worth a shot

by ellisisntreal

Summary:

“Ya got a girlfriend?” Osamu asks.
“Oh, I’m like 98% gay,” Motoya admits shyly.
“A boyfriend then?”
Rintarou chuckles a little. “He’s also like 98% a virgin.”

Komori Motoya was a virgin. Was. Until Osamu and Rintarou got their hands on him.

Notes:

Edited 12/1/24

“One more shot.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“Nope." Motoya grimaces as Rintarou throws back another shot and waves down the bartender for a water. “I’m already buzzed.”

“There’s no way!” Rintarou snorts, surprisingly put together for someone washing down three beers with vodka. “You’ve only had two shots and a seltzer. One more won’t hurt you.”

The bartender sets a glass of water in front of Motoya and he pushes it to Rintarou. “We have practice tomorrow!”

Rintarou rolls his eyes and pushes the glass back towards him. “You need this more than I do. Lightweight.”

“Bro, you’re going to be so hungover tomorrow.” Motoya steals Rintarou's fourth beer of the night right out of his hand and pushes the water back in front of him. “I think I’d be past blackout and on my way to alcohol poisoning if I’d drank as much as you have.”

“I don’t get hangovers,” Rintarou says flippantly. “And I don’t get drunk either.”

He pushes the glass of water away again and pouts until Motoya gives him back his beer.

“I don’t get drunk,” Motoya mocks in a bad impression of Rintarou's drawling voice. Rintarou kicks him in the shin and has the nerve to look offended when Motoya kicks him back. “Everyone gets drunk when they drink half their body weight in liquor.”

“Playing drinking games with the twins and their mom was a core part of my high school experience.” They keep kicking each other until Rintarou pins Motoya’s foot between both of his and grins at him over the rim of his beer. “And their mom’s a functioning alcoholic.”

“Good practice then.”

“Something like that.”

Motoya fights to free his foot and nearly topples himself off his barstool. He grasps for the edge of the bar but misses, and it’s Rintarou who catches his arm and steadies him.

“You’re just like Atsumu,” Rintarou sighs, helping Motoya get settled back in his seat. He hides his amused smile behind his beer and nudges the water even closer to Motoya. “He’s always so sure he’ll be able to keep up with everyone, but he ends up passed out in his own vomit every time.”

“Hot.”

“That’s not funny.” Rintarou scrunches up his nose in disgust. “He’s revolting.”

Motoya reluctantly accepts the water when he finishes off his second seltzer. “I’m not that bad, though.”

He leans his cheek against his palm and watches Rintarou in the dull bar light. Even now while he’s feigning sobriety, Rintarou stares right through Motoya. He glances at every movement and reads every one of Motoya's facial expressions with an uncomfortable ease.

Motoya’s been convinced since they both joined EJP that Rintarou sees things in people that no one else can. And as unsettling as it is, Motoya has also started to think that Rintarou has surpassed just being able to see him.

He knows Motoya too well to just see him anymore. 

“Yeah, you’re not as bad as him,” Rintarou agrees, eyes flickering down to the way Motoya’s picking at the skin around his nails and then back up to meet his eyes. He squints a little, like he’s really having to fight for a read that might normally come naturally to him. “And you’re a cute drunk too. You get funnier.”

Motoya’s stomach swoops, and Rintarou grins like he knows exactly what he just did.

“But I’m so embarrassing when I’m drunk,” Motoya whines, hiding his face in his hand.

“You are so dramatic.”

“Don’t let him fool ya, Komori,” says a calm voice from behind him. “Half a bottle of wine and Sunarin is down for the count. Then he’s as embarrassin’ as they come.”

Motoya turns a little too quickly and has to grip the edge of the bar to keep from losing his balance again. When he does get swiveled around, he comes face-to-nips with Osamu’s too-tight work shirt.

"You love when I’m wine drunk," Rintarou argues.

“That so?”

“Yes.”

Osamu closes the distance between them and lays a quick kiss to Rintarou's temple before lifting him out of his stool altogether and taking it for himself.

“He gets me wine drunk when he’s trying to get me to tell him drama he can’t get out of me any other time," Rintarou explains, letting Osamu guide him back to stand between his spread thighs with a possessive grip on his hips.

“Not my fault that ya have so much shit on everyone we’ve ever known."

Osamu runs one big hand up the expanse of Rintarou's chest while the other sits right below his navel, holding him flush against his front.

Motoya’s mouth goes dry.

"He's a gossip at heart,” Rintarou says, patting Osamu's hand. "And he's a shady bastard under that sweet country boy persona."

"I can't help it, darlin'," Osamu whines, sneakily grabbing Rintarou's beer and chugging half of the glass in two swallows. He grimaces openly, “Ya have shit taste in beer.”

Rintarou whips around and swats Osamu’s hand away from his glass, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. “No, you’re just a pussy who can’t handle anything that’s not neon pink or bubbly.”

"I can’t believe you're calling him a shady bastard for getting you wine drunk when you were just trying to get me to take shots because you think I'm funnier drunk,” Motoya complains. 

Rintarou waves him off. "If I got you drunk, I would have walked you home and tucked you in. I’d even tell Coach you got food poisoning when you woke up hungover tomorrow."

"Wow, yer such a saint, Rin," Osamu snorts, pinching his ribs. "What would Komori do without such a considerate teammate?"

Rintarou squints at Motoya, and Motoya squirms nervously. "He'd probably be at home playing World of Warcraft without me."

"I missed a big raid tonight because of you,” Motoya pouts. “I'm gonna get my ass handed to me tomorrow."

“Not my problem. I didn’t ask you to stay.”

“I didn’t want you to be alone here.” Motoya shrugs and sips his water, watching the way Osamu drags gentle fingers across Rintarou's body. It's nothing sexual — casual even. But Motoya can’t help the way he stares at them.

Osamu uses the hand on Rintarou's stomach to pull him impossibly closer and Rintarou hums softly, tipping his head back to look up at him. 

"Didn't realize you were waitin' so long.” Osamu noses at the space behind Rintarou's ear. "I'd have closed a little faster if I knew ya were holdin' Komori hostage."

"I was not," Rintarou scoffs, running black painted nails up Osamu’s thigh. "Who cares if his other friends are gonna be mad that he missed one raid? If they drop him over it, that means I get to take him."

Motoya rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars. "You are so petty."

"I needed a good healer,” Rintarou pouts, slumping against Osamu’s chest.

"I've been playing with them for longer than I've known you! Maybe if you'd asked me-" Motoya checks a nonexistent watch on his wrist. "When we were like twelve, I would have joined you."

"You should have waited for me.”

"Don't you two play together every night?" Osamu asks, flinching when both of them look at him in disgust. “What!?”

"That's League," Rintarou snaps back, downing the remainder of his beer.

"It's different,” Motoya agrees. “Shouldn’t you know that by now?"

With both of their disapproving looks, Osamu has no choice but to throw his hands up in surrender and admit defeat. “That’s my bad!”

The bartender brings them another round of waters on Osamu’s request, and Rintarou reluctantly takes one after Osamu whispers something in his ear that Motoya can only imagine is some freaky threat.

“When are you headin’ out, Komori?” Osamu asks when the conversation lulls.

Motoya checks the time on his phone. “Probably soon. I’m pretty sober- well, sober enough that I’m not gonna trip and fall into the road or anything.”

“At least you’re not as drunk as you were at Washio’s birthday last year,” Rintarou teases with a sick grin. “Remember when you threw up all over his couch and then passed out on the kitchen floor?”

Motoya gapes at him, completely mortified that he’d bring that up in front of anyone. “We all agreed that that didn’t happen!”

Rintarou laughs loudly, throwing his head back against Osamu’s shoulder. He’s a lot looser now. Tipsy at best but still more chatty than Motoya is used to. Osamu gives him a fond look and laces their fingers together where Rintarou's been absently petting his thigh.

“You're so mean," Osamu chides. He looks back at Motoya with that same fond look. It makes his stomach jump. “We’ll walk ya home, Komori. Make sure you don’t fall into the road or anything.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Nah, Rin gotcha buzzed,” Osamu interjects, shaking his head. “I wanna make sure you get home safe, yeah?”

"A-alright," he stammers. "Thanks."

“Not a problem.” 

Osamu and Motoya’s feet bump together as Osamu shifts to give Rintarou some more space and Motoya instinctively pulls his feet back, crossing them at the ankle to take up as little space as possible. 

Rintarou glances at the interaction and raises a brow at Motoya. “Don’t be so shy.”

He hooks his shoe under the footrest of Motoya’s stool and pulls him closer, jostling Motoya so much he nearly tips out of the stool again.

Heat rises to Motoya's cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”

That gets Osamu’s attention and with the space between them even smaller than before, he intentionally bumps Motoya’ feet with his own. “Ya scared of me, Komori?”

“What? No!”

"Good."

Osamu hums and stretches out his leg to use Motoya’s footrest instead of his own. It forces Motoya to keep his legs spread to accommodate Osamu’s leg without touching him.

“So how’s Sakusa fairin’ with the Jackals?” 

Motoya relaxes significantly at the change in topic. “Man, your brother is giving him a run for his money.”

