Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’m usually the one who loses his temper, I’ll be the first to admit.

I know I’m hard to work with. I know I’m short with the sidekicks. I know I leave the paperwork to the last minute and curse myself for it when I have to pull an all-nighter the day before they’re due.

It’s usually me.

So I’m more than a little impressed when it’s you who flips an actual table before slamming the door to your office. Guess Blackwhip isn’t malfunctioning as badly as you claimed it was, huh Deku? It’s not as though my damn equipment bill isn’t already putting strain on the monthly finances, now we have to replace a table and most likely hire a new sidekick since you’ve sent this one scurrying off down the hall with a whimper.

Thanks for that.

Appreciate it.

“Fuck’s sake.”

“Dy…DynaMight-san?”

“What.”

One of the U.A. kids brave enough to come anywhere near the two of us is holding out a wrench. One I sent her for, and she’s back with the wrong fucking size, and I swear if one more fucking thing goes wrong today…

“Go home.”

“But–”

“You’re not fired yet,” I snap, grabbing the wrench and tossing it to the workbench. “But you’re real fucking close, four-eyes. Go home before I change my fucking mind. Git.”

I’m going to get another goddamn call from Aizawa-sensei, I know I fucking will, and I do not have the energy for that shit right now, I’m already barely holding it together not blowing the office space up and now you with your fuckin’ tantrums…

It takes another hour of futilely scratching about in the guts of the gauntlet for me to realize there’s no way in hell I can give it a DIY fix. Not unless I want to lose an arm to my fucking quirk in the middle of a battle. It’s pretty goddamn satisfying bashing the shit out of the thing with the wrong-sized wrench, though, I gotta say. It’s getting fixed up anyway, it’s already going to cost a couple of thousand, what’s another few dozen dents.

It makes me feel better, and no one gets their face blown off.

Because I swear to fuck, if more paperwork lands on my desk I will set fire to the desk itself and the arm that put the report down.

Which will lead to more fucking paperwork.

“Deku!”

You’re still sulking in your office, I can fucking see you in there, you little shit. And I know you can hear me, we’ve tested the lack of sound proofing in the building plenty.

“Where the fuck is the Byakura file?”

It’s not even my fucking case, it’s yours, it’s not even one you did through this agency, but when you went over to Kyoto for a week, but of course, of course, I’m the one working on it because–

You know what?

Fuck it.

Fuck this.

I don’t bother knocking, we’re the only ones left at the office anyway, it’s nearing one in the morning. You have the gall to actually look offended.

“Byakura file,” I ask again, shoving your laptop aside to lean over the desk. If you move that thing between us again I’ll close it so hard it’ll break in half, and it won’t come out of the agency budget to replace it. “Where is it?”

“In the finished pile.”

“And you were just, what, gonna let me go nuts looking for it before telling me?”

“It’s my case.”

“No shit , Deku.”

“Why are you even here, Lord Explosion Murder?” you spit back. And there’s venom there, I can feel it, but there’s something else too, something that warms your vowels, rounds them off in a very specific way. “No interns to bully, so you’re gunning for me now?”

You little shit.

You little fucking brat.

“You think I don’t have enough on my fucking plate without you–”

“Right,” you snap your fingers and purse your lips, an expression of the most fake concern I’ve ever seen. I’m really considering adding to the paperwork just to blast it off your face. “Right, your toy’s broken. And we all know you misfire without a little help these days.”

I’m pretty sure a fire siren is going off somewhere. Real fucking loud, right between my goddamn ears. And you’re just sitting there, tilting your head like butter wouldn’t goddamn melt.

“Can’t have that rumor spreading, huh, Kacchan? It would be a PR nightmare if word got out that the great DynaMight is too quick on the draw.”

I’m not sure if I want to laugh or scream, the tickling sensation in my gut is about the same. There’s sparks between my fingers, the room smells like a fucking candy store, and you…

“Say that one more time,” I manage, though how you hear me is a goddamn mystery, I can’t even hear myself think right now. “I fucking dare you, Deku, say it.”

“Always wondered if you were compensating for something, with the size of those things,” you grin. And there it is, that particular petulant cadence of my bratty boy. You couldn’t just ask me properly could you? Always gotta push my buttons.

“Always wondered, huh?” your eyes follow the tip of my tongue when I wet my lip with it. “Get your ass over here, you won’t have to fucking wonder for long.”

“Fucking make me, Bakugou,”

I’ll set fire to the entire fucking office and not feel a lick of guilt.

“What did I just say, brat?”

“I heard you,” your smile is vicious, sharp, gorgeous as hell. And I can’t remember the last time I even kissed you this week let alone laid my hands on you. No wonder you’re breaking tables. 

“No one’s taken you in hand for a couple days and you act like a spoilt little shit? Thought I taught you better.”

“Ya know what they say, Kacchan,” you shrug, sitting back as though your body isn’t trembling with tension, as though your cock isn’t so hard between your legs it’s tenting your hero costume in the most obscene way. “Those who can’t do, teach.”

That’s it. That’s fucking it.

You’re fast, but I’m faster.

You’re sneaky, but I’m better.

You’re a brat, but I’m your master.

You don’t make it more than halfway around the desk before I’ve got you by the throat and shoved down on top of your unfinished paperwork. Pens scatter over the floor, you kick out at one of the dinky chairs nearby and send that flying, and then my mouth’s on yours and you taste like exhaustion and a building orgasm and I won’t let you go even if you start screaming.

Not anymore.

I catch the next kick with my free hand and fold your leg around my hips instead and God you feel so fucking good, so goddamn hard for me.

“Been neglecting you haven’t I, baby boy?”

Your moan arches your back up off the desk, brings you closer, and I can feel how fast your pulse is skittering beneath my fingers. I squeeze harder, just to relish the choked little whine you give me when I do.

“A whole week without a good, deep fuck, no wonder you’re so frustrated. Gonna give that ass a proper dicking down and thrashing, hmm? Gonna rip you apart.”

“Fuck!”

“That’s right,” I groan, pushing up to stand over you, the heel of my hand pressing to your twitching Adam's apple. “You know I will. Just the way you need to be.”

I can see what the words are doing to you, the way your eyes roll back in your head, the way your cheeks grow darker and darker pink, the way your lips part, glistening with spit and unspoken pleas. I can’t help it, I let my fingers spark, just enough to lick over your throat, just enough to have you jerking up against me, hands around my arm not to shove me away but to keep me close.

I know, baby.

I know what you need.

I’ve got you.

I rock my hips up against you, a lazy, deliberately slow rub, until you’re shaking, until you’re gasping for air, spit slipping from the corners of your mouth. It’s only then I ease up. Not because you can’t handle it, not because it hurts, but because that’s not what you need right now.

You cough trying to catch your breath so I grab your hair instead, arching you back, lifting you up just enough for you to get yourself back to normal. You’re close enough to kiss, your eyes already hazy and too-bright, pupils so full there’s just a hint of green. God I’ve missed you, you’ve been right fucking there but I’ve missed you.

