Work Text:
It’s past six on a Friday, which can only mean two things in Suna Rintarou’s meaningless, uneventful life:
One, his co-worker has once again doomed him to a second shift at the sex shop when presented with the option of sleeping with his chemistry TA—more likely than not, sucking said TA’s dick and not even for a grade, just cause he loves the taste of dick.
And two, that a few minutes into his ‘lunch’ break, the door will open and with the importance of a straight-man-gone-rogue, volleyball star, Miya Osamu will wander through the store, huffing and hawing, and ‘just looking’ at the dildos all over the walls. For things to become routine, they have to happen more than twice. (This is Osamu’s seventh visit.)
Suna flips the page of the manga he’s skimming before calling out, “The prostate massagers are on the far left next to the flavored condoms.”
Osamu, who doesn’t know he’s in Suna’s Ancient Civilizations class or he wouldn’t be subtly measuring dildos against his forearm every time he’s in here, walks towards the register, thankfully, blissfully, arms full.
The day of reckoning is upon them.
“I have a girlfriend,” Osamu greets, dumping his loot on the conveyer belt.
Suna stares at him, underwhelmed. “I’m sure you do,” he says, scanning through the items, a bundle full of baby’s first bdsm, the last of which, a birthday card—because it’s not embarrassing to buy sex stuff for a friend, for the banter, ha-ha dick lollipop, am I right?!
“It’s a gag gift,” Osamu sells him, right on cue. His eyes dart between Suna and the Alpha’s Bitch Beta Boy (Burst Knot Edition) dildo Suna’s lifting into a paper bag. “For uhhh, my twin brother.”
“Sir, who you share your knot dildos with is none of my business,” Suna says.
Osamu has turned a bruised shade of red. He looks drowned. If he doesn’t breathe any time soon, Suna might have to learn CPR through trial and error.
Suna hands him the bag. “Happy birthday!”
“No, it’s not for me,” Osamu squeaks. His fingers are sweaty when their hands meet.
“I’m assuming you have the same birthday as your twin brother.” Suna rolls his eyes. “Come again.”
He does. It’s a bit of a surprise. Suna has a bet with Kuroo that it’ll take more than two days for Osamu to grow the balls needed to upgrade to a bigger dildo or at least buy lube to go with it. The thought of that tight, hot, straight boy going at it with spit like some old school cowboy porno—exhilarating, Suna has almost wanked to it three times already. Key word: almost. He gave up straight boys for lent.
Osamu doesn’t circle the premises this time, heads straight for the check out, a set of gray panicked eyes finding Suna’s immediately. He’s wearing a maroon team hoodie with the wrong name embroidered on the front.
Suna’s thinking of a joke to make when Osamu blurts, “Hi, I, remember me?”
So he’s not pretending he’s his brother. Suna’s thinking of a different joke to make when Osamu forges ahead, “Hi, umm, so,” he sighs. “So.”
He slams the dildo on counter; the box is opened. Suna wrinkles his nose in disgust, gives him an exasperated look that screams, why are you doing this to me? “For reasons that should be obvious and can go unstated, we do not take back opened sex toys.”
“Oh, I didn’t—he.” Osamu catches himself, his usually deep voice going up nine octaves and five accents in the span of a one syllable word.
“Your twin brother,” Suna helps.
“Yes, my twin brother didn’t use... it, the uhhhh—”
“Wolf dildo.”
Osamu flushes. “It’s not. He opened it and well...” He fidgets with the pocket of his hoodie, lowering his voice to a whisper though there is no one else in the store and now Suna has to lean in to hear him. “It’s not ummmmmm, the correct... size.”
Suna raises an eyebrow, barely holding back his smirk. “I thought this was a gag gift.”
There’s a long, charged second, where Osamu looks frustrated enough to ditch the lie they both know isn’t true. They stare each other down, Suna thinking “I perceive you, bitch,” and Osamu begging, “Please, don’t.” Then Osamu’s face crumbles in a pathetic kind of puppy look Suna wasn’t expecting. It catches him off guard.
“It’s too expensive to just,” he whines, shrugging. “Just, ugh, I don’t know.”
