like you anymore,” Suna said, biting into a jam cookie, unbothered. As if he didn’t just scramble Osamu’s brain. 

Yahaba brought their drinks over before flipping the lock and turning the door sign to closed. “You have till I need to mop where you’re standing,” he called over, retreating into the back. 

Suna nudged the plate closer and Osamu took a croissant, plucking apart the flaky layers and popping them into his mouth. 

“Osamu,” Suna said. 

He looked up, Ikura draped across his arms as he dissected the pastry. “Yeah?”

“Close your eyes,” Suna said. 

Uncertain, but not unwilling, Osamu did as he was asked. He kept his mind blank, not even bothering to anticipate what Suna may do. After a moment, Suna’s broad palm rested against the back of his head. Lingering. Warm and sure.

Then, it was gone. 

Osamu opened his eyes. 

“See ya,” Suna said, before he grabbed his coffee and exited out the back. 

Osamu stared after him, baffled. He shook his head and resumed eating the croissant. “What was that, hm?” he asked Ikura. 

Yahaba pushed through the kitchen doors and dropped his elbows onto the counter, facing Osamu.

“So, you’re fucked,” he said, conversationally. 

Osamu paused in his chewing. “I’m startin’ ta think so.”

Yahaba ate one of the cinnamon dough twists. “That’s because you’re imperceptive.” 

“Coulda imperceptive person notice this?” Osamu asked, gesturing to where Ikura was unsuccessfully attempting to crawl into the kangaroo pocket of his fleece hoodie. 

Yabaha sighed and left to mop the kitchen. 

---

“Didja need ta get that?” Kita asked, tipping his head towards the pocket where Osamu’s phone lit up every couple of seconds. 

He shook his head. “Nah, it’s just Tsumu hasslin’ me ‘bout tonight’s match.”

Kita glanced up at him with a measured expression. 

“I’ll catch the recordin’,” Osamu explained. 

“Have ya gone to any ‘a his uni matches in person?” Kita asked. 

Osamu shook his head no. “Why not?” Kita asked. 

He paused, staring into the cloudy water. “It’s hard with my schedule–,” Osamu trailed off as Kita did that unearthly staring thing. As if he could see straight through every thought he’d ever had and knew he was hedging. 

“It’ll be the first time fer me at a game when I’m not on the court with him,” Osamu sighed. 

Kita reached out to squeeze a gloved hand over Osamu’s. “I’d like ta see Atsumu play,” he said, casually. As if that statement was unrelated to what they’d just talked about. 

Osamu huffed a laugh. “Yeah, alright. Ya wanna go see Tsumu set and not send me off ta the game like yer my fairy ricefather?”

“Let’s get goin’, riceson,” Kita said, smiling slightly. “Didja wanna head straight there?” 

Osamu glanced down at his muddy boots and the cotton shirt stuck to his chest. It was a last minute decision. He could just show up sweaty and throw on a hat. A terrible, goblin voice in the back of his mind, which sounded suspiciously like Atsumu, reminded him that if they were going to a match, Suna would be there. 

“I might wanna shower,” Osamu admitted. The words slow and uncertain. 

“Alright,” Kita said. He shook his head, amused. “I’ll rinse off quick. Then, we can stop by yer place so ya can get ready.”

“Thanks, Kita,” Osamu said. 

After they waded back to the house, he shot Gin a text inviting him to the game. Then, Osamu tidied up the supplies they'd hauled in with them. He took a seat while waiting for Kita when the front door opened as Kita’s friend, Akagi, assisted Kita’s grandmother inside. 

“Oh! Hello, dear,” Kita’s grandmother greeted. “It’s always nice ta see you here.”

Osamu hopped up and bowed to her. “It’s always nice bein’ welcome in yer home,” he countered. 

Akagi winked at him. “What a sweet boy, eh, obaasan?” 

“He’s lovely,” she agreed. “Are ya waitin’ on Shinsuke?”

“We’re goin’ ta Atsumu’s match,” he explained.  

Akagi perked up. “Yer brother plays fer Shimashita, right?”

“That’s where Osamu goes ta school, as well,” Kita said, collecting his wallet and jacket. 

Akagi bounced onto his toes. “Their record this year makes ‘em real contenders,” he enthused. 

“Didja wanna come, Akagi?” Osamu asked, entertained. 

Eyes wide, Akagi glanced between Kita and Osamu. “Can I?”

“If yer ready ta go,” Kita agreed. “We’ve got ta get inta the city and stop by Osamu’s before we head ta the game.”

Akagi ran a hand through his dark, spiky hair. “Glad I changed outta my student teachin’ clothes.”

Kita drove them into Tokyo and snagged parking outside the apartment. 

“Gin,” Osamu called out, startling him where he lounged on the couch as he rushed through the front door. “Kita and Akagi,” he introduced. “I’ll be ready in ten,” Osamu announced, while tossing the paddy gear aside for later. 

He showered quickly. Rummaging through his bedroom, Osamu rubbed a towel against his hair as he tried to find something decent to wear. He ended up tugging on a grey henley sweater and jeans from his ‘worn it before, so it’s not clean, but it’s not dirty’ pile. 

Stumbling as he put his socks on, Osamu caught the coat Gin tossed his way. 

“Ya look good, Samu,” Gin noted, amused. “Smell good, too. That cologne ya put on?”

Osamu’s ears burned. Then, they were out the door and en route to the train station. Not far into their walk, Gin grabbed Osamu’s elbow. He yanked him closer. 

“Samu,” Gin whispered. “Why didn’t ya warn me that Akagi is hot?”

Osamu pretended to spot something up in the sky. “Huh, what’s that, there? Payback?”

“Oh my God. I already apologized fer invitin’ Suna ta coffee,” Gin hissed. 

He laughed and nudged his elbow into Gin’s side. “Gonna be honest. I didn’t warn ya ‘cause I didn’t realize ya’d be inta him. Yer last handful ‘a dates have been real kawaii.” 

“That’s–that checks out,” Gin admitted. 

Kita slowed down in front of them. “This station?” he verified. 

“Yep!” Gin confirmed. 

The train ride was quick and painless. Then, they arrived at the stadium. 

Once filing in after the others, Osamu climbed upwards to find an open row. He took a seat and scanned the court to spot the blonde nuisance that was his brother. 

Atsumu stood chatting with Hinata, elbow bent by his ear as he stretched. Osamu held his fingers up to his mouth and whistled. The first note drawn out followed by two short bursts of sound. Atsumu’s head snapped around. He narrowed his eyes as he searched the crowd. 

When he caught sight of Osamu, a grin split across his face. He waved to Gin and Kita before getting pulled into a pre-game huddle. 

The match kicked off right after. 

Osamu forgot how different it was to watch a match in person. Anticipation thrumming, crowd cheering, refs shouting calls and blowing whistles, shoes squeaking, the impact of the volleyball on the court. A sequence of serves. Sets, bumps, spikes.

Seamless coordination and practice put into action. 

Atsumu was in fine form. Every time he touched the ball proved to be a masterclass in precision and execution. It would be infuriating to play against, but all Osamu had to do was holler when his brother nailed another service ace. 

Despite Oikawa’s limited playtime, his setting was something close to magic. Tailored and flawless. Aran’s aim and power resolute and consistent. Bokuto a force. Almost uncontrollable until he reeled it back just before he swung.

Hinata’s energy allowed him to be all over, including suspended vertically. Komori covered the court with an ease that came from assurance and a track record proving he’d get that ball up and where it needed to be. Tsukishima played smart. Tracking plays and not wasting time or effort on unnecessary leaps or blocks. 

Suna was. Suna was–

Completely unreadable. Only getting better as the game progressed. He gave no indication from his expressions or body language to project where he’d be at any given time. Suna’s instincts and game sense were internalized. Constantly observing and reassessing.

Then, he moved. 

Bending one way only to completely changed trajectories. Impossible to predict. The better the opposing player, the more complete his shut down.

“Wow,” Gin said, after Suna twisted horizontally mid-motion to block another attack. He made the conclusion noise. “Do ya think–,” Gin began. 

“Never had a thought my entire life,” Osamu said, cutting him off. Gin snickered. 

Akagi turned to them with wide, curious eyes. “Think ‘bout what, Gin?”

“Oh, uh,” Gin stammered. “Just teasin’ Samu.”

Kita leveled Gin with a searching gaze. “I think, theoretically, that kinda core strength and flexibility would make fer great sex.”

Osamu never understood how Kita managed to say things like that with an even keel. Gin’s cheeks went ruddy. “Ah, no. Look at that. Offsides? Let’s cheer them on,” he said, his words rushing together. Gin gestured emphatically to the ongoing game.

He cheered so loudly, it prompted Osamu to shout himself hoarse when Shimashita made a comeback to push the match to game five. 

Shimashita played well, but their opposition made them work for each point. Slowly wearing everyone down. Until Atsumu set cross court to Aran and he cannoned the shot out of reach for the libero. The stadium erupted.

Akagi jumped up and down, gripping Gin’s shoulders. “They did it! They won!”

“They won!” Gin enthused, despite the fact he was clearly frazzled. Kita smiled as he clapped. Osamu envied whatever enabled him to maintain that kind of inner calm. 

He jerked a thumb to the side and maneuvered out of the aisle, picking a path through the crowd. Atsumu crashed into him before he made it to the sidelines. 

“Yer here!” he yelled. 

“Ya noticed,” Osamu said. He laughed as Atsumu half hugged, half asphyxiated him. When he loosened his grip, Atsumu’s eyes were slightly damp. 

“Yer here,” he repeated, more warbled. 

“Yeah,” Osamu said, with a sigh. He tugged Atsumu back in and patted the side of his head. “Don’t let Gin see ya cryin’. He wanted ta put money down.”

Atsumu snorted an ugly sound. “‘m not cryin’,” he insisted. “That’s sweat in my eye.” 

“Uh-huh,” Osamu granted, now patting Atsumu’s back. 

Then, someone let out a delighted noise nearby.  “Oh, honey. The twins are here!” 

They blinked at each other. That was a familiar voice. A voice from home. “Okaasan!” Atsumu greeted, pulling Aran’s mother into a hug. 

“Hello, boys,” she smiled, hugging Osamu next. “It’s great ta see ya.”

Osamu smiled as she ruffled his hair. “Didja come in just fer the game?” 

“I made a day outta drivin’ my sister ta the airport. Aran met me for an early dinner before the game,” she explained. “Gosh, look at ya two. Seems like just a day ago ya were jumpin’ off my couch, but now yer so tall and ya both grew inta yer eyebrows.”

Atsumu subconsciously raised his hand to his forehead. 

“Mamajiro!” Gin called. 

“Gin,” she enthused, embracing him, too. “My goodness. We need ta get a photo of all ‘a ya. Aran, honey, c’mere.” 

She arranged them into the same poses they’d been in during a photo taken after Aran graduated grade school. Gin dropped down into a squat with a peace sign while Osamu and Atsumu bent down, arms draped over each other’s shoulders. Aran stood over top, surrounding all three of them in a massive bear hug. 

“‘m sendin’ this ta all ‘a ya and yer parents. Then, framin’ it next ta the old one,” Aran’s mother cooed. 

Osamu stepped back when someone moved to catch her attention. He nearly bumped right into Suna. While Osamu had planned to say something, no words came to mind. 

Suna was always pretty.

Right now, he was also flushed. Sweaty. Despite his expression remaining impassive, his eyes were bright, buzzing from the energy of their win.

Too much time passed for his lack of response to be remotely normal. The window for staring without speaking was a limited one. Osamu needed to gain momentum. Get himself out of this. He could congratulate Suna or say something about his blocking. 

“Working good,” Osamu said.

He could, also, blurt out something stupid. 

Suna cocked his head to the side, withholding a laugh. “Want to try that again?”

“No,” Osamu sighed. “Take it or leave it.”

Suna shifted closer to get out of the way as Kita approached Atsumu. “I’ll take it,” he murmured lowly. “Thanks, I think.”

Distantly, Osamu was aware that Kita offered his congratulations with a small smile while telling Atsumu he did an excellent job. That his brother got sparkly over the compliment. 

All he could actually focus on was Suna’s proximity. He stood close enough that Osamu could smell the salt on his skin mixed with whatever clean scented deodorant he wore. So close, he could see sweat beading down the back of his neck. 

He wanted his mouth on Suna so bad his teeth ached. Osamu swallowed hard. 

“Suna, dear! It’s been a while,” Mama Ojiro greeted, kickstarting his brain back into gear. “Yer so much fun ta watch on the court with all yer bendin’ and twistin’,” she said. 

Suna bowed in greeting. “I’m glad to hear you think so,” he said. “It’s nice to see you, again.”

She patted his elbow fondly. “Oh! Samu, have you met Suna?”

“We’ve met,” Osamu confirmed. 

Suna glanced at him sidelong. “I have to confess,” he said, lowering his voice as he spoke to Mama Ojiro. “I’ve been trying to get closer to Osamu since the beginning of term with limited success.” 

She laughed, wrapping an arm around Osamu’s shoulders. “Ah, promise ya won’t give up. He’s a tougher nut ta crack than Tsumu, but he’s worth yer effort. I always enjoy havin’ him ‘round our place.”

“Okaasan,” Osamu mumbled, ears turning pink. 

“I only speak the truth, dear,” she said, squeezing him once more before someone else flagged her down. Aran waved Suna over and Kita stepped beside Osamu with a contemplative hum. 

“I assume that boy with the flexible torso is the reason ya wanted ta shower,” he noted. 

Osamu rubbed at his forehead. “Kita-san.”

“Ya look real nice,” Kita assured. 

Akagi popped up with a mysteriously acquired bucket of popcorn. “Samu, yer so stinkin’ cute, all flustered.”

“Is it time ta head out?” Osamu asked, checking his wrist despite not wearing a watch. 

Komori halted to a stop beside them. “Hold up. Y’all are coming to the party, right?”

