Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The last thing Tetsurou had on his mental agenda for the day was being knuckle deep inside of his libero, thick creamy white slick dripping through his fingers and pooling on the floor in between their feet. Morisuke’s soft whines slipped through his puffy lips and bounced off the walls of the locker room which echoed heavily in the silence between them. But, with the sickly sweet scent seeping into his nose and swirling around in his brain, he thinks that maybe it should have been one of the first things listed instead.

Yaku had always carried a bit more on his shoulders than needed, his head a bit cloudier than the rest of the team. Kuroo vaguely chastises himself after a harsh roll of his fingertips for not seeing the harsh line of tension in the shorter boy’s shoulders earlier, but the thought was fleeting at best. He couldn’t think about much of anything at all with the way Morisuke’s gummy walls fluttered and slobbered around his fingers, and the sweet syrupy slick sliding down the back of his hand. The soft trickle that followed each glop slipping into the small puddle between them felt heavy in Kuroo’s ears, each noise that sliced the silence felt like the locker room door inching open, revealing this to the outside world.

“Curl your fingers,” Yaku choked out, his voice hoarse and thick with saliva. It was delicious to see Morisuke so broken when he was normally put together. “God, please curl them -” a demand, a mouthwatering forced out demand that made the shorter boy sound desperate, needy. The thought made Tetsurou’s spine shiver, the fabric of his boxers soaking up every dribble of pre his cock leaks out.

He’d never admit to being the weak man he is, but he also never once won a fight against Morisuke, and he wasn’t planning on starting now (even if the warm, mushy walls pulsing around his fingers felt like an award). So, Kuroo’s long, slender digits begin to slowly curl towards that sensitive bundle of nerves, his fingertips gliding against it in slow, meaningful circles. The change in angle got a sharp, but sweet gasp from Morisuke that made him ache.

“Shit - there, ‘surou, there.”

Kuroo could have died a happy, horny man right then and there. With his fingers tickling Yaku’s slushy walls, his nose tucked right in the crease of Mori’s neck, where sweat dribbles down his collarbone and makes a small pool of it. This, right here, was where he wanted to stay until his bones crumbled into dust and his name was just a whisper in the dark.

…okay, maybe he was being overdramatic, but having Yaku beneath him like this, all flushed and disheveled, was similar to being graced by the gods.

“Y’feel so good, Mori,” he murmured, low and slow, Tetsurou’s breath hot against Morisuke’s slick skin. “Can’t even be mad with how big your mouth is when you swallow me up so good, baby.” he doesn’t even really think about what he’s saying, his words turning to golden syrup that causes a thick glob to soak his fingers. Fuck.

He watched as Mori’s eyes flutter shut and his teeth dig into his bottom lip, and the only thought that pulses in his stupid head is how pretty they’d look stretched around his heavy length. This thought was fleeting as well, seeing as the only real thought swirling around in his slushy head was how slippery his fingers were becoming and how beautiful Mori looked like this.

“Close, Mori?” Kuroo murmured softly into Yaku’s ear, but even to his ears it sounded more like a sweet croon than anything else.

It was almost embarrassing.

“S’close —“ His sweet lips stumble over words, the roof of his mouth sticking to his tongue. God, Mori was babbling and all Tetsurou wanted to do was have him come apart over his fingers. Maybe his tongue. Maybe even his length.

He just wanted Mori to fall apart for him, and only him.

Tetsurou made an effort to move his fingers just a bit harder, his fingertips pushing against the sweet bundle of nerves nestled inside of Mori’s slobbering walls, that creamy slick becoming thick and sticky with each push and pull.

“C’mon sweet boy,” He encourages gently, his lips pressing against Mori’s warm skin, maybe to soothe him. “Just do it, baby. Cream on my fingers, you can do it.” Kuroo whispers, grinding his fingers against that sweet spot a bit harsher. His teeth ached from the sweet, musky scent swirling around in the air, his mouth watering at the idea of getting a taste.

Tetsurou’s ears felt like they were heavy from water, Mori’s sweet groans and whimpers echoed thickly across his mind. He almost wanted to convince himself that this wasn’t real, that he was dreaming of this like he did all those other times, but the tight grip Yaku had around his fingers reminded him that this was real this time.

Kuroo’s mind had sort of blanked for some time, which is half the reason why he was caught off guard at the sudden gasps coming from Morisuke. The other half of the reason was because it was ridiculously sudden.