“Work yourself up to it,” Suna pities him. Osamu’s eyes widen. “Tell your brother that. That he can keep it.” Suna pushes the box towards him. “And work himself up to this size.”
Osamu blinks back at him like Suna has divulged the location of the holy grail.
“Don’t be scared. It won’t bite you,” Suna says. Osamu looks like he might try speaking so Suna hurries to add. “Anything else I can help you with today?”
“Ok, so.” Osamu rocks back on his heels, his whole body wringing and fidgeting. “You seem to know a lot about this.”
“I work here,” Suna deadpans.
“Right,” Osamu cringes. “Right, right... so.” No good deed goes unpunished, huh? “How does one...” He pauses, looking around the store, again, despite nothing changing, no one came in! Suna waits impatiently. His lunch is getting cold.
“Do that—is what my brother would ask, probably,” Osamu forces out.
“Ohhhhhh,” Suna exaggerates. He gestures for Osamu to come closer. “I’ll let you in on a secret.” Osamu leans in eagerly. He smells like boy shampoo, you know, the pine and testosterone version. “So there’s this machine...”
Osamu listens so intently with eyes so big that Suna almost abandons being a dick for giving the poor guy some real advice. It’s not his fault he was conditioned to never discover his g-spot. He’s at least trying to have an ass orgasm and that’s more than most straight boys can say. Suna’s last boyfriend shot jizz to the ceiling the first time Suna shoved his fingers up in there.
Suna should respect Osamu for venturing out of his comfort zone, being open-minded, crushing toxic masculinity yada yada, but Suna’s an asshole so he probably won’t.
“It’s called Google and you can search up all the ass play your heart desires,” he cuts the story short.
Osamu lets his head flop on the counter with a smack.
Suna leans over him to whisper. “Is it the omegaverse porn that has you—?”
“I don’t know what that means!!” Osamu mumbles but his neck is bright pink. The omegaverse porn gets us all, Suna wants to say.
“Of course, you don’t,” Suna sasses him and his hand finds itself magically on Osamu’s head, petting him, when really, he can’t say he’s ever done this with any customer, ever, and he’s been working ret-hell-ail since he was sixteen.
Osamu’s just so sad looking and when he leans over like that, his ass is kind just chilling there for all to see. There, there, bubble-butt, you’ll make a gal very happy one day. Osamu makes a pained noise.
“Hey,” Suna sighs. Time to be a good gay after eye-assaulting this poor, broken man. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of—”
“I’m not ashamed!” Osamu whips his head up. “I’m broke!” You have pretty pink cheeks, bubble-butt, Suna wants to say.
Osamu gets himself straightened, huffing air in his pretty, pink cheeks. He looks... exerted, like he has... exerted himself. “You’re no help,” he pouts.
“Never said I would be.” Suna shrugs. “Come again?”
Osamu grabs his dick (the fake one, the wolf one), rolls his eyes and stomps towards the door, jingling the bell on the way out.
Not the strangest thing to happen. Sex shops get wild, but up there on the list, considering Suna slumps himself on his chair and looks down to find a lump in his pants, his dick is chubby. Nice.
Kuroo wins bet number two, which dooms Suna to a whole two weeks of being the only person at the store so Kuroo can slobber over Meian-san’s dick or something. They’re going on a “real date, okay? Fuck you, he actually likes me, okay?”
Suna doesn’t ask for details. He’s already getting punished enough as it is. This is all Osamu’s fault because Suna bet Osamu would return with more questions, but he doesn’t. Kuroo says he’s probably cooped up in his room, going through heat or something. Get it? Omegaverse humor? Yeah, Suna rolled his eyes too.
Osamu is not nesting in his Alpha’s clothes. He’s in class with Suna, thirteen rows away, hair ridiculously fluffy. Suna stares solely at his neck for two hours and forty-five minutes, and knows nothing about how Ancient Sumerians something something. Osamu has a nice neck.
“Hey!” Nice-Neck calls out, as the lecture hall empties out, waving directly at Suna so he doesn’t have to look behind to know. “Sex shop guy.”
Suna rolls his eyes. “Knot dildo guy!”
Osamu yanks him by the arm. “Shhh, are you crazy? What you screaming that for?”