“Hey, Komori,” Osamu said, slapping their palms together and patting him on the back. “Ya were on fire out there.’

“Thanks!” Komori beamed. “But if you call me by my surname one more time, I will lose my shit.” 

Osamu laughed. “Alright. Ya liberoed like a pro, Motoya ,” he amended. 

“I did,” Motoya agreed. “Which is why you have to celebrate with this pro-level libero at the party.”

“We weren’t invited ta any party,” Osamu hedged. 

Motoya waved off his concern. “Post-game ragers don’t come with official invites.”

Osamu made an ambiguous noise. “Yer gonna wanna get back home, prolly. Right?” he directed to Kita and Akagi. 

“No way,” Atsumu objected, interjecting himself into the conversation. “Yer all comin’ ta the party. I’ve finally got both ya and Gin outta our apartment, I haven’t seen Kita since we started school this year, and I like Akagi.”

Akagi gave him a thumbs up as he crunched on his popcorn. “Big same, bro.”

“I don’t mind,” Kita offered. Akagi gave another thumbs up. 

Gin glanced between them all. “I guess we are already out,” he granted. 

Which is why, an hour and a half later, Osamu stood in a stranger’s house holding a beer. At a post-game party. He’d been chilling with Kita the whole time, so it was fine. But, still. It was the principle of the thing. 

“Wish my ricefather woulda told the other kids I wasn’t allowed ta have a playdate,” Osamu grumbled. 

Kita raised his eyebrows. “I’m not a mind reader.”

“Do I seem like a party goer?” Osamu asked, eyebrows raised.  

“Maybe not,” Kita agreed. “But, I decided ta be selfish, ‘cause I wanted ta hang out with ya more.”

Osamu paused for a moment. “Yer playin’ dirty.”  

“I’m merely expressin' my feelings on the matter,” Kita contradicted, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

He tapped his beer to Kita’s glass. “Stoic man tellin’ me we’re friends got me grinnin’ and shit.” 

Kita laughed, eyes sliding to the left. In the next moment, Aran trapped Osamu in his embrace. “Samu,” he said, swaying them both back and forth. “I’m so happy ya came ta watch us play.” 

Osamu patted Aran’s forearms where they crossed over his chest as he had yet to let him go. “Me too, buddy.”

Kita covered his smile with the glass. 

“My ricefather convinced me ta go,” Osamu explained. “Have ya met Kita yet, Aran?”

Aran reluctantly let him go, shaking his head. “Kita, this is Ojiro Aran,” Osamu introduced. “Shimashita team captain and my grade school senpai.”

“Pleasure ta meet ya. I'm fond ‘a Samu, but seems yer far ahead ‘a me there. Ya gotta good heart, stayin’ this close with the twins all these years, Ojiro-san,” Kita said. He bowed his head. The silver of his hair glowing bright but for where it darkened at the edges. 

Aran looked a little bowled over. “Oh, uh. Ya can just call me Aran. I was kinda doomed from the start with those two. The twins were real cute when they were little. Cute enough that all the bickerin’ turned ta background noise.” 

He reached over and scrubbed his knuckles against Osamu’s head. 

Osamu slowly edged away to let the two of them chat. There were tons of people milling around. He kept a wide berth around the room with loud, thumping music and dancing. Osamu was not drunk enough for that shit. 

He tried finding somewhere to sneak away to, but the place was packed. Not even the dark corners were safe. Which he discovered very quickly. When he stumbled across Tsukishima making out with a freckled, green haired boy. 

“You saw nothing,” Tsukki said. His eyes narrowed at Osamu behind the frames of his glasses. 

“Tsukki,” the green haired boy laughed. He tugged on his sleeve. “You won’t tell, will you?” he asked Osamu. 

“Nothin’ ta tell,” Osamu said, already walking off. 

“Osamu,” Tsukki called after him. 

He paused, turning back around

“There’s this unmarked jazz cafe that serves a rotating menu based on local produce you’d probably like. I’ll send the directions. You can get my number from the team group chat,” Tsukishima said, nodding his thanks. 

Osamu nodded back.

He somehow discovered three different living rooms, a sunken space full of only lighted statues, and a closet the size of his apartment jam packed with shoes. At the end of a second floor hallway, Osamu spotted a balcony. He slid the door open, pausing when he found Suna with his legs hung over the ledge. Extra cozy in an oversized, acid wash sweatshirt. 

Suna spared Osamu a glance before making space. 

He dropped down beside him with a sigh. “Ya hidin’, too?”

“This place is further out of the city,” Suna shrugged. He tipped his chin towards the sky. 

Osamu peered upwards and blinked, startled. “Oh,” he said. “I kinda forgot there are stars up there behind the light pollution.” 

“Are they visible when you’re home?” Suna asked. 

He nodded. “Yeah, with the mountains so close. We got tons ‘a lookouts near our house.” 

Suna offered Osamu the joint he hadn’t even noticed between his fingers. 

“I’ve taken edibles and gummies but never smoked,” he admitted. 

Suna took a hit. Full mouth opening to release a flood of smoke. “No pressure. Makes sense you'd prefer to eat your weed.”

“Tsumu looked like that coughin’ cat meme fer twenty minutes first time he smoked,” Osamu said, rationalizing most of his hesitation. While hilarious to witness, that was not something he wanted to experience. 

The corner of Suna’s lips lifted. “I could control how much you breathe in, if we shotgunned. Make sure you only get a little to try.”

“If we what,” Osamu frowned, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Shotgunned,” Suna repeated. “I’d breathe it in, then blow the smoke into your mouth,” he explained. 

Osamu’s brain supplied the image and his face flushed. “Ya just made that up,” he mumbled. 

“It’s 100% a thing,” Suna said, shaking his head. “But, there’s a compliment in there. That you think I’m so capable of making shit happen.”

Osamu glanced from Suna’s pretty face, backlit by the skyline at night, to the blunt held between deft fingers. “Show me how it works. Let's see how capable ya are,” he said. 

Suna eased into his space. He rested the blunt between his lips and inhaled. Deep and steady. Then, he slid a hand against Osamu’s jaw, tipping his head back. 

Osamu’s mouth opened under Suna’s. Lips barely touching. Situated just right for Suna to slowly exhale.

Warm, hazy smoke spilled between them. 

“Breathe,” Suna reminded. 

Mouth grazing his, plush and warm. Attentive. Suna kept paying attention to him. Osamu didn’t know what to do about that.

He sucked in a shaky inhale, stinging smoke coating his throat. A weird, scratchy tickle, but nothing overwhelming. 

“Good,” Suna murmured, low and satisfied. Heat crawled up Osamu’s spine, a shivery desire to make him sound like that again. To make him sound like that always. 

Suna sat back, green-grey eyes scanning over Osamu. “Feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Osamu said, hoarsely. “I can do another.”

When Suna leaned forward to align their mouths after taking another hit, Osamu automatically brushed his lips against Suna's. Shifting his touch, Suna hooked a thumb alongside the hinge of Osamu's jaw to ease it open. The smoke unfurled between them once Osamu let Suna part his lips. 

He breathed it in. 

Suna looked distinctly amused as he drew back. “Shut up,” Osamu grumbled. 

“I didn't say anything,” Suna pointed out. 

“Yer face did,” Osamu said. 

Suna shrugged. Osamu waved away the offer of another hit. Too risky having Suna this close to him when his eyes reflected starlight. 

“How high are ya?” Osamu asked, the words out of his mouth before he meant to say them. 

Suna raised an eyebrow. “A little buzzed. Why?”

“No reason,” Osamu said. 

“No?” Sunas asked. “You sure?”

Osamu glanced away.

“How much have you had?” Suna asked. 

“A beer when I got here,” Osamu said. “Plus this,” he gestured vaguely to the blunt in Suna's hand. 

“Should I take another hit?” Suna asked, indicating the joint. Embers burning faintly. 

“Why ya askin’ me?” Osamu frowned. 

“Because you're the one eyeing my mouth,” Suna said. “And if you want it on you, I won't keep smoking.”

“Oh,” Osamu said. 

They stared at each other for a beat. “So. Should I take another hit, Osamu?” Suna asked. 

“No,” Osamu said. 

Suna nodded, then rose to his feet. “I'll pass this off, then.”

He disappeared through the sliding door and Osamu rubbed at his face. Everything felt a little slower, stickier, like cotton candy. Not like when he’d gotten high before. It was softer somehow. Murkier. Like if he dunked his head in water he’d come out the other side. 

“Here, ya left this on the rail,” Atsumu said, suddenly there or maybe the door had opened again. Osamu wasn’t sure. He blinked up at him. 

“Melon soda,” Atsumu clarified, placing it in Osamu’s hands when all he did was continue staring. 

“Amazin’,” Osamu noted. He inspected the colors on the can. “Did ya track my phone?”

“Even if I texted ta figure out where ya went, this house is a maze,” Atsumu defended.

He took a drink from whatever he had in his glass before sitting beside him. “Since when did ya start smokin’ yer weed?” Atsumu asked, nose twitching as he picked up the scent. “Ya always go on ‘bout how ya prefer ta bite inta somethin’.” 

“Since Suna offered to blow the smoke inta my mouth,” Osamu answered. A little too honestly. 

Atsumu coughed, spluttering on his drink. “Ya shotgunned with Sunarin?”

“So, it is a thing,” Osamu mused. 

“Ya didn't know fer sure if it was a thing and ya still let him do it?” Atsumu judged. “Fer real, Samu. Get up.”

Osamu took a sip of soda, electing to ignore him. 

“Guess that explains why ya put on yer slutty henley fer the game,” Atsumu said, nose wrinkling for a different reason. 

“It's a normal top,” Osamu protested. 

“Yer normal, tight fittin’ top with three undone buttons,” Atsumu scoffed. “Yer tryin’ ta get some.”

“I’m gonna get some,” Osamu corrected.

Atsumu made a face as his phone lit up. “That's the team takin’ bets on whether Aran'll make a move on Kita,” he explained. 

Osamu snorted. “Tonight?”

Atsumu grinned in return. “I know, I'm waitin’ fer the pool ta grow before I join in.”

“Remember that girl he crushed on durin’ middle school?” Osamu asked, shaking his head.

“Took three months fer him ta work up the nerve ta ask if she'd come watch us play. Then, she showed up on her own before he could,” Atsumu laughed. 

Osamu smiled, remembering how Atsumu ended up tripping Aran in front of her after the match so they had an opportunity to talk. “Aran ain't makin’ any kinda move on Kita when they just met,” he agreed. 

Atsumu hummed, finally responding to the group chat. “When I win, let's do the obstacle course by that new place with the rice bun burgers.”

“And get rice bun burgers?” Osamu confirmed. 

“Fer sure,” Atsumu nodded. 

Osamu raised his knuckles and Atsumu bumped their fists together. They both opened their palms, slapping them together once to flip them again before fist bumping on top. Then, they snapped their fingers and tipped their thumbs out opposite ways. All without Atsumu looking up from his phone. 

He took another sip of soda. 

“Didja see how well I played tonight?” Atsumu needled. 

“Ya play well every night,” Osamu said, tongue a little looser than normal. He snapped his jaw shut. 

Atsumu grinned, so bright with happiness it almost radiated off of him. “‘bout time ya finally showed up.”

“It was alright,” Osamu deflected. Embarrassed he’d slipped up and expressed actual affection.

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “I was awesome and ya had fun, admit it.”

“It was alright,” Osamu repeated, laughing when Atsumu nudged an elbow into his ribcage. He stared down at his soda. “Yer doin’ alright out there on yer own, Tsum.”

Atsumu snapped his head towards him. “Oh,” he said. “That’s why ya haven’t come? ‘Cause ya didn’t wanna see me play from the stands instead ‘a the court?”

Osamu shrugged. 

“Why are ya like this?” Atsumu complained. “Emotionally constipated but yer heart is all soft and squishy.”

“Abandonment issues,” Osamu intoned. 

Atsumu choked on a laugh and clinked their drinks together. “Ya and me both. We should start high fivin’ every time we come home after we’ve said we’re goin’ ta pick up milk.” 

“A win is a win,” Osamu agreed. 

Atsumu grinned before glancing down when his phone buzzed. He frowned at whatever he saw.  

“I asked Omi where he was a while ago ‘cause Toya invited him, but he hasn’t responded. I've been wantin’ ta talk ta him all night,” Atsumu grumbled. 

“I could trip ya in front of him,” Osamu offered. 

Atsumu seriously considered the suggestion. “It did work out fer Aran,” he mused. “But nah, if I tried that, pretty sure Omi'll just call me stupid and make that ‘eugh’ face. Ya know, where his nose sorta scrunches and his mouth gets all pinched?”

“I know,” Osamu nodded. “And he would. Ya can prolly find Kiyo hidin’ somewhere with Kenma.”

Atsumu perked up. He held out his drink as a thank you. 

Osamu shook his head. “Soberin’ up fer a bit.”

“After all that talk ‘bout lettin’ loose once ya finished last week's exams?” Atsumu asked, eyebrows raised. The door slid open as Suna stepped out. Atsumu narrowed his gaze at him. 

“Hey, Atsumu,” Suna greeted with a smirk. 

Atsumu shifted his focus back to Osamu. “So bad ya look stupid,” he reminded, in a badly hushed whisper. 

Osamu rolled his eyes and continued drinking his soda. 

“Did you track down Kiyo yet?” Suna asked, glancing up from his cell. 

“No,” Atsumu groaned. 

Suna tipped his head towards the balcony. “He’s out by the pool.” Within seconds, Atsumu was up and gone with a wave, sparing a shouted farewell.  

“Nice,” Osamu commended. “Now, ya just gotta hope Kiyo ain't feelin’ vengeful today.”

Suna came closer, resting his elbows on the balcony railing. “He doesn’t suffer in silence. If he’s still here, he’s having a good time.”

“At least he was,” Osamu said. 

With a slight smile, Suna tipped his head to the side as he peered down at Osamu. Studying him. “How are you doing?”

