Work Text:
rin
I’m in town.
samu
so it’s tsum.
rin
see you tonight then?
samu
key’s under the rug
[1]
“Is your foodie boyfriend coming to the game this time?” Komori asks.
They’re in Hyogo, where Osamu lives, where they don’t play often but every time they do Osamu makes an effort to show up, except recently he hasn’t and it doesn’t bother Suna whatsoever so he doesn’t ask.
“Samu’s not my boyfriend.”
“What is he then?” This dude whose dick I suck, whose dick I’ve been sucking for a while now, for as long as both of us knew we wanted to suck things and that those things might be dicks.
They were each other’s firsts, onlys, back in high school—who had the time to chase other men? (And women, in Osamu’s case.) Now, they’re each other’s sometimes. Suna’s too busy training to fuck someone else but somehow not too busy to imagine that Osamu does because though men might be harder to come by (the gay kind, that is), women are plenty and Osamu is a handsome, young man with future prospects that won’t vanish when he suffers a career-ending injury at the ripe age of thirty so he must be swimming in wap.
Suna doesn’t hate him for it. Hell, if he had the option to date women and make his family happy, he probably would too. He would date a nice girl, and marry her, and never suck Miya Osamu’s dick ever again—unimaginable at this point in his sad, sad life. To think he lives for pleasuring his childhood best friend against the dinner table, tucking underneath it when he gets impatient and Osamu’s too caught up in describing what went into all the dishes: I’ve been experimenting with—who gives a shit?
And Suna is allowed to say that becuase they’re not dating so it’s not his job to care about Osamu’s life passions and how his eyes glitter when he talks about food, how he looks at Suna all soft when Suna tries it and ok, fine, it’s amazing, but Suna doesn’t care because he’s there to eat something else.
There are boundaries to this friendship. Suna will die for Osamu and suck the living life out of his dick. Everything else is forbidden. It involves things they simply don’t do. As friends or whatever they are when they’re pressed body to body, moaning about how good they make each other feel.
“God, didn’t mean to trigger your own personal Vietnam there, damn,” Komori wakes him from his daydreams, eyeing Suna in amused sympathy, which isn’t a good look. Osamu’s bad for his image. “You look...” Komori trials off, laughing. “Haunted.”
“I’m fine,” Suna snaps. “Samu’s not coming because he has a life. He doesn’t care.”
“Riiiight, of course, yes,” Komori says. “I see how it would take so long to come up with that excuse, what with the mental gymnastics you’d have to do to stay dumb to how bad you want this man to watch you play.”
“He has watched me. We were in a team together. He’s watched me enough.” It’s a weak lie but what can he say? The mental gymnastics of why it’s utterly necessary for Suna to continue to do-the-thing-without-the-other-thing are even more exhausting. And something Komori must never hear about if Suna is to retain some status among his teammates. He is not a pining man. Horny, yes. Pining, that’s Atsumu’s thing.
rin
you know normal friends don’t suck each other’s dicks yeah?
samu
good morning to ya too
rin
just saying
samu
I appreciate yer mouth, rin
[2]
Atsumu can’t know, Osamu said. He must never know that when it’s the three of them hanging out, two of them have done unspeakable things to each other’s anuses. It’s not like I’m not out or anything, like he knows I fuck men too. Just not this man, Suna had wanted to snap.
Because it’s true; they never fuck. Suna hasn’t brought it up or attempted to—ok, he has attempted to make it happen. Subtly, so subtly, too subtly maybe? He has thought about it a length when they’re cuddling in the morning, after a night of snapping at each other and then pretending they don’t accidentally say cute shit when they make-out for hours, whispering sweet “I miss you-s”. They’ll wake up in a mess of limbs and Osamu will be half-hard, half-asleep so Suna will wiggle his butt in his direction. But Osamu seems keen on staying on the third base. At most, them both doing it at the same time. At worst, Suna doing it and Osamu clenching his eyes shut, not even seeing it’s Suna making him feel this amazing.
At this point, you might be thinking, does this man have any thoughts that don’t involve Osamu? The answer is yes. Suna thinks about many other things: volleyball and what to buy with the money he makes from playing it, his parents, occasionally, his teammates, rarely to never—but they’re in Osamu’s hometown and when this happens, he fucks up and wishes.
