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“I would pay her to spit in my mouth,” Makki groans, dragging a hand through his hair as he looks down at his phone screen in distress.
Oikawa snatches the device out of his hands, peers at it, and shrugs before taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah, that’s valid.”
Iwaizumi leans over, brows furrowed. “She looks like she’d step on your balls.”
Makki tips back his chair onto two legs and wistfully replies, “That would be nice.”
All the background bar noise in the world couldn’t hope to help remove you from witnessing this conversation against your will. Hanamaki’s recent foray into dating apps has been A Time.
You twirl the stick of the lollipop currently lodged in your mouth before tapping it against your lips. “Please don’t tell me that’s your conversation starter.”
Makki sticks his tongue out at you. “At least I’m getting laid.”
Sighing, you point the lollipop at him. “You can’t just ask a girl to spit in your mouth out of nowhere.”
He throws his hands in the air, looks to Oikawa and then Iwaizumi, but both of them are distracted on their phones.
“Mattsun, back me up.”
The man sitting beside you glances up from his own phone, fingers loosely grasping the tip of his beer bottle as he slowly rotates it along its bottom edge. He blinks. “What?”
“Can you ask a girl to spit in your mouth for no reason?”
Mattsun leans back in his chair, rolling his shoulders. You try to ignore the heat that flares in your abdomen as the outline of his biceps briefly strains against the sleeves of his black sweater.
(It’s bad enough—the way he’s already got those very sleeves pushed up just below his elbows. The fact that you’ve been doing everything in your power to avoid staring at the veins that trail down his forearms all goddamn night.)
“For everyone’s sake, please tell him no.”
The corner of Mattsun’s mouth quirks upward as he glances over at you. Your toes curl in your sneakers at the weight of his attention.
“Sure you can,” he says, lifting up his beer and taking a long swig from the bottle.
“HA—”
“Oh come on—”
Glass hits the table with a resounding thud as Mattsun puts down the bottle and leans into your space, two fingers closing over the stick of your lollipop before he slowly pulls it out of your mouth with a ‘pop’.
“Spit in my mouth.”
Someone chokes; you’re pretty sure it’s Iwaizumi.
A garbled noise leaves Makki’s mouth.
Oikawa is suspiciously silent.
Now it’s your turn to blink. “Excuse me?”
You wonder if Matsukawa can hear it—just how hard your heart is racing.
He shrugs, putting the lollipop in his own mouth, and something shivers inside of you at the way he briefly rolls it on his tongue. “Show Makki what he’s asking for?”
Nobody asks why Mattsun doesn’t suggest that you spit in Makki’s mouth.
Because the thing is—this is inevitable. It’s always been inevitable. This moment. Every fucking goddamn moment between you and Matsukawa Issei. Every little morsel of maddening sexual tension that’s reached an unstable boiling point over the past seven or so odd years since you were enveloped into this friend group.
As of a month ago, you’re both single at the very same time since the first time that you met.
And it’s incredibly, painfully obvious—how badly you want to fuck each other.
The fact that you’ve yet to.
That you’re still subjecting your friends to whatever this eye fucking thing is that you’re doing right now in public in the middle of a bar.
“Right in front of my salad?” Iwaizumi deadpans.
Oikawa looks over at him. “Iwa-chan, I thought you said you were ordering the fries—”
You lose track of their conversation, lose track of everything but the challenge that’s flashing in Mattsun’s hazel eyes. Which is how you find yourself in the throes of an out-of-body experience as you drop yourself into his lap, straddling him.
“Oh you guys are really gonna—”
“Hey Makki?” Mattsun says coolly.
“Mmm?”
He drags the lollipop out of his mouth, tilts his head to hold your gaze. “Shut the fuck up.”
Matsukawa’s hands are warm as they come up to grasp your hips, and it’s impossible to ignore the fact that you can already feel the outline of his dick through his pants. The golden glow of the light that hangs above your table reflects in his eyes, and a rogue black curl sits across his forehead.
“How should I do this?” you ask him quietly, your heartbeat that of a nervous rabbit.
His thumb briefly strokes your waist. Once, twice.
“Well,” he muses, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m going to do this.”
He parts his lips briefly, as if for emphasis, tongue sliding along his bottom lip.
“And then you’re going to spit in my mouth.”
“And then…”
Mattsun’s laugh is low, quiet. Something only for you. The arousal stirring inside of you coalesces in your veins.
“And then, if I’m lucky, you’ll do it again.”
It feels appropriate—to cup Matsukawa’s jaw. The hand that ends up grasping the dip between his shoulder and neck is a byproduct of you steadying yourself at the feeling of one of his hands slipping beneath your sweater to hold you squarely at the small of your back.
His eyes are half-lidded as his lips come apart, head tipping back just a little further.
But for all that you’ve thought of him, all that you’ve fantasized. All that you’ve touched yourself and moaned his name and imagined his hands and his tongue and his co—
You still couldn’t have anticipated it, this.
The thrill that zips down your spine as you drop your spit into his waiting mouth.
The way he immediately pulls you further into the cradle of his lap. How his hips twitch the moment your saliva hits his tongue. The feeling of his hard cock pressing into the heat between your thighs. The way his eyes fall shut. The quiet groan you’re not even sure he meant to let slip out.
The way his lips fall open again after he swallows—
You don’t even hesitate. You spit in his mouth again. And this time, Mattsun’s hand slides up your back, cups the back of your head just as his lips come crashing into yours in a rough, wet, messy kiss.
“Is this gross?” Oikawa asks.
He yelps as someone—presumably Iwaizumi—smacks him.
Mattsun tastes like beer and cherry candy.
“It’s kind of hot,” Makki says.
Matsukawa’s mouth engulfs yours, tongue stroking the seam of your lips before slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss in a way that has you gasping into his mouth and unconsciously seeking friction in his lap. Middle finger hooked in the belt loop above the center of your ass, he tugs you against him, lets you feel the thickness of his cock pressing right up against your sensitive cunt.
It’s only once Iwaizumi clears his throat that you remember you’re making out and dry humping Matsukawa in the middle of a bar, and you clumsily spring backward into your own seat, pussy throbbing through your jeans.
(Mattsun makes it up to you later, when he tugs off your pants and eats you out till you see stars on his couch.
And when you do finally fuck later that night, you’re on top the first round. If only so you can feel the way his cock throbs inside of you when you bury your fingers in his hair, tip his head back, and spit in his mouth again. And again.)