“Not a day goes by that Tsumu doesn’t call me bitchin’ about how he can’t figure out why his ‘Omi-kun’ doesn’t like him so much,” Osamu snorts. “Too bad he’s as socially aware as a brick.”

“And he’s got a weird complex about everyone needing to like him,” Rintarou adds.

“Well, normally I’d say it’s probably not his fault since Kiyoomi doesn’t particularly like anyone,” Motoya says, thinking back to the few times Kiyoomi has called him since the season started and how every time has been to rant about the setter. “But in this instance, I really do think it’s just… everything about Miya that Kiyoomi doesn’t like.”

“Sounds about right,” Rintarou agrees. “Atsumu’s about as off-putting as they come.”

They chat for quite a while about Kiyoomi, the Jackals, and upcoming practice matches. Motoya sobers up as he sips his water, and Osamu cuts Rintarou off for the night before he can order another beer.

“Didn’t you break your collarbone in high school?” Rintarou asks.

“End of middle school,” Motoya corrects, rubbing the spot where it fractured during a fumbled receive. “So I was out for a bit at the beginning of high school too.” 

“That fuckin’ sucks, man,” Osamu grimaces, brushing his foot against Motoya’s calf. Motoya adjusts his feet again, spreading his legs further apart while Rintarou tries and fails to keep the amused smile off his face. “Remember when Aran fucked up his wrist?”

“Yeah, that was so bad,” Rintarou agrees. “His physical therapist was hot, though.”

“Smokin!” Osamu whistles lowly. “Shoulda took his number when Aran offered it for my knee. He’d definitely have fucked around after hours.”

Rintarou elbows him hard in the stomach. “He was too old for you.”

“A guy can dream, can’t he?”

“Absolutely not,” Rintarou snaps, crossing his arms in front of him.

Jealousy looks pretty on him.

“You’re not one to talk, Sunarin.” Osamu taps Rintarou's phone where it sits on the bar. “One of us still follows our high school crush and it ain’t me.”

Rintarou shrugs, unbothered. “Wakatoshi’s pretty.”

“You’re kidding!” Motoya scoffs, affronted. “You seriously find that guy attractive?”

“You don’t?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve spent more than a few lunches chaperoning him and Kiyoomi while they discussed the ‘complex intricacies of spiking’ and ‘proper wrist stretching technique’.” He uses his best monotone Kiyoomi impression, and Osamu laughs hard. It makes Motoya blush. 

“Is that actually what they talked about?”

“Yes! It doesn’t matter how objectively hot someone is, there is no coming back from that.”

Osamu continues to laugh while Rintarou hides his own chuckle behind his hand.

“Tsumu’s mentioned how Sakusa idolizes the guy,” Osamu says. “Thought he was just bein’ dramatic.”

“I wish,” Motoya groans. “If Ushijima hadn’t been asking Kiyoomi for advice on engagement rings for Satori, I’d be fully convinced that they were boning behind the scenes.”

“Damn, I forgot him and Tendou were still together,” Osamu admits.

“I didn’t,” Rintarou says glumly and Osamu pinches his flank hard enough to make him yelp.

Motoya’s phone lights up with a text, and he squints at it. It's surprising to see Kiyoomi's name so late considering the very strict bedtime routine he's had since middle school.

 

---

Kiyoomiiiiiiiiii

[Kiyoomi]
Bokuto asked me to accompany him and his fiance to the farmers market next week.
How do I tell him no without being an asshole?

[Motoya]
why would you say no?
you love farmers markets

[Kiyoomi]
Akaashi reminds me too much of my brother.
He’s too stiff and polite.

[Motoya]
lucky for u thats how most ppl describe u too
itll b like hanging with urself :)

[Kiyoomi]
I’m telling him that I’m busy with a family event.

[Motoya]
just say ur busy
anything extra sets u up to get caught lying

[Kiyoomi]
Okay.
Goodnight.

---

 

“Who ya textin’?” Osamu asks, grinning like he knows something Motoya doesn’t. “Girlfriend?”

“What?” Motoya nearly chokes on his water. “No! No. I’m like… 98% gay.”

“Boyfriend then?” he prods, unphased.

Rintarou chuckles a little. “He’s also like 98% a virgin.”

Motoya flushes deeply, embarrassed for reasons he can't quite pinpoint. He can't remember the specifics of why Rintarou knows that about him, but he has a feeling it's got something to do with that night he ruined Washio's couch.

It’s something that he often chooses to keep to himself. Not that being a twenty-three year old virgin is something to be embarrassed about, but because, in his experience, it normally leads to people offering things that are super uncomfortable to decline. 

“That true?” Osamu asks curiously. “You’ve never slept with anyone?”

Motoya nods shyly. “Yeah.” 

Osamu counters his nervousness with an easy smile. “But you’ve thought about it, right?”

“Well yeah,” Motoya shrugs. “But I think I’ve waited so long now that I don’t wanna settle for just anyone.”

“You want to wait for someone you’re in a relationship with?” Rintarou asks, watching Motoya intently. It makes him uneasy.

“Not necessarily. Just… I’d like it to be someone I trust.” 

"That's cute," Osamu hums. "You're cute, Komori."

Motoya sips his water unsteadily, hiding behind the glass to keep them from seeing how warm the comment makes him. His brain is still too muddled to come up with a better response, so he keeps drinking to buy himself some time.

When he lowers the glass, Osamu is whispering something into Rintarou's ear, and for the first time ever, he sees Rintarou blush.

"That's definitely against some kind of rule," Rintarou says, just loud enough for Motoya to hear. 

"I like breaking rules!" Motoya blurts out, lying through his teeth. "I'm a rule breaker."

He's a pretty diligent rule follower, actually. But somewhere in his path of sobering up, he retreated from sloppy drunk and landed on the type of drunk that gives you a little too much courage.

"He's real cute, Sunarin," Osamu says lowly.

"We can't.” Rintarou turns in Osamu’s arms to look him in the face. "I can't."

"Ya know that we can,” Osamu urges gently, running his hand up Rintarou's side. “C’mon, Rin. I trust you."

They stare at each other for a long moment, talking to each other without saying a word out loud. 

"I know ya want to." Osamu moves in closer, brushing his lips against Rintarou’s. "It's up to you."

Rintarou swallows hard and glances at Motoya, then back at Osamu. “Are you sure?”

“I told you that I am. Have been. Will be.” He smiles and closes the gap to kiss Rintarou with such a sweetness that even Motoya feels mushy inside. “But I’m happy s’long as you're happy, ya know that.”

“Okay,” Rintarou breathes out, nodding and turning back to Motoya. Motoya averts his gaze, pretending he wasn’t listening in on them, but Rintarou knows better. He holds out a hand and Motoya stares at it, unsure. “Come here, Motoya.”

Motoya takes it cautiously as he slides off the stool. It’s not until his feet hit the ground that he realizes he’s still a little tipsy, but Osamu slides a strong arm around his waist before he can lose his balance. 

“Careful,” he hums, hooking his finger in one of Motoya’s belt loops to pull him flush against his side. Motoya stumbles into him and realizes instantly that all of Rintarou’s bragging about Osamu being nothing but muscles has never been anything but the truth. 

Osamu spreads a hand up his back and slips his fingers through Motoya’s undercut, cupping the back of his head. His hands are fucking huge.

Motoya can’t think over the loud music of the bar and Osamu staring at him like he’s gonna eat him whole. Rintarou chuckles at his complete confusion and lets go of his hand to trace his nails over the freckles on Motoya’s arm. 

“Don’t freak out,” he says so softly that Motoya almost doesn’t hear him at all. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“I mean, yeah,” he agrees uncertainly, looking between them. “I trust you.”

There’s so little space between them that it makes it hard to breathe. Motoya and Rintarou are only separated by one of Osamu’s thighs, and Osamu’s close enough that Motoya can smell Rintarou’s beer on his breath. 

"You've been kissed, haven't ya?" Osamu asks, scratching blunt nails against Motoya’s scalp. Goosebumps rise on his arms and Rintarou pets over them with a small, victorious smile on his face. 

It’s like they’re moving as a unit, taking each reaction Motoya has to whatever-the-fuck-is-happening as a joint victory.

"Y-yeah," he stammers.

He isn't really sure that kissing his first and only girlfriend once and then immediately breaking up with her counts — or if kissing Karasuno's libero at a National's afterparty during spin the bottle is what Osamu is talking about, but Motoya doesn't clarify.

"So can I kiss ya, then?"

Motoya swallows, eyes darting between Osamu's face and Rintarou.

"Don't look at Rin," Osamu urges, taking Motoya's chin between his finger and thumb. "Eyes on me, Motoya. Can I kiss you or not?"

"But Suna’s-"

"Don't worry about him right now," Osamu insists, giving him an easy smile. "He don't mind. He'll get a chance too if you want him to."

"Oh," Motoya breathes.

Any other response is completely stuck in his throat. It feels like he's suffocating but in an exhilarating, hormone-fueled way.

"S'that a yes?"

Motoya wants to look at Rintarou, but Osamu just told him not to and he’s a little scared to disobey him, so he nods, nearly frantically.