Yaku’s slippery walls fluttered around Tetsurou’s fingers rhythmically, each squeeze on beat with a sharp and sweet gasp. The sweet heady musk suddenly got much heavier, and the slick globs dripped down his fingers a bit quicker. The puddle grew between them, Mori’s shaky knees acting as an arch above it. His fingers continued their soft, gentle strokes to work Yaku through his sudden orgasm (and maybe to overstimulate him… just a bit).

With a sharp, hoarse sob that ripped its way from Yaku’s throat, Kuroo gently slipped his fingers out with a wet schlick sound that caused his balls to tighten up. His long, calloused digits glimmered underneath the low glow of the yellow locker room lights. Slathered with Mori’s sweet cream, the stuff dripped off his fingers erotically. It was ridiculous.

“Shit.” Kuroo cursed, his hand trembling where he held it up. The sight made his cock pulse, warm ribbons of pre slipping out of his tip and soaking his slick boxers. Ridiculous.

He didn’t think much before he slid his fingers into his mouth, a sharp groan following the glide of the substance against his tongue. It tasted exactly how Tetsurou expected it to, musky and tangy but fucking deliciously sweet. Almost teeth-rottingly sweet. He’d never forget this, the taste would forever be engraved into his tastebuds.

“You’re disgust — disgusting.” Mori groaned, still trembling where he stood. Even with half of his brain cells sliding down his thighs, he still had the brain power to insult and ridicule Kuroo.

It amazed him.

“Never tasted yourself, angel?” Kuroo purred, his fingers falling out of his mouth with a wet pop. There wasn’t a drop of Yaku left on his digits, the taste burned into Kuroo’s mouth for what he hopes is forever.

“Don’t — don’t fucking call me that.” Is what he gets in return, of course, just as Yaku began to shove his volleyball shorts up his shaky thighs. The sight was picture worthy, in Tetsurou’s book, but he knew he’d probably get roundhouse kicked for even asking.

So, he just watched as Mori fixed his appearance as quickly as he could, his hands trembling around fabric and his breath heavy in his chest. There were remnants of their activities smeared across Mori’s thighs, the sweat seeping into his hair and leaving it in messy, loose curls.

He looked delectable.

“Leaving so soon, Mori?” Tetsurou asked sweetly, taking half a step closer. He only got a groan and a step back in response before Yaku was grabbing his gym bag and hauling out the door.

Kuroo watched in silence, the sweet tang still lingering on his tongue. His cock trembled heavily in his volleyball shorts, which struck his memory (sadly, not his member) that he was, in fact, still hard. And now he had to deal with it on his own.

Worth it.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Osamu wondered if his twin brother would look at him the same if he knew where he really was on Friday nights. His first assumption would be yes, considering Atsumu likes to babble on and on about what he and Kiyoomi did that morning either over the phone or in some nasty bathroom while the twins have their daily debrief over call. To say that he knew a bit too much about what Sakusa’s genitalia looked like was probably the biggest understatement ever written in modern times.

Having said that, Atsumu did seem to have a rather conservative view on other people’s (Osamu’s) sex lives, and how open they are about it. It was a little weird, and Komori even mentioned how hypocritical it was. So, in conclusion, if Atsumu were to… somehow… figure out the devious activities his younger brother did… it could go either way. Which is the number one reason why Osamu keeps this, keeps them away from both Atsumu and the outside world.

Them being Rintarou Suna and himself, and this being how Rin’s long, slender fingers slowly takes him apart and pieces him back together. Over and over again until he was rubbed raw, until his cock was trembling and his tip was beat purple. It's in these warm, fuzzy moments that Osamu remembers that he can get taken care of, too. All those years of taking care of his brother, his family, himself - he can be selfish sometimes too. Suna’s fingers reminded him of that more often than his mouth did.

Which is why nights like these, where Osamu’s shoulders felt heavy and his mind seemed to drift off into a land his fingers can’t reach, he’s grateful for Rintarou and his freakishly large libido. The younger man just knew Osamu so well that he was confident in the fact that Sunarin could take him apart with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back.