“‘m fine,” Osamu shrugged. 

Suna hummed. “Where are we?” he asked. 

“Some house party,” Osamu said. “I couldn’t tell ya whose ‘cause Tsumu didn’t say.” 

“Who am I?” Suna asked. 

Osamu turned towards him, eyes narrowed. “Ya just wanna make me say yer name.”

“We’re not doing this if you’re out of it,” Suna countered.

Which, okay, was more than fair. He blew out a long breath, looking away as he said the words. “Suna Rintarou,” Osamu mumbled. 

Suna exhaled an amused huff of laughter. “Is this a second attempt to shake off your shyness?”

“No,” Osamu said. Clearly, that plan had flopped. He didn’t need a take two to realize that much. 

“No?” Suna asked, archly.

Then, his pretty fingers were in Osamu’s field of vision. He held out a glass of water in offer. Osamu parted his lips without a second thought. 

“Oh,” Suna said. So quiet, Osamu barely heard him.

He brought the glass to Osamu’s mouth and tipped the liquid out. Osamu drank it all. He couldn’t look anywhere but up at Suna as he swallowed. 

“Good boy,” Suna praised, tapping his fingers against Osamu’s flushed face. 

He turned away from the contact. “I’m not lettin’ ya Pavlov me.”

Osamu pulled his bottom lip into his mouth to keep himself from saying anything more because he didn’t trust himself to hold to that. Applying enough pressure for the skin to sting. 

Suna’s long, crooked fingers loosely curled around Osamu's jaw before he tipped his chin towards him. He dragged his fingertips where Osamu trapped his lip between his teeth and thumbed it loose.

"No? Don't you want to be a good boy, Osamu?" he asked, tone soft and steely in one. 

"I–," Osamu trailed off. His breathing picked up. 

Suna tipped Osamu's head back further, leaning in close. "You will, won't you? Be good for me?" he asked, lips grazing against the shell of his ear. 

Osamu stilled. "Fuck," he said, shakily. He ground his teeth together. “I can’t stand ya.”

“Then, don’t stand,” Suna murmured. “Get on your knees.”

Slowly, heart pounding in his throat, Osamu remained where he was. Head still tilted back. Was he really just going to let Suna tell him what to do? Move him around the board like he was some kind of game token. 

He had plays of his own to make. There were two players in this game. 

But, then, Suna’s fingers trailed down Osamu’s throat. He’d changed up his eyeliner today. Some shimmery, metallic color Osamu couldn’t quite pinpoint without more light. Any sort of counter tactic exited his brain at the way Suna’s eyes gleamed combined with the touch of his fingertips against Osamu’s Adam’s apple.

He shifted to kneel in front of Suna. 

Inhaling sharply, Suna cupped Osamu’s face in his hand. “Very good.”

Everything about him felt like it was on fire. The blood rushing through his veins, the air hitting his lungs. Burning. 

He wasn’t sure how long he kneeled on the balcony, distracted by Suna’s focus on him. All he knew is that the haze of the weed slowly abated until all he felt was the desperate need to touch Suna. Osamu shifted, now aware of the ache in his kneecaps. 

“C’mon,” Suna said, softly.

He offered a hand to help him up. Osamu tried not to think about the press of Suna's rings against his hand. How his calloused skin was worn rough but still smooth, somehow. 

Osamu stood and finished his melon soda before following Suna. Fingers loosely tangled together. Which worked fine for him because the house was massive, Osamu had no idea where to go. Suna led him through hallways until there were fewer people, less noise. 

Then, they were inside a guest bathroom. Door locked. 

“Now, what? Hm?” Suna asked.

He leaned against the counter, hands curled over the ledge. “Will you tell me what you want?”

Osamu trailed his fingers against the line of Suna’s collarbone. His shoulders spanned wide. Waist tapered. Hidden beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Wanna see ya,” Osamu said, preoccupied with the way Suna’s pupils expanded. Sharp, angled face turned up towards Osamu. “Can I see ya?”

With a small hum, Suna shrugged out of his sweatshirt before discarding his pants. “Everything?” 

“Yeah,” Osamu said, voice catching slightly as Suna slid his briefs down. Cock already fully hard. 

He was fucking beautiful.

Naked, but for the thin, silver necklace draped across his collarbones. Suna’s tongue slipped between his lips. A tell. 

“Can I kiss ya?” Osamu asked. 

Suna snagged a finger through Osamu’s belt loop and pulled him closer. “Please,” he said, eyes bright and mischievous. 

He definitely noticed what that did to Osamu the last time he said it. That effect was magnified by their proximity, by Suna’s uncovered skin beneath his hands. 

Osamu’s mouth grazed Suna’s. A tease of a kiss. 

Suna slid his hand to the back of Osamu’s neck, drawing him in. Fingers gripping his hair tight. 

The kiss shifted. 

A slick, steady increase of heat. 

Suna nipped at his bottom lip and Osamu jolted, moaning into Suna’s mouth. He stepped back just enough to unbutton his pants. Tried not to let it show badly his hands trembled. How much he wanted this. Osamu pushed his pants down and off, along with his underwear, before stripping away his top. 

Suna’s eyes trailed down his body. Gaze so heavy, Osamu could almost feel it. 

“You looked handsome in your outfit tonight,” Suna noted. 

Osamu flushed. He knew he made the right call with that henley.

Suna leaned over, rummaging through his pants pocket to pull out a lubricant pack. “Keiji gave me this when I handed off the blunt,” he explained. 

“‘Course he did,” Osamu said, with a laugh. He plucked the packet from Suna’s hand. “What are we doin’ with it?”

Suna’s grey-green eyes flickered back down Osamu’s body. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“Why are ya not askin’ me to do somethin’?” Osamu asked, suspicious. “Thought I was supposed ta be good for ya?”

The curve of Suna’s mouth tipped upwards. “That's the thing. You’re always good for me,” he said, lowly. It made that familiar heat rush through Osamu's veins. 

Very telling if Osamu stopped to think about it. Which he wasn’t. 

“You admitted you wanted to hook up and the second we got alone, you asked to see me naked. I’ll let you keep the initiative,” Suna told him. 

Osamu ripped the packet open with his teeth. 

“Alright,” he said, pouring the gel out into his hand. “If yer on board, the initiative is ta get ya ta fuck my thighs.”

Suna’s grip on the counter tightened, swallowing hard. 

He glanced up at Suna. “Are ya on board?” Osamu asked.  

“Yes,” Suna agreed. 

“Thought ya might be,” Osamu said, spreading lube on the inner contours of his legs.

Suna wrapped a pretty hand around Osamu's right thigh. “That's because your thighs represent how reliable you are,” he said, squeezing his leg as he spoke. Slow and purposeful. 

“They're strong,” Suna continued. He spread his fingers wide, palming Osamu's ass. Suna's hand was so big, he could press into the sensitive skin of his inner thigh at the same time. 

“And sexy,” Suna said. He traced the vein up Osamu's leg to the vee of his hips, crooked fingers trailing the path with clear intent.  

“Gorgeous, Osamu,” he murmured.

Osamu's breath hitched. 

“Like you,” Suna whispered, nipping at his ear. 

Osamu's stomach swooped, warmth spreading through his entire body. He tried to squash the sensation, while smearing a generous amount of lube on Suna’s cock. 

His wet grip tight as he pumped him. Once. Twice. Three times. Until Suna’s eyes fluttered at the glide of Osamu’s hand. 

Then, he let go and shifted back. 

Gripping both sides of Suna’s waist, Osamu tilted him higher onto the counter. Eliminating any space between their bodies. Suna’s cock nudged against his legs. 

A solid line of scorching heat. 

“Seein’ ya out on the court is a thing ‘a beauty,” Osamu said. The words falling from his mouth. That post-game compliment finally formulating. 

Suna huffed a laugh. “Yeah?”

“It’s clever. How ya map it all out in yer head,” Osamu said. “Every move ya make has a purpose.”  

He created enough room for Suna’s dick to slip between his thighs, then pressed his legs together.

Suna made a soft breathy noise. “I might have been showing off,” he said, resting the width of his palm against Osamu’s lower back. 

Osamu raised his eyebrows. “Were ya?” he laughed. 

“A little,” Suna confirmed. 

Osamu tensed the muscles in his legs as he guided the roll of Suna’s hips. “Fer me?”

“Yeah,” Suna said, as he slid between his thighs. Slow and deliberate. The sensation made Osamu keen before he bit his lip to stifle the noise. 

“You’re making me feel so good,” Suna whispered. Osamu, meanwhile, felt like he was falling apart from the inside out.  

“Why are you shaking?” Suna asked, amused. 

Osamu squeezed Suna’s waist. “Ya know why.” 

“Do you feel good, Osamu?” Suna asked. Voice velvety and alluring. 

Osamu managed a semi-delirious nod. 

“Will you let me hear how good you feel?” Suna asked. 

Osamu arched as Suna fucked between his thighs, his moan shattered. 

“Just like that,” Suna encouraged. His next thrust prompted a throaty, imploring cry from Osamu. His focus drifting to Suna’s face in the mirror. 

“What are you looking at?” Suna asked, green-grey eyes glazed but still curious. 

“I can see yer reflection,” Osamu admitted. Suna’s piercings caught the light as he moved, glittering and sharp. 

“I want to see you, too,” Suna panted. 

Osamu kissed him, quick and light before moving. He grabbed the edge of the countertop and bent over. Suna's hands skimmed against his hips. Osamu pressed back and Suna massaged the heel of his palms down before he squeezed his ass with both hands. 

The pressure took the air out of Osamu's lungs. 

“You're so sturdy,” Suna commended. 

He traced a finger down the line of Osamu's thigh, then back up. Along his side, across his shoulders, splaying his hand against Osamu’s chest. “Broad everywhere.”

“Makes me want to sink my teeth in,” Suna said. “Feel how solid you are with my mouth.”

Osamu dropped his head lower, hiding his face as he clenched his jaw to keep from begging for it. He kept his thighs together, spine arching as Suna slid back between them. Suna kept one hand anchored on Osamu's hip. The other threaded through his hair to ensure Osamu's gaze remained on the mirror. 

“Keep watching,” Suna murmured.

He thrusted between his legs, fucking Osamu’s thighs in a way that dragged his cock upwards, iron hot. Seeing it while feeling it was almost too much. 

Osamu gasped for air as sweat dripped down his body. He nearly folded when Suna dragged his mouth over Osamu's slick skin, smearing the drops with his tongue. 

Suna’s teeth grazed the base of his neck. Osamu’s arms temporarily gave out.

“Ya can bite me,” he gasped, as Suna’s pointy teeth skimmed the back of his neck. Osamu adjusted his grip on the counter. 

Suna’s mouth shifted into a smile. Osamu could feel the tilt of his lips against his skin. 

“I want ya ta bite me,” Osamu amended, making it more clear. 

With a relentless sort of precision, Suna fucked Osamu's thighs. Hips propped in place with an ironclad grip.

The cool metal of Suna’s chain grazing the back of Osamu’s shoulders as he moved. 

Right as Suna thrusted forward, he wrapped his fingers around Osamu’s cock, teeth sinking into the nape of his neck. 

Osamu met Suna’s gaze in the mirror. Unerring and full of promise.

He was so turned on he could barely hold himself up. The combination of sensations made Osamu moan, a rough sound tearing its way out of his throat, reverberating against the bathroom tiles

“Fuck,” Osamu gasped. “Harder.”

He reached back with one hand, settling it against the side of Suna’s throat. 

Suna obligingly bit down harder.

The drag of his cock, the way Suna was losing control with his thrusts turning fast and erratic. Uneven breathing shuddering against Osamu's ear. Fuck. Sex with Suna wasn’t even comparable to anyone he’d been with before. It didn’t matter where or how Suna touched him. He didn’t need to touch him at all for Osamu to feel everything. 

Tensing, Suna pressed a hand to Osamu's leg in warning.  

“On me,” Osamu breathed. “Cum on me.”

He kept his eyes on the mirror, watching Suna's face as his eyes rolled back before spilling over Osamu’s thighs. Teeth still in his neck. The skin beneath Suna’s bite was becoming hot and shivery. He slowly withdrew his teeth and licked at the mark. 

“I didn’t break the skin. No blood,” Suna said softly.

Osamu wasn't sure if he found that reassuring or if he wanted it. His blood dripping from Suna's mouth. 

In the mirror, his gaze dropped to where Suna’s hold had covered his hips. Now, he could see the bruises painted on him.

Lasting remnants tinged with a hint of possessiveness that made his insides twist. Osamu's dick pulsed when he saw how the purpled marks were formed into the unmistakable shape of Suna's huge, beautiful handprints. 

He was so keyed up that his own skin didn't feel right. Too tight and itchy. 

“What can I give you?” Suna murmured into his ear. 

Osamu panted. “Yer fingers,” he admitted. “I want yer fingers in me.”

Suna stilled. “I would,” he said, voice somewhat unsteady. As if he didn’t expect that. “But there isn’t any more lube.”

Osamu guided Suna's hands between his legs to where the remaining lube clung to his thighs. Where Suna's cum splattered. He dragged his fingers through the mess. Suna groaned, pressing his forehead to the top of Osamu’s spine. He breathed in and out. The damp heat of it sinking into his skin.

“It won’t take long. Bein’ this close ta ya might set me off,” Osamu said. 

“Yeah?” Suna asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I think you can hold out.” 

Before Osamu could respond, Suna wrapped a slick hand around his cock, settling on his knees in front of him.

“Don’t you think?” Suna asked.

Osamu’s dick throbbed. He tamped down his orgasm by sheer force of will. “No?”

“No, you can’t hold out? No, you don’t think?” Suna teased, tipping his head to the side. “No, I should stop?”

He removed his hand when Osamu remained silent. Too busy staring at Suna naked and kneeling in front of him to manage a response. Osamu struggled, finally wrangling a single brain cell. He really couldn’t think with Suna like this. 

“Don’t stop,” he managed. 