Osamu smiles in a way that has Motoya's heart hammering in his chest and holds his face between big hands. Motoya gasps when their lips meet, because even though he’d agreed, he honestly didn’t think Osamu was actually going to kiss him.

It takes him a moment to compose himself, and to rationalize that he’s kissing his teammate’s long-term boyfriend in front of him. But when he does catch his breath enough to calm his anxiety, Motoya’s mind starts to race.

A few thoughts hit him all at the same time:

1. Osamu tastes like fruit punch lip balm.
2. Rintarou’s nails feel really good tracing up and down his arm.

And 3. Fuck. He’s really glad he’s gay.

Motoya's ex-girlfriend had used way too much tongue — like she was trying to choke him on it. That’s why he told himself he’d broken up with her. She was just a bad kisser. That was all.

Karasuno's libero, however, was the reason he realized he didn’t like women in the slightest.

A gay awakening of sorts.

His lips were chapped and he kissed a little hard, but damn, it felt right. If his scary boyfriend hadn't been glaring daggers at Motoya when he dragged them apart, then maybe Motoya would have had the courage to ask to kiss him again.

Kissing Miya Osamu makes up for every guy he's ever scared off with his terrible flirting. Every girl he's accidentally led on. Every moment he's spent being too self-conscious to even let himself stare at pretty men just like Osamu.

Osamu kisses him with a surprising gentleness. Motoya thinks it's because he can tell that Motoya has no idea what he’s doing, but he chooses not to dwell on that. Instead, he thinks about how soft Osamu’s lips are, and how he kind of likes the way that Osamu's stubble scratches against his jaw. 

He lays a shaky hand on Osamu's thigh to keep his knees from giving out altogether and pushes himself up onto his toes, leaning in to kiss him harder without much of an idea of how to do that.

Osamu chuckles against his lips, "Slow down, sweetheart.”

“Oh. Sorry...”

Motoya leans back a little flustered, but Osamu follows him closely, not giving him the chance to overthink. His face is burning, but Osamu doesn’t seem to mind his inexperience at all. He just guides Motoya a little more intentionally now.

He cards his fingers through Motoya’s hair and tips his head back so that he can kiss him deeper. Motoya tries to take a mental note of that — that the angle is key to kissing better rather than the pressure, but Osamu’s other hand skates down his back and his mind chases that instead. 

He slides his arm around Motoya's waist, settling at the small of his back where his shirt’s ridden up.

Rintarou was the one who got him into cropping his t-shirts last season, but he’s never been as grateful for them as he is when he feels the calluses of Osamu’s overworked fingers against his skin.

Osamu nudges his tongue against the crease of Motoya's lips and he’s read enough romance novels to know that that means he’s supposed to open his mouth. Osamu hums happily and licks inside, tracing Motoya's mouth like he's long since familiar with the slide of their tongues. 

It's foreign to Motoya though. A brand new sensation that sends a pool of heat into the pit of his stomach.

Motoya doesn't mean to moan.

He snaps his eyes open when Osamu pulls back suddenly, afraid he's gone too far.

But he realizes quickly that Osamu hadn’t pulled back at all. Rintarou yanked him away. And before Motoya can react, Rintarou takes a fistful of his shirt and tugs him as close as he can get with Osamu’s thigh between them.

"I'm a little pissed off, Motoya," he hisses, hot breath fanning over Motoya's face. 

Fear hits Motoya right in the chest and bubbles out through his mouth. “I’m sorry! I just thought- because Osamu said-”

"Well, I thought that with us being teammates and all, I'd get my hands on you first."

“Oh.”

The fear drains out of him in an instant and it’s replaced with a hurricane of other far more pleasant emotions. Pleasant, horny, what’s the difference really? Suna Rintarou just said he wants to put his hands on him and Motoya could die happy from the idea of that alone.

He hopes to God that Osamu can’t feel that he’s getting hard, but the possessive hand that he keeps on the small of Motoya’s back makes him think otherwise.

Rintarou is a lot rougher than Osamu, forcing Motoya to focus on him with a firm hand on his jaw. He drags his thumb over Motoya’s spit-slicked lips and then pushes it into his mouth. Motoya sucks on it without thinking too hard about the vulgarity until he hears Osamu take in a harsh breath. Then the hand on his lower back starts skating upwards, further under his shirt.

Oh, he's so fucked.

"M'sorry," Motoya mumbles around his thumb. His fingers dig into Osamu’s jeans as he leans in closer. He needs to kiss him so bad. “M’sorry, Suna.”

"I’ve wanted you for way longer than Samu has," Rintarou says harshly, pulling his finger out of his mouth and curling his arm around Motoya’s neck to drag him into a kiss.

He doesn't give Motoya the time to think about what that means, and he’s probably better off for that. His brain goes mushy the second Rintarou’s lips meet his. 

He kisses softer than Motoya expects, but the way he keeps an arm around Motoya's neck to hold him right where he wants him demands a certain level of submission that Motoya gives over without hesitation. He reaches out blindly to put a hand on Rintarou’s waist, fingers digging in hard enough to make him hiss in pain.

Motoya tries to apologize, but Rintarou doesn’t give him the chance.

With Rintarou holding control, guiding every movement and keeping Motoya steady, it's easy to let go. He allows himself to feel the softness of Rintarou's lips, the back and forth of their tongues, and the gritty clink of their teeth when Rintarou tilts Motoya's head back to slide his tongue even further into his mouth.

It's intense.

But Rintarou has always been intense.

Everything about him, from his stare to the way he holds himself, holds a certain level of intensity that took Motoya a long time to see through. He’d barely spoken to Rintarou at all for the first year of them being on the same team just because he was scared of him.

Motoya isn't scared now, though. Not in the slightest.

Rintarou lost his edge around Motoya a long time ago. Now, with his fingers digging into the nape of Motoya's neck to keep him still and his tongue as far down Motoya's throat as he can get it — he's so fucking hot.

He’s grateful when Rintarou breaks the kiss for a moment to give him a second to catch his breath, but then he meets the eyes of a group of disgruntled looking women across the bar. They don’t even pretend that they weren’t staring when Motoya catches them. It’s like they can’t look away.

Motoya can't blame them.

He wouldn't wanna look away either.

He shouldn’t be surprised that they’ve drawn attention to themselves, but the way the women stare at them with so much malice makes him uneasy. Who knows who else has been watching them.

Motoya pulls back nervously, much to Rintarou’s displeasure. 

“People are staring at us,” he murmurs, looking down at where his fingertips are pressing hard into the meat of Osamu’s thighs. 

His stomach flips.

Fuck, that's hot. Osamu's thighs are so hot.

Osamu shoots a nasty glare at them and the women’s eyes scatter instantly. He thumbs over Motoya’s back soothingly. “They oughta mind their own damn business.”

Rintarou digs his wallet out of his pocket. “Why don’t we take this somewhere else then?”

He throws down enough money on the bar to pay for both of their drinks even when Motoya tries to protest to pay for his own. Then Osamu presses a warm hand to his face and suddenly Motoya is lost in cool gray eyes.

"Ya alright with that?" he asks sweetly, dragging a calloused thumb over Motoya's cheek. "Comin’ home with us?"

"O-oh… uh.” Motoya looks between both of them and nods. “Yeah. I think so."

“You sure?” Rintarou raises a brow at him. "We can just walk you home if you want. There’s never any shame in saying no, Motoya."

He shivers at his name being used in that tone.

If he’s honest, the idea scares the shit out of him. He’s considered a million different ways, different people, and different situations to lose his virginity, but a threesome has never crossed his mind. He doesn’t even know how to please one person, let alone two.

But he'd be stupid to pass them up. 

Who is he to deny a perfectly good opportunity to lose his virginity to two of the hottest people he’s ever met? Two people who clearly have interest in him, even if he’s not entirely sure when that happened or why. 

The idea alone makes him tremble with anticipation.

"I want to," he says, forcing himself to speak up and speak clearly because he’s heard that enthusiastic consent is hot and he doesn’t want there to be any doubt that he wants them to take him home.

It works well enough because before he knows it, he's being led down the sidewalk to their apartment just a few blocks away.

"How much did ya give him to drink, anyway?" Osamu asks Rintarou a few minutes after they leave the bar.

"He had a couple shots and two seltzers," Rintarou answers, not looking up from his phone as he walks. Motoya thinks he’d get motion sickness if he tried to do the same. "I've had way more than that and I'm fine."

"Darlin’, no offense but I don't really trust your input on what should get a normal person drunk," Osamu retorts.

"Komori, catch," Rintarou calls, throwing his keys over his shoulder.

Motoya takes one step backward and catches the keys in an outstretched hand. He only stumbles a little as he shuffles back into step with them and drops the keys into Rintarou's waiting palm. Rintarou looks up at him, clearly pleased.

"See. He's not falling all over himself anymore. He's fine."

"Osamu," Motoya says softly when Osamu looks like he’s gonna keep arguing.

It’s the first word he’s said since they left the bar. He’s still a little blissed out from their kissing, and it’s hard to think about much past the neon letters that blink and flicker with “I am about to lose my virginity!" in his mind.

Still, Osamu looks at him expectantly with those pretty gray eyes that light up under the street lights. Motoya's heart flips in his chest and he looks down at the sidewalk, sure he’s already blushing again.