…which is rather ironic to think about considering Osamu’s current predicament, his hands tied to his headboard with a soft, velvety rope to avoid any and all burns, his thick thighs spread around the smaller (but not by much) man in front of him. The muscles in his thighs ached with every twitch and tremble that wracked through his spent body, his throat hoarse from every groan and choked whine that fell from his lips like honey.

Osamu had absolutely no idea how long he had been there, tied to his bed and at the mercy of Rin for, but he couldn’t offer the thought a moment more as a sharp mix of pain and pleasure zipped up his spine, his heavy cock twitching in Rin’s grip, almost struggling to get anything out. Small, thick ribbons of sticky cum pooling around the long fingers, staining Suna’s pearly skin.

The choked half-scream that came from his mouth was gifted with a sweet twist and a mean laugh, which only seemed to add fuel to the fire burning low in his gut. Rintarou was so mean when he was up top, inflicting sweet torture on Osamu over and over again until his body couldn’t tip over that edge anymore.

“We’re almost there, ‘samu. You can handle a little more.” Rin soothed gently, his voice a soft coo just as his hand slowly starts to slide up and down Osamu’s softening cock, continuing the maddening pace that brought painful tingles up his spine. It hurt so good.

Osamu thinks he tries to say something similar to no, but all that comes out is garbled nonsense that flattens out into a sweet whine from overwhelming pleasure. He gets a coo in response, some muffled sentence about how good he’s being, but he doesn’t hear over half of it due to the heavy ringing in his ears.

The methodical way that Sunarin slowly, gently takes Osamu apart was truly addicting. The sweet words with a harsh jab hidden beneath them, the tenderness of his touch, the love that was poured into every session; it all made him fall into a spiral of warm devotion. Even with the sharp, prickly pain that stabs into his abdomen, the sugary pleasure that licked up his spine slowly made him fall back into place like a loyal dog.

“R - Rin, can’t,” Osamu attempted to choke out, but his mouth was dry and sticky and his words ended up slurring together into an incoherent babble that made Rintarou laugh softly. His volleyball calloused hands continued to slide up and down his shaft in a gentle massage, thick globs of cum from the several rounds prior slicking up the path for him.

“You’re gonna anyway, ‘samu.” Suna crooned, his thumb brushing against the sensitive, purple tip of Osamu’s throbbing, overspent cock. The pleasure washed over his exhausted body like a bucket of cold water, twitches and full body tremors wracking his entire body. The pain came soon thereafter, stabbing into his abdomen and causing a thick, sweet sting to glide up his balls and settle heavily in his shaft.

Osamu’s brain goes offline for a few seconds as his body forces itself through another heady orgasm that left him in shambles. His cock jerks and trembles in Rintarou’s hand, like thick, musky ribbons of cum were about to shoot out and slather his hand, but nothing slips out. It was almost like getting electrocuted, the sharp sting followed by a rush of warm tingles and overwhelming pleasure that made him dizzy. When his brain turns back on and his eyes flutter open, his hands had been untied and Sunarin wasn’t even in the room. He distantly heard a sink running, but not much got past the heavy cotton in his ears.

Osamu could feel his chest heaving, his lungs slurping up every ounce of air they could get. His fingertips and feet were numb, prickles stabbing up his muscles from being in the same position for so long. He couldn’t even say for certain how long it had been since the two started, but he also probably couldn’t tell someone his eye color either.

He hears a door open and then close with a click, and then the familiar sound of Suna’s fox slippers gliding against the hardwood flooring of their shared apartment. Their bedroom door dipped open, and suddenly warm hands were sliding around his hip bones and squeezing gently. Sunarin was so sweet after a heady scene like this, and the feeling of the warmth was so comforting.

“Hey tiger, how you feeling?” Suna murmured softly as he littered warm kisses along Osamu’s stomach, which only made his head fall further into the pillows beneath him. He gives a shaky hum in response, blinking slowly at the ceiling like it would snap him back to reality. It didn’t do much of anything besides stare right back at him like he was the idiot he was known to be.

Suna hummed right back before pulling away, focusing his attention on cleaning his lover up with the warm towel he had brought in. He makes sure to litter Osamu with praise and kisses and sweet nothings as the soft towel glided along his thighs, cleaning up any and all remnants of the delicious torture his lover had just endured. The cleanup is rather quick, thanks to Suna’s quick thinking skills and a methodically placed towel on the bed.