“Still with me, sweetheart?”

You nod, or try to, the hand that was wrapped around my wrist now pressing to my chest, kneading like a content cat.

“I’m not gonna be gentle with you,” I warn, hooking my thumb through one of your belt loops to yank you to the edge of the desk, your legs spreading wide around my hips. “Not even a little, you know that right?”

“Yeah,” you sound like you’re speaking around a mouthful of gravel.

“Gonna leave marks,” I continue, tugging your hair until you hiss in pleasure, my own lip twitching up in sympathy as you do. “Bruises, bites, remind you who you belong to, hmm?”

“Fuck, yes… god, Kacchan, yes–”

“Because I’ve been neglecting my little slut , leaving him to run wild, cause havoc, scare the interns,” I grin. Your whimper is music to my ears. The way you rut up against me, hungry and out of your mind with need unfurls something primal and animalistic deep in my chest.

“Kacchan, kiss me…”

“Color, baby boy?”

“Green, fuck–”

“Shh, shh, shh, ask me properly.” I can taste the desperation on your breath, my own heart is hammering its way out from behind my ribs so hard I can barely keep my breathing steady. But you deserve me taking you in hand properly, you deserve a proper dedicated playtime to ease that restlessness down again.

You whimper, that helpless, frail little noise, and squeeze your thighs around me hard enough to bruise. I can see the moment something snaps, the moment the tension that has been riding you all week slips into the kind of tension you want.

“Please, Sir, please kiss me,”

So I do.

Of course I do, when my boy is asking so sweetly for me.

I kiss you softly, completely at odds with how roughly I’m gripping your hair, how deliberately I’m rubbing against you. My cock is aching. It's so goddamn hard.

“Feel that, baby?” I groan, nuzzling my nose against yours. Your fingers are gripping my shirt so hard I think you might tear it. I hope you fucking do. “Feel how hard my cock is for you? That’s your fault, sweetheart, all because you’ve been such a naughty thing today. Can’t take you anywhere.”

“Let me–”

“Let you, what, love?”

“Let… let me feel you? Please? Deep… deep in me–”

“Go on then,” I smile, licking a line over your cheek. “Open me up.”

Your hands are shaking, your breath his shaking, your entire body is shaking, but I don’t let you duck your head to look down to see what you’re doing; I want your eyes on me, just on me.

“That’s it,” fuck your hands feel so good against my dick, battle-rough and cooler than my fevered skin. I let you wrap your fingers around me, enjoy a few delicious strokes before kissing you deep again. You can barely keep your mind on one thing at a time; your hand stills as you kiss me back, so I pull away until you’re stroking me again.

Your little whine of displeasure is adorable.

I’m not sure how long I can keep a cool head, though, I’m about to blow my load from how inexperienced you suddenly feel, even though you were the first to do this to me, the first to kiss me in the middle of school, the first to tempt me into this madness.

Awful, awful boy. I love you.

When I pull away again you look at me as though you’re not even awake, like you’re flying, like you don’t know what goddamn year it is. You’re extraordinary, you’re gonna make me lose my goddamn mind.

“Hey,” a slap just sharp enough to feel jerks you in my grip and you bend yourself over backwards trying to get closer. “Get your pants down, little tease, before I rip your costume off you. We don’t have the budget for another one, how will you explain that to the team tomorrow?”

You groan, a sound a lot like a laugh and a little like a dry sob shivering in your throat before your fumbling fingers move to release me and work your own clothes loose. I adjust my grip on your hair and shove two fingers into your mouth.

“Suck.”

You do, obedient thing. You’ll do absolutely anything I tell you now, I know you will. The rush is indescribable, any time I can get you this deep I forget how to breathe for a minute. This must be what a mind control quirk feels like, the sheer power of it is insane. You choke around my fingers. My top lip flickers in a snarl.

“Or maybe you want to?” I groan, keeping my eyes on your face, on the way your lips wrap so obscenely around my fingers. “Maybe you want to stand in the middle of the agency and apologize for your behavior today in a torn up hero costume? I can easily make that happen.”

You jerk in my grip again, shaking your head, though your lips have stretched into the most blissed out smile. God you’re cute.

You manage to squirm enough out of your clothes that your bare ass is sitting on your desk now, and that’s enough for me, I don’t need much more than that before I yank you close, freeing my fingers and shoving my tongue into your willing mouth instead.

You taste like sex and I haven’t even fucked you yet.

A step back to get your hip out of range of the sharp corner of the desk, an ankle against the back of your knee, a shift of weight, and I have you chest-down against the table, shoving papers and the last of your mess to the floor to make sure nothing’s pressing into your sternum, making it hard to breathe.

You don’t get to catch your breath before my fingers are thrusting into you, deep enough to make you cry out, angled up to hit your sweet spot hard. I free your hair to grasp the back of your neck instead, holding you down like a naughty pup.

“So tight for me,” fuck you feel good, fuck, Deku– “how many days has it been since I played with this ass? Three? Four? You’re going feral without my cock, huh baby? Gonna make sure to leave you properly fucked out.”

I should get lube, I should take my time to work three fingers into you, but I know you can take me with minimal prep, I know you need that right now. And honestly I don’t think I have a spare goddamn brain cell to do anything but what I’m doing right now. I kick one of your legs out wider, you obediently move the other, opening yourself up for me.

It doesn’t take much more than that to have you ready, pushed up onto your toes and quivering with need.

“Shit, if only you could see yourself right now,” I press my forehead between your shoulders, line myself up. It takes a lot of concentration not to come as soon as I’ve breached that tight rim of yours, because holy fuck, Deku, you’re not the only one on the brink of madness from involuntary abstinence.

“Oh, baby boy you’re a goddamn dream,” I moan, shamelessly loud in the empty office, my own breathing as irregular as yours, as heavy and hot. I nuzzle sweat off my hair against your back and pull away to fuck into you properly. “A goddamn fucking wet dream.”

A few shallow thrusts before I kick your feet out wider again, winding you a little when you land heavy on the desk once more.

“Ass up.”

“I’m trying!”

“Try harder.”

Your laugh is a balm to the soul, if only you knew. I can’t keep the grin off my face either as I give you a smack before starting to fuck you properly, deep as I know you like, hard as I know you need. We’re gonna be a goddamn mess tomorrow at work. We’re already a goddamn mess. Good thing we have a separate laundry here coz there’s no way in hell we’d have been able to crawl into the back of a cab smelling like we do.

“God you feel so fucking good,” your voice is a mangled, pleased little rumble against the surface of the desk, and I smack you again, hard enough to make you laugh, to pitch your voice just so.

You know exactly what you do to me when you tense up, squeezing my cock so tight it actually hurts for a breath or three.

I hoist your hips up higher, until you’re on your toes again, your hands digging into the desk to hold yourself up properly, arching back into everything I give you, tempting me to go harder.

And I could.