"I'm okay," he assures. "I’m not gonna say I’m not tipsy because I definitely am, but I'm sober enough to know that I want this."

"Ya promise?" Osamu sticks out his pinky finger and Motoya smiles down at it before locking it with his.

"I promise."

"Good." Osamu slips an arm around Motoya's waist as they walk, holding him close. "'Cause I'm ready to take ya apart, Motoya."

Rintarou looks up at Osamu revolted and smacks him over the back of the head. "You're going to scare him, dumbass."

"You’re not scared, are ya Motoya?"

"Nope!”

 

Soon he's guided into a nice apartment building and up a short flight of stairs.

"I'm never really on this side of town," Motoya comments.

"Where do you live?" Rintarou asks, shoving a key into a door with a big gold 16 on it. "West end?"

He nods, letting Osamu drag him into the dark apartment by the hand. "College area. The rent's cheaper over there. Especially with a roommate."

"Ya got a roommate, then?" Osamu asks, kicking off his shoes.

Motoya nods, following suit and grunting when Osamu shoves him back against the door.

"What's their name?" he asks as he kisses down Motoya's jaw.

"Uh. So um…” Motoya clings onto Osamu’s arms while his lips move down his neck. “His name's Daiki. He's cool I guess- oh… Um. He’s-” 

“He’s what, sweetheart?”

Oh, that does insane things to Motoya’s body.

“He’s- uh, studying environmental science stuff."

Osamu hums against his skin, licking a long stripe from the base of his neck all the way up to his chin. The blood in Motoya's head starts heading south and his knees buckle. It's embarrassing how much he has to rely on Osamu's body pressing him firmly against the door to keep himself upright.

"Would Daiki wanna join us?"

Motoya shakes his head, whining softly when Osamu nips at his Adam's apple. "Straight. Gotta girlfriend."

"Good," Osamu says hotly, fingers trailing up Motoya's stomach under his shirt.

Motoya doesn't know what to do with himself. He isn't sure if he should touch Osamu too or if he should stay still to keep from getting in the way. He peers over Osamu’s shoulder, but Rintarou isn’t behind him. He left them alone with Osamu sucking Motoya’s neck against the front door.

He wonders briefly if Rintarou is actually down for them bringing someone home together or if he agreed because Osamu has suggested it.

The thought bothers him a lot, but it’s really difficult to focus on anything with Osamu all over him like this.

"Can I pull your hair?" he murmurs against Motoya's lips.

"I dunno, I've never- fuck," he groans as Osamu's fingers tighten in his hair, forcing his head to thunk back against the door.

He didn’t expect the burst of pain to erupt into something far closer to pleasure. He's always had a high pain tolerance, but this is a whole other level.

"Yeah. Please. Do that more- Oh my God." 

It feels way too good to have someone be so rough with him. There’s this odd satisfaction that comes with Osamu believing that he’s strong enough to be manhandled, and it leaves Motoya whining him for more.

"Maybe invite him all the way inside before you debauch him, Samu," Rintarou says dryly, but he’s half-smiling when Osamu backs up just as flustered as Motoya feels.

"I was gonna get there," Osamu grumbles, wandering past him to go further into the apartment.

Rintarou shed his jacket and grabbed a few bottles of water while he was gone. He raises a brow at Motoya, clearly amused. “You okay?”

Motoya realizes he’s still pressed up against their front door, heaving in unsteady breaths and trying to collect whatever dignity he has left after Osamu got him hard from a little hair pulling.

“Yeah,” he rasps, adjusting his rumpled shirt and following Rintarou through the apartment on jelly legs.

The bedroom is dark aside from a lamp on the bedside table and the streetlights casting slats of light through the blinds. It feels less intimidating to have so little light. It gives the illusion that he's not being stared at when he knows full well that there are two sets of eyes following his every move.

"Motoya."

Rintarou cups his cheek, guiding Motoya to look up at him. The intensity of Rintarou’s stare sends goosebumps down his arms. He thought he’d gotten over being so affected by Rintarou’s eyes, but it’s all different now.

Rintarou isn’t looking through him like normal. He's hardly trying to read him or see what he's thinking. He's too busy devouring Motoya with his eyes alone.

Motoya looks down and shifts on his feet — a half step closer and then a half step back. Then a barely-there brush of clothes makes him stiffen up. Osamu’s right behind him, all broad chested and solid, trapping him firmly between them. He couldn’t run if he wanted to.

"Motoya," Rintarou says again, dipping his head to meet Motoya’s eyes.

"Hm?"

"Promise me you’ll be honest with us, okay?” he says in this low voice that Motoya isn’t used to at all. They’ve known each other for so long but he’s never known Rintarou to speak so gently. “Don't push yourself to try to keep us happy. If you want to stop or just take a breath, speak up."

Motoya swallows and nods, unconsciously leaning into Rintarou's hand. His voice is soft and calm, and it makes Motoya feel the same way — like he might just melt away if Rintarou lets him. It makes his nerves dissolve, quickly replaced with a thrumming of want under his skin.

"M'kay," he agrees when just nodding doesn’t seem to appease Rintarou. "I'll tell you."

“Good,” he says, pulling Motoya forward to lay a long kiss on his lips. “This is all about you. We’re just here to make you feel good.”

The pressure behind him moves forward, pressing right against his back and effectively sandwiching him between them. Huge hands grip Motoya’s hips while Rintarou keeps his hands on his face, continuing to kiss him.

Things move quickly from there. 

Osamu pulls off his own shirt and then Motoya’s, alternating between kissing Motoya’s neck and whispering soft praise into his ear that makes him shiver. 

Rintarou never stops touching his face, like a lifeline that stays consistent even when his other hand moves down to tug at Motoya’s belt and pop the button of his jeans open. Osamu’s quick to run a hand down Motoya’s chest and into the front of his pants, groping him through his boxers.

An embarrassing moan falls right into Rintarou’s mouth.

He’s never felt another person’s hand on him like that, and Osamu's hands are unreasonably big on Motoya's body. He leans back against Osamu’s chest while Rintarou pulls him in the opposite direction. 

He’s not a small guy by any means. He’s actually a fair bit larger than the average libero, but he doesn’t compare to Osamu and Rintarou. They’re both taller and a lot broader than he is. Hell, Osamu’s bicep is the same size as Motoya’s thigh. But he's all muscle where Motoya is not, which means that Osamu’s hand clamped around his hip is enough to keep Motoya from being able to buck into the overwhelming warmth cupping him through his boxers.

There are hands all over him. Lips move between his shoulders and his neck, from his mouth to his nipples. Motoya can hardly keep up, and at some point, he stops trying to. He lets himself relax with the idea of them taking him apart however they want.

Osamu grabs one of his hands from where they’ve been hanging uselessly at his sides and guides him to grasp the back of his head. Motoya takes a handful of soft hair, not quite pulling but holding on tight enough to please Osamu. 

“Just like that,” he murmurs, mouth dragging up Motoya’s neck and teeth pulling at his ear lobe.

Rintarou swallows another moan right out of Motoya’s mouth, kissing him sloppily between his attack on Moyota’s nipples. He plays with them when he isn’t kissing them — rolling the buds between his fingers and sending shockwaves of pleasure down to Motoya's dick where it twitches in Osamu’s hand.

It’s so much.

Too much.

Perfect.

The overstimulation makes it easy to forget how nervous he is. It’s impossible to focus on anything other than falling headfirst into pleasure.

He’s always imagined his first time would be awkward and nerve-wracking, but Rintarou and Osamu are nothing if not graceful in every way. They take their time, not rushing a single moment while they search for all of the spots that make Motoya whine and cry out for more.

If they’re in any kind of hurry, Motoya doesn’t know it.

It feels like years have passed before his pants finally hit the floor next to Rintarou's. Osamu’s join them too while Rintarou drops himself onto the bed, looking breathtakingly good naked and sprawled out across dark sheets.

Motoya licks his lips, staring openly at Rintarou's body. His skin is pretty and pale with a flush that spreads all the way down to pretty pink nipples. His cock is thin and long — a perfect curve against his toned stomach. Motoya can only imagine that his stomach looks even better wet with sweat and splattered with cum.

A large hand at the small of his back guides him to the bed. He crawls on top of Rintarou, kissing him eagerly while Osamu’s hands find his hips again, thumbs drawing circles at the base of his spine. They run up his waist and shoulders before pulling all the way back down and landing on his ass.

“Pretty,” Osamu hums.

Motoya hears the crack of the hand on his ass before he feels the pain, and he crumbles against Rintarou, crying out from the perfect sting burning across his ass. It hurts so bad, but fuck, he definitely gets harder because of it.

Even if he doesn’t play anymore, Osamu still hit him with the power of a well trained spiker and Motoya’s lucky he managed to survive, let alone not cum immediately.

Osamu kneads the flesh while Motoya recovers, head spinning. 

Rintarou kisses his jaw with a smug smile on his lips. "You're a slut for pain, Motoya," 

As if he hasn’t already come to that conclusion himself. 

Motoya whines and presses his ass back against Osamu's palm. 

"Oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna get along great here," Osamu says breathlessly before hitting Motoya so hard that his muscles all stiffen up and his eyes roll back.