Suna rested his palm against Osamu’s hip, then an open mouthed kiss. He widened his stance, pushing Osamu's legs apart with his knees. 

“It’s mean. Touching you from the front, so that you can see me,” Suna acknowledged. “But, I thought you’d like it. Getting to look at my face. My hand on your cock. Watching me finger fuck my cum inside of you,” Suna said. 

He looked up at him through sharp, grey-green eyes. 

Osamu's cock twitched violently. Suna wrapped his fingers around him again, stroking firmly while circling Osamu's rim. Then, he dipped his finger in, testing. 

The touch made Osamu throw his head back on a groan. His legs fell open as he shifted forward, seeking Suna’s touch. 

“More,” he grunted. 

“Is that how you ask?” Suna asked, mildly. 

“Suna,” Osamu choked out, as he pressed his finger inside of him. “Please. Please, fill me up.”

Obligingly, two of Suna's long, crooked fingers slipped between the tight ring of muscle. Sliding in smooth as he pushed deeper. Cum easing the way. 

Osamu’s hips jumped. He could never reach this far inside himself. 

Suna slowed his strokes on Osamu's cock, only lazily smearing precum against his slit as he fucked into him. Spreading his fingers apart before adding another. Sliding in and out, in and out, before he pushed in and in and in. 

A stretch so good, Osamu whined. Suna explored with his fingers, seeking, until Osamu's entire body seized as he hit his prostate. 

“Will you come for me?” Suna murmured, fluttering his fingers. A continuous ripple of pleasure. Not letting up against his prostate as Suna resumed stroking Osamu's cock. 

“I think you will,” Suna said, lowly. “All over my face.”

Osamu fought against the overwhelming need to bust. He brushed his thumb against the side of Suna’s face. 

“I don’t wanna mess up yer eyeliner,” he said. The words were disjointed as his body surged upwards, responding to Suna’s hands in him, on him. 

Suna stared. Surprised momentarily, before smiling wide enough to flash a glimpse of his sharp canine teeth. Teeth that left a lingering mark on the back of his neck. 

“You’re unreal,” Suna said. 

“Ya did it different tonight,” Osamu protested, gasping as Suna curled his fingers up and back. “It’s kinda silvery and purple, looks pretty.” He’d seen what color it was once they’d turned on the bathroom light. 

Suna leaned closer and pressed his tongue to the head of Osamu’s cock while rotating his fingers inside of him. 

“Thank you for noticing,” he said, lips brushing Osamu’s dick on each syllable. “But, your cum on me will look even prettier.”

Osamu made a strangled noise, beginning to tip over the edge. His cock leaked copiously in Suna’s other hand. Then, Suna nudged his prostate. 

Long, pretty fingers filling him, knuckles thick where they brushed against his walls.

“Fuck, fuck, Rin,” Osamu said, voice rising in volume and pitch. 

Suna's eyes went wide. Which was the last thing Osamu noticed before he came so hard his vision whited out. 

“Good?” Suna asked, some interminable time later. He gently removed his fingers. Osamu almost asked him to keep them there for a while longer.

He blinked the lingering spots away. “Yeah, but I’m somewhat concerned ya just finger banged my soul outta me,” Osamu admitted.

Suna huffed a laugh. 

Once Osamu’s vision cleared, he got a glimpse of Suna. Ropes of Osamu’s cum painted a pattern across his face. Dotting his eyelashes, coating his lips. Splashed on Suna’s row of helix piercings, glistening against his neck. 

Osamu felt a little like dying. He couldn’t even fantasize this.

Still, his dick made a valiant effort to get hard again. Osamu grumbled, covering his crotch, but Suna already noticed.

“A picture will last longer,” Suna teased. “Want one?”

Osamu opened his mouth to say no, but he couldn’t. So, Suna unearthed his cell. He pulled up the camera before passing it over. 

“Where do you want me?”

Osamu glared down at his dick, warning it to stay down. He aimed the lens at Suna. “Ya can stay where ya are,” he said. 

Suna tilted his face up towards the camera.

Osamu could tell he’d modeled. That he understood his angles.

Suna’s face, baseline, was a money shot and he knew how to deliver it. He snapped a few photos before Suna reached for Osamu’s hand. He led Osamu’s fingers to his mouth, swiping them through the streaks before slipping them between his lips. 

The crafty bitch made sure to keep his fingers wrapped around Osamu’s in the shot. 

He shoved Suna’s phone on the counter, kneeling as he drew him into a kiss. Suna responded immediately. When they broke apart, Osamu smeared the lines marking Suna’s face. 

“Close yer eyes a sec,” he said, soft and mellow. 

Suna let them fall shut. 

Using the edge of his fingertips, Osamu swiped the wet, sticky smudges from Suna’s eyelashes. He pressed his mouth to the blurred half moons they formed. Cautious not to smudge Suna’s makeup. 

“There,” he said. 

Suna’s eyes flickered back open. Grey-yellow-green only a ring, eclipsed by his pupils. He was worked up. 

“Ya wanna go again?” Osamu asked. 

“That okay?” Suna countered. 

“Yeah,” Osamu said. Both of his hands bracketed Suna’s thighs as he climbed into his lap. 

Suna kissed a path across Osamu’s chest, leaning forward until Osamu had to rest his hands flat on the ground to prevent himself from tipping over. 

They rutted against each other, messy and uncoordinated. 

Osamu groaned as Suna’s fingers brushed against his nipples. Like he tripped a direct circuit that ran down to his cock. He bucked against Suna’s stomach, firm and ridged. 

Then, Suna raised his other hand to Osamu’s mouth in a silent request. He licked the expanse of his palm, dragging his tongue around each of Suna’s fingers. Osamu opened his mouth wider, sucking Suna’s fingers into the heat of his body. 

Stroking the roof of Osamu’s mouth, Suna skating along his palate with soft presses. 

Until Osamu dragged his teeth down Suna’s knuckles before looping his tongue around one of the double stacked rings to ease it off. Suna raised an eyebrow, amused, as he withdrew his fingers from Osamu’s mouth. 

He enclosed both their dicks in his spit slick hand. 

Popping the ring out between his teeth, Osamu slid it onto his own pointer finger. He skimmed his hand from Suna's thigh to his hip. 

Suna shifted closer. He planted his knees on either side of Osamu’s waist and licked into his mouth. Handling their cocks with nimble fingers. 

Osamu fucked upwards, flexing into the vice of Suna’s grip, one hand still propping him up from behind.

Suna’s free hand coasted over his chest before resting at the back of his neck. He pressed into the bite mark at the same time he sped up his hand on their cocks. A wounded noise spilled out of Osamu’s mouth between them. It hurt, but in an achy, shocky way that made him want more. 

“Again,” Osamu urged. “Bite me, again.”

Suna’s eyes lingered on his exposed neck before settling lower. 

Without further warning, he dropped his mouth to the center of his left pec. Suna worked the skin between his teeth and Osamu’s fingers scrabbled, finding traction against the dimples imprinted on Suna’s lower back. 

Arching under Suna’s mouth, Osamu’s body went taut. He strummed with restraint as Suna tongued at his nipple, biting down. Osamu’s hips shot upwards of their own accord, increasing the friction of Suna’s hold. 

Suna relaxed his jaw and shifted to settle on Osamu’s lap. It was grounding and incredibly hot. 

“You can bite me, too,” Suna said, catching his breath. “Make new marks.” 

The brain cell he’d captured earlier was long gone. Osamu didn’t consider keeping the evidence out of sight. He simply took the offer. Mouth affixed to the skin above Suna’s collarbone, right over his necklace.  

Suna’s movements became much less calculated. Osamu shifted his hand from Suna’s back to also wrap around their cocks, guiding Suna’s grip over them both. Faster. 

“I’m gonna–,” Osamu warned, speaking directly against Suna’s skin. 

“Did you know that when you came before you called me Rin?” Suna asked, silken and low. 

Osamu groaned at how the tone of his voice only made him hurtle closer.

He tried to remember the details, recall what he was saying. Why or when he let that name slip out of his mouth. 

Then, Suna’s hand reminded him of the current situation. His pouty mouth spreading wide as he nipped at the fresh bite mark on Osamu’s chest. 

“Say it again,” Suna urged. He flicked his tongue against Osamu’s nipple as he pumped their cocks at a relentless pace. 

“Oh God, Rin,” Osamu gasped, gaze fixated on Suna’s face. 

Suna spilled over his fist onto Osamu’s chest. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his cum soaked hand around only Osamu. His dick pulsating in Suna’s grasp. The glide of his hand was devastating.

Then, Suna’s tongue slipped out between his lips. He was nervous. Osamu wracked his sex stupid brain to figure out why. 

Suna just came because Osamu moaned his name. A familiar, intimate version of his name. 

“I call ya Rin in my wet dreams,” Osamu admitted. 

Suna stilled entirely. “You have wet dreams about me?”

The belated realization that he should not have said that out loud hit too late. Osamu blinked at Suna. “Uh–,” he trailed off.

Suna smirked, pressing his entire palm against the bite mark on Osamu’s chest as he jacked him off with renewed determination 

“What are they like?” Suna asked. “Your dreams?”

“Not as good as this,” Osamu groaned, writhing under Suna. “I can never think up what ya do in real life. Yer too unpredictable.”

Suna watched his face as he spoke, fascinated. “What do I call you in these dreams?”

“Ya call me Samu,” he admitted, cheeks hot. 

“Can I?” Suna asked. 

Osamu nodded, trying to mentally prepare for what was about to happen. Suna applied more pressure to the bite, stroking Osamu’s cock leisurely. 

“I want to see you come, Samu ,” he whispered against his ear. On demand, Osamu fucking went off. Decorating Suna’s abs. 

He functionally deflated. Laying back on the ground with Suna straddling him. 

“Maybe it was a bad idea to ask ya to say that durin’ sex ‘cause that’s all I’m gonna think of if I hear ya call me that,” Osamu said to the bathroom ceiling.

“Pavlov,” Suna nodded, from above him. 

“Fuck off,” Osamu laughed. 

Suna stood up, rummaging through the cabinets, obtaining several towels. He wet one under the sink before wiping the remaining lube and dried cum from Osamu’s thighs. He used another to swipe through the mess on their stomachs and a third to complete a final swipe. 

“This is prolly some guest bathroom used by their visiting great aunties and ya’ve turned the spare linens inta cum rags,” Osamu said. 

Suna rolled his eyes. “I was planning to run them through their washing machine,” he explained. “Just so you know, I’m the only one that cleared Kiyo’s cleanliness standards when he needed a place to stay for the week Toya caught the flu.”

“That’s impressive,” Samy granted. Then, he glanced down at his no longer tacky skin. “And thanks.”

Suna nodded, passing him his clothes. Osamu pulled his pants back up, pausing to inspect the marks on his hips. 

“They'll be underneath your clothes. That’s okay, right?” Suna asked, concerned by Osamu's prolonged silence. 

“‘m not mad,” Osamu confirmed. He pressed at the marks tentatively. An unbidden moan escaped him. 

Suna’s eyebrows shot up. “Definitely not mad,” he said, self-satisfied. 

Ignoring him, Osamu finished redressing before they took turns washing their hands. 

Osamu made a face as the collar of his shirt rubbed the bite on the back of his neck. The one on his chest wasn’t irritated at all by the fabric. 

“How bad is it?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to the spot. 

“Ah,” Suna said. He didn’t provide further response, but did turn to rummage through the cabinets.

“That’s concernin’. Take a picture,” Osamu prompted. 

Suna raised his phone, tugging down the back of Osamu’s shirt. He held the screen out for him to see. Already the mark was vivid. Less hickey and more vampire. 

“Holy shit,” Osamu noted. “Ya got fangs.”

“I’d be more worried about it if you didn’t look so pleased,” Suna noted. He opened an alcohol wipe and gently slid it across the mark. 

Suna taking care of him so unthinkingly made Osamu’s heart do something bizarre and thunderous. 

“Should we leave at different times?” he asked, clearing his throat. 

Suna shrugged. “We could. Not many people over here, though.” 

Osamu attempted to sort out his hair, brushing back where Suna’s hands had messed it up before he stepped out first. 

Suna did manage to locate a washing machine. Though, Osamu suspected there were multiples throughout the house. 

They wandered the halls together. Osamu peered into a living room area with quiet music playing where most of the team had congregated. 

Akaashi raised a hand and patted the miniscule space between his lap and the couch. Osamu rolled his eyes but joined him. He should have figured that he'd be here. Osamu settled on top of Akaashi as requested. 

“Better than a weighted blanket,” Akaashi mumbled into his shoulder blade. “This will fix me.”

Osamu leaned against him. “Just lemme know whenever ya need me to lie on top ‘a ya.”

Tanaka darted into the room. “Let’s play pocky!”

“Samu is banned,” Atsumu called out. 

He turned to glower at his brother. “Oi,” Osamu objected. “Get better at playin’ the game. Don’t blame me.”

“Is he that good?” Motoya asked. 

Atsumu held a hand out towards Tanaka who readily passed him a pocky stick. He waved towards Osamu. “Show ‘em.”

Osamu took it and stuck one end in his mouth. “Who wants ta play?”

He felt Akaashi laugh beneath him. “Me,” he volunteered.  Osamu shifted, tipping his head back so Akaashi could bite into the other side of the stick. 

Then, he leaned in to take neat, methodical bites of the pocky during his turns. Slowing as their lips grew nearer. Osamu carefully tilted to the side as they whittled down to the bottom of the stick. This was where it got tricky. Breaking down the pocky small enough without the whole thing crumbling. 

Osamu held Akaashi’s face still with one hand, their mouths brushing as he bit through the last piece. He caught the remaining pocky in his hand and held it up. 

“I stand corrected,” Motoya granted. 

Amused, Akaashi flicked his tongue out. The metal of his piercing grazed Osamu’s lips. 

When he tried not to smile, Akaashi pressed a kiss to the bow of his mouth. 