You know I fucking could. Hard enough to shove the desk all the way across the room, leave dents in the wall, marks on the floor–

My phone chirps.

A moment later, it hums in my pocket, the sensation so goddamn unexpected I have to duck down to bite your shoulder so I don’t come then and there.

Whoever the fuck it is must have a goddamn death wish.

You lift your head to look over your shoulder and I immediately shove you back down again, free hand fumbling in my pocket to get the damn thing out.

Oh.

Not a death wish. Something much more palatable.

I card my fingers through your hair before yanking your head back, hard enough to pull your voice loud and almost echoing in the space of your office just as I answer the call.

“Hey, Red, what’s up?”

You make a helpless choked-off noise beneath me, and I shove in deep, just holding myself still, keeping you filled as I listen to his voice filter through the line.

“Working late, working hard?” he asks, and I laugh, just a single bark of sound as I scratch your scalp lightly until you’re almost purring beneath me.

“Hardly working.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth.” He’s most likely just home from his own shift, I can hear him moving around in his apartment. I can feel you trembling beneath me, I can feel your pulse where our bodies join. “Need a snack run? Guaranteed timely delivery.”

“Yeah?” I free your hair to stroke behind your ear, and you squirm beneath me like a cat, pleased and giddy and so goddamn sweet my throat goes dry. “How timely?”

“Pretty fuckin’,” he snorts. I pull slowly out of you then shove back in, hard, and your voice carries over the surface of the desk again before you press a hand over your mouth to muffle it. “You busy?”

“Nah, nothing that can’t be interrupted,” I grin. Beneath me you shiver, glancing over your shoulder. Your pupils are still blown, but you’re much more present now, I can tell you know what’s going on. I just raise an eyebrow, silent question. Your grin is all the answer I need.

I reach out, stroking my knuckles against your cheek, soothing you into a dazed little puddle on the wood, before grasping your wrist and folding your arm behind your back, hips starting that deep, deliberate rhythm I had going before he’d called.

“No, no wait–!”

“There should be a Takoyaki place open,” I muse, rolling my hips forward, jerking your arm back. It makes you bend into such pretty shapes beneath me, your voice breathy and loud. I don’t even need to put the phone on speaker, I know he can hear you. “Two blocks from the agency.”

“Yeah I know the one,” he laughs, and something in his tone tells me he’s not quite believing what he can hear, but he’s certainly not going to pass the opportunity up to check. “Two portions?”

“Three.”

His laugh pulls low and I do set the phone to speaker then, tossing it to the table so you can hear it too.

“Three it is. Not much foot traffic this time of night, should take me about ten minutes.”

“Try for eight,” I tell him, wrapping my hand around your cock before you can figure out a way to keep quiet. He lets your whimper carry, hang in the silence after, before cursing softly and hanging up first.

“Fuck,” you laugh, shaking against the desk before shoving back into me, demanding and needy.

“Working on it, sweetheart,” I remind you, tucking some stray hair behind your ear before leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Octopus is good for stamina.”

Chapter Text

Time seems to at once fly past and stand entirely still. It’s a stupid cliché but damn if it ain’t the fucking truth that time slows down when you’re with the one you love; there never seems to be enough time. 

Not in the mornings when we have to gently bully each other out of bed to get to work, not in the evenings if we ever have ones that end at a normal hour, not at night, when I want to be doing nothing else but taking in every part of you, your smell, your taste, the way your hands feel in my hair… and I can’t, because the need for goddamn sleep.

Even now, every deliberate arch of your back, every sharp short shove into your ass doesn’t feel like enough. I want to make you come, I want to hold you off, I want to keep myself composed and also entirely shatter. For you. For him. For all of us… 

This is the kind of loss of control that I’d always been afraid of. When I first met you, when you first showed me what you wanted, what we could have. When we started to play, to look deeper, to go further. When you almost left because I’d never looked at you how you deserved, or reached for you like I wanted to….

When we met Him.

“I’m close–” your voice is so low, so rough, it makes my entire body shudder.

“Wait,” just until he gets here, just until he can see…

I feel like I’m caught in a hurricane, that eerie calm when the world is going to shit around you. I’ve only ever felt this with you before, only ever with you. Until this. Until now. Until him.

He knows the door code, you’d given it to him when you were pulling a week of all-nighters and I was out of the city, months and months ago. Has it been only months? It feels like so much longer, like a lifetime already, as important, and irreplaceable, and unimaginable as it’s been with you.

Shit.

I feel like I’m goddamn high.

I grab your hair again, heft you up, hold you close. You’re still up on your tiptoes but I’ve got you, balanced and secure. The change of position pulls your voice loud and long, a breathless little shiver of a laugh there when I snake a hand up under your shirt and spread it over your chest.

Your heart’s going as crazy as mine.

Footfalls on the stairs.

The creaking of the heavy smoke-stop door.

A hush of shoes on the carpet, squeaking when his feet hit the wooden floors by the offices next…

Closer, closer–

“Close, I’m close, I’m close–” it’s a mantra, helpless and breathless and lovely, and I tug your curls so you’re leaning back against my shoulder, eyes half closed in ecstasy, hands up against my arm beneath your costume, just needing something to cling to.

I feel his eyes on me before I even bother looking over my shoulder, I wonder if you do too, or if you’re too lost, too tangled in the pleasure overflowing your mind and senses.

It feels like a caress, a gaze I know so goddamn well now. It feels different to yours; yours tickles up the back of my neck, a teasing step-step-step of practiced fingertips across my spine. His is like fingers weaving through my hair, scratching the scalp just enough to make me shiver.

Close, close, close…

When I finally look, he’s not taken aback, he’s not shocked or confused or even amused. He looks so entirely content. There’s a flush to his cheeks already, probably from jogging all the way here, possibly from what he’s seeing, most likely both. He’s watching, taking it in, and his lips part on a smile, barely-there and lovely.

He’s lovely.

I hold his gaze as I press up against you a little harder, bend you back over the desk until you’re shaking and clawing at it, begging me for more, harder, sir, please, sir, I’m–

I run a hand through my hair as I stand up again and jerk my chin up, beckoning him close.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and eager as he is, his steps are steady and slow as he approaches. The plastic bag whispers against the couch when he sets it down. His hair’s still wet from the shower, tugged back into a little knot at the nape of his neck. He’s wearing your hoodie. Or, more accurately, it’s my hoodie, with your hero logo on it, and fills it out much better than I do.

And when he’s close enough to reach out, close enough to touch, it’s you he reaches for, as I reach for him; your hip his hand spreads over as he presses up against my side and leans in and lets me lick my way into his mouth.

He tastes like smoke and cinnamon, like a sleepy sigh, like early mornings. He feels like the safest place I could possibly be. We could possibly be.

It’s me who moans, not him. Me whose rhythm falters as I lean into him, hips still pistoning into and out of you, feeling every quiver and shiver and clench of your body as you beg wordlessly for me to get you there, to push you over the precipice.