It feels even better the third time.

"Don't hit him too hard," Rintarou chides. "He'll finish before we even start."

"Sorry."

Osamu pats Motoya's ass once and then moves off the bed entirely.

Motoya tries not to whine about the loss because Rintarou is still right there, kissing him greedily.

With a hand on the back of his head, Rintarou leads Motoya to his neck. "Bite me," he instructs. "Hard as you want."

Motoya's still so unsure of his own actions — nervously laying the first few soft kisses to Rintarou's skin. The hand on the back of his neck reassures him.

It makes him feel dangerously confident.

He hasn't quite figured out what to do with his hands so he sticks to holding the sheets in a death grip while he kisses the column of Rintarou's neck.

The smallest sound of pleasure escapes from Rintarou's throat when Motoya drags his teeth across his collarbone, and he smiles a little, pleased. He likes making Rintarou react, even if it's just him pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to keep himself quiet while his eyes go a little hazy.

It's satisfying.

So he keeps going, moving further down Rintarou's chest, getting bolder as he goes. Motoya licks from his peck back up to his neck, and comes back down to suck on one of those pretty pink nipples.

"Fuck," Rintarou groans, fisting a hand into Motoya's hair to hold him there.

Motoya is eager to please so he carefully drags his tongue over his nipple, then his teeth.

Rintarou reacts just as well each time.

He squirms under Motoya's mouth, rutting up into him and making them both moan softly into the otherwise quiet room. A hushed "harder" when Motoya just barely pulls at his nipple with his teeth sends a wicked thrill up his spine.

When Rintarou is seemingly satisfied with Motoya's work, he lets him move further down, still guiding him with a tight grip on his hair. He lets Motoya kiss his stomach and smiles when he finally moves his hands, leaning on his elbows so he can hold onto Rintarou's thin hips.

When he’s finally faced with Rintarou’s cock, Motoya can feel anxiety rising up again. He's never sucked a dick before. He hasn't even had his own dick sucked.

Rintarou watches him carefully, eyes hooded as he pets Motoya's hair, making no effort to bring him closer.

It gives Motoya the opportunity to explore.

He starts by kissing Rintarou’s thighs, his hips, and the tip of his cock. Rintarou's been weight training more since the last season, and Motoya can feel it when the tight muscles of his thighs tense up with every brush of Motoya's lips.

He swallows and moves one hand from Rintarou’s hip to grasp him at the base. He isn’t as thick as Motoya but the weight still feels familiar in his hand. 

He knows exactly how he’d get himself off. He’d spit in his hand and rub himself until he cums with blurred images of faceless men in his mind. He knows how he’s always imagined it’d feel to get his dick sucked.

Motoya's heart beats hard in his chest as he runs his tongue from root to tip, tasting the soft skin of Rintarou's cock and the precum beading at the head. Rintarou breathes in deeply through his nose, fingers twitching in Motoya's hair but otherwise remaining entirely still.

He doesn't try to guide him, like he's encouraging Motoya to explore on his own.

Motoya licks him from root to tip again and again until Rintarou's cock is slicked with spit and the slide of Motoya's hand is much easier. Rintarou's thighs tense when Motoya takes the head into his mouth, holding it there to get used to the weight. 

He’s always had a shitty gag reflex and he got diagnosed with ‘having an abnormally small mouth’ by his dentist in high school, so he doesn't push himself.

He breathes in slowly through his nose and lowers himself onto Rintarou's cock as he breathes out. The weight fills his mouth up quickly, and he can't even take more than an inch or two before he risks gagging himself. Motoya pulls off and then takes him back down again, swallowing when the head of Rintarou's cock reaches the back of his mouth.

Rintarou sighs and brushes Motoya's bangs back. He forces his eyes open to look up at Rintarou and immediately shuts them again because Rintarou's watching him like he wants to eat him and Motoya is barely holding it together as it is.

His lips stretch wide around Rintarou's cock and it makes it hard to guard his teeth as he pulls off, but Rintarou groans when his teeth catch on his cockhead. Motoya grinds weakly against the sheets and kisses down Rintarou’s shaft, licking experimentally at his balls.

"Look at me, Motoya," Rintarou demands breathlessly, and who is Motoya to deny him?

He looks up when he takes Rintarou's cock into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the head and then sinking down until he can’t anymore. Rintarou’s lips part and he takes in these shallow, uneven breaths. His pupils are blown so wide that Motoya can barely see the gold of his irises anymore.

Drool slips past his lips and down Rintarou's shaft. It should be embarrassing, but Rintarou's grip on his hair gets tighter and Motoya thinks he's going to suffocate if he doesn't remember to breathe sometime soon.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," Rintarou groans. "But you're still so tense."

"Don't be mean, Sunarin," Osamu hisses, and Motoya jumps. He lost track of Osamu when he slipped off the bed. "He's learning."

Big hands grasp Motoya's thighs and lift him up onto his knees easily. He gasps as the angle suddenly changes and pulls off before he chokes.

"Relax, Toya," Rintarou hums, stroking himself a few times and dragging his cockhead against Motoya's lips. "You can take me further than that. I know you can."

Motoya is pretty sure he can't, but he mutters a breathy "Okay" regardless. Rintarou smiles as he guides Motoya's head back down, pressing him further and further until he reaches his previous stopping point.

"Breathe in through your nose," he says, waiting for Motoya to take in a slow, shaky breath through his nose.

He can feel his throat immediately open up for Rintarou's cock, and Rintarou gets this predatory look that has Motoya rolling his hips. He presses down on the back of Motoya’s head, pushing him further and further until he gags again and pulls off, coughing and heaving in uneven breaths.

"Good boy," Osamu praises, grasping one of Motoya's ass cheeks in each hand. "You take Rin so good, baby."

Motoya's shoulders shake as he sucks in air, staring at Rintarou's cock in shock at how far he's managed to take him. He wants to do it again, he realizes. He wants to feel Rintarou's cock press against the back of his throat.

The thought mortifies him considering he nearly threw up on the first try. His mouth is inherently not made for sucking dick, but he still has this sick urge to try to push his limits as far as he can.

Motoya takes Rintarou down again, keeping his eyes open as he breathes in and sinks further down his cock, stopping just before he gags, and pulling back. Then he does it again and again until he's set himself at a slow but steady pace. Rintarou never looks away from him, eyes locked with Motoya as he pets his hair and moans soft praise every time Motoya's mouth envelops him.

Osamu continues kneading his ass and dragging big hands all over Motoya's body, making himself impossible to fully ignore as much as Motoya tries to. He even tries to ignore Osamu's thumb brushing over his hole the first two times.

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose and dips his head down, further than he's gone before but still not quite past halfway. He's positive that taking all of Rintarou's cock is out of the question, but he seems more than pleased with Motoya so far.

A wet, hot pressure presses against his entrance, and Motoya gasps — choking himself on Rintarou's cock and pulling off in a coughing, moaning mess.

Rintarou chuckles and runs his fingers through Motoya's hair while Osamu prods at his hole with his tongue. "You okay?"

Motoya glares at him and drops his face against Rintarou's stomach to try to hide his undeniable blush while Osamu eats him out. When he's finally caught his breath, Osamu prods his tongue against the muscle, trying to push his way inside. The feeling is indescribable, something Motoya has never even dreamed of experiencing before.

He bites at the pretty skin right above Rintarou's navel to keep himself from moaning too loud, relishing in the way he can feel the vibration of Rintarou's moan all the way in his stomach.

"Stay still, sweetheart," Osamu says, nipping at Motoya's asscheek. 

Motoya can only moan in response. He hadn’t even realized he was bucking his hips in a desperate attempt to press himself further against Osamu's tongue. He can't stop, even though Osamu told him to. It feels too good. Too all-encompassing.

Then Osamu wraps his hands around Motoya's thighs, forcing him to be still since he can't do it on his own. It's crazy how easy it is for Osamu to control his body when Motoya can't even control himself.

"Samu," Rintarou says, uncharacteristically whiney. "Can't you share?"

Osamu grumbles something that Motoya can't quite hear but sits back regardless. Rintarou grins at his obedience and reaches down to pull Motoya up. Motoya does so clumsily, legs like jelly as he settles with his thighs spread around Rintarou's waist, opening himself up for Osamu's tongue to fit right between his cheeks.

"Kiss me, Toya," Rintarou urges.

"But I just had your dick in my mouth," Motoya mumbles, unsure of how coherent his words are coming out between his moans. "Isn't that kinda gross?"

"Shut up." Rintarou smashes their lips together and immediately shoves his tongue into Motoya's mouth like he's trying to taste himself.

Motoya groans, wanting to buck his hips but unable to with the harsh grip Osamu has claimed on them. 

One of Rintarou's hands squeezes between them to play with Motoya's nipples, the other grabs his hair roughly.

It's almost too much — all of the different sensations and all the hands on his body. If Osamu spanks him now, he'll cum instantly, no doubt about it.

But instead of spanking him, Osamu lets go of Motoya's hip entirely and presses a fingertip against his hole. Motoya pulls away from Rintarou in surprise, a strained cry tearing through him as Osamu slips his finger inside. It's wet and hot, but the new pressure is so awkward and unfamiliar that he isn't sure he actually likes it.