“Oh, I thought we were announcing things we knew about each other, and, well—” he smirks, fluttering his lashes obnoxiously. There are perks to sex shop work. “How’s the gift coming along?”
Osamu goes red and looks down at his sneakers. “Don’t look at me,” he mumbles. He has a vice grip on Suna’s arm like if lets go Suna will prance around the lecture hall, screaming about Osamu’s twelve inch dildo that doesn’t fit.
“I didn’t know you were in my class,” Osamu says.
“Clearly. Hey guy-from-my-history-class just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
“Sorry,” Osamu winces. “I genuinely didn’t realize. Did—” he pulls Suna closer, practically whispering directly in his ear drum, and his nice dyed hair brushes against Suna’s temple, and what is this, what the fuck is this? “Did you know about me?”
“Miya Osamu, star of the volleyball team, part time sex shop connoisseur—”
“Shut up,” Osamu huffs, and brrrr, it sends shivers down Suna’s spine. He sounds nice all worked up, exerted, okay? Suna’s exerted sex shop boy. “You could have told me. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Samu,” a voice that sounds like copy of the one ASMR-ing his earlobe asks. “Who’s this?”
“His boyfriend,” Suna doesn’t miss a beat. Sue him, Osamu’s so fun to tease, and he’s holding onto Suna so tight it’s an appropriate joke to make. He’s an opportunist.
“Uhhh,” Osamu’s brain loads.
“Oh,” the Walmart version of him says, eying Suna up and down. “A pleasure.” Before turning towards his brother, frown etched on his face. “Pretty sure I told you not to put shrimp in the rice yesterday.”
“Pretty sure I said, I don’t give a fuck,” Osamu shoots back.
“I am literally deathly allergic to shrimp.”
Fratricide and all, it’s the perfect time to make a subtle exit, especially noting Osamu looks primed to argue back and Suna has seen them go at it a few times freshman year in their shared English Composition class. It’s more of a marathon event that descends into rapid-fire back and forths of “You!” “No, you!” “No, you!” “No, you!”
“How’s the birthday gift working out?” Suna asks to be a dick.
“Huh?” Atsumu says.
“Your brother came into the sex shop I work to buy you a birthday gift,” Suna explains very slowly so that no word is missed. He scratches his chin thoughtfully like he’s wracking his brain to remember. “He said maybe the size didn’t work out?”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up,” Osamu’s chanting under his breath.
The smile Atsumu has on is downright diabolical. “Did he now? And what did he buy for me again? What was that about size?”
Osamu covers Suna’s mouth before he can respond. His hands are so fucking sweaty. They taste salty, not that Suna’s licking. It’s not his fault one of Osamu’s fingers is dangerously close to the part of his lips, that if he just opened them, it would slip inside against his tongue. Osamu bites his fingernails. Suna watches him in class. He has had saliva on these fingers. Yum (and not ironically).
“Wouldn’t you like to know—guess you’ll have to wait for your gift, eh?” He glares at Suna. “Are you a single child?”
“shankmmully,” Suna mumbles.
Osamu lets him breathe. “Yeah, I can imagine. Since you don’t understand how you’ve ruined the rest of my fucking life!”
Atsumu settles from his evil snickering to ask, “Is your boyfriend coming to the game, Samu?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Osamu says. “I don’t know who this man is.”
Atsumu looks confused. “That’s one way to go about it.”
“No, I legitimately could not tell you this man’s name.”
“What’s your name, mystery man?” Atsumu asks Suna directly.
“Suna,” Suna says, before throwing Osamu a mock scandalized look. “Samu, I think your brother’s hitting on me.” He shakes his head mournfully, looks up at the skies. “Wow, I never thought I of all people would be in this situation but I guess if someone has to take one for the team when it comes to taking both twins—”
“What situation—?” Atsumu asks.
Osamu looks ready to muffle him again and this time for good. “Nope. There is no situation. At all. Ever. Nope.”
“Suna what?” Atsumu asks.
“Suna Rin. Are you gonna let him do this to you, Samu-chan? He is stealing me away right in front of your very eyes? Oh, the controversy!”
“Stop calling me Samu. How do you know my name?”