“Sight for sore eyes, bug,” he murmurs, and you lose it, body spasming in pleasure, voice choked off and taut as you drag your nails against the surface of the desk and let your release pulse up against the underside of it, to the floor beneath.

His hand skims up your side, slips over mine where I rest it in your curls, and gently extricates my fingers to hold there instead, taking my weight when I groan and lock my knees to keep from collapsing. An arm snakes around my side, his nose bumping over my cheek, and I can feel his smile even though I don’t see it. My eyes are barely open, I don’t even know which way is up anymore.

You squirm beneath me, one hand back to press to my thigh, fingers digging in hard, your own feral display of gratitude. Your other, I assume, finds its way to him, because his laugh rumbles over my shoulder.

“Hi,” it’s so gentle, so loving, so soft. The kind of voice he has when we all stay up too late, or just before he has to go, and both of us can feel the weight of his displeasure at the idea. More and more I’ve wondered: what if he could just stay? “What mischief am I interrupting?”

“You’re right on time,” you counter, turning your face into his side to nuzzle him, to kiss chaste against his hand when he brings it down from your hair to your face.

I set both hands to your hips and work myself free from your shaking form before bending down to trace the top of your spine with my lips.

“Oh yeah?” his laugh is quiet, as though you didn’t just shamelessly fill the space with your moans, as though there’s anyone who might overhear. “Just in time to see him make a mess of you.”

“And now I need you to make a mess of me,” I tell him, glancing up, catching the brief flicker of genuine surprise before he blinks it away and puffs free a soundless laugh. Beneath me, you make the most obscene sound of pleasure and stretch your arms out long across the surface of the desk.

“Fuck yes,”

I give you the space you need to stand, to stretch, to lean back against me, while keeping your eyes on him. He hasn’t moved far, just enough that we’re all touching, one way or another. Fingers, whispers, clothes that have no business being where they are between us.

One of your hands settles on his hoodie and you laugh, a bright and pleased little noise, and I know without looking that your nose is wrinkled with delight, your eyes are narrowed to slits. You press back against me a little more deliberately and I have to hiss in a breath and hold it.

I made you come, I never did chase my own release after. I’m still hard as hell. You know that.

You rest back against my shoulder, enough so you can see us both. He still hasn’t responded to my words, I’m wondering if maybe he misheard. Or he doesn’t want to. Or–

“It’s been a while, huh?” your voice is still playful. You let go of his hoodie to press your knuckles up beneath my chin, angling it up just a little, just enough to hood my eyes when I keep them down to yours. “Since someone ruined that ass, right Sir?”

The sound he makes is frail and starved, and he butts his head against my shoulder with a huff of breath that’s anything but disinterested. I have to swallow, I don’t know if I can make a sound at all right now, let alone use words. I don’t need words. The way you’re looking at me, the million unspoken promised sweet nothings in that gaze are enough. I’ll walk off a damn cliff for you, you know that, and thank you for the privilege.

“Someone’s fucked you before?” His voice is ragged, breathy, and I can feel the thick promise of him against my hip as he shifts just enough to rub there. God I’m gonna feel him for days. I’m gonna walk like there’s a fucking barrel between my legs for a fucking week.

“Just me,” you shrug, fingers still toying with the sensitive skin beneath my chin, petting me like a cat.

It’s rare I see this side of you, but it’s not new.

This is how you seduced me. How you’ve played with me before. This is the side of you that few of our partners get to see, because it’s usually saved just for me. I can’t think of a more worthy person to share it with than him.

“But I prefer getting fucked, so Sir’s just gagging for it.”

“Jesus,” his laugh is pure heat against my skin, and I let my eyes close and tilt my head back, allowing you a wider area to pet, allowing myself a moment to just… gather. You reach back behind me, finding my hand and slipping our fingers together. I squeeze back.

Yes.

This is fine, babe.

This is perfect. You’re perfect.

“So, are you?” he asks next, nosing along the line of my jaw until I turn to look at him again, raise an eyebrow. “Gagging for it, Sir?”

Shit if that isn’t hot as hell coming out of his mouth. Immediately the knee-jerk response to snap back, to put him in his place, washes over me and leaves goosebumps in its wake. You squeeze my hand again, waiting, holding me, letting me make the call despite how much I know you want to see it. 

You’ve asked me before, if I’d let anyone play with me that way, with us that way.

I’ve always said no, but never for lack of desire.

There’s just never been anyone worthy of the privilege, anyone I’d trust enough to hold the deepest respect for you while playing with me.

Not until now, until him.

It’s an easy smile that comes, a lazy groan when you rub up against me, spread your fingers against my throat to keep my chin raised for you. For him.

“You think you can give it to me good enough, Red?” I ask, reaching out to wrap my fingers in the strings hanging from his hood, twisting them around and around my palm. “Think you can bring me to heel?”

“Never,” he grins, leaning in closer, letting our lips just brush together, never lock. “But I’d love to make you scream.”

It’s you who turns my head just enough for our mouths to meet, you keep a hold of my jaw to feel how it moves when he kisses me and I kiss back. I tug him close, spread my legs enough to hold your weight when you lean further back against me, still holding my hand; you haven’t once let go.

His hand slides over my cheek, into my hair, and he grips hard enough to hurt and it’s perfect, both of you are fucking perfect around me.

“Gonna make you lose your fuckin’ mind,” he whispers, and I grin like an idiot.

“Do it.”

I know he can. I know he will. I know there’s no one else in the whole ass world that’s ever belonged with us as much as he does, no one else I want as thoroughly as I want you. It’s still such a novel thought, wanting someone else, once in a while needing someone else, without envy or guilt at the thought.

“Come here,” you tug my arm and push me back a step, turning so you’re able to lead instead, him still kissing me, me still barely able to keep my own weight up without help. It’s three steps to the couch, and you let go of my hand, guide me back just enough to find the arm of it with my fingers.

Sitting down makes it easier, I don’t have to worry about my damn legs turning to jelly when I set both hands to his face and kiss him deeper, welcoming him to come stand between my spread knees, shivering when his wide hands stroke up and down over my costume, coming just close enough to my leaking cock to tease, but never touch.

“Fuck,” I groan. You wrap your arms around my middle and press your cheek to my shoulder, just holding on as I sit there, as he leans over us both.

“How do you like it, Sir?” and this time his voice isn’t a teasing lilt, but the appropriate warmth and deference of someone respecting the title. He’s never called me that before, I’ve never made him. It’s rare that you and I play hard enough for the honorific to come up. It makes me shiver. It makes me goddamn weak for him.

“Hard,” is all I can manage, and his smile is absolutely at odds with how softly he kisses the corner of my mouth.

“I didn’t think to bring condoms,” he admits with a laugh, and leans over my shoulder to kiss you next, chaste and quick.

“Top drawer,” you tell him, the proud smile clear in your voice. He kisses you again before pulling back, rubbing cheek to cheek with me, stepping away.