"Ohh..." he gasps, tension pulling at every muscle in his body to try to keep himself from moving. Osamu slowly pulls his finger out and then pushes it back in, stretching Motoya out around him. "Fuck- oh God."

"Have ya never touched yourself like this?" Osamu asks, his voice huskier than before.

Motoya presses his forehead into the crook of Rintarou's neck and shakes his head. "N-no." 

“Oh fuck, Motoya," he groans, fingers digging into his hip so hard that he’s definitely going to bruise. He loves the idea of that more than he should. "You're so fuckin’ tight."

"Breathe," Rintarou whispers into his ear, running his hands over Motoya's shoulders and back. "Relax, Toya. You have to breathe."

"M'breathin'," he mumbles back, taking in a ragged breath. 

He keeps his eyes pinched closed while Osamu fucks him with his finger. The sensation becomes less foreign, and the burn of the initial stretch isn't there anymore. He barely remembers it at all until Osamu pulls out and returns with two slicked fingers.

"C'mere," Rintarou says, grabbing his face and kissing him hard while Osamu slides the second finger in.

Motoya whines and squirms as he presses in, but Rintarou keeps him busy with his mouth so he can't focus as much on the way it hurts enough to make his eyes sting with tears. He white knuckles the sheets — scared that he'll hurt Rintarou if he puts his hands on him.

Osamu shifts the angle slightly and twists his fingers inside Motoya, sending a small shock of pleasure up his spine. He nips at Rintarou's lip and takes a moment to breathe while Osamu starts a steady but gentle pace inside of him, scissoring and twisting his to stretch Motoya even further.

Then he does something, Motoya doesn't know what, and all at once his body is wracked with pleasure. His arms give out and he lands hard against Rintarou's chest.

"Fuckk…" he groans, feeling the muscles in his legs spasm and his balls draw up like he might cum. He doesn't though, and he comes to the grim realization that he isn't anywhere near his orgasm despite the pleasure coursing through him.

"Took you long enough," Rintarou grumbles, carding his fingers through Motoya's sweaty hair.

"Ya think you could do any better, princess?" Osamu asks, crooking his fingers against that spot inside of Motoya that makes him scream again like he's trying to prove a point. Whatever the point, Motoya's cries seem to get it across because Rintarou’s focus is back on him in an instant.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, running his hands down Motoya's arms. 

Motoya nods, slowly raising himself back up onto shaky arms to lay lazy kisses across Rintarou's jaw. He kisses Rintarou slowly and deeply, stroking their tongues together and licking each other's lips. He whines into Rintarou’s mouth every time Osamu finds his prostate, and Rintarou swallows down each sound like a starving man. 

Three fingers are somehow easier than two. Even though the stretch is less than comfortable, the burn eases into something far better. The feeling of being full is so delicious and new, and he can't get enough of it. 

But the longer it goes on, the more Motoya starts craving the feeling of being split open around Osamu’s cock instead.

The angle switches again as Osamu moves up the bed, kissing Motoya's shoulder, then his neck, and then his mouth when Motoya breaks away from Rintarou. His fingering starts to get sloppier as he gets distracted, especially when Rintarou grabs him by the neck and pulls him down. Their mouths meet so hard that it looks painful.

Osamu pulls back and pulls out of Motoya at the same time, huffing a laugh when Motoya whines at the loss.

"Lay down," he says, kissing Motoya again and helping him lay on his back next to Rintarou. "Watch me closely, 'kay?"

Motoya nods for the sake of doing whatever they want him to do. Anything to get Osamu to tell him he’s good again. Whatever will have Rintarou looking at him all blissed out and proud.

He watches as the two kiss roughly, biting and clawing at one another like they can't get close enough. Osamu bites Rintarou so hard that the skin bruises purple before he even pulls back, and Rintarou reacts beautifully. His eyes roll back, his neck hyperextended and his toes curling from the pain of Osamu's teeth burying into his skin. 

Osamu grabs a bottle of lube from the end of the bed, already open and leaking onto the sheets from using it on Motoya. He covers two fingers and hikes one of Rintarou's knees up over his shoulder, leaning down to kiss him again and effectively folding him in half as he slides both fingers into him easily. Rintarou barely reacts aside from the way his nails mark bright red paths down Osamu's back.

"That all ya got, princess?" Osamu sneers, pulling his fingers out and pressing in a third in one movement.

Rintarou hisses softly, gritting his teeth before Osamu catches his mouth in another fierce kiss.

Heat pools in Motoya's stomach as he watches them. It’s obvious how well they know each other's bodies just by watching them. An easy, well formed knowledge of exactly what the other can take and what to do to drive them to the edge.

Osamu gets more aggressive when Rintarou's nails leave deep red marks on his back and when he moans softly against his neck. Rintarou likes the pain more than anything. He keens when Osamu bites him so hard it almost breaks skin, and arches into Osamu’s hands when he holds him so tight that his fingers leave imprints in his pretty pale skin.

“Choke me,” he begs, and Motoya’s stomach jumps at the raspy, needy tone of his voice. He’s known Rintarou for so long, but this side of him is entirely new. It’s so raw that it makes goosebumps pop up across Motoya’s skin.

Rintarou melts when Osamu wraps thick fingers around his throat, eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a raspy gasp of Osamu's name.

Osamu smiles softly, like seeing Rintarou fall apart under him is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he leans in to kiss his spit slicked lips. Rintarou curls his arm around Osamu's neck, pulling him close and their kiss slows into something gentle and sweet. 

His hand falls away from Rintarou's neck and he gasps softly, taking in a few breaths straight from Osamu's mouth. Their lips brush as they meet each other's eyes, speaking to each other silently just like they did in the bar.

Then Osamu moves his hand suddenly, like he forgot that he's three fingers deep, and Rintarou cries out his name again, throwing his head back against the pillow.

Motoya's hand hovers near his own cock where it's weeping precum onto his stomach. He knows that he could get off just from watching them, but that doesn't really seem like their plan. It's hard, though — keeping his hands to himself while they're right there, so lewdly intertwined with one another.

It’s like watching porn in real life.

It’s impossible to tell if it's the alcohol still pumping through his system making him so compliant, or if he’s just naturally eager to please. He's got a strong inkling that alcohol has nothing to do with the way he holds his hands against his chest, far away from his cock.

Suddenly, Motoya meets Rintarou's barely open eyes as tears leak out from the corners, dragging lines of black eyeliner with them. His mouth is open, soft gasps slipping out with every thrust of Osamu's fingers. 

He runs his fingers down Motoya's arm, and Motoya shivers, such a light touch doing crazy things to his oversensitive body. Motoya wants Rintarou to touch him more. He wants both of them to touch him more. He wants to be back between them with hands all over his body until he can't tell who is who.

Osamu pulls his fingers out of Rintarou slowly, hushing his cries and kissing his tears away.

"Motoya's gonna take good care of ya, darlin’," he says quietly. 

He puts out a hand to Motoya, leading him to take over the spot between Rintarou's spread legs. Osamu sits behind him, knees spread and cock pressing up against the small of Motoya's back. 

Motoya looks Rintarou over — at the deep flush and sweat all over his body, and the precum pooling on his stomach.

He swallows hard when he looks at Rintarou's hole, pulsing around nothing and leaking with lube. Rintarou is begging to be filled.

Osamu hooks his chin over Motoya's shoulder as he grabs the bottle of lube and pours a generous amount over the tips of Motoya's fingers. Four of them.

"You've got little hands," he hums, lips brushing over his ear. "Four'll fill Rin up real nice."

"A-are you sure?" he stammers. "I don't-"

"Shh," Osamu hushes. "Don't keep him waitin' or he'll do it himself."

Motoya nods, shuffling forward and flushing when Rintarou spreads his legs even further for him. Osamu runs his hands down Motoya's sides, resting them on his thighs as and watching Motoya slowly press three fingers inside. Heat rushes to his core as he watches them disappear inside of Rintarou with hardly any resistance.

"Ya don't hafta be so soft with him," Osamu says, dropping his voice a little to add, "Rin's a slut for pain."

Motoya takes his time regardless, feeding his fingers in and out of Rintarou — almost entranced by the way that he sucks Motoya in every time. Just like Osamu says, the fourth finger goes in just as easily. The slight pull at his rim only makes Rintarou moan louder, hips bucking up, pleading for more.

"Fuck me," he begs breathlessly. 

"What do you say, princess?" Osamu urges, smirking at him over Motoya’s shoulder.

"Please! Please. Fuck-" Motoya twists and crooks his fingers like Osamu had done to him and Rintarou's back arches off the bed in a beautiful curve. "Now. Now! Or I'll cum from this."

Osamu snorts and backs up a little, returning a moment later with a condom. "Wanna fuck him for me, Motoya?"

Motoya nods hastily, eyes roaming Rintarou ravenously. He's never wanted anything more.

"Good boy," he hums lowly, rolling the condom onto Motoya with skilled fingers. "Don't hold back."

Motoya adjusts him so that his cock is pressed up against Rintarou. He lifts one of Rintarou's legs over his shoulder like Osamu had done, gripping onto the other one tightly as he lines himself up and slides in with one quick motion. Motoya chokes on his own gasp, tight heat surrounding him so quickly he has to pull out again to keep himself from cumming.