“Does Samu talk about me?” Suna decides to ask Atsumu because he’s probably too foolish to understand and the pronoun ambiguity back there is purposeful. Atsumu’s too foolish and self-centered to get they’ve been messing around with each other and Suna’s too foolish and self-loathing to admit it’s been messing around with his sanity.
“That would require me actually listening when he talks,” Atsumu says.
Suna walks with him towards the court, where both sides stretch before the official warm-up. Osamu’s not here yet, and probably won’t come.
“You’re so shit at being a brother.”
“Hey, he’s the one missing my game,” Atsumu argues. “Does he come to yers?”
“Sometimes. You staying with him tonight?”
“Where? His chicken coop? No way.”
“You never stay with him?” Suna asks.
Atsumu’s not listening. Why did Suna think for a second he would and they could do this... this ‘friendship’ thing?
The orange runt from Karasuno is calling his attention, giant smile on his face, and it’s clear Atsumu wants to do nothing but watch him, grinning back like a goof. He’s always been a sucker for pretty boys who’d con all the money out off his bank accounts if they weren’t so sickly sweet.
Yer a pretty-boy, Rin, Osamu would say because Atsumu knew he was gay first and Osamu thought Suna might be dumb enough to go for him. As if Suna hadn’t made it clear since they were ten whom he’d ride or die for. Yer not nice enough for him. Yer a mean boy. And. I’d hate ya. Just so ya know.
Suna grabs Atsumu’s shoulders and swivels him around, cutting to the chase. “What do you know?”
“About what?” Atsumu avoids his eyes, and it’s not the shrimp this time. Suna will kill Osamu if this is actually happening. “What aren’t you telling me, you know something, what did he do?”
Atsumu shakes him off. “What are ya on about, ya crazy person? I’ve no idea what yer saying. Ask him yerself. I’m done playing messenger to yer weird sexual tension.”
“It’s not weird, it’s resolved,” Suna blurts, as Atsumu’s walking away, because fuck Osamu. Suna needs the final word. He has very few other pleasures in life. “Resolved!” he repeats louder.
Atsumu looks back, confused. “Okay, creepo, whatever ya say.”
This is a conspiracy theory. Osamu has a wife. Suna is a side-hoe.
rin
need your help
tsumu
reconsider
rin
it’ll piss osamu off
tsumu
reconsidering*
rin
meet me after the game
[3]
He doesn’t think Atsumu will go for it because he underestimates how much Atsumu thrives on putting others in extremely uncomfortable situations. They’re in the locker room—Atsumu in theirs—because the Raijin are efficient dressers while the Jackals take a long time slapping each other’s asses with wet towels like a bunch of gays. One gay per team seems to be the optimal amount. Any more than that and you get whatever Atsumu’s doing with Hinata, or Sakusa, or Bokuto, or all of them at the same time.
Suna’s sitting on the bench, looking absolutely morose, and Atsumu walks in, equally serious, kicking off Suna’s fight-or-flight reflexes. Suna must be really desperate to give this idiot any kind of ammo.
“Get it over with,” he grunts.
“Aww, wanna see you squirm a little, Rin,” Atsumu smirks against his skin.
His lips are not Osamu’s, not that Suna’s allowing himself to compare the twins. Osamu hates that and Suna has never once betrayed him, not even mentally. They’ve always been two different people: Osamu, who’s Suna’s by default—it’s the law—and Atsumu, who’s there getting in the way. Atsumu doesn’t know him, can’t find his sweet spots like Osamu can, but he knows what he’s doing so the hickey is large and black, marking the front of Suna’s neck.
Atsumu doesn’t question it. “This won’t make it weird between us, right?” he asks afterward.
Suna zips up his jacket and picks up his gym bag. “I’m not attracted to you, don’t worry. I’d rather be attracted to a monkey.”
Atsumu grins. “That’s illegal.”
“Yeah, I’m saying I’d rather commit a crime than even begin to find you fuck-able,” Suna says.
“But ya wanna fuck my twin, who’s sorta me,” Atsumu teases him, trying to throw an arm around his shoulders that Suna promptly dodges. So Atsumu thinks they’re buddy-buddy now that he has licked the post-game sweat off of Suna’s neck—what is it with these twins and not knowing that friendship isn’t about that??
