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Aoyagi tastes like rice.
Ashikiba tastes like bread.
Aoyagi does everything he says. Aoyagi lets him direct. Aoyagi moves his hand here, his hips there, does everything right all the time. Aoyagi doesn’t run out of stamina. Aoyagi kisses him firmly, with chapped lips and hands that cling. Aoyagi waits on his back, hands balled at his sides, wanting so desperately he’s trembling, letting Teshima sink down on his cock and grind to his heart’s content, even if he wants to lurch up and move. Aoyagi doesn’t have natural impulse control, but he listens to Teshima, and obeys, with absolute trust in his eyes, knowing Teshima will make it good for both of them.
Ashikiba throws him over the edge of the bed and sinks deep into him, making him gasp and pant, squirming away because it’s too much, he’s so full he’s cramping, he can’t possibly take that whole hard length, he’s not ready, not warmed up. Ashikiba sucks bruises into his throat and murmurs that he can’t help himself, that Jun-chan is perfect, wrapping long limbs around him, lurching into him over and over, breath stuttering in excitement. Teshima comes three times before he’s done, wrung out and begging, as wrecked as he was after his one and only InterHigh.
Aoyagi offers his hand, squeezes.
Ashikiba loops an arm through his.
Aoyagi wants curry.
Ashikiba wants hot pot.
Aoyagi wants to go to the arcade.
Ashikiba wants to go to karaoke.
Aoyagi sucks cock seriously, like it’s a task that’s been put in front of him. He follows instructions, and gets a little better at it every time.
Ashikiba gets distracted, and throws Teshima onto his back again, impatient and wild. Teshima doubts anyone has ever been fucked so much and survived it. He almost doesn’t care if he’s the first.
It’s hard to get Aoyagi to make noise, but so worth it when he does. Teshima can hardly hear the sounds over the wet sucking his own mouth makes, the tiniest little huffs coming from Aoyagi’s mouth like precious rewards. He has to tease the other man for the better part of an hour before Aoyagi’s thighs start to shake, bringing him to the brink and back again, light and feathery touches leaving his cock an aching dark red. He scrapes the underside lightly with his teeth, and finally, finally, hears a breathy, “Junta…” that feels like winning the InterHigh all over again.
Ashikiba is noisy in bed. He even makes sounds when they’re kissing, happy, eager little murmurs and moans. When Teshima threads his hands in Ashikiba’s hair, gripping tight, he gets a gasp. When Teshima rocks up against him, he gets a groan.
Aoyagi would let him do anything. Teshima is careful with that, tries not to push, tries not to override what he really wants, tries not to assume he knows what’s best. Aoyagi welcomes everything he wants to do, his mouth, his hands, his cock, with the same hitching pleasure and utter trust in his eyes.
Ashikiba says what he wants, and he wants everything. Then he apologizes for it, and Teshima has to wrangle him back into honesty, especially if Ashikiba thinks Teshima doesn’t want to try something. He’s usually wrong—Teshima would do anything with him.
He’d like Ashikiba to see him with Aoyagi, he thinks. He’d like Ashikiba to see him, and think he looks cool, and appreciate how beautiful, how pliant, how sensual Aoyagi is when no one else sees him. He’d like to share that with his best friend, show him the way Aoyagi bends just for him, the way Aoyagi’s eyes soften, the way he arches his back, the way even he has to stifle his mouth with his hand at the end.
He does not want Aoyagi to see him with Ashikiba. Aoyagi thinks he’s cool, despite everything he’s seen. Teshima doesn’t know if he could recover from Aoyagi watching him beg and drool and whimper while he’s fucked senseless.
Teshima watches closely for reactions, and he thinks Aoyagi likes it best when Teshima is inside of him, and they’re face to face, sharing slow, eager kisses, rocking against each other so close and so fervent their breathing syncs up.
Ashikiba likes it best when Teshima’s back is against the wall, when he’s clinging to Ashikiba’s long neck, when his legs are wrapped around Ashikiba’s waist, when the room is full of the slap of flesh against flesh against wall and the breathless cries of “Shikiba—“ and “Jun-chan—“
He’d agonized over loving them both. It had torn him apart for no reason. Neither of them had asked him to choose.
He’d been terrified to talk to Aoyagi. Aoyagi had saved him the trouble, understanding before he said anything, and put a hand over his lips. “I don’t want to fuck him,” he’d said bluntly. “Anything else is fine.”
“When you want to be with him, you should go to him,” Ashikiba had said, as though that were the simplest thing in the world.
Aoyagi tastes like rice, and tea.
Ashikiba tastes like bread, and tea.