“We have a database of all our customers and the products they buy. We sell it to the FBI so they know who the really weird people are. Wolves, as a species, are practically extinct so we have to protect them—”
“Hah?!!” Osamu looks ready to drop dead.
“I’m fucking with you. Don’t have a heart attack. Your brother called you Samu.”
“And how do you know he’s my brother?” Osamu is suspicious. And an idiot.
“Because he’s you copy-pasted.”
“Hey—!” Atsumu argues.
“That’s an insult, I am so much hotter.”
“You are,” Suna says.
“Hey!!” Atsumu argues louder. “I thought I was stealing you or what not?”
“Steal me harder. God, what am I, a mere human mortal, to do when two twin volleyball stars are both trying to get with me?”
“No one is,” Osamu says, “No one at all.”
“Your boyfriend is weird,” Atsumu comments, face splitting into a huge, toothy grin. “But I like him.”
“He’s not...” Osamu tapers off, giving in. “Fine, just don’t get attached.”
He starts walking in a direction, presumably where the gym is—Suna, who has never been near it, wouldn’t know. “Well?” he turns back to prompt, and now that they’re not next to each other Suna’s bearing the full brunt of Osamu’s cheeky eyes.
“You said you’re watching me play, boyfriend,” Osamu teases.
Usually when friends invite Suna to sport events, his response is “No thanks, I’m gay,” but in this particular case being gay landed him here and who is he to deny himself the pleasure of seeing Osamu squirm in much less clothing?
“You should know he actually means it,” Osamu says as they walk side by side through the massive campus. “Tsumu gets attached to people so now he’ll think you guys are friends or something.”
Atsumu’s ears must be burning because he flips his head towards them, eyes in slits. “Don’t swap spit in front of me!”
“I’m telling him you don’t have any friends,” Osamu yells.
“And?” Atsumu shrugs. “Kita-san!” he calls out, jogging ahead towards a shorter boy, wearing a similar style jacket. “Come meet Samu’s boyfriend!”
Suna watches him point in the direction of the two of them. Kita-san gives them a head nod like he approves of Suna for his teammate-son.
“You’ll tell him?” Suna asks sheepishly.
“How’s it my problem you wanna date me so bad, Suna?” Osamu taunts.
“Thought you had a girlfriend, Samu,” Suna can’t help himself.
“Thought you wanted to be mine,” Osamu throws back. “You are my game girlfriend, after all. I expect really loud cheering every time I score and trust, you’ll get hoarse quickly ‘cause I’m the best spiker on the team—”
“That’s Aran,” Atsumu interjects. “Sorry to ruin your flirting but Samu’s not the ace or anything,” Atsumu explains to Suna like Suna cares to know what that means. “He’s good but he’s not the best in the team. Aran is the best and he is also the hottest—”
“No one asked.”
Osamu flushes, probably in realization that his brother heard all that. Suna flushes because for a second he was being flirted with. Hard. Is Osamu actually gay? Kuroo would kill him for making that generalization just off of a prostate dildo that the man has yet to even use. But not every straight man trying to get his asshole tickled would pick a wolf dick so what’s Kuroo’s defense to that?
“Shut up, Tsumu, I’m fucking great,” Osamu mumbles. Atsumu rolls his eyes and leaves them to it, harassing some other dude from the team about Samu’s new boyfriend like he’s showing off a new dog.
“Where was I?” Osamu recovers.
“I’ll scream until I lose my voice?” Suna prompts.
Osamu flushes deeper. “Oh, that too,” he winks—winks?—winks. Walking away. Only then does Suna realize what the subtext of all this is.
Volleyball is too fast-paced for Suna’s human eyes to follow. He picks up on the bump, toss, hit, bump, toss, hit, bump, toss, hit—but would much rather be looking at the bulge, butt, pit combo Osamu’s got going on in that flimsy, black uniform. Yum.
Tiny short shorts riding up his thick, muscled thighs, the way his ass sticks out when he’s “receiving”—the old man besides him corrects—yeah, that. The position that looks like he’d be really good at riding cock. Cock... Cock.... he’s short circuiting. Osamu’s cock. In those pants. They bunch up just enough to imagine he’s hung.