“Never say that again,” Suna threatens but Atsumu’s undeterred.
He knew he shouldn’t have outed himself for a gives-a-shitter.
“Which part?” Atsumu laughs. Suna ignores him in favor of the door. Atsumu’s close behind and his people ambush Suna in the hallway.
rin
does he know?
tsumu
samu no. shoyo yea
[4]
Apparently, Atsumu and “Shoyo” are fucking—they’re dating. No one bothers to tell Suna, though Osamu could have mentioned in passing that his obnoxious banana bleach brother managed to score a relationship before well-adjusted, hot-as-shit Osamu, who has no one. (Right?)
Suna finds out for himself when they’re slumped around the dinner table, one bottle of soju in, two more on the way, and Atsumu’s doing some annoying shit with his boyfriend, Shoyo, and Suna snaps, “We get it y’all wanna fuck each other,” thinking he’s doing something.
It’s silent for a beat before Hinata laughs and Atsumu forces Suna to swallow back vomit with the face he has on hearing it.
“I sure hope so,” Hinata quips.
“They’re dating,” Sakusa explains, several shades less disgusted than Suna but a good ally nonetheless.
Suna wouldn’t have agreed to come if Sakusa and Komori hadn’t joined and insisted. He didn’t want to anyway, but isn’t it pathetic that every time he’s home, he sprints out of the locker room the second he’s dismissed to spend every available minute by Osamu’s side? He needs to fix his habits. So he says ‘cool’ and hates himself for it because he’s sticky, unshowered, and watching Atsumu have what Suna’s drunk mind wants bad enough to triple text his non-boyfriend who has yet to text back once.
“Since when?”
“Too long if you ask me,” Sakusa says.
Atsumu leans on the table to pick off Sakusa’s plate. “Sounds like Omi-kun is jealous. He’s so jealous, it’s killing him. Look at him just writhing in pain. You’re so tortured, huh?”
To Sakusa’s credit, he’s entirely unfazed. “Look at you using big words,” he mocks, shoving the whole plate towards Atsumu, who happily accepts it. Suna’s stomach grumbles.
“Who are you jealous of Omi?” Miya talks with his mouth full. “Me or Shoyo, who do you wanna fuck more, you boring piece of driftwood?”
“Cut it out.” Bokuto snaps, throwing Suna and Komori an apologetic look like he’s embarrassed to be seen with them. And to think, Suna called Bokuto a ‘literal insane person’ when Akaashi would drag him along to dinners that Suna and Osamu had prepared—Osamu cooking, Suna there to hug him from behind and be fed raw noodles.
If Suna was Hinata, he would have been jealous but the adorable red-head Atsumu managed to trick into a relationship only giggles at the inappropriateness. Atsumu sits back, slinging an arm around his smaller frame. They have that thing that happens when two humans predict how the other will move with nothing but their bodies.
Suna is jealous. At one point, he had this too. He had a person who played volleyball with him, who he saw every day, they shared classes, messed around in bathrooms, tried cigarettes on the roof, shared their first can of beer.
“Is it a twin thing? For both of you to be gay?” Komori asks the important questions.
“Samu’s not,” Suna answers before Atsumu can. “He likes girls also.”
A brief silence falls among them as they mourn the death of Osamu’s homosexuality. God gave the gays Atsumu, the lesser twin, but knew they weren’t worthy of Osamu.
“Well, don’t sound so suicidal about it,” Atsumu says, “He’s gay enough to fuck ya.”
samu
left clothes out for you on the couch
heading to bed early so don’t freak if you don’t see me
rin
won’t wait for my mouth then??
samu
samu wait for meeeeeee
don’t go to bed without me
I don’t see you ever
don’t you miss me????
dude I miss you so much it’s gay
[5]
He’s drunk by the time he steps off the cab, keels over the stairs, crawls his way to the second floor on four limbs like a dog, and swiftly pretends none of that happened.
Drinking on an empty stomach was a mistake but if he ate at the restaurant, he wouldn’t eat what Osamu had cooked for him and he has to eat that so he can tell Samu how good it is, how he’s meant to be doing this, how happy he looks doing it, how Suna would eat the world for him, how proud he is of Osamu for following his dreams, that he doesn’t miss him every cold, hotel night when he’s alone and thinking what could have been had they played together.