“Whoa! There’s barely anything left,” Tanaka crowed, leaning in to peek at the remnants of pocky. “That’ll be hard to beat. Alright, who’s next?”

Suga accepted a pocky stick and hailed down Kuroo’s friend, Daichi.

Oh, tea. Piping hot tea. He’d have to text Makki and Mattsun. 

Akaashi rested a hand on Osamu’s thigh and squeezed. “Thanks for playing,” he murmured. 

“Was that fer yer benefit or mine?” Osamu asked. 

“Symbiotic,” Akaashi corrected. 

Osamu huffed a laugh. “Uh-huh.” Bokuto had definitely witnessed Akaashi play that round because he was staring, very unsubtly, at Akaashi’s mouth as if that might prompt him to stick his tongue back out. 

“Throw him a bone,” Osamu said, under his breath. “Poor guy’s gonna pop an eye vessel.” 

Akaashi licked a stripe against Osamu’s neck, piercing dragging over the thin skin of his throat. 

“That’s a whole lotta tongue from ya tonight,” Osamu observed. He reached back to comb a hand through Akaashi’s hair. 

“I’m high,” Akaashi informed him. Matter-of-fact. “Finished that blunt Suna gave me. Oh, where’d he go?”

Osamu gestured towards Suna, where he stood across the room with Motoya and Kenma. 

“Who’s next?” Tanaka asked, shaking the pocky box. 

Hinata leapt up to challenge a tall, blue-eyed guy with black hair next. The pocky was absolutely demolished, both of them calling the other an idiot, while being about two seconds away from making out. 

“Okay, then. Anyone else want to play?” Tanaka asked, edging around them. 

Atsumu sighed and grabbed another pocky stick. Sakusa pierced him with the aforementioned ‘eugh’ face. Atsumu rolled his eyes. 

“Relax, Omi,” he said, holding it again. “It’s fer Sunarin.”

Suna raised his eyebrows. “Who said I want to play?”

“Ya always play games,” Atsumu countered. He stared Suna down for a long moment. “Are ya not gonna play this one?” 

Suna plucked the pocky from Atstumu’s hand and approached the couch. 

“Rintarou,” Akaashi said, arms looped securely around Osamu’s waist. “There you are.”

Suna eyed the two of them, amused. “Want to play?” he asked Osamu. 

“This is what you meant, right?” he asked Atsumu, who was now making a face as if just realizing what he’d enabled. 

“Sure,” Osamu agreed. 

“In front of everyone?” Suna verified, lowering his voice. 

Osamu blinked at him and shrugged. He could handle a round of pocky with Suna. “It’ll be fine.” 

“Okay,” Suna said. He leaned down. “Open your mouth for me?”

Osamu’s lips fell apart immediately. He clapped a hand over his mouth when he felt Akaashi laughing beneath him, again. That’s why Suna asked about everyone watching. For a moment there, Osamu forgot how easy he was for him. 

“I see yer point,” he mumbled. 

“Do you still want to play?” Suna asked, quiet, so only Osamu heard. 

Osamu resisted the urge to snatch the pocky as a snack and put an end to this. “Uh,” he said, distracted by the way Suna’s eyes looked more yellow-grey than green in this lighting. “I will, if you will.”

Suna slid the pocky between his lips and leaned down.

Osamu forced his lagging brain cell to stay on task, biting the pocky to a stub. Bringing him closer and closer to Suna. Until he felt his breath against his lips. Osamu held Suna’s face still to maneuver biting the last piece while keeping it intact. 

Their mouths glided together for a moment. Osamu’s breath hitched and his eyes closed briefly. 

Then, he sank his teeth into the stick. The last shard fell between them into Osamu’s palm as he flushed, reopening his eyes. Suna passed it over to Tanaka. Unaffected. 

“I see Osamu is in competition with himself,” Tanaka announced. “Any other contenders?”

“Can I just have a pocky stick to eat?” Kenma chimed in. Tanaka passed one to him and then another to Oikawa who somehow managed to drag Iwa over. 

Akaashi made a contemplative noise. “I don’t know why seeing you two kiss made me want to kiss you both,” he sighed. 

Suna tipped his head to the side as he peered down at Akaashi. “You already kissed Osamu earlier.”

“Step thirty-three,” Akaashi argued. “What better way to demonstrate what this mouth do than proficient tongue kissing? I haven’t tongue kissed either of you. Tonight.”

Osamu glanced up at Suna. “I guess I’ve never asked whether ya hooked up with Akaashi.”

“He’s slutty and hot, with standards,” Akaashi said. “Asked, answered.”

Osamu turned towards him. “Yer also hot and slutty, but I’m not so sure ‘bout yer standards.”

“Exactly,” Akaashi confirmed. “You, too. We’re on a chart together. Though, Suna’s parameters are a bit trickier to meet. So, what are everyone’s thoughts on the tongue kissing? I need to flash my metallic peacock feathers.”

Suna studied Akaashi more closely. “That’s a lot of pupil. Did you smoke the entire blunt?”

“Irrelevant,” Akaashi insisted. 

“Except, it’s not. If you’re sober and still want to tongue kiss us both, we’ll talk,” Suna said, patting the top of his hand. 

Akaashi huffed loudly. “Fine.” 

“I’m going to get him some water,” Suna said, now patting Akaashi’s cheek before weaving through the crowd. 

Osamu watched Oikawa as he demonstrated, either terrible pocky playing skills, or proficient manipulation. Creating a ready-made opportunity to kiss Iwa. Or maybe both. 

“What did ya mean Suna’s parameters are trickier ta meet?” he asked. 

Akaashi shifted to rest his face against the side of Osamu’s neck. “I’m not at liberty to say. You’ll have to ask Rintarou.” 

“Wow,” Osamu said. “Yer in an altered mental state that makes tongue kissin’ us both seem reasonable, but ya won’t spill yer friend’s dirt. Which step is the one that demonstrates yer admirable loyalty?” 

“All of them, Samu,” Akaashi said, very seriously. “Though, I do think about tongue kissing you whenever you say something dumb or look cute. Usually I have the awareness not to mention it out loud, because that’s bad form.”

“Nah,” Osamu disagreed. “What’s a little tongue kissin’ between friends?”

“This is why you’re with me in the slutty hot segment of the chart,” Akaashi informed him. 

Kiyo peered down at them both. “I hope neither of you has thought about tongue kissing me,” he said, with concern. 

“Never crossed my mind,” Akaashi promised. 

Osamu shook his head no. Sakusa was very good looking, but so deeply unattainable that his brain didn’t even categorize that as a thing that could happen. Also, Atsumu’s massive crush on him added a special layer of ‘nope’. 

Kiyo smiled. “Not that I wouldn’t be flattered, but I am relieved.” He then studied Osamu for a moment. “Have you kissed Suna?” 

“Why?” Osamu hedged. 

Kiyo half shrugged, half waved a hand. “I don’t know. He was careful with you in a way I haven’t seen from him before.”

“He was surprisingly careful,” Akaashi agreed. “But Samu’s ‘more than kissed him’, haven’t you?”

Osamu’s cheeks burned hot. Sakusa lifted one dark eyebrow. Stacked birthmarks rising with the motion. 

“Have you?” Sakusa asked. Expressing unexpected interest in a topic Osamu would think he’d want nothing to do with.  

“Has he what?” Suna asked, handing Akaashi a bottled water.

Sakusa shifted his curiosity onto Suna. “More than kissed you.”

“Hmmmmm,” Suna mused. Not affirming or denying the statement. 

Sakusa snorted on a laugh. As if Suna’s non-response answered his question and more. 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto shouted. Full of energy, because it seemed his brain chemistry hadn’t been informed that alcohol was a depressant. “Do you like beer pong? Wanna be my partner?”

“It would be my honor, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said. Grave sincerity backing every word. 

Osamu shifted to let him off the couch. “Take yer water,” he reminded, passing it over, along with a thumbs up. 

Motoya took a seat on the arm of the couch. “There you are,” he greeted. “Osamu told me I played like a pro,” he informed Kiyo and Suna. “He finally dropped formalities, too.”

“Did he?” Kiyo asked. “He still calls even Akaashi by his family name.” 

Osamu made a face. “That’s ‘cause I called him Keiji when we were fuckin’.” 

Motoya missed his mouth as he took another drink. Kiyo, meanwhile, just shook his head in amusement. 

“He calls you Kiyo,” Motoya pointed out, wiping the alcohol from his face. 

Osamu gestured towards Kiyo. “Been calling him that from the first time we met.” 

“The first time?” Motoya repeated. “Wow. Favoritism.” 

Kiyo shrugged. “He offered umeboshi and respected my aversion to germs within five minutes of meeting me, which made for an excellent impression.” 

“Samu’s very kind,” Suna agreed. 

Osamu’s body temperature skyrocketed hearing Suna use his nickname so casually. He’d been right. All he could think about was the last time he’d said it. When Suna was naked, telling him he wanted to see him cum. 

“Yeah? Well, yer a dick,” Osamu muttered, sitting up and shifting slightly. He wasn’t exactly hard. Not yet. But he was about to be. 

Suna’s mouth quirked up and his eyes were bright as he reached over, grazing his fingers near the bite mark on the back of his neck. 

“Am I?” he asked.

Osamu stared up at him, not sure whether he wanted him to do it or not. “‘bout ta find out,” he said. 

Suna barked a laugh before handing him a pocky stick. “You seemed jealous Kenma got one to snack on, so I grabbed it from the kitchen.” 

“Ya have some qualities,” Osamu granted, taking the pocky from him. 

“Good or bad?” Suna asked. 

“Not tellin’ ya which ones,” Osamu informed him. Then, he leaned back against Suna’s hand and took a bite out of his chocolate covered biscuit. 

Suna trailed a finger across Osamu’s nape. The bite mark sensitive beneath his touch. He suppressed a full body shiver. 

Osamu ate most of the pocky before tipping his head up towards Suna. Keeping a thumb against the bite, Suna splayed his fingers along Osamu’s throat. The contact on his skin was so light, Osamu felt heat rather than pressure. 

Suna raised an eyebrow in question as Osamu crunched through his last piece of pocky. “Were there more ‘a these in the kitchen?”

“Yeah,” Suna confirmed. “Want me to show you?”

Motoya gestured towards Tanaka. “I think there’s still some in that packet.”

Kiyo shot his cousin an incredibly judgmental side eye. 

“What’s that look?” Motoya asked. He glanced between Suna and Osamu. “Oh, dude. He’s flirting.” 

Osamu avoided looking at anyone as he shifted forward to stand up, Suna’s hand sliding off his neck. “Where’s the kitchen?” 

Suna navigated them through the massive house again. 

“Ya didn’t tell anyone we’re–,” Osamu trailed off, flushing as Suna’s mouth turned up at the corner. 

“We’re what?” Suna asking, the words lilting. 

Osamu would speed up ahead of him, but he didn’t know where they were headed. “Ya didn’t tell anyone we’ve been fuckin’ 'round,” he said. No use playing coy at this point. 

“No,” Suna agreed. “I thrive on other people’s business, I don’t share mine. Have you?”

“Uh–well,” Osamu hedged. “I told Akaashi. Tsumu figured it out along with ‘bout half yer team, now. Plus, Iwa and Kiyo.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Osamu rubbed at the back of his neck, wincing when he aggravated the bite mark. 

“Don’t be,” Suna said. He caught Osamu’s hand to draw it away from the bruise. 

Once they reached the kitchen, Suna rummaged through the pantry to unearth an unopened pocky box.

Osamu tore into a new packet and ate two sticks before he remembered he had a question for Suna. “What did Akaashi mean ‘bout yer parameters?”

Suna popped a piece of candied ginger into his mouth. “I’m somewhere on the ace spectrum,” he explained. “So, I’m not exactly predisposed to being down to fuck indiscriminately, but I can like sex, in certain circumstances.” 

“I wouldn’t have attempted ta suck the shy away if I knew that,” Osamu frowned. 

Huffing a laugh, Suna shook his head. “You couldn’t have known and besides, it hasn’t exactly been relevant with you, anyway.”

“It’s part ‘a who ya are,” Osamu argued. “Seems relevant. Especially bein’ so big on consent.”

“Relevant to when we've hooked up,” Suna clarified. He plucked a pocky stick from the packet. “If you'd asked me to kiss you the first time we met, I would have said no. But, we’d been playing the game for weeks already when you did. I was on board, then. Obviously.” 

Osamu scrubbed a hand through his bangs. “Didn’t feel obvious. Ya seemed surprised.” 

“I was,” Suna agreed. “Because I realized you’d met the circumstances, but I didn’t think you’d admit you wanted to.”

“How’d I meet ‘em when I didn’t even know ya had ‘em?” Osamu frowned. This conversation was like an unglued collage he kept trying to fit together in his head. 

Suna shrugged. “You didn’t have to. It’s not like I have a checklist. Whether I’m down to fuck depends.”

“On what?” Osamu asked. 

“Many things.” Suna’s tongue briefly slid between his lips. “With you? Had to be your subtlety.” 

That was an evasion if he’d ever heard one. Rolling his eyes, Osamu rested the remaining half of a pocky stick in his mouth and leaned closer to Suna.  

Suna bit through the biscuit cleanly without their mouths touching. “Like this,” he noted. “Or asking me to show you the kitchen.”

“Uh-huh,” Osamu hummed. He slid his fingers along the edge of Suna’s sweatshirt, tracing the mouth-printed bruise on his collarbone. 

“You’re very obvious,” Suna informed him. Osamu sighed.

Then, he kissed Suna. 

To get him to stop talking. No other reason.

---

“Ah, he's got a guest on,” Akaashi noted, stopping short of the studio door. Osamu peered around him. 

Long, messy, ash blonde hair that went dark at the ends. Smudgy eye shadow and a vertical labret lip piercing. Osamu had seen him on archived episodes of Suna's show before. 

Semi Eita. 

Akaashi waved and Suna queued a few songs while gesturing for him to come in.