“You’re such a clingy asshole afterwards.” Suna mumbled a halfhearted complaint as he tied up Osamu’s shark pajama pants. The older man’s face was tucked into Suna’s neck, his arms hanging loose around the small of his waist. The clinginess was to be expected as he came down from the clouds, but he hadn’t missed an opportunity to tease the older man since the two had met, and he wasn’t planning on stopping now just because his sweetheart had gotten fucked too good.

Osamu mumbled something close to a fuck you, but snuggled closer anyway like the soft baby he turned into afterwards. He gets a laugh in response, a quick and fleeting sound that simmered down into a soft hum as the two gently sway in the low glow of their dim lamps. Osamu was practically dead on his feet, his eyes droopy and his head cloudy.

Suna’s head was swirling with thoughts, though, and he ended up blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Want me to order us some food, bug?”

Chapter Text

When Akaashi had first mentioned it, Kotarou laughed it off, assuming it was some sarcastic remark to tease and embarrass him, even if Keiji didn’t do that all that often in the first place. Maybe he had just been around Sakusa for too long and the harsh sarcastic jokes had become the expectation for any and all comments involving Bokuto. So, he brushed it off and didn’t take it to heart.

Plus, it wasn’t like his Keiji would ever want to do something so perverse with him anyway, right?

…right.

Once, Kotarou could push the idea into a dark closet and shut it away forever. Ignore it and the fluttery feeling it caused in his pelvis. Once, it could have been a joke. A sly remark to humiliate him in public, or tease him for liking the idea in the first place. Once, Bokuto could have let it rest as a failed joke, one that didn’t appease the crowd it had been presented to. That happened often with Keiji anyway, his blank tone and strange words tended to make his jokes fall flat. Once could have been just that. A one time ridiculous comment that the two could have forgotten (or ignored, in his case) until it blew over.

But twice wasn’t a joke, or a teasing remark, or something he could ignore. Twice meant something. Twice translated to need, yearn, demand. Twice wasn’t once, and couldn’t be swept away into a dark hole and hidden away until the two withered beside each other. Twice meant Keiji had been serious, had genuinely wanted to try it out, and the idea of something so… controversial, dirty made him feel all sorts of fluttery.

The first time Keiji had brought the idea up was in passing, while the two were soaking in a bath together after a long day. It was a normal occurrence between the two, something warm and fuzzy to slip into after dealing with the suffocating tension between Atsumu and Sakusa (as well as the hyperness of Hinata, but that was much more enjoyable to deal with). Kotarou was sure that Akaashi also had a hard time at work since he had that familiar line of stress in between his eyes and his hands shook around the shampoo bottle. It started with a soft croon of his nickname as he washed Keiji’s hair from behind.

“Taro?” He remembers Akaashi mumbling softly from behind his hand, and he remembers humming in response. “Have you ever thought about filming us?” he had continued, his voice low and flat, which is why Kotarou had originally assumed it had been a failed joke. A pun that didn’t land.

So, he forces out a snort as his hands massage the suds into Keiji’s dark curls. He doesn’t remember what he said in response, but it had been something about how Akaashi needed to work on his comedic skills. To say that his comment didn’t only not receive a laugh, but it did earn him a splash of lukewarm bubbly water to the face was the sad truth. That probably should have been a hint to the misinterpretation, but context clues had never been Bokuto’s strong suit.

But, even he couldn’t ignore the serious nature of how Akaashi had asked the second time around.

The two had gone out on a date to a local ramen shop, as they do every Thursday night, and Keiji had brought it up on the stairs to their third floor apartment. A carryout bag in his left hand and Bokuto’s coat in the other, he turned around to look down at Kotarou, who was three steps behind him. His head tilts like a confused dog, and Bokuto can feel his heart skip a line of beats. He was such a cutie.

“I want to film us having sex, Bokuto-San.” Keiji stated plainly, his tone flat and his face miraculously blank. If Kotarou hadn’t been inside of the other man before, he probably would have assumed this was a half-assed attempt at a jab once more. But, considering he had begged Keiji three weeks ago to marry him while he was being rode to the eighth ring of hell, Kotarou didn’t even remember what the word joke meant.

“F… for like… economical reasons, Kei?”

“No, for masturbational reasons, Bo.”