This must be how you feel, when I get you there, to that place, that soft, warm, safe place. Where everything feels a little blurred around the edges, a little muted, a little hazy. It’s nice, but I’ve never been here before, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to keep myself above enough to clearly stay in control, to–

“I’ve always wanted to see someone fuck you,” you whisper, and it’s enough to bring me back a little, have my eyelids flutter a few times, clear the fog away. “To sit back and watch as someone takes apart what’s mine.”

“Yes,” I sigh, dropping my head back against your shoulder, how I held you before when we stood by the desk. Places reversed, roles reversed to a degree… “Fuck yes, baby, anything you want.”

“You want it too,” you giggle, stroking my hair off my face, kissing behind my ear. “You want it just as much, look how hard you are, thinking about how good it’s gonna feel when he bends you over, stuffs you full while I watch.”

“Fuck,” my whole body shudders, there’s a tight pull in my belly, my cock is aching… you move your hands down my sides, clasp around my wrists and bring my hands behind my back, warm against your stomach where you kneel behind me. Then your palms press to the tops of my thighs, stroke down to my knees, back up again before curling over the insides of them, gently easing my legs wider apart.

“Let’s have you spread nice and wide,” you whisper, tickling my ear, making my entire body squirm with need. I fist my hands so I don’t move them, but duck my head down to look at what you’re doing to me. You’ve hooked your thumbs beneath the waistband of my pants, teasing there, sliding beneath the fabric, beneath the elastic of my underwear. 

“It’s such a thrill to be able to show my Sir off to someone,” you add quietly, and I shove my toes to the ground, heels back against the arm of the couch as I sit spread for you. For him, who’s found what he wants in your drawer and is coming back at a leisurely saunter, eyes so dark they’re almost black in the dusk-light of your office.

It’s easy to look up at him, to open my mouth to his fingers when they trace the seam of my lips, to suck two in. He’s looking at me like he always looks at me, like he doesn’t quite know what to say, like he can’t help but be smiling, like he wants to be nowhere else.

And then he looks over my shoulder at you.

And the way he looks at you…

God, Deku, I wonder if you feel the absolute adoration he has for you, if you feel the way he’s prepared to fall to his knees so long as you feel seen and understood. I always thought I’d hate seeing it, hate seeing someone shouldering into the space that’s meant to be only my own but… he’s not pushing me aside, he’s side by side with me, leaning on me some moments, taking my weight the next.

“This is seriously one of the hottest things I’ve ever fuckin’ seen,” he whispers, and you chuckle, pleased and warm and understanding. You grasp my wrists in your hand and pull down gently, enough to square my shoulders, to lift my hips from the arm of the couch. His free hand moves with yours to slip my pants down to my thighs, his other hand teasing my tongue, running his fingers along the line of my teeth…

“Stay like that for me, can you do that, Sir?”

It’s hard, I can already feel the tension in my core, the trembling of the muscles that will soon be screaming if I keep this position, but I nod, let his fingers slip from my mouth, slicking spit down my chin. You guide my hands down lower, until I can spread my palms over the couch cushions, bear a little more of my own weight, bridged back as I am. You don’t let go of my wrists. I think you’re the only thing holding me together as he slides his fingers between my legs, up between my cheeks, against my rim…

“Oh…”

“You’re shaking,” you whisper, and he leans in to kiss me before I can say anything else, fingers working against me, just teasing, just tickling, before one catches, slips in, slides slowly deeper. 

I moan. 

He swallows it. 

You shiver, laugh between us both. “God you’re handsome, just look at you.”

He breaks the kiss to breathe and you sit up higher on your knees, lean over me, catch his lips next. It gives me time to catch my breath, but I’m not sure I can. The feeling of his fingers, exploratory, gentle, so goddamn gentle even though I told him to do it hard… I don’t think I’d be able to handle it if he were rough right now. Not yet. Not yet…

“More,” I groan, letting my head drop back between my shoulders, spreading my thighs wider, bending my knees deeper… “God, please–”

I feel his lips hot against my throat, kissing down to the dip between my collarbones, I feel yours next against my temple, whispering words that the white noise in my head doesn’t let me hear too well just now… but the cadence, the tone, the low familiar hum of it makes me relax, helps me breathe.

He adds a second finger, and one of my legs gives out.

It takes several seconds after the fact for me to realize that I wasn’t worried about collapsing, I wasn’t worried about landing awkwardly against the arm of the shabby sofa, I wasn’t worried about breaking this fragile connection we’re building.

Because I knew, a breath before I felt it, that his arm would hold my weight, would catch me wrapped against my lower back, fingers pressing hard to my ribs.

The shift of us, though, the jerking movement, shoves his fingers in deeper and harder and god it feels so goddamn good I could cry. I barely have enough air to make a sound, I just tremble, held up by him, held secure by you–

You’re okay.

We’re okay.

He lowers me to the arm of the couch again and frees his fingers, kneeling between my knees and nuzzling my stomach as he catches his breath. His hair’s still a little damp, some curls have worked free of the bun, frizzing up wild and electric.

He’s beautiful.

I tell him so.

Behind me, you shift the plastic bag to the floor and shuffle around to make yourself comfortable, freeing my hands enough to let me reach out to drag them through his hair. My knees are quivering, I can’t hold my own weight up again, not like that.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, nosing at my navel, before looking up, smile radiant. “But, I think, I’d like to see you bent over for me, Sir.”

Yes.

God yes.

I nod, a jerking thing, my own smile pulling lazy and wide as I roll my shoulders, gently press my thighs against him where he sits between.

“Go on, then,” I tell him. “Bend me over.”

Chapter Text

The first time anyone touched me like this, it was you, and it was the night before graduation. We might have been a little drunk. It might have been because you’d lost a bet.

I remember how nervous both of us were, you because you were scared I’d hate it. Me, because I was scared you would. In the end, we didn’t hate it, either of us, but we’d never done it again. You’ve always been ravenous for my dick, and I can’t say I hate my position in this arrangement either.

Not much has changed, huh Deku? Years and years on, and we still worry about the same things for each other, wanting the other to feel so goddamn good we’d turn ourselves inside out for it.

Or bend over the couch for it.

I can feel his blunt nails digging into my scalp as he holds me just how he wants, tilts my head, arches my back, and all the while I’m looking at you. Just you. Horny, giddy, beautiful you, who’s squirmed back to rest against the opposite arm, legs spread wide so I can see everything. So he can.

“Damn, bug,” he laughs, setting one hand down next to mine on the couch cushions, thumb just tucked against my little finger where they touch. “Spoiling us with a show.”

“Quid pro quo, what can I say?” you grin, flicking your hair out of your eyes before moving them to meet mine, and hold there. I couldn’t blink if I tried, couldn’t look away even if some broken part of me wanted to. I don’t want to. I never want to, never have, never will. 

He kisses my cheek and my tension breaks somewhat. Just a reminder, just a grounding, familiar thing.

“You look good like that,” he murmurs, grinning when I snort. “Bent over for me. Too bad bug can’t see.”