“Semi,” Akaashi addressed. He stepped inside and avoided camera detection. 

“Akaashi!” Semi smiled. “Been a while. Still looking like a sexy, jaded English Lit professor, I see.”

Akaashi spared him an unimpressed once over. “And you still look like the mistake someone wakes up to after drinking too much,” he noted. 

Semi clutched his chest, acting as if he'd just been shot. Osamu hung back. 

“While he appears contagiously stupid, you can't catch it,” Akaashi informed Osamu. “It's safe to come in.”

Suna leaned forward in his horrendous, lime green chair. A smirk tugged at his mouth when he spotted Osamu.

“Hi,” he said, resting his chin in his palm. 

“Hi,” Osamu responded. He withheld an eye roll at Suna's obvious delight. Still, Osamu stepped into the studio. Staying close to Akaashi and remaining off camera. 

“Hello,” Semi said, eying Osamu with interest. “Have we met before?”

Osamu shook his head no as Akaashi snorted.

“Semi,” Suna said, gesturing to him, then Osamu. “Miya Osamu.” He covered his mouth so no one could read his lips as he made introductions.  

“Oh,” Semi said, in realization.

Osamu wished everyone would stop reacting like that when they heard his name. 

After staring very obviously at Osamu's chest, Semi snapped his fingers. “I know why you’re familiar.”

“Is your memory recall stored in the pecs?” Akaashi asked, eyes narrowed. 

Semi leaned back, twisting idly in his rolling chair. “Actually, yeah, because he’s one of the guys Ushi works out with,” he explained. 

As one, both Akaashi and Suna turned towards Osamu.

“You’re hitting the gym with Ushiwaka?” Akaashi asked, amused. “How did that happen?” 

Osamu shrugged. “Dunno. Kiyo mentioned a friend lookin’ fer an ‘exercisin’ companion’ ‘cause he knows Iwa and I go together. Now, a bunch of us are in a group chat ta meet when schedules line up.”

“Who's in the chat?” Suna asked. 

“Me, Ushi, Iwa,” Osamu listed off. “Kuroo and Daichi, plus this kid Iwa mentors who wants to be a vet, Kyoutani. Oh, and Bo.”

“To be a fly on that wall,” Semi sighed. “Is the group chat called ‘Too Thiccc to Quit’?”

“Three c's?” Suna asked. 

Semi nodded his confirmation. “Ushi changed up his chest workout routine because of you,” he informed Osamu. “I can see why.”

Osamu’s brow furrowed. 

The idea of Ushijima altering his workout because of anything, especially him, seemed far-fetched. The man wasn’t particularly chatty and if they did happen to speak, it was about food or plants. Sometimes both at the same time. That’s how Osamu found out kogomi wasn’t just a cool looking fern, it was edible.  

“Why?” Osamu asked, slowly. 

Akaashi sighed. “We’ve discussed this before. You have nice tits,” he said. He patted Osamu’s chest for emphasis. 

Suna put his headphones back on. “We have to hop back, but if you stick around, we can order food.”

Osamu had been prepared to refuse the offer until Suna mentioned food. 

“Pavlov,” Suna mouthed silently, with a wink. 

Osamu flipped him off in return.

He sat with Akaashi outside camera range, sending pictures from the last cooking club outing to Kita’s grandmother after she had kindly lent him the recipe for her okayu.

“Wait, wait,” Semi said, taken aback enough that Osamu glanced up from his phone. “Fair viewers, have you never heard Suna sing before?”

The server screen flashed with responses. “I’m more of a dancer than I am a singer,” Suna countered. 

“Your voice is like what happens if whiskey and honey were anthropomorphic and also, bored,” Semi argued. He turned to the camera. “He’s done backup vocals on a few of my tracks and he’s depriving you by not letting you hear him sing.”

Osamu felt alarm tones sound in the back of his mind. 

The part of his brain that triggered in moments when he had advance warning to engage some necessary self defense mechanism. Like that time Atsumu insisted they could snowboard using regular sleds or at the waterpark that started making people sign waivers after Atsumu and him squabbled and ended up falling together down the slide without a tube. 

It was exactly like that, without the threat of physical injury. Which was arguably worse. This damage would be psychological. He didn’t need another reason to find Suna attractive. The list was too long as it was. 

“I’m not singing,” Suna countered. 

Osamu relaxed in his seat and ignored Akaashi’s raised eyebrows.

“Just a little something,” Semi coaxed. “Off the top of your head. Not a whole song.”

Before Osamu had a chance to book it, Suna sighed and pulled his mic closer. He put on a backing with low bass. “Said his name was Semi. Rock ’n roll god, no demi,” Suna sang, mouth turned up at the corner. “But, I'll give you a semi. Private lesson, if you let me,” his eyes flickered to Osamu briefly. 

The low, lilting tone of Suna’s voice was amplified when he sang. Melodic and gravelly. Shiver inducing, like that ASMR shit Atsumu listened to. 

Of course, his lyrics were well honed. Sly innuendo and subtle slight all in one. Thought up on the spot.

Suna’s mind worked so quickly Osamu didn’t understand how anyone kept up. 

Semi laughed and applauded Suna while bowing his head to him. “Was I right, or was I right?” he spoke into the microphone. 

“Alright, next song,” Suna said, shaking his head. He queued up a throwback. 

Semi turned towards Akaashi. “Bet the resident, sexy, jaded English Lit prof would sound great on mic,” he mused. 

“You’ll never find out,” Akaashi said, flatly. Semi threw his head back as he laughed. 

Akaashi wasn’t pissed, but he clearly had some sort of gristle in his teeth over Semi. “What’s yer deal with him?” Osamu asked, lowering his voice.  

Akaashi adjusted his glasses. “What deal?”

“Ya are kinda like a sexy, jaded English Lit professor,” Osamu whispered. 

“Yes,” Akaashi agreed. “But, that’s none of his business, so he’s not allowed to say it.” 

Osamu raised his eyebrows. Akaashi pursed his lips together. “Because he slept with my mother,” he gritted out. 

“He what?” Osamu demanded, forgetting to keep his voice down. 

Akaashi grabbed his hand and pulled him back out of the studio. “I’m over it,” he dismissed. “It was a whole ‘my mom using dating apps post-divorce’ thing. But I do find it distasteful when he comments on my appearance, because of the resemblance I share with her,” he said, gesturing vaguely. 

“It's a copy paste,” Osamu agreed. 

Akaashi smiled slightly. “Says the identical twin.”  

“That’s different,” Osamu dismissed, before he paused. “Oh, god. Wait, is it? It’s not, really. Do ya think Tsumu is hot?” 

Laughing, Akaashi pushed his shoulders to lead him back into the room. “I’m not going to lie to you. Yes, I do. But, your energies are distinct. Clearly, you’re more my type.” 

Osamu scrubbed at his face. 

“What’s up?” Suna asked, fishing a pear juice out of his mini fridge. He’d queued a number of songs and stood out of frame. 

“Do you think Tsumu is hot?” Osamu asked. 

Suna’s eyebrows shot up and he covered his mouth as he barked out a laugh. “Aesthetically, I understand he is, but no,” he said. “As much as I hate to admit it, I like Tsumu as a person. That’s as far as it goes. I’ve never been attracted to him.” 

Osamu blinked at him. “But ya think I am,” he said, squinting as he tried to parse through whatever logic swamp he’d waded into. 

“Yeah,” Suna agreed. “And? You’re two entirely different people, no matter how alike you look.”

That was an obvious statement. Something Osamu knew, and still struggled to really understand, his whole life. Most people lumped him and Atsumu together. The Miya twins were one entity. 

No one had ever said that to him before. So upfront and matter of fact. That he was just as unique as he was similar to his brother. 

“I–uh,” Osamu said. 

Suna handed him a pear drink and rested a hand against Osamu’s face, brushing a thumb over his cheek where the skin turned pink beneath his touch. “Give me a song you want to hear,” Suna said. “I’ll play it for you.”

Osamu wasn’t actually sure he’d ever heard a song. Not with Suna so close, full attention on him, palm callused and warm. 

“I’ve already sent ya a song request,” Osamu hedged. 

“That wasn’t a song you wanted to hear,” Suna countered. “That was you making you a point.”

Osamu shrugged. “Don’t wanna hear anythin’ in particular,” he mumbled. 

“You’re too distracted to think of a song,” Suna said. With terrible insightfulness. 

Osamu cleared his throat and stepped back to break their contact. Still, his skin tingled where Suna had touched him. Maybe he needed to see a doctor. That didn’t seem normal. 

He resumed his seat. 

“Don't, I know,” he said, before Akaashi even opened his mouth. Then, he grabbed his phone.

To: Project Partner

ringo starr by max frost

There. A good, solid song without any sort of underlying, mind terror meaning to interpret. That was a win for Osamu. 

Suna glanced at his phone, a smirk growing as he read the message.

“Bumping a special request to the top of the list,” he announced, playing Osamu’s ask. 

“What sort of pull does getting to the top of the list take?” Semi asked, once the track ended. 

Suna eyed Semi and tilted his mic aside. “In this case? The same pull it takes to top me. Which you’ll never have.”  

Osamu was very glad he had not taken a drink of pear juice yet. Maybe it was less of a win and more of a draw. Akaashi shook his head, profoundly unsurprised. 

“Sustaining damage left and right today,” Semi said, holding both hands to his chest. Then, he played ‘Stacy’s Mom’.

“Not enough,” Akaashi muttered under his breath. 

Right. Clearly, he was over it.

---

“Osamu!” 

He turned and Yukie slowed up beside him. 

Suna ambled closer to hold out a katsu sando. “Atsumu mentioned you overslept and since you look ready to murder at least three people, I’m guessing you haven't eaten,” he said. 

Osamu had a distressing moment. A real, legitimate concern that he might be brought to tears over a sandwich.   

“I could kiss ya,” he announced. 

“You could,” Suna said, clearly amused. 

Osamu was running on two hours of sleep after studying all night, despite missing his alarm. He was not built to go without a consistent intake of carbohydrates, and under direct sun, Suna’s green-grey eyes glowed as if they’d been lit up with prismatic light beams. 

He grabbed Suna by his oversized baseball jersey and kissed him straight on the mouth. 

Then, Osamu accepted the sandwich. He unwrapped it to take a bite. 

“We gotta go or we’ll be late,” Osamu said to Yukie, once he finished chewing. She glanced between them before bowing to Suna. 

“Nice to see you again,” Yukie said, voice full of laughter. 

“You, also,” Suna managed. A strange staccato between his words.

Osamu continued eating the sandwich. The milk bread was fresh and soft, pork breaded at an ideal ratio, the cabbage an excellent pop of acidity, if not slightly too sweet. Belatedly, through a mouthful, he mumbled his thanks. 

“Uh-huh,” Suna said. A bit oddly flustered. 

Standing exactly in the same spot as if rooted down. Whatever. Osamu had a sandwich to eat and a class to get to. 

They continued on their way. 

“Damn, Osamu,” Yukie commended. “Your boyfriend is stupid hot and brings you food?”

“I need ta find out where he got this,” Osamu noted, as he chewed. “The coatin’ is great.”

Then, Yukie’s words filtered through Osamu's central processing center. Delayed. Like shoddy audio feed. 

“He's not my boyfriend,” Osamu corrected. 

“He’s not?” Yukie asked. Her big eyes gleamed, full of skepticism. 

Osamu took another bite of his sandwich. “Do ya think I’m datin’ everyone at the konbini just ‘cause they give me food?”

“No,” Yukie said. She drew the word out, rolling her way over the vowels. 

“I thought you were dating because he showed up at our presentation to support you and, while you do like food, I’ve never seen you smack one on any of the konbini workers when they hand you a sandwich.”

Osamu froze mid-chew. 

“You didn’t realize you kissed him because the food distracted you,” Yukie said, amazed. 

He glanced down at the remnants of his meal as if it was the breaded pork that had betrayed him. 

“If he’s not your boyfriend, can I ask him to be mine? He’s really attractive and went out of his way to bring you food. Exactly what I look for in a man,” Yukie said. 

“I know,” Osamu laughed.  

Yukie shook her head. “The gods of romance did not bless us because together we’d be too powerful.” She paused. “And hungry.” 

“Ya wouldn’t wanna date him, either,” Osamu said. “Don’t let the cool, sexy thing fool ya. He’s one ‘a those people who needs constant enrichment. ‘Cause if he’s bored, he’s causin’ trouble. Makin’ everythin’ a head game. Bitchy as hell. Addicted to his phone. Constantly listenin’ ta music.”

Osamu finished the sandwich, annoyed. “Goin’ 'round carryin’ snacks just fer ya. Actin’ aloof, but rememberin’ all the stuff ya’ve said. Always smirkin’. With his pretty face and his tattoos and all his piercings and his nice hands.”

“Osamu, sugar cheeks,” Yukie soothed, patting his bicep. “You just rattled off the most repressed list of reasons you want to date him.”

Once they reached class, Osamu pulled out his phone.

To: Project Partner

sorry 

From: Project Partner

for what?

To: Project Partner

u know what

From: Project Partner

idk what you could be referring to?

To: Project Partner

gdi suna im sorry for kissin you in the quad

From: Project Partner

ohhhhhhhh that 

From: Project Partner

ngl wasn’t sure you noticed it happened

To: Project Partner

…yukie told me

From: Project Partner

lololol nw I assumed your brain produced exclamation points when you clocked the sando and everything else halted

To: Project Partner

i don’t think I appreciate the accuracy of ur read on me

From: Project Partner

but did you appreciate the sando?

To: Project Partner

yea where did u get it? 

From: Project Partner

konbini by the hot yoga place

To: Project Partner

k thx and sorry again

From: Project Partner

why are you sorry?

To: Project Partner

wdym

From: Project Partner

 i gave you permission so what are you sorry about?