Now, if that wasn’t a big red, flashing sign that held the words film backshots, Kotarou, then he had no idea how to read. His illiteracy had led him this far in life, and he was living lavishly, so he let his feet blindly lead him to his shared bedroom, Keiji following close behind and humming some song. It vaguely sounded like that popular American song about baby sharks, but Bokuto couldn’t even remember what a shark looked like, let alone what a baby shark was. All of his brain power was leaking from the purple tip of his cock and soaking into his boxers, so the mix up was to be expected.

Just the mere thought of tucking himself away in an airport bathroom (while probably waiting for a connecting flight Atsumu had (definitely not) booked to get them to a volleyball match) and pulling out his phone to watch his beautiful fiance bouncing on his dick like fucking rubber on metal made his hands shake and his heart throb in two places. Kotarou genuinely didn’t have the time (nor patience) to think about the safety concerns, the PR nightmare this could turn into, or how borderline dangerous this was when Keiji was right there, slowly sliding off that fluffy winter coat he insisted on getting and revealing his broad shoulders and his small waist.

Bokuto’s mouth was watering.

“Kei, baby, please hurry, m’dying right here.” Kotarou complained petulantly, pouting deeply at the other man, who just hummed in response. Gentle, warm, but dismissive. As if Bokuto had been the one to bring up filming a fucking porno twice. The goddamned audacity of this angel of a man, dismissing Kotarou like he wasn’t the one who batted his pretty eyelashes and purred the older man’s name out like a prayer.

Ridiculous.

“You’re so impatient, ‘taro. Can’t you hold your horses for two more minutes so I can take my clothes off?” Keiji teased sweetly, shooting Kotarou a small, fleeting, but gorgeous grin over his shoulder. The sight made his heart stutter, and he felt his hands slick up with sweat and begin slowly clenching into tight fists. Like he was some clueless virgin. Like this wasn’t Keiji Akaashi, the love of his life since Kotarou had first met him in his second year at Fukurodani. Like the two weren’t living together and didn’t have stacks of binders lining office walls full of wedding ideas. Like he hadn’t kissed every part of Akaashi’s body well before they were where they are.

It was rather pathetic, to say the very least degrading thing about himself that he could think of.

He had half the mind to bend Akaashi over right then and there just to get his dick into something warm and familiar, but he wanted to be good. He wanted his lovely fiance to babble faux praise in his ear as he rode him to heaven and back. He wanted to be rewarded, not punished. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

“Sit, Bo.” Sometimes Kotarou feels like Akaashi’s big bad dom voice awoke something in him like a sleeper agent because he always tended to drop to his knees at each and every command handed to him. Like a filthy mutt Keiji would taunt him with, threaten him with a collar and a leash, maybe even a crate if Bokuto was being particularly unruly (and, by extension, mutt-like).

He wasn’t sure if Akaashi was serious or not, but the threat made him hard anyhow, so he guesses it doesn’t exactly matter.

Bokuto sits down on the edge of the bed like a banished dog, watching Keiji waltz over to their desk and begin setting up his phone. Oh, right. He almost forgot this was like the entire point. The two of them performing in front of an iPhone camera like a couple of amateur pornstars on Twitter, just for the video to burn a hole in Kotarou’s brain and pocket. He knew he’d have no idea how to function after the video is done, his brain insisting to watch it every waking second he spent away from his fiance.

Time passed like honey dripping out of a cup, each minute ticking by like molasses in January. Every red blink of the camera forced Kotarou to feel everything. Every slushy bounce on his veiny cock, every harsh word whispered into his ear, every clench of his balls- it all stuck to his brain like papier-mâché. The words plastered to his mind, cutting through the thick haze that settled over his mind like a warm blanket. Every touch of Keiji’s hot skin to his made him feel heavy, his balls twitching and quivering against Akaashi’s soft freckled cheeks.

The camera stayed filming as the two cleaned up the sticky cream covering their navy blue satin sheets, each heavy towel carried to their shared laundry room reminded Bokuto of their devious activities and the camera filming their every shaky movements, their overstimulation clear as day.

And if Bokuto’s hand slid around his heavy cock weeks later, Keiji’s pretty moans bouncing from ear to ear in his headphones, while stationed in a stuffy airport bathroom, then that’s his business. (And yes, it was because Atsumu decided to book a last minute flight to their latest volleyball match and they had a seven hour layover.)

God, if only the world could hear the sweet syrup that fell from Keiji’s mouth. But that was for him and him only.