“I can see plenty,” you assure him, hiking your knee up against the back of the couch as you drop your other leg to the floor. Your pants aren’t meant to stretch that far, I can already see the pale marks they’re pressing to your skin, but damn if it isn’t hot as hell to see your hand lazily playing with your balls, teasing lower, farther back… it feels illicit, like I’ve walked in on something I shouldn’t have, like we’re interrupting here, not you.

Though interruption couldn’t be a less accurate word for what this is: this is participation, blatant and erotic.

You don’t need your words to seduce me, your body, your intentions. You just do , with everything you are. Every element of you I hone in on, consume it like a starved man.

“So can we,” I promise you, and that draws a groan from both you and him, the sounds at once soft and threatening. Promises.

“Good,” you sigh, relaxing back into the corner you’ve squished yourself into. “Bend him deeper, I think. What’s the reason for all that yoga if Sir can’t put it to good use?”

“With pleasure.”

The hand in my hair tightens, the warmth of his lips pulls away, and then I’m being moved, a slow and deliberate motion, one I could twist free of without any effort at all, should I wish. 

We all know I don’t. 

We all know I won’t. 

Instead, I keep my eyes on you and surrender to the whims of the two of you, one arm out and fingers spread towards you, one arm back to wrap around his hip. It feels good, the stretch of it all, the way my back arches, the way my spine pops and my shoulders curl. I can’t help the groan that burbles up in my chest when he steps away just enough to yank my pants down to my knees, chuckling when they catch on the braces there. 

I don’t know how long it takes him to work those off, I don’t care. One by one they drop with a thud to the floor and he kicks them away, immediately stepping up to press up against my ass, rubbing his still clothed cock against me and fuck, fuck that feels good, that feels so stupidly good.

There’s always been something unbelievably arousing about feeling another guy get hard. Sure, my experience is you and him and several nameless others but… that spark always hits just right. That feeling of something so primal, so desperately needy and impossible to control, and knowing it’s coz of you, it’s all because of you…

“Fuck, Red, do that again,”

“What, this?” yes, that. Just that. The way he deliberately holds me still, brings his hands up to my ass to spread me wider, and rut… I know the sound I make is like a bitch in heat, I know that, I don’t give a single goddamn fuck because shit that feels good. Good enough to push up on my toes, good enough to shove my chest harder to the couch, good enough to rut the fuck back and–

“Oh–!”

“Mm, that’s the sound,” you purr a warm one of your own in answer, and it just fuels the entire fucking fire. “That’s it, show us what you want him to do to you.”

“Fuck me,” I grit out, eyes barely open, lips smearing wet against the suede-soft seat. “Fuck me so fucking hard I can’t walk after.”

“Now there’s a thought,” you chuckle, moving yourself just a little to get more comfortable. You bring the foot you’d set to the floor up and slide it closer, enough that I can nuzzle up against the boot, can press my forehead to it when my vision whites out from nothing more than the friction of his cock against my bare ass.

“I suppose we can carry him home,” he says, his hands sliding up under my shirt and drawing his nails over my back as he continues rocking into me, teasing, tormenting me so goddamn bad.

He hasn’t done anything and I can feel my cock leaking a hell of a mess against the arm of the couch.

I’ll set the whole thing on fire later, destroy the evidence. You won’t be able to concentrate on work anyway with this thing in your space, remembering this, remembering us…

“Goddammit, Deku,”

“Hey,” you laugh, lifting the toe of your boot up, my chin along with it as you lean closer, an arm resting over your knee. “None of that, Sir, where’s the rush? All the fun is in making you ache for it.”

You little shit.

My glare is somewhat mitigated when he pulls back and gives me a firm smack against my thigh, but it’s there. I know you fucking see it.

“Fuck…”

“Am I allowed to ask him to ask me nice?” He asks you and that flame of need to get you both to obey flares up again for just a moment.

“Fuckin’ try it, Red.”

All at once, he’s there, face so close to mine I can barely make it out, smile so wide I can goddamn taste it. 

“If you want something,” he whispers, nosing lovingly against my face. “Ask nicely for it, Sir.”

Fuck. Fuck.

“Red,” I groan, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, knowing you can see it, knowing you both can. “Babe. Please fuck me.”

He kisses whisper-soft against my cheekbone. “I’ll think about it.”

You’re both little shits. God fucking dammit.

It’s only because you make a sound that I look up again. It’s muted, the kind of little noises you make when I know you’re having a filthy dream, but haven’t quite woken up yet. And shit, if I’m not in the middle of one right now.

You’ve swayed your knee out again, spreading yourself wider, and your hand is pumping along the length of your gorgeous cock. I can see the head peeking out from between your fingers, thick and dark red already, shiny and smooth and fuck I want to swallow it down so deep I choke.

I choke anyway, because suddenly his fingers replace his agonizingly pleasant rutting and they’re slick and they slip in and–

“Fuck, fuck–!”

“Take it,” you grin, eyes on me, words for me. “Get those legs wider too. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt, Sir, would we?”

No… no, pain I can handle. I can handle a lot of things. But when you say it like that, when he adds that low laugh behind me to give weight to the words, how can I refuse? Why would I even want to? One boot squeaks against the wooden floor and I shove the opposite knee against the couch and bow. Down to you, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of your boot. Ass up to him, so he can finger me open.

Harder. 

Faster.

Three fingers instead of two.

And then that place, that delicious spot deep enough inside that I can never reach it myself–

“Oh God there,” I moan, voice cracking, knuckles white where I grab at the couch to keep myself steady. “Right there, right fucking there…”

“He really is gagging for it,” he points out, and I can’t even bring myself to feel ashamed. I am. I absolutely fucking am; with him behind me, the promise if his roughness, his brashness, his impeccable understanding of just how much someone can take… with you before me, playing with yourself while you watch my ass being stretched open for a thorough fucking.

I almost come on the fucking spot, it’s a near goddamn thing.

“You’re sucking me in so tight,” he groans, plastering himself up against my ass, my back, folded over me so close. God he feels good, so heavy, so warm.

“Yeah,” I hiss, shoved up onto my toes, hands scrabbling against the couch to get some kind of grip. “More, I know you can give me more.”

“Should I give him more?” he asks, and you whimper, nodding quickly, brows trembling together as you slow down your strokes but don’t stop touching. You’re so fucking close, your cheeks are burning, your knees are quivering and I want to taste it, I want to touch…

He removes his fingers.

The sound I make is goddamn feral.

But then he’s back cock slick, thick, hot and right fucking there, and his hands are at once against my ass and on my hip, and I’m pushing back and I can’t quite breathe– why can’t I breathe?

“Kacchan,” your voice is ruined, hypnotic, rough. “Eyes on me, just on me.”

No Sir, no teasing… and it’s only then that I realize what death grip I have on the couch, how deeply I’ve furrowed marks into the fabric. It isn’t fear, because I’m not scared of him… it’s something else, something much more vulnerable, something much more stupid…

I want him to do it. I want it so bad my mind is howling. I want this, with you right there, with him, with us… all of us. All of this. So why are my knuckles white, my nails aching? Why is my entire body tense like I haven’t come up for air after a long, deep dive? Why are my eyes itching with the threat of tears when I want this?