To: Project Partner

bc it wouldn’t have happened if i wasn’t starving and sleep deprived 

From: Project Partner

sure, jan 

To: Project Partner

i nearly cried over a sandwich 

From: Project Partner

does that explain the other times you kissed me?

To: Project Partner

it hasn’t been that many 

From: Project Partner

that would work better on someone who isn't me 

To: Project Partner

i kissed ya 4 science and bc yer hot enough u override good reason

From: Project Partner

or maybe a secret third thing? 

To: Project Partner

if yer tryin to get a confession outta me yer not gonna get it

From: Project Partner

 i meant 🐶 but u jumped right to confession. got something to tell me?

To: Project Partner

omfg i WAS pavloved fr and yea actually i do… 

To: Project Partner

🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

From: Project Partner

awwww just for me u shouldn’t have

From: Project Partner

wait this feels more appropriate for you today 😘

---

“We'll try both custard fillings and see which we like better, yeah?” Akaashi asked, before unlocking his front door.

Osamu followed after him with two armfuls of groceries.

He boggled at the size of the place. Akaashi moved in with two roommates this term, but he hadn’t been over to their new apartment yet. 

“High rollin’ these days,” he whistled. 

Akaashi grabbed one of the bags and began sorting ingredients along the kitchen island. “Kenma’s my sugar daddy,” he said, nonchalant.

Osamu snorted on a laugh. That accounted for one of his roommates.

Once they prepped the dough and set it aside to rise, Osamu blended pistachios for their experimental cream pan option. 

A voice drifted from the other room as Akaashi's blender whirred. 

“This is impossible.”

Osamu peeked around the corner to spot Kenma hunched forward with his hands resting on his legs. He stood in front of a tripod wearing track pants and an oversized long sleeve.

“It’s less than thirty seconds of choreo,” Suna said, with his arms crossed. He was also dressed casually. However, Osamu’s focus remained stuck where Suna’s hoodie cut off at his midriff.

Akaashi had most definitely withheld the identity of his roommates on purpose. 

Kenma grumbled under his breath. “I can’t remember the arms while I’m doing the legs for this part. Do it with me, again?”

Suna joined him in front of the camera, tapping at his phone to sync song audio.

An upbeat pop song played as both Kenma and Suna moved together.

“Pinkies and thumbs out, middle fingers curled in,” Suna demonstrated. “Twist to touch your thumb to pinky and switch everytime you shift your weight,” he cued. 

Osamu tipped his head to the side as he watched them dance. 

Hops and synchronized fingers pointed into the air, both of them leaning forward and bouncing their right legs while their palms flattened against the sides of their faces as Suna counted steps. The cutest part was when Suna tapped Kenma’s cheek before they did some arm swinging forward and backwards thing. 

Suna played the song through again, repeating the steps. The motion of his hips fluid and precisely on beat. Body control only made more obvious by the fact his torso was half bare. 

“Samu,” Akaashi prompted. “Osamuuuu.”

He wondered what it would feel like to press a hand against Suna’s skin while he danced like that. Shifting beneath his palms. 

“Hah,” Osamu jolted when Akaaashi poked at his temple. 

Stepping to the right, Akaashi peered into his living room. “You’ve seen him naked. You should not be this entranced by a crop top.”

“’m not,” Osamu objected. 

Akaashi patted his chest. “I said your name five times.”

The latest song loop ended and Akaashi slow clapped.

Kenma released an irritated breath without looking over. “Not a word, Keiji,” he hissed out. 

Suna pushed a hand through the displaced locks of hair that fell in front of his face while jumping around.

“Hey, Osamu,” he greeted. 

Kenma turned, blinking at Osamu. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey,” Osamu returned. “Whatchya doin’?”

Kenma's mouth scrunched as he shot Akaashi a dirty look. “I lost a bet.”

“You know better than to bet against Keiji,” Suna pointed out. 

“If no one challenges him, he’ll go unchecked and grow mad with power,” Kenma insisted. “He stores it all in his nipple piercings.” 

Akaashi snorted.

“Now that Osamu’s gotten a sneak peek at your upcoming post, we’ll get back to testing cream pan recipes,” he noted. 

“Right,” Osamu agreed.

Cream pan. They were making the custard. He needed to finish blending pistachios. He completed that before calculating how much white chocolate they’d need while Akaashi set the mixture aside to cool. 

Kenma continued practicing. The song on repeat as background noise.

“So, ya live with Kenma and Suna,” Osamu noted, sectioning out the risen dough. 

Akaashi only laughed in response. 

They shaped out all the dough, leaving it to sit. Osamu double boiled the white chocolate while Akaashi scooped out half the cold custard for him to blend in the pistachio and chocolate. 

Kenma trudged into the kitchen and collapsed into a bar stool so fancy it had a seatback. Suna shook his head as he placed an energy drink beside him. Then, he peered at the bowl of white chocolate pistachio custard. 

“Just going to–,” Suna said, trailing off. He reached over to swipe a finger through the mixture. 

Used to drive-by snatching while he cooked, Osamu automatically batted him away. 

“I’m just gonna–,” he countered. Osamu shifted Suna aside and reached around him to grab the measuring cup for Akaashi. 

“Thanks,” Akaashi said, blue eyes full of amusement. “If you plan to move your hand any lower, please don’t do it in my kitchen.”

Osamu turned away from the recipe, uncertain what he was talking about. Akaashi pointedly dropped his gaze downwards where Osamu had yet to withdraw his hand from the curve of Suna’s bare waist. 

“If you did want to put your hands any lower, you’re welcome to do so,” Suna informed him.

“I–uh,” Osamu mumbled, dropping his hand. 

Kenma snickered. “Our bedrooms are soundproofed,” he informed Osamu. 

“Oh,” Osamu said, the word breaking in the middle a bit as he remembered what Suna panted through the phone to him at the izakaya. That they’d fuck somewhere Osamu could be as loud as he wanted. How Suna wanted to hear him.

Kenma laughed and grabbed his energy drink before wandering off. 

Suna’s phone dinged and he tapped it for a moment. “I’m down to taste test,” he offered. “You know where to find me.” 

Then, it was just Osamu, Akaashi, and damning silence. They filled and sealed the dough to sit once more before pre-bake. 

Osamu fiddled with the egg wash brush. “Are yer rooms actually soundproof?”

“They are,” Akaashi confirmed. “I prefer things quiet, so it made sense with Rintarou’s music and Kenma’s gaming.”

He adjusted his glasses and sighed. “Just go fuck around with him,” Akaashi said, shooing Osamu away. “I’ll message you when they’re done cooling.” 

“I’m not–who says–why wouldja–,” Osamu trailed off as Akaashi spared him a look so judgmental his ancestor’s felt the scorn. 

“Okay, fine. Catch ya later.”

Akaashi hummed. “Second room down the hall on the left. Guessing he left the door open.”

The door was, in fact, cracked open. Suna glanced up as Osamu stepped in his room. 

“Can I help you?” he asked. 

Osamu locked the door. “Ya can.”

He kneeled at the edge of Suna’s bed before gripping the front of his cropped hoodie, pulling him forward until their mouths collided. Suna kissed him with such deliberation that his brain went completely blank. Until his fingers skimmed the warm skin of Suna’s torso. 

Right. He had a plan. 

Shoving Suna’s shoulders flat against the bed, Osamu sat astride his waist. He slid his hands upwards, stopping where the hoodie bunched. There was something about the way the muted, smoke green color looked on Suna that made him leave it. 

He reached up to touch the side of Suna's face, framed by strands of messy hair. 

It was unfair that he looked like this.  

“Yer so pretty,” he mumbled, tracing a thumb beneath each of Suna's eyes and down the bridge of his nose, resting on the plush of his mouth. 

Suna’s lip turned up at the corners as he nipped the finger Osamu rested against him. Sharp canine teeth grazing Osamu's skin.  

“I don’t think anyone has said that to me as much as you have,” Suna informed him. 

Osamu scoffed. “I know that ain’t true.” 

“Mmmm,” Suna contemplated. “Maybe, but nobody’s meant it the way you do.”

Osamu didn't want to think about how he meant it. That was dangerous territory.

He locked his hands around Suna’s waist, leaning down to lick at his nipple. A soft, shuddering breath escaped Suna’s mouth, eyes falling shut. Osamu gripped the bed frame and ground his hips down. Suna choked on a moan, eyes fluttering at the friction. 

“Yer dancin’ was real good. Ya gotta lot ‘a body control,” Osamu noted. 

Suna blinked up at him, focus hazy. “I do yoga and ballet outside team training.”

“Is that what taught ya ta have so much control over other things, too?” Osamu asked. 

“Like what?” Suna asked, tongue sliding between his lips. 

Osamu stripped his shirt off over his head. Suna’s grip tightened around his thighs. 

He didn’t answer the question. Instead, Osamu trailed his fingers over the veins in Suna’s hands. Then, he lowered his center of gravity to fully straddle his hips. Osamu brought his mouth to Suna’s neck, teeth lightly scraping the column of his throat. 

“Yer always so calculated,” Osamu said, voice low and hushed. “It's not easy gettin’ ya ta let go.”

He sucked a mark into the skin below Suna’s ear. 

“But ya can. Promise ta hold ya steady. Will ya let me?” Osamu asked. “Just fer a bit.” 

Suna shifted beneath him, breathing gone shallow. “Think you can?”

“Haven’t let ya down yet, have I?” Osamu murmured. He bit at Suna’s hoop lined ear lobe while rolling his hips.

A raspy moan spilled from his throat as Suna’s fingers sank into his skin. Abruptly, Suna grabbed his hips to hold Osamu still. 

He stopped. “Ya okay?” Osamu asked, concerned. 

Suna tipped his head back and made a face. “I need a minute,” he confessed. 

“Oh,” Osamu said, glancing down at his lap. “From this?” he asked, mocking Suna’s own words from the library. 

Suna huffed a laugh but only continued to watch him through half-lidded eyes. 

Osamu shifted to rise onto his knees. “If ya don't wanna cum in yer shorts, take ‘em off.”

Suna loosened the ties and shoved them down while lifting up. Osamu helped tug his shorts and underwear off before shucking his own. Suna started to remove his hoodie. Before he could, Osamu shoved him back down. Felt the contraction of Suna’s abdomen.

Muscles shifting beneath his palm. As impressive as he expected. 

“Keep it on,” Osamu said, voice low and rough. 

Suna tipped his head back. Throat rolling on a hard swallow. 

Osamu's grip tightened on Suna's waist. "Can I eat ya out?"

“Yeah, if you want to,” Suna said, after a moment of surprise. 

Osamu bodily lifted and dropped him at the side of his bed. The noise that escaped Suna's mouth was a punched out groan. He draped his legs over his shoulders. Osamu got distracted when he caught a glimpse of Suna spread out, naked but for his stupidly hot crop top. 

“There's no reason fer ya ta be this–,” he gestured vaguely, while grumbling his complaint. 

Suna opened his mouth to, no doubt, snark him. Before he could, Osamu pressed his mouth against Suna's entrance. 

His knees fell open as Osamu teased slow, thorough laps of his tongue until Suna’s hips shifted, unable to stay still.

Osamu held him in place. Then, he slid the tip of his tongue inside Suna and swirled.

His thighs tensed as he ground down into Osamu's mouth. 

Osamu suckled the soft skin, applying firm pressure and heat. Tracing wet licks until the ring of muscle slowly eased apart enough for him to sink his tongue further inside Suna. 

He panted, arching off the mattress. “Samu,” Suna gasped, strung out, hips jumping. 

Hearing his name fall so beautifully from Suna’s mouth, Osamu couldn't help it. He came while watching Suna's eyes flutter.

Too stimulated. By the way Suna sounded, how he felt. Skin warm, but even warmer inside, where Osamu slid his tongue. That Suna would even let Osamu do this with him. 

He flattened his tongue, letting more wetness gather, before shoving it deeper, tracing circles inside him. 

“Ah,” Suna said, voice wavering. “You're so fucking good with your mouth.”

Osamu gripped Suna's thighs, pulling him even closer as he fucked his tongue into him. He kept it buried in Suna's ass, dragging against his walls until they began to spasm. 

Suna's spine bowed. Head thrown back, making such pretty sounds. So loud. Because of him. Suna let out a breathy moan as his cock spurted, releasing across his stomach. Osamu tried to memorize the expression on his face. 

He pushed Suna's legs apart again, climbing between them before he hesitated.  

Chest heaving, Suna glanced down. "Whatever you want," he said. "You can have whatever you want, Samu.”

Osamu absently trailed his thumb through the hot spend across Suna's stomach. Then, he leaned down and licked a stripe from his belly button to the center of his chest. He swallowed, rolling the taste around his mouth. 

Suna's grey-green eyes bored into him. “I let go. Now, can I make you cum, again?”

Of course he'd noticed Osamu already shot off. 

“Ya know ya can,” Osamu said, testily. 

Suna's eyes sparked, a dangerous omen, as he grabbed lube from his bedside drawer. Then, he slipped a slick hand between his own legs. 

“I know,” Suna agreed. “But I wasn’t trying before, so it doesn't feel fair. Tell me when you get hard,” he said. Before sliding long, slim fingers into himself. 

Osamu choked on a swallow. He crawled closer to ease his tongue in alongside Suna's fingers. 

“Shit,” Suna said, faintly.

He wasn't sure whether to be proud or mortified that all it took was a minute flat of watching Suna fuck himself on his fingers to get it back up after just coming. Osamu tried to lower his hips to make it less obvious, but nothing escaped Suna’s observation. 

“Already?” Suna threaded a hand through Osamu's hair. “Exceeding expectations, as usual.”

He felt his ears burn. 

“That's how much time you need?” Suna asked, fascinated.  

Shrugging, Osamu tried distracting him with a particularly pointed jab of his tongue. He remained undeterred. 

“It's not, right? That's why you're embarrassed,” Suna said.

He sighed and moved back. “How long does it take ya?” Osamu shot back. 

“About fifteen minutes,” Suna said. “You took less than five.”