Osamu’s on the couch, curled up under a blanket. He has a book in his hands. He’s wearing an oversized sweater. He’s so perfect that Suna wants to turn back around and throw himself over the railing. Instead, he falls on his face trying to take off his shoes. Osamu doesn’t help him but he’s not mad when Suna checks. Has a smile on his face. Suna thinks he might throw up. Then remembers he ate nothing.
“Hungry,” he groans, picking his body up with effort.
“I don’t have anything ready,” Osamu sounds sheepish. “Tsum said ya were eating out so I didn’t cook.”
“He tell you about us?” Suna slips, though it was not the plan, the actual opposite of the plan. The plan was to play it cool—oh this litttle thing, I don’t know, where did it come from?
“What d’ya mean?” Osamu asks.
Suna points a thumb back at his neck, where the hickey was, last he checked. No one at the table had brought it up so maybe it disappeared. Certainly wouldn’t be the first thing Atsumu has failed at. Judging by the horror flashing through Osamu’s face fast enough to give Suna’s woozy brain whiplash, it’s still there.
“Rin, don’t be dumb,” Osamu says, smiling again. His eyes roam Suna’s face before fixating somewhere under his chin.
“I am,” Suna sighs, dropping on the carpet harder than he had planned. His knees knock against the floor. He crawls closer to lay his top half on Osamu’s lap. “I am being so dumb.”
“Why?” Osamu laughs but even in his wasted state, Suna can hear his voice waver. “What’d you do now?”
“It’s not about that,” Suna mumbles.
“Then what? Someone else?” Osamu asks. Suna drags his head up to look at Osamu, how he said that, signs that he’s bothered, like Suna would be. “You seeing someone?” Osamu asks, swallowing around that last word.
“No, that’s him,” Suna says.
“Rin, what the fuck—are you,” he stops there, stuck. Same, Suna wants to say, because if that isn’t the current vibe.
He picks his sluggish body off the floor and dumps it on the couch beside Samu but it’s not keen on staying upright. It lolls sideways, collapsing on Osamu’s lap.
“I’m a fucking idiot,” he says at the spinning ceiling. Osamu’s face comes into view, looking lovely and concerned. “I know Tsumu’s dating the ginger. We didn’t do shit. Just.” He waves his hands in the air, at the general direction of his neck, and Osamu, and the fucking world. Then palms his face, letting out a strangled moan of despair.
“Just what? Yer scaring me now,” Osamu chuckles, brushing the bangs off Suna’s forehead.
His hands are cold. Suna nuzzles into the touch, closing his eyes and inhaling because no matter how many times Osamu washes them after cooking, there’s always a lingering scent of whatever he last made.
“I’ve feelings for you,” Suna mumbles, not opening his eyes and ignoring how sharp his hearing has suddenly become, that he’s able to hear the slightest hitch in Osamu’s breath at the confession. This is stupid—he shouldn’t be doing this. Not now when he can’t control the damage his mouth will inflict. Tomorrow Osamu will brush this aside, blame the alcohol, and Suna will let him, blame himself for wanting more.
He opens his eyes because Osamu has said nothing. “Sucks, right?” Suna mocks.
Osamu laughs with him. His fingers dig through Suna’s sweaty hair, massaging his scalp. He shouldn’t. Suna’s filthy. He has yet to shower — because they shower together when he’s home — Samu’s home. He reaches for Osamu’s hand to drag it to his mouth, kissing his deft fingers.
“So you’re gonna ignore it then?”
“Thought maybe ya didn’t realize you’d said it,” Osamu admits, smiling softly.
“You don’t think you knew?” Suna calls him out.
Osamu caresses his jaw, grazing his thumb against his lips. Suna opens his mouth to invite him to play but Osamu moves down to his chin, underneath it, and on his neck, where it hurts. “I still don’t know, Rin,” he confesses.
The hickey’s fresh, stings when pressed. Osamu’s not gentle about it either. Suna lets his eyelids fall shut, as he stumbles through an explanation that made no sense sober and is now a jumbled mess: “I don’t know if you see others. I don’t.” He laughs painfully. “I only want you. Fucking dumb, right?”