His arms, his underarms, his hairy armpits that must smell like sweaty, musky filth—he’s a freak, ok? He works at a fucking sex shop, take a wild guess how he spends his employee discount. He wants to dig his nose in Osamu’s sticky, hairy, manly armpit and hump his leg like a dog. Is everyone else this aroused from this stupid sport that makes no sense? Is the old woman with three children and three grandchildren going through this special kind of hell? He’s gonna chew that ass like it’s made of bubblegum.
Osamu raises his eyes towards him on their time out. He gives Suna a grin. Suna would love to say he is completely indifferent to it but what he does instead is very, very subtly and very, very slowly push his tongue into the inside of his cheek so Osamu gets a view of what his mouth might look like full of dick.
It’s childish and crude and Suna’s fairly certain, Osamu pops a boner over it. The bulge that Suna had become so familiar with in the first set looks considerably heavier.
Suna grips the railing in front of him to keep his soul attached to his body and not giving Osamu an astral projective blowjob. He might as well start salivating now. He’s gonna apologize to Kuroo every day of his silly life. Kuroo is right. Dick... is good, dick in mouth, good. He’s so hungry.
They’ve tied. Which means more volleyball. Which means another timeout with Osamu right before him, bottom lip bit, eyes blown black, staring Suna down like he’s gonna sink his teeth in Suna’s balls and rip his testicles clear off his body. Yes.
Osamu runs his eyes down. Suna spreads his legs for him, casually, like a man, man-spreading. Osamu smirks, taking in his crotch. Oh, they’re gonna fuck fuck then?
The third set is stressful. Every spike might be the last one—the spike where Osamu’s heavy, hard cock drops out of his tiny short shorts for the world to see.
The anticipation—this is why people watch sports. Suna has gone from a proper homosexual to someone that cheers when Osamu and his shirt get air. Washboard abs, of course, outie belly button, his goddamn fucking weakness, the v-lines, the cum-gutters, whatever they’re called—the uncle beside him can’t help him with that.
Osamu smashing that ball through people’s hands, slamming it on the floor. How would that hand feel against Suna’s bum? His thighs? Ouch. His dick? God. He’s so hard.
The game ends, Inarizaki wins and Osamu is nowhere to be seen. Suna’s so wired with pent up sexual frustration, he thinks he might have a heart attack if it doesn’t go somewhere, anywhere. He’d bite his own ass if he could to have something to taste.
He can’t get up for a full ten minutes after the court is cleared, legs shaky like he was getting fucked instead of watching the other team take it.
But no, Osamu’s gone somewhere and the stands are emptying out.
Suna doesn’t know the correct protocol for these things but it seems lame to stay put. Leaving would mean he goes home empty-handed.
“Hey,” Osamu says. Suna flips around about to pounce on him like a dick out gazelle when... it’s the other one, Atsumu. He raises a dark eyebrow because Suna’s metaphorical drool dried quick. “Don’t look like I’ve shot your dog, jeez.”
“Hey,” Suna recovers. “Good game.” His tail must still be dragging because Atsumu smirks at him ready to yank it. Kick a man while he’s down, eh? They’ll be best buds.
“Look, man,” Atsumu touches the back of his neck. Never a good sign. “I know you’re not dating him.”
Wuh-wuh. Here comes the sad violin. Play time is over. No more fun for Suna, and he was just starting to embrace it.
“But like, he wants you to be?” Atsumu gestures to explain, cutting off his path to the door. “But he’s also a fucking pussy. He won’t come out of the locker room so can you go and pull him out or something?”
“Me?”
“He’s nervous. About seeing you.”
“Why?” Suna asks.
Atsumu has no patience. “Do you want him or not?”
“Samu, you better be dressed,” Atsumu calls out as they approach. There’s steam emanating from the door. It stinks of body odor.
“Do you really think he actually likes me?” Osamu says, right as Atsumu and Suna walk through the door to see him naked, holding a skimpy towel in front of his groin.
“I like you,” Suna blurts to answer his question.
Osamu looks mortified. His nipples—down, boy, be normal—his eyes are shocked.
Suna smiles. “I actually like you. If that’s what you’re asking.”
“Well there ya have it,” Atsumu announces joyfully, sprinting away as Osamu chases after him, towel and whatever’s underneath it bouncing with the movement.