Osamu glanced down where Suna's fingers were sunk to the top of his knuckles inside himself. 

“Yeah, well. That's ‘cause yer–,” he trailed off, gesturing to all of Suna. 

His mouth quirked up at the edge. Suna withdrew his fingers, settling back on the bed to look at Osamu. 

“I like it,” he admitted. “How responsive you are. Making you fall apart,” Suna said, voice dropping into a lower register. He slid his palm to rest on Osamu’s stomach. So close to his dick he felt the heat from Suna's hand. 

“With my hands,” Suna said lightly. 

Osamu involuntarily lurched forward before dropping his head, frustrated he couldn’t hide how badly he wanted Suna. 

“Then, do it,” Osamu urged.  

With a soothing click of his tongue, Suna curled his fingers around him. Osamu's dick already painfully hard and dripping wet.

“I like using my mouth, too,” Suna continued. He propped himself up, gripping the back of Osamu’s neck to pull him closer. 

Suna pressed a messy kiss, wet and lingering at the base of Osamu’s throat at the same time he stroked his cock.

Osamu bucked into the tight heat, moaning. 

“I think you like it, too,” Suna murmured, directing Osamu to focus on the flow of conversation again. “But you like this more. Don't you?” 

He mindlessly rutted into Suna’s maddening hand, focused on the way his eyes shifted colors between grey and yellow and green around huge pupils. That alone was enough to get him close, again. 

“Osamu,” Suna prompted. 

It took longer than he cared to admit to process that Suna was waiting for a response. “Huh?”

“I asked you a question,” Suna noted. He stroked a thumb rhythmically against Osamu’s ribcage. 

“Ask again if ya want an answer,” Osamu said. 

“Ah, you weren't listening?” Suna tutted, he released his hand from Osamu's dick. Osamu groaned in protest. 

“What was the question?” he asked, clenching his jaw. Osamu fought against the urge to take his dick in hand and finish this himself. 

“Do you like my mouth?” Suna asked. 

Coy and flirty. A trap of a prompt. Osamu hesitated, not sure what Suna was trying to do. Why he wanted to hear that from him. 

“Sometimes,” Osamu said, slowly. 

Suna huffed a laugh. “Sometimes. When might that be? When I kiss you? When it's wrapped all the way around your cock? When I’m gasping your name?” 

Osamu gritted his teeth to bite back a noise.

“I know you like it, then,” Suna murmured. “But I think you like this even more.”

“Like what?” Osamu asked, not tracking his meaning.  

“When you fall apart with my words,” Suna said. 

Osamu snapped his mouth shut, pointedly not responding, despite the uptick in his breathing. His spiking pulse. 

“I'm going to make you cum, Samu,” Suna promised and it almost sounded like a warning. “Will you let me?” he asked. 

Osamu's fingers curled tighter against the sheets. He nodded.

“Will you ask me?”

“Yer such a pain,” Osamu grumbled, all the air in his lungs punching out when Suna stroked a finger along the underside of his cock. 

“Ask me,” Suna prompted. 

“Fine,” Osamu sighed. “Make me cum.”

He tipped his face to the side, eyes gleaming. “That didn’t sound very genuine, Osamu. How can I tell if you really want it?”

Before Osamu could respond, Suna laid back down.

He rested his head on one hand behind his head, elbow spread wide. The motion pulled his cut off hoodie higher to expose his chest. A long, tempting line of bare skin. Traces of his own cum streaking his stomach. Osamu’s hands shook with need as he rested them against Suna’s waist. 

“You do want it, don’t you?” Suna said, low and gentle. “To finish on me?”

His orgasm was abruptly imminent with Suna laid out beneath him, focused solely on Osamu, voice hypnotic.

“Make me cum," he rasped.

Rolling onto his stomach, Suna pulled his hoodie off to reveal the kitsune between his shoulders. 

Osamu traced the ink with his fingers and then his mouth.

He gripped the back of Suna’s neck, squeezing slightly before dragging the heel of his palm downwards. Suna relaxed into his touch. 

“Are ya Pavlovin’ me?” Osamu asked. 

Suna huffed out a laugh against his sheets. “With your masturbatory fantasies?”

“Yeah, ya keep makin’ ‘em happen,” he pointed out. 

“It’s almost like we’re sexually compatible and I enjoy hooking up with you,” Suna said, dryly. He peeked at Osamu over his shoulder. 

“I think a lot about the noises you make when you feel good,” he told him, conversational. “Would you ever consider taking a voice note when you touch yourself and sending it to me?”

Osamu shifted forward, tensing his legs so they hugged Suna’s ribs. “’Ya wanna listen ta me get off?” 

“Clearly, you haven’t heard you or you wouldn’t be asking me that question,” Suna said. “Your voice gets rough, kind of husky, louder the hotter you run.”

Every word Suna spoke was low toned allure. He was doing this on purpose. Riling Osamu up. Fully aware of just how much he liked his voice. 

“When you moan it’s all breath and rasp,” Suna said. He kept his arms in front of him, fingers looped through the bars of his headboard. Erotic and tempting. 

Osamu was perilously close to coming just from the lilt of Suna’s words.  

“I think about how you’ll sound when we fuck. Your mouth next to my ear as you bury your cock in me,” he murmured. “Already, you're the best song I’ve never heard.”

Osamu choked out a groan. “Rin,” he panted. 

“Yeah, I’ve got you. Just let go,” Suna said. 

Osamu slid his hand between the bed and Suna’s chest to create space.  “Lemme see ya,” he whispered, tilting Suna’s face towards himself. 

Suna’s tongue slipped between his lips. If he didn’t know better, Osamu would think that Suna was shy. 

Propping himself on an elbow, Suna turned to grant Osamu a better view of his face. 

His breath caught in his chest when Suna’s eyes trailed over him in turn. Grey-yellow-green, intent. 

Osamu glanced away, flushing. Suna’s mouth lifted into a smile. Despite the knife cuts of his bone structure, there was nothing sharp in his expression. Osamu's heart did something terrible and weird, pounding in his chest. 

“You wanted to see my face. Keep your eyes on me,” Suna coaxed. 

Osamu let out a gruff noise as his hips jumped at the tone of Suna's command, affectionate and soothing. 

“My eyes are always on ya,” he mumbled. 

Suna’s downturned lips parted wordlessly. He cleared his throat.

After another moment, he turned his hand over, palm side up. He wiggled his pretty fingers. An invitation. Osamu laid over Suna’s toned back. 

Tentatively, Osamu fitted their hands together. Interlacing his fingers with Suna’s long, crooked ones. The touch rattled through Osamu’s stupid, feeble heart. He let out a trembling breath. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” Suna murmured. 

He grunted like he’d been punched, barely closing a hand around himself before spilling across Suna’s back. 

Osamu smeared the stripes across Suna’s skin, bending down to lick between his shoulder blades, uncovering the delicate lines of ink. 

Suna dropped his elbow and laid back down to press his face directly into the sheets. “Everything you hoped for?” he asked, muffled by the fabric. 

Osamu hummed with his mouth against the skin of Suna’s back. 

“Ya never disappoint me, Rin,” he said, squeezing where their hands were still joined. 

Suna went lax beneath him. He shifted his hips and Osamu trailed his fingers along the curve of Suna’s waist. 

He gripped him tighter, flipping Suna around with their linked hands pinning him down. 

“Fuck,” Suna hissed. 

Osamu was incredibly smug. “Can I suck yer cock?”

“Yes, you can,” Suna agreed, as Osamu pulled their hands to rest at Suna’s side and shifted downwards. 

He glided his mouth onto Suna’s cock. 

Osamu’s text notification pinged when he was three fingers deep in Suna while his dick established residence at the back of Osamu's throat. 

Ignoring the tone, he swallowed Suna down without letting up on his prostate until the grip on Osamu’s hand tightened in warning. 

Suna’s orgasm face remained as unreasonably beautiful as everything else about him.

“Not going to lie, I don’t think I can stand up right now. But, you probably have to get back out there,” Suna said. “I’ve got a bin where I keep my dentist freebies in the bathroom, bottom cabinet. Take whatever you want.”

Osamu rolled out of the bed, washing his hands before rummaging through the bin. He brushed his teeth and tried the grapefruit rosé mouthwash out of curiosity. 

“Can’t believe ya all have yer own adjoinin’ bathrooms with walk-in showers. We have one regular bathroom fer the three ‘a us at our place,” Osamu said, as he wandered around, locating his clothing from throughout Suna’s bedroom.

Suna shrugged. He still laid across his bed, otherwise unmoving. “Kenma’s our sugar daddy,” he monotoned. 

“I’ve heard, congrats on that,” Osamu said, tugging his underwear and pants into place. He paused before managing the shirt. 

Osamu knelt beside the bed. “C'mere, I'll carry ya inta the bathroom.”

Suna's expression remained unreadable. Still, he sat up with some difficulty before raising his eyebrows, prompting Osamu to get on with it. 

He scooped him up and Suna made a vaguely disgruntled noise. 

“Did ya think I couldn't do it?” Osamu asked. 

“Relax, big boy,” Suna said, pressing a kiss to his pulse point, clearly amused.

He was all bare, warm skin against his chest. Osamu didn’t really want to put him down. He forgot to keep walking for a moment.

Sometimes, Suna was heart achingly soft for someone with such an unwillingness to let himself be known.  

“There’s no doubt you could,” Suna assured. “I just didn't think you would.”

Osamu nudged the bathroom door open with his foot. “Why not?”

“You don't like me,” Suna reminded. 

Osamu tossed a towel on the ledge of the tub before letting Suna down. He trailed his fingers against Suna’s ribcage as he stepped back. 

“Yer okay,” Osamu said, avoiding eye contact at all costs. 

“Oh,” Suna mused. “So, you’re obsessed with me.” 

Osamu’s brow furrowed. “I said yer okay,” he protested. 

“Miya Osamu’s ‘okay’ carries weight,” Suna said. “I'll take an okay from you.”

His focus was drawn like a polarized magnet to the smile on Suna’s lips. An unasked for, ricocheting, thump clattered around his chest. 

He needed to get out of here. “Ya good, then?” Osamu checked. 

Suna's smile turned mischievous as he tipped his face towards Osamu. “If I say no, does that mean you'll shower with me?”

“We'd run yer hot water out,” Osamu said, wincing when he realized that was not the answer he'd meant to give. 

Suna huffed a laugh. 

“I gotta go before Akaashi angry double texts,” Osamu said. It happened only once and Osamu hoped it never happened again because an irritable Akaashi was a vindictive Akaashi. 

“You do not want an angry double text from Keiji,” Suna agreed. He turned the knob to start the water heating up. 

“I’ll see ya, Samu,” he said, voice lilting. 

Osamu shrugged his shirt back on and joined Akaashi in the kitchen. The cream pan was all uniformly golden brown. 

“Looks perfect,” Osamu complimented. Oven times and temps could be tricky, but they turned out great under Akaash’s watch. 

“Thanks. What was the estimate they gave for totals, again?” he asked. 

Osamu turned to grab his phone and check the email. He patted his pockets down, then got up, shifting things around on the counter to locate his cell. 

“Did you leave it in Rintarou’s room?” Akaashi asked. 

“Ah,” Osamu sighed.

Akaashi withheld a smile. “Go collect your phone from his lair.” 

He wandered back down the hall to Suna’s room but didn’t spot his phone. The shower still ran as Osamu slipped into the bathroom. There is was, by the sink. He must have left it when he brushed his teeth. 

What Osamu should have done was grab his phone, turn heel, and get the hell out of there.

Instead, he glanced up in the mirror and caught sight of Suna. 

Water cascaded across broad shoulders, spanning out as he rinsed shampoo from his hair. 

Osamu continued standing there, a little mesmerized by the way Suna's dark eyelashes bunched together in shimmering peaks. At the water streaming across his chest. 

"Did you need something?"  Suna asked, clearly entertained as Osamu stood stock-still watching him.

"Uh. No, just getting my phone," he explained. Osamu observed the water droplets working their way across Suna’s torso, gleaming. 

Suna continued rinsing his hair. “Is your phone in my shower?”

“Fuck off, wouldja,” Osamu said, pleasantly.

Suna’s mouth tipped into a smile when Osamu did not take his own advice. He closed his eyes and turned into the water stream. “A picture will last longer.”

Taking that for the permission it was, Osamu snapped a few photos of the way the water poured across Suna’s shoulders, the way his face flushed in the heat. 

“Ya called me sweetheart before,” Osamu noted, absently. 

He put his phone down and stepped closer, remaining outside the shower spray range. Osamu looped a finger onto Suna’s thin, silver chain. 

Suna shrugged. “You were being sweet,” he said. 

Osamu tugged gently on Suna’s necklace to bring their mouths together. 

Both of Suna’s hands slid to rest against Osamu’s neck, engulfing his face with large, calloused palms. Kissing him slow and soft. 

Distracting enough that Osamu only noticed he’d gotten too close to the showerhead once it soaked him. 

Akaashi raised his eyebrows when Osamu returned. His entire left sleeve drenched, drops of water smattered across the collar of his shirt, and a wet handprint in the middle of his chest. 

“Found my phone,” Osamu said. 

“In Rintarou's shower?”

Osamu narrowed his eyes. “Heard that one already.” 

“Mmmm, because you deserve it,” Akaashi noted. “Come sample these with me, if you're not too full from eating out.”

The fancy backed stool screeched against the floor as Osamu startled. “How the fuck. Did Suna text ya before he got in the shower?”

“No,” Akaashi said, idly. “I made an educated guess and you just confirmed it.”

Osamu narrowed his eyes as he grumbled. “Kenma was onta somethin’ before. Ya really do store all yer power in yer barbells.”

“That's my backup system,” Akaashi dismissed, cutting one type of each cream pan in two. “Besides, which is more likely. That you’re behaving predictably or that I wield omnipotence via my nipple piercings?” 

Osamu bit into the first pastry. "Nipple piercin' omnipotence. Next question."