“So this was what then?” Osamu pushes harder, fingers falling into a loose chokehold around Suna’s neck. It’s possessive. Suna leans into it, wanting more. “Immaculate conception?”
“Tsumu helped—don’t kill me, kill him,” Suna says. Osamu stiffens underneath him, probably about to throw him off. “Thought if you saw it you might bring it up and I wouldn’t have to myself.”
“Are we breaking up?” Osamu shocks him sober.
Suna launches into a sitting position, eyes wide. “No!” he blurts, “What? What?”
Osamu shrugs, looking helpless.
Suna’s more confused than ever. It doesn’t help that he can’t think and his heart is beating its way out his ass, or maybe that’s the soju making a memorable exit. “I feel like we’re having two different conversations,” he says.
“Yer having two conversations with yerself and I’m just sitting here, trying to have a good time,” Osamu argues.
“You could be part of it. Instead of letting me talk to the wall.”
“You’re drunk, Rin.”
“Knew you’d say that,” Suna sighs. “I know you so fucking well.”
“Ya are. Ya never drink and yer a lightweight.” Osamu stands, stretching his body and the shirt off of it. Suna eyes his stomach. “Come to bed. Let’s hookup and sleep.”
Tempting.
“Hookup,” Suna scoffs. “I love you, you dickhead.”
Osamu doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “I know, dude. I love you too.”
“Cool,” Suna says so he can pretend he’s not shocked either. But— “Really thought this’d be like a big moment for us but fuck me, I guess.”
“You want me to fuck you?” Osamu teases because he knows what Suna meant but that does bring up a good point.
“Yeah, why don’t we ever? Some things are gonna change around here.” Now that I know we’re dating.
“Ya think?” Osamu says, sitting back down. “Like the fact that ya let my fucking brother mark ya up on our one night together?” He reaches to point at Suna’s neck. When Suna follows his finger, looking down, Osamu flicks him on the nose. “Yer a terrible boyfriend.”
“I—I—I didn’t even know I was supposed to be good!” Suna huffs.
“That’s why yer terrible,” Osamu says, still unbothered. He pulls Suna by his shirt. “You haven’t even kissed me yet. I missed ya.”
“I was terrible to not scare you off,” Suna explains cutting off Osamu’s attempt to slide himself past Suna’s lips. The world as they know it is ending and Osamu wants to fuck his mouth open with his tongue.
“From what?” Osamu moans.
“Dating me.”
“So ya don’t want to date?” Osamu pulls away.
Suna pulls him back. “No, I do. I do want to date, I thought you didn’t so I was pretending I didn’t either but apparently we’re dating and no one told me so, I guess, that’s solved.”
Osamu laughs into his mouth. They kiss long enough for Suna to forget they were doing anything else before this. Osamu pushes him into the couch, climbing on top.
“I thought ya didn’t want to realize so I just.” He shrugs.
So he just... let Suna imagine that he was sleeping with a million other people while Suna was away on international travels wishing he could text more than three times in a row without sounding weirdly attached. He just... stopped Suna from wanting other dick, while also not giving him this dick. He just... sucks, and not dick.
“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?” Osamu asks, snapping his fingers in front of his gaze.
“You’re a terrible boyfriend,” Suna accuses, poking a finger in Osamu’s chest and pushing him off.
Osamu falls next to him, pulling Suna to his chest. “Ok, let’s both admit we were terrible boyfriends and we’re gonna do better from now on becuase we love each other as boyfriends.”
“No, you were a terrible boyfriend. I wasn’t even a boyfriend but now that I am, you better watch out because I’m gonna outboyfriend you on everything.”
Osamu sighs against his neck. “Ok, baby—we can say that now?” he taunts. “That’s not too gay for you?”
”It is very gay, thanks for asking. Please never say it again.”
”Ok, homie,” Osamu amends. Suna is gonna marry this man. No homo.
rin
I sucked your brother’s dick soooooooo hard last night
just need you to know that
hairy balls n all
i had jizz fallin out my nose by the time i was done with him
tsumu
glad i could be of service
but yer a sad sad man if you think ive not known since eighth grade