Suna stares at the floor. Not because he’s gracious but because he’s horny enough to know one look at that muscled bare ass and they’d have to scrape him and his horny off the floor. He’d melt into full jizz, in his veins, jizz. The way those pale, tight muscles clench, mmmm.
“You fucking idiot! What the fuck!” Osamu’s screaming somewhere. “What the fuck are you doing to me?!”
“I’m gonna wait—” The sound of something dense and hardheaded like Atsumu’s skull hits the metal lockers hard. “—outside,” Suna calls out.
“Help!” Atsumu cries, “Help me, Suna!”
“Sounds fun,” Suna responds.
“Suna, I helped you!!!” Atsumu wails. He did. Suna would have gone home without him. Atsumu’s the MVP of this night. “Stop choking me, I’m trying to get you dick!”
“Never say that again!” Osamu threatens, still choking him from the dying goat sounds echoing through the walls.
They play ten questions on the way to the dorms, as if it’ll normalize this crazy day and what they’re about to do to make it crazier.
“Is it actually your birthday?”
“Yes,” Osamu says. “In a few days. Wanna come?”
Suna ignores him. “And you don’t have a girlfriend?”
“Do you?” Osamu turns it around.
How does he put this gently? “Sweetie, I’m gay.”
“I know you like men,” Osamu says, frowning. “But you could like women too, you know?”
“I see you passed Gender Studies, congrats.”
“I see you’re a dick to your kind too,” Osamu snaps back.
“Yes. Everyone, indiscriminately,” Suna smirks. “Where are we going?”
“My room.”
“Where’s Atsumu going?”
“Anywhere but there.”
“Fuck,” Osamu groans. Suna slams him into the wall before pulling him towards himself just as rough. Osamu bites at his lower lip eagerly. “I’ve never done this before,” he moans, yanking up Suna’s shirt to reveal his stomach. His cold hands feel their way up, taking their time, squeezing every inch of Suna’s body, his tits.
“Ever?” Suna bites into neck. Osamu all but purrs his name. “Doubt that.”
They pause kissing to get Osamu’s shirt out of the way. Suna’s on him just as fast, licking at his skin. He’d have preferred no shower but that’s for future times when they’re more acquainted and Suna can ask the dude to blindfold him and fuck his face with a dildo. But how’s that fun for me, his ex had asked. Oh, you’re fucking my other side, Suna had taught him.
“With a, mmmf, god, you’re bitey—with a guy,” Osamu pants, rocking against his thigh. “Not with a guy.”
“Oh?” Suna hums, lips closing over a nipple. Bitey. He runs the nub down his teeth. Osamu flinches at the pain, but his hands pull him closer. The bulge in his pants starting to get sticky.
“I like you—” Osamu whimpers, “But I don’t know if you care.”
It’s not a dealbreaker but not exactly ideal either. Newbies usually needed time to adjust to the idea of what was about to happen. The fingers they could handle, they howled for good dick, but the concept itself that they were doing this and what that meant for who they had to be tomorrow, that took effort and time that Suna just didn’t want to invest.
“I only care if you’re into it,” he admits, forcing himself to be good. He pulls up so they’re face to face again, giving Osamu space to breathe when all he wants to do is suck the oxygen out of his lungs. “Need me to slow down?”
Osamu pulls on his clothes. “Need you to get this thing off already, Sunarin.”
Suna smirks, throwing his shirt across the room. Osamu stares at him hungrily. “I’m into it,” he swallows, eyes raking Suna’s chest. “I’m into it. I’m really into it—”
“Ok, ok,” Suna cuts him off, chuckling. “Come here, pretty boy.”
“You,” Osamu moans into his mouth. “No, you’re—”
“Don’t start with this.”
He urges Osamu’s legs around his waist. Osamu has one up, is rubbing his groin all over his own leaking dick, but hesitates with the other thigh.
“I’m heavy,” he warns.
“I can handle it.” What do you think the once a week pilates class is for, huh, varsity athlete?
“No, I’m all muscle, I’m heavier than I look,” Osamu rambles, pulling him towards his bedroom. “Let’s—bed, let’s—ride me, suck me.”