“You ready?” He whispers, and I nod, eyes still up and on you, but answer just for him. I’m ready. I’m more than. I want this. I want him. I want you.

One hand slides down my side and up the length of an outstretched arm, fingers slipping between mine and holding on, and slowly, carefully, he starts working himself in.

He’s big; thick and wider than the fingers he so lovingly fucked me with before, and it feels good. That stretch, that ache… it steals my breath and makes me shudder and I want to be nowhere else. 

“Fuck that’s good,” I groan, pressing my teeth to the leather of your boot so I don’t bite my damn lip off. My hand’s wrapped around your ankle, holding on, holding tight; my fingers curl with his and cling. I feel so held, so looked after, so wanted. The thought makes me choke on my own spit, makes me deepen the bow of my back and the change in angle has him slipping in quicker, easier, until he’s flush against my back and shaking just as hard as I am.

“You’re telling me,” his voice is a low rumble, he presses hot kisses against the nape of my neck. “Shit, you feel fucking incredible.”

I can’t help but laugh. I feel giddy. I feel like my quirk has activated all over my whole body at once; I have the sweat for it, that’s for sure.

“Move,” I groan, nodding quickly when he asks if I’m sure.

Oh, I’m sure.

I’m so goddamn sure.

“Move, move, please move, please,”

“Kacchan–” your voice pulls tight, and when I manage to get my eyes up again you’re so damn close… I know that voice, I know that face, my entire damn life is dedicated willingly to making you feel this good all the time. And here you are, about to lose your damn mind because he’s fucking me, because suddenly you’re the one sitting back to watch…

He frees his fingers from mine and immediately hushes me. I don’t even realize I’d made a sound until he does.

“Right here,” he murmurs, “just making sure I’ve got you secure, don’t worry.”

I’m not worried. I don’t think I’m worried. I trust every word, every action he takes, knowing he’d never willingly put either of us in harm’s way. And this… I want him to have this. I want to give him this, just as much as I want to give it to you. This play, this trust, this sex that’s going to blow my goddamn mind.

He starts moving.

It’s slick and slippery and hot as hell, and he moves like a man entirely in control. I don’t hold back the sounds that he pushes out of me with every thrust in; every moan, whimper, whine, every mumbled mangled word that doesn’t quite become coherent. Everything. All for him, all for you.

“Harder,” I beg, eyes finally slipping closed because I just can’t keep them open anymore. I drag the hand not holding onto you back against myself and down between my legs, sobbing when he catches it and folds it up against my lower back instead.

Like I held you.

Like he’d seen me hold you, when he came here.

“Fuck, like that, like fucking that,” my voice doesn’t even sound like my own anymore; this is heaven. This is what heaven feels like. I’m going to go insane.

Gently, your fingers work mine free of the grip I have on you, and your boot slips out from beneath my face and that’s the only moment of this freefall I hate, the only moment I don’t know how to control.

“Easy,” you whisper, leaning down to nuzzle my hair. “Easy, Kacchan, I’m right here.”

I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, I just shudder when he thrusts in deep and hard and right against my prostate, driving me to more moans and grunts and breathy little noises. I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, but I know you’re there, I can feel your warmth so close.

“Look how stunning you are,” I hear you whisper, and it’s too far away to be directed at me but the words relax me nonetheless. Because he is, I know he is, I’ve seen how he looks when he fucks you. I’ve seen how he looks when I fuck him. He’s remarkable. He’s radiant. He’s ours. “Is he making you feel good?”

“Bug, you have no fucking idea,” he laughs, and you laugh with him, and I bring my other arm close to bury my face in it as I shove back into every push, into everything he gives me.

“Kacchan…” ah, there you are . “Kacchan, you’re doing so well. Doing so, so well for us.”

And shit that feels nice, why does that feel so nice? Just your words, your voice… like an embrace when I’m floating in a hazy nothingness. I like it…

“Mmn.”

“Shh, just like that, God you look so sexy, Kacchan, I can’t take my eyes off you, either of you.”

“More,” I whimper, and my voice sounds muffled, slurred, and that feels so damn good too. 

“More?” You ask, and I feel you kiss the top of my head again before running your fingers through my hair. “Mmn, you’re precious, obedient, lovely, brave.”

Oh, God…

“Mine,” you add, breath hitching. His hips stutter in their rhythm and fuck that feels amazing. “All mine, aren’t you? Mine and his.”

“Yours,” I groan, the hand he’s holding flailing about until he takes it in his own, the one beneath my face folding into a tight fist. “Yours and his…”

“Kacchan,” fuck , you sound so gentle it makes me weak. I want to cry. I don’t want to cry. I want to scream. I want to press myself between the two of you and never, ever leave.

Someone grasps my hair and pulls, just enough to move me, not to hurt, and at the same time he fucks into me so deep, so slow…

“Oh God, oh fuck,” it feels like I am crying, my face is wet, or maybe I’m just not aware of what my body is even doing anymore. Floating, just floating…

“Kacchan,” your hands cup my face, you lean in so close, to nuzzle, to tickle my lips with yours. “I love you.”

It starts as a shiver, a shudder, a sob. And then my whole body is convulsing, squeezing, tensing, before all strings are cut and you’re the only thing keeping me upright, you and him. Nothing else exists. Nothing else matters.

“I love you,” you repeat, and I shudder again, he ducks his head to shove into my shoulder, gripping my hips painfully tight. Bruising. “I love you so fucking much. We both do. Beyond words or reason, Kacchan, beyond every other fucking thing. We love you. We’ve got you.”

“Deku,” I can’t drag in enough air, I can’t fill my lungs, I can unfurl them, I’m drowning, I’m floating, I’m flying–

“Shh, just breathe for me, you can do it. Hold on, let me…”

His arm wraps around my collarbones and holds me upright, just enough for you to have space to hoist yourself up over the arm of the couch, to sit in the place I’ve just been bent over. His thrusts don’t slow, but the angle changes, and it’s like electricity, like fire, I’m seeing galaxies behind my eyes.

“Feel so fucking good,” he whispers, nuzzling my face, gently stroking my stomach. “So goddamn good, Katsuki, shit.”

I’m dizzy.

I feel feverish.

I reach out for you, fumble against your hip, try to bend down because I need to, I need–

“Kacchan,” your laugh is so bright, so light, it makes me shiver. “Not that, not right now,”

And then you’re wrapping your arms around me, pressing your lips to my ear, whispering words that shatter whatever final vestiges of control I had.

“I need you inside me,”

I don’t know how, I don’t care how, but I want it. I want you. I need you.