He presses his face into Rintarou's calf, steadying his breathing. "S-sorry," he murmurs, holding the base of his cock until his orgasm fades into nothing.

"Don't stop," Rintarou huffs. He grabs Motoya’s arm, dragging him down and kissing him like his life depends on it. “Please, Toya.”

"I'm so close," Motoya breathes, embarrassed. "I just- I don't wanna-"

"But we did that. We got you there," Rintarou says, pushing Motoya’s hair out of his face to look him right in the eyes. "I don't expect you to last forever, Motoya. I just wanna feel you."

"Are you sure-"

"Fuck me now,” he begs, nails digging into Motoya’s arm. “Or I'll just ride you myself."

Motoya shudders.

The image of Rintarou bouncing on his cock, strong thighs flexing — it's too much. Something for another day when Motoya will get more than a few seconds to enjoy the view.

He reaches down and grips his cock, pressing into Rintarou agonizingly slowly. It’s enough for him to keep his composure, and both of them moan when he bottoms out. The tightness around Motoya is all-consuming. He pulls out just as slow, but realizes quickly that no matter his speed, he's rapidly hurtling towards the edge.

Rintarou wants to feel him. To be fucked by him.

Motoya isn't going to deny him that any longer.

He snaps his hips hard and nearly screams from the pleasure that erupts at his core. Rintarou moans long and low, never breaking eye contact while Motoya starts a quick but deep pace. He’s loud, and he can’t really help it. Not with Rintarou so pulsingly tight around him, and Osamu behind him, murmuring soft praise and urging him to fuck Rintarou harder.

He cums fast and more intensely than he has in his entire life. His whole body shakes with it, hips jerking wildly while he rides it out with short, harsh thrusts. Rintarou kisses him through it, one hand clutching his shoulder and the other buried in his hair.

“F-fuck, Rin,” he moans against Rintarou's lips.

Rintarou pets his hair and rubs his back, letting him come down for a few long minutes. Motoya can hardly see straight when he pulls out — the condom so full he can’t get it off without spilling cum onto the sheets.

Osamu presses a hand to the back of his head, guiding him down to Rintarou's neglected cock.

“Finish up, Motoya.” 

Motoya cries out quietly when Rintarou's cock fills his mouth again, pressing all the way to the back of his mouth, then even further despite his gagging.

His brain fogs over and he can barely remember to breathe, let alone move his head. He has to clutch onto Rintarou's hips for dear life to hold himself up, but he doesn’t hate it. He likes it a lot actually, letting Osamu hold his hair while Rintarou's hips buck up, cock buried deep inside Motoya’s small mouth.

He kinda likes being used for Rintarou's pleasure. They’ve given him so much already, it’s the least he can do in return. Rintarou deserves it. And after Rintarou finishes, maybe Osamu will fuck his mouth too. His cock’s thicker and longer. Motoya’s not even sure if he can realistically accommodate it into his mouth, but he’ll try.

Anything for them. 

A hand comes down on his ass hard, the crack barely audible over Rintarou's moaning and the wet sounds of Motoya’s mouth being fucked. Motoya groans around him, nails digging into his scalp. 

The sting of Osamu’s hand on his ass and the rough press of Rintarou's cock to the back of his throat is intoxicating.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Rintarou's thumb brushes away his tears. The hand on his cheek brings him back a little, keeping him from tipping over the edge of total incoherency. Rintarou's eyes roll back the moment Motoya looks up at him and hot cum floods his mouth, some sliding down his throat and the rest coating his mouth in an unfamiliar, unpleasant taste.

Rintarou's hips jump erratically, thrusting harder and harder until Motoya has to pull off to keep from choking. He wraps a hand around him, working Rintarou through the rest of his orgasm with cum dripping down his chin.

“Fuck, Motoya,” Rintarou groans, fisting a hand in his hair and pulling him up harshly. Motoya scrambles to follow, limbs useless and jelly underneath him.

He moans when Rintarou licks from his Adam's apple all the way up to his lips, collecting every drop of cum like it can't be wasted. Motoya meets his lips eagerly, feeling hot all over as Rintarou's hands run all over his orgasm-warmed skin. It feels so good just to be touched and held in his blissed-out state.

It feels even better when Osamu's hands join him, running up the backs of Motoya's thighs, over his ass and to his hips. He arches into the touch and he realizes that he's somehow getting hard again from all the attention. It's overwhelming in a way, but he doesn't really mind. He feels like he's allowed to chase his own pleasure when he's between Osamu and Rintarou.

They'll take care of him.

Then, Osamu lifts Motoya just a little, knees barely brushing the mattress before the slick head of Osamu's cock presses against him. Motoya's eyes go wide in shock, body tensing all over as Osamu presses halfway inside of him, stretching Motoya open with his cock. 

Motoya screams.

It isn't like when his cock just slid right inside of Rintarou with no resistance. Osamu is bigger than the three fingers he prepped Motoya with. Much bigger. The stretch feels like fire licking up the base of his spine, but to Motoya's horror, he doesn't want it to stop.

He's never felt so much in his life. It's like he's burning from the inside out.

He needs more. So much more.

It's like an inescapable pleasure. Overstimulation that leaves him tingling all over and totally out of control of his own body.

He arches into it, pressing his entire weight into Rintarou as he cries out slurs of both pleasure and pain. Rintarou holds him tight, shushing him as he runs soothing fingers up and down his back and through his hair. Motoya wants him to pull his hair, to bite him, to do something to distract from the way that Osamu's cock just seems to get bigger and bigger as he opens him up.

But he can't speak. All he can do is whimper into Rintarou's skin.

"Look at you," Rintarou whispers into his ear, pride filling his voice. "You look so pretty stretched out around Samu's cock."

Motoya moans incoherently, knowing full well he's drooling onto Rintarou's shoulder.

Osamu's hand presses into the small of his back as he pulls out one last time and then slides home, hips pressing flush against Motoya's ass. 

Stars pop behind Motoya’s eyes and he slurs out a plea for more.

"Samu," he begs, pressing his hips back to try and feel him even deeper. "Fuuuck."

"Shh," Rintarou murmurs, kissing his temple.

“We've gotcha," Osamu grunts, pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, right into Motoya's prostate. The pleasure that erupts through him is unlike anything else he's ever felt in his life.

It hits him right in the center of his belly, like a pot of water in the moment before it boils over.

Osamu does it again, and again, and again. Each time, the feeling gets tighter and more intense. It almost scares him how overwhelming it is. It feels like he's about to pee, which leaves him scrambling to hold it back, but even in his fucked-out state of mind, he knows better.

Rintarou reaches down between them to wrap a hand around Motoya's cock and he's done for. Just one stroke in time with Osamu’s cock slamming into his prostate and he's cumming again.

Motoya sinks his teeth into Rintarou's shoulder as he cums, spilling an impossible amount of cum onto Rintarou's stomach. His whole body quivers and jerks, hands drawn into fists and eyes rolled so far back he isn't sure they'll ever return.

Osamu fucks him through it, milking his orgasm until Motoya doesn't even know if he's conscious or not. He's so warm all over, but still shaking. Sweating and burning up, yet absolutely freezing.

It's an all-encompassing feeling of aftershock that he doesn't think he'll ever recover from. Motoya might be stuck there forever, cumming his brains out until he dies.

It isn't the worst way to go.

The next time Motoya opens his eyes, Osamu is no longer inside of him and he feels far too empty. It's disappointing. He wanted to hear Osamu cum.

"Stay still," Rintarou whispers, so close it almost scares him. He hasn't registered his presence in his afterglow. "Samu's gonna get you all cleaned up, okay?"

Motoya doesn't say anything, just leans into the warm presence at his side. Rintarou runs his fingers through Motoya's hair while Osamu climbs back into the bed with a couple of rags. He smiles at Motoya sweetly.

"Glad you're back." He presses a warm cloth to Motoya's stomach, wiping off the smear of cum and sweat. "Got worried about ya for a minute there."

"Why?" Motoya asks, voice gravelly. His throat hurts.

"Here." Osamu hands Rintarou one of the water bottles on the bedside table and Rintarou carefully raises it to Motoya's lips. 

He doesn't fight the soft treatment. It’s hard to mind the feeling of being taken care of when he still feels like his bones are jello. He drinks greedily, letting the water wash away the salty taste in his mouth and the rawness in his throat. Rintarou wipes away the few stray drops that slip down his chin.

"Why were you worried?" he asks again, letting Osamu wipe sweat from his face with the rag.

"You weren’t being very responsive," Rintarou says calmly, clearly not wanting to freak Motoya out. "Super out of it. Didn't know how long it was gonna take you to come through."

"Thought we mighta fried your brains," Osamu teases, lifting one of Motoya's legs and carefully cleaning him of the lube leaking out of his ass. "Don't blame ya. That last one looked like it sent ya into another dimension."

Motoya snorts, sitting up on his elbows to watch Osamu. "Feels like I'm in another dimension."

"Yeah?" Osamu grins, clearly pleased. He moves onto Rintarou, ignoring the way he tries to snatch the rag away to clean himself up in favor of forcefully doing it for him. "Hope that means you enjoyed yourself, then. I won't speak for Rin, but I definitely did."