But now Suna’s pride is on the line. He blocks his path, yanking him back. “Get up there, princess,” he growls.
“Hot.” Osamu indulges him, lifting himself.
They collapse on the floor—Osamu’s thick, fat ass on top of his rib cage. Suna sobs. His dignity!!! His joints.
“Nice,” Osamu snarks, crawling on top of his aching, cringing body. He’s hurt, he’s in pain, things hurt! “This works,” Osamu grins down at him wolfishly.
Speaking of wolves, “Wanna help me fuck my dildo?”
Said dildo fits snugly. Osamu coos and groans and yelps and giggles taking it so sweetly. Not a single complaint.
“You want the knot?” is among sentences Suna never thought he’d utter in his lifetime.
“Yes, please,” followed by a strangled, “Fill me up, knot me up,” is among the sights he could get used to never not seeing.
The second he shoves the fat end of the toy past the ring, it kinda gets stuck there, and Osamu cums all over his seizing stomach, all eight of his tensing abs covered white.
“Fuck!” he yells. He looks at Suna, coming down. All sex eyes and wet lashes. “Now you,” he orders.
“Are you usually that forward?” Osamu asks the second Suna peels his eyes open.
The light is painfully bright. Crust makes blinking scratchy. Osamu’s spiffy and bubbly and sitting before his face, legs crossed underneath him. He’s dressed and ready to go, smells of minty toothpaste. No.
“I don’t normally let my gags run this long,” Suna yawns sleepily.
“Did you fuck me for a gag then?” Osamu’s huffy. It’s way too early to be huffy. It’s way too huffy to be unattached. It’s too cute to be annoyed at too. It’s too boyfriendy to ignore. He’s gonna sleep this away. He’s passing away.
“Easy, straight boy,” he grumbles, burying his face in the pillow.
“Fuck you!” Osamu shoves at him.
In some unacknowledged part of his half-awake brain, it stings. He knows it’s coming. Been with enough questioning boys to get used to the panic of the next day, the rambling excuses, the way they block your number before you have your shoes on. God forbid you run into them on the street. God forbid you try to make small talk. God forbid they’re with their guy friends.
“I liked you, man,” Osamu mopes.
“When you were too horny to care who touched your dick?”
“No, like, are we fighting?” Osamu asks.
“Don’t wanna,” Suna mumbles, rolling around to the other side and digging himself under the covers.
“Ok, cool, me neither.” Osamu tucks behind him, nose in Suna’s neck. “Can’t tell who’s the fuck boy here?” he chuckles.
“Is it usually you?”
“No.” Osamu shrugs with all his body. “People assume. Wait, am I being fuckboyed? You gonna dip as soon as I’m in the shower?”
“You already showered,” Suna calls him out.
“To avoid it.” Osamu’s big brained. He nuzzles into Suna’s body. “Fuck, Rin.”
Rin? When did Rin happen? Probably sometime between Suna tounging Osamu’s shaking, quivering asshole and Suna pushing Osamu’s stupid, hot body against the bed, licking the overwhelmed tears off his cheeks. He remembers Osamu moaning his name and Suna whispering, “Samu, call me Rin.” Shit. He enjoyed that.
“You’d know where to find me,” Suna says, turning around with a serious look on his face. “Now that you’ve had a taste, it’ll be impossible to resist, Miya.”
Osamu grins, unbothered. “You like me.” He pokes Suna’s cheek. “I bit you.”
“On my face?!” Suna asks, his hand finding a painful spot in his aching jaw.
“You let me,” Osamu says. He had, he had let Osamu do all sorts of feral shit yesterday. He enjoyed that. “You like me,” Osamu accuses him.
“Dude, I don’t know you,” Suna resists, despite himself.
Osamu cuddles him up into his strong arms. Next time they can try Osamu holding him, that might work better. “Wanna?” Osamu asks.
Suna’s cheeks hurt from how wide he’s smiling—or the bruise, or Osamu’s dick being shoved against it as he fucked his face open. You made me so horny in the game, you know? Knew I’d fuck that pretty face of yours, knew you’d suck dick well. He reaaaally enjoyed that.
He shrugs, hugging Osamu’s waist. “Yeah, suppose I have to now.”