It’s a tangle; of limbs, of my uncooperative body and our uncoordinated rutting, but somehow, I’m close to you again, somehow your hand is around my leaking, aching cock, guiding me close, guiding me in…

We’re a hydra, a three-headed beast, moaning and shivering, sobbing and clutching to each other. He fucks into me hard enough to white out my vision, I hold you tight and try to be gentle, try to make you feel everything I can’t quite bring myself to say with how stupid my brain is…

Sweat, slick, spit, sighs… over and over and over again, you shiver, he curses, my body tenses between the two of you and then we do it again, and again, until I’m losing it, release hitting me so hard I feel winded, I can’t even make a sound when I come. And then him, teeth against my shoulder, arms around my middle, one hand reaching out for you, he comes.

And then you.

And then you.

I’m pretty sure I must’ve fainted, because I don’t remember how we got onto the couch, but we’re on it, an absolute mess, breathing hard as though we’d just done four rounds in the training ring.

And then I start to laugh, a sound that doesn’t sound joyful at first, but then grows giddy, grows loud, grows into a veritable shriek of mirth that I can’t contain, that I don’t want to. I’m clinging white-knuckled to someone’s hand, someone else is kissing my hair and I feel like I’ve been electrified.

“Fuck,” I snort, “fuck, fuck that was unreal, what the actual fuck did we just do?”

“Each other,” he says, and then we’re all laughing again, until our eyes are tearing, our chests hurt, our hands are shaking…

“Need a fuckin’ shower,” I mumble.

“Need to put on the fuckin’ laundry,” you counter, and then you’re up, somehow, always the first to recover, tugging off your own clothes, yanking at mine. He doesn’t move, just leans heavier against me and I wrap my arms around him and hold him close, burying my face in his hair.

I must’ve dozed off, because you’re not here when I open my eyes again, but he is, and he’s staring off into the middle distance with a look of such satisfaction, such bone-deep contentment.

I cup his cheek, stroking a thumb beneath his eye until he looks at me, then I lean up to kiss him.

“Hiya stranger.”

“Hi yourself,” he grins. He looks tired, but the kind of tired where you’re happy to stay up a little longer, just to relish the speed at which sleep takes you afterward. “Feeling good?”

“Feeling goddamn great,” I admit, pulling him into another hug, just needing to feel him close, and warm, and there. “That was… that was something, Red.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he laughs, stretching his legs out over the arm of the couch as he settles into my side. “You called me babe,” he adds after a moment. I blink.

“Did I?”

“Yeah,” he’s staring into space again, and I softly slide my palm up over his forehead, shifting his hair aside so I can kiss him there. 

“Did you like it?”

He laughs, silent and trembling, and closes his eyes with the deepest sigh.

“Yeah, I did,” he murmurs. So I kiss him there again.

“Good,” I’ve never called anyone else things like that before, only you. “I’ll do it again, then.”

If he says something, it’s not to me, I don’t catch the words, but he doesn’t tense up, doesn’t squirm away. Instead we just rest there, half awake, waiting for you to come back. And when you do, you’ve got water and a soda, and that shit is ambrosia on a dry throat.

“Thanks, nerd.”

“Go take a shower,” you laugh, kissing my cheek and waiting for me to get off the couch from under him before immediately sliding in and taking my spot. Sneaky shit. But I do need a shower. Even before this particular venture it was one hell of a goddamn day.

It should feel weird flouncing through our office buck naked, but… no one’s here. And we’ve literally just done worse. I do duck into my office for a towel though, striding past yours on the way to the bathroom after.

“Seriously, you have no idea,” you whisper. I pause to listen. Maybe I shouldn’t but… my feet are rooted to the floor. “I’ve never seen that look of bliss on his face before, not with anyone else but me.”

“He’s beautiful,” he murmurs, and he sounds younger, helpless. I hate it. I hate that I made– “You’re gonna really have to keep me in line so I don’t do that again, bug.”

“He loved it,” you assure him softly. “I loved it. You know him well enough now, he's stubborn, if there’s something he doesn’t want, you won’t make him budge on it. He asked for this, he begged you, he loves you.”

“Wouldn’t go that far.”

“God, Kiri, you’ve no idea,” I do manage to get my legs moving then, quiet as a cat until I’m in the hallway and then I make a goddamn break for the shower. Once I’m there, it’s a good goddamn thing the stall is so tiny; I may not have noticed the stretch between my legs before, but hell, now it’s all I can feel.

I’ll feel it for days.

I’ll think about it for fucking ever.

He asked for this. He loves you.

Even the white noise of the shower isn’t enough to hush those words away. You’ve always known me better than I know myself, even at school. It always takes my dumb ass time to catch up and get a fucking clue. You knew I loved him before I did. I know you love him just as much, I can read it in every motion, every smile you send his way and that… that makes my heart feel five sizes too big for my chest.

What the hell is love, anyway, if not this manic fear of freefall? What the hell is it if not this endless simmering need that’s fulfilled as much by being completely fucked out as by simply holding someone’s hand?

What is it but the three of us, just as we are?

I give myself a cursory scrub and get the hell out of there; the hot water tank is tiny in this place, and you still need a shower too. We can have a proper soak in the tub when we get home. After a nap. After a goddamn nap.

In the hallway, I bump into you, already on your way to take my place. It’s you who wraps your arms around me and guides my back up against the wall, you who leans in and nuzzles close, but me who speaks first.

“Thank you.”

You hum, content and warm, and sigh against me before looking up. “You were beautiful.”

“I felt beautiful,” I admit, cupping your face and leaning in to kiss your forehead too. “I felt held. Wanted. Loved.”

“You are loved.”

“Yeah,” I laugh, because I don’t know what else to do. “Who’d’ve fucking thought, huh baby?”

We stay like that, close, leaning in the hallway. Then you kiss my chest, just once, lingering and hot.

“You underestimate how loveable you are,” you tell me, and I’d laugh it off as something stupid but… you’re being serious. So I listen. “You underestimate yourself a lot, actually.”

My lips twitch just a little. “That’s why I have you.”

“It’s why you have us.”

I catch your chin with my fingers and tilt it up to kiss you properly. “That’s why I have you, both,” I agree, before I kiss you again. “Should be enough warm water in there to get the worst of it done.”

“Good,” you grin, “then home, and into bed.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Yeah, you better.”

I don’t watch you walk the rest of the way, instead I shuffle back towards your office, just watch him rest on the couch from the doorway a moment before moving closer to straddle him and lay heavy over his chest.

“The nerd wants me to tell you you’re invited over.”

He snorts, not opening his eyes as he lays there. “Oh yeah? What about you?”

“I wanna tell you I expect to see you naked in my bed when we get home,” I say.

“That right?” he cracks one eye open then, smile just there against the corners of his lips. I cup his face and lean in to kiss him, slow and deep and familiar. The way I’ve kissed him since the first time, the way I’ll keep kissing him for as long as he lets me.

“Yeah, you brat,” I murmur. “It is.”

His eyes narrow, wrinkle at the corners, before he closes them both once more and settles comfortably on the couch.

“Guess I better listen then, huh?”