Rintarou's cheeks are red as Osamu thoroughly cleans him out, patting his butt before leaving the bed again and disappearing into the connecting bathroom.

Motoya looks at him, trying not to flinch when Rintarou meets his eyes.

"What?" Rintarou asks, voice weirdly soft.

"I was just gonna ask if you, like-” he stammers. “If you enjoyed it too?"

Rintarou's lips quirk up and he leans in close, pressing his lips to the spot just behind Motoya's ear. "We wouldn't have stopped if you didn't pass out. I would have been more than happy watching Samu fuck you all night long."

Motoya shivers, blush creeping down his chest. "Oh."

"Oh?" Rintarou repeats with a raise of his brow, clearly amused. "Oh, what, Motoya?"

"Nothing," he says, settling back against the pillows and looking up at the ceiling. "Maybe we can do that another time?"

When he looks back at Rintarou, he looks shocked — his brows pulled together in confusion as he works through Motoya's statement. "Another time?"

Motoya feels a well of panic rise up in his chest. "Not if you guys don't want to, I mean. If it's just a one-time thing, I get it-"

Rintarou's mouth slams against his, a little too rough on his tender lips.

"I don't think it'd be easy to go back to just being teammates after this, Motoya," he admits hotly. "I don't think I can ever look at you again without thinking about how you go a little cross-eyed when you’ve got a cock up your ass." 

Motoya gapes at him and covers his face with his hands. "I do not!"

"No, you 100% do," Rintarou corrects. He says it like they're talking about the weather. "I'll record it next time so you can see it for yourself."

"O-oh," he squeaks out from behind his hands. "Whatever you want."

Rintarou chuckles and kisses his shoulder softly. "Samu was right. You're real cute, Motoya."

"I told ya so," Osamu says, hopping into the bed right next to Motoya and pulling the covers up over both of them. "Shoulda seen the way he's lookin' at you when I was fingerin’ ya, Rin. Droolin' all over himself. So fuckin' hot."

"Oh my god," Motoya groans, curling in on himself. "That's so embarrassing."

Osamu's arm curls around his waist, pulling Motoya's back flush against his chest. "Don’t talk like that. I promise you that nothin’ ya did tonight was embarrassin'."

"I’m honestly kinda impressed," Rintarou adds, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV to some old show Motoya doesn't recognize and then turning the volume down as low as it’ll go. "I figured you’d just wanna get fucked and be done, but you kept up easily. Like you've done this before."

"Second ya let me pull your hair, I knew we were in for a treat," Osamu hums, nuzzling into the back of Motoya's neck. "You're just like Rin. A little masochist."

Rintarou rolls his eyes, rolling to face away from the two of them, but scooting back so that he's pressed against Motoya's chest. Osamu grabs Motoya's wrist and helps him wrap an arm around Rintarou's waist while Rintarou scrolls through his phone.

Motoya doesn't know when he falls asleep. He spends a long time watching Tiktoks over Rintarou's shoulder, flushing when Osamu whispers sweet praises from the night into his ear. It makes him feel so calm and content to be surrounded by their warmth. He likes the arm around his waist and the way Rintarou holds his hand where it’s draped over his chest.

He never quite understood hookup culture, but if it’s anything close to this, he definitely gets it now.

He would give anything to fall asleep like this every night.

 

---

 

When Motoya wakes up, he's covered in warm light and wrapped in strong arms. The presence in front of him is gone, but he doesn't really mind. Osamu has his face pressed into the center of his back, fingers intertwined with Motoya's in his sleep. 

He snores, Motoya realizes with a weird warmth in his chest.

He's sad when he realizes that even though he's more comfortable than he's ever been in his entire life, he has to piss. No amount of comfy cuddles and Osamu's soft breath against the back of his neck can push that away. Motoya hesitantly untangles himself from sleepy Osamu and sits up in the bed.

He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, looking blearily around at the bright room he'd never gotten a chance to see the night before.

It's simple, really. Nothing special.

Not much decor aside from a rack of house plants hanging by the massive window and a few photos propped up on the desk where he finds Rintarou. He's sitting in front of a pretty extensive PC setup, something that Motoya isn't shocked by considering how he and Rintarou have bonded pretty much exclusively over video games in their years as teammates.

Rintarou seems to sense him stirring, or maybe he just sees Motoya's reflection in one of his monitors. He pushes one of his headphones behind his ear and spins around in his chair to face the bed, face glowing in the sunlight.

He's showered already, damp hair dripping onto the loose shirt he's put on. Motoya feels himself flush when he catches site of the bite marks and bruises peeking out. There's one that’s small but especially dark, and Motoya can only assume he'd been the one to leave that one.

"Morning," Rintarou hums, eyeing over Motoya's body, naked all the way to where the blanket pools on his waist. There is no shame in his gaze.

"Hey..."

"How do you feel? Need anything?"

Motoya takes stock of his own body, feeling a weird pressure in his ass that extends up to the base of his spine. Other than that and a bit of soreness, he feels warm and a little fuzzy all over. Taken care of. Happy.

"Feel good," he says softly, settling into his own skin. There isn't anything he needs to hide. Not from Rintarou. "Really good."

Rintarou's mouth curves up in a soft smile. "Good. There's coffee in the kitchen. And that nasty creamer you and Samu both like."

Motoya doesn't know how Rintarou knows what kind of creamer he likes, but he doesn't question it.

"Samu has an ungodly amount of hair products in the bathroom if you want to shower." His eyes drift to Osamu, still sleeping soundly. "He normally likes to shower together in the mornings, but I hate it. You don't have to if you don't want to, but he'll probably ask."

"Okay... thanks," Motoya says, running a hand through his hair and looking out through the open blinds on the window.

"You sure you're okay?" Rintarou asks brows pulled together in concern.

"Yeah!" he says quickly, smiling. "I'm great. I just- I don't really know what normal morning-after procedure is."

Rintarou gives him an almost fond look before pulling off his headphones and shutting down his PC entirely. "Come on."

"But I have to piss," Motoya whines, pulling himself out of the bed.

"Then piss and come on."

He follows the request, grabbing his boxers off the floor and stumbling into them in his haste to pee before following Rintarou into the kitchen.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asks, looking into the fridge. "I can't really cook for shit, but Samu will want to make you a four-course meal and then you'll throw up during practice."

Motoya snorts, peering over his shoulder into the fridge. "I'm not a bad cook. Let me make something."

And so he does. They work quietly in the kitchen together, Rintarou doing the easier things like toasting the bread while Motoya works on the stove.

Osamu comes out of the bedroom while they work — yawning, shirtless, and with a bedhead unlike anything Motoya has ever seen. His stomach growls almost immediately and Motoya thinks that that wouldn't be attractive to anyone who hadn’t been split open on his cock the night before.

"Smells good," he says in a morning voice that leaves Motoya blushing.

"I think Toya might give you a run for your money in the kitchen," Rintarou teases when Osamu kisses his temple on his way to the coffee pot. 

He does make his coffee just like Motoya does.

"Doubt it," Osamu says, grinning cockily. "No one's better than me."

"Careful. You sound like Tsumu," Rintarou chastises.

Osamu fakes a look of repulsion. "I'm better than him too."

"I know it."

Motoya listens to them bicker, joining in only when they direct their comments at him. It's easy to get whisked away in their morning, following them through breakfast and clean up and a short makeout session in the kitchen before Osamu drags him off to the shower.

Motoya tries to suggest they shower separately but doesn't put up much of a fight when Osamu leads him into the bathroom by the waistband of his briefs anyway. He isn't sure why Rintarou doesn't like showering with Osamu. Motoya really enjoys Osamu taking a fistful of his wet hair while he tries to suck him off. He cums regardless of the quality of Motoya's blowjob and gets to see Motoya covered in his cum for all of eleven seconds before the shower takes it away.

Motoya has to borrow Rintarou's clothes from high school for their afternoon practice because everything else hangs way too loosely for him to be functional while doing receives. Rintarou doesn't seem to mind though. Motoya catches Rintarou's eyes sliding up and down him every chance he gets.

Osamu walks them to practice, splitting off halfway to head to the shop and leaving them to walk with each other in comfortable silence.

The closer they get to the gym, the more Motoya starts to worry about how things are about to change. An irrational part of him thinks that it’s going to be immediately obvious to their team — that somehow the second they walk in, everyone will be able to smell Osamu's shampoo and Rintarou's body wash on Motoya and know that they took his virginity last night. 

He's even more worried that things will be awkward between him and Rintarou.

Neither seems to be true, however. No one pays them any mind when they walk into practice together, aside from Washio who immediately starts teasing Rintarou for the hickeys on his neck.

"Damn, Suna! Osamu fucked you up, huh?"

Rintarou's face doesn't change from his normal passiveness, though his eyes slide over towards Motoya for a moment before he speaks.

"This is just what it looks like when you take care of someone how they deserve. Not that you would know.”

Motoya flushes while the rest of the team laughs at the jab.

Maybe it isn't gonna be all that different after all. Rintarou has always liked making Motoya squirm. Now he just has added ammunition.

Notes:

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Worth a Shot