It starts, as many things do, as an idea--a small, illicit suggestion whispered in the heat of the moment that makes his hands clench, his breathes short. His spine curves on top of the sheets and it’s easy to lose himself to it in the midst of heat flooding his limbs and the tight press of fingers in and around him.
The idea, as all ideas are wont to do, takes root and is difficult to shake, after.
Tsukumo’s not that much younger than they are, not any more innocent or inexperienced, but the casualness of his smile makes that hard to believe. Shusei thinks it would ruin him, change him and mould him into something he’s not even as he enjoys it, loves it. Hotsuma thinks it would be beautiful. Hotsuma watches him, follows the lines of his body, eyes hungry and curious.
Shusei can only dig his nails into his palms and say, if you want.
He comes to them all wide-eyed and wondering, with tentative steps that linger on the threshold. His bones stick out at his collar, his wrist; he looks so out-of-place. Did you need something? he asks them, his eyes never leaving Shusei, even when Hotsuma nudges him inside and shuts the door behind him. Shusei licks his lips, makes himself look back. It’s easier than he expected.
Shusei was wrong about him.
Or maybe he was right, it hardly matters. Tsukumo’s wide eyes give way to want easily enough and he slides to his knees like it’s nothing new; his boyish, easy smile gains something a little more wicked as he ducks his head to press his lips to the jut of Shusei’s hip above his waistband, drops a dry kiss there. Hotsuma hovers beyond Tsukumo, such eagerness in his body, fingers twitching at his side as though he’s torn between watching and touching. Shusei shuts his eyes briefly to the sight of Tsukumo unbuckling his belt, feels instead the heat through his pants, then on his skin, the slick wetness of tongue and a palm. He tries not to push too hard, conscious of his fingers in Tsukumo’s hair--soft even gelled as it is--and Hotsuma’s solid weight, both of them keeping him in place.
Hotsuma was right too; it is beautiful. The flutter of Tsukumo’s eyelashes as Hotsuma leans over him is lovely, the flush of his cheeks endearing. There is beauty to be found in the unfamiliar, a wonder that comes from touching for the first time, running hands across warm skin to feel the rapid heartbeat and rise and fall of chest. Shusei can’t tear his eyes away. His breath catches in his throat as he watches Hotsuma kiss the line of Tsukumo’s jaw. He knows the feel of them both now, and it’s difficult to say which one of them he envies more, in this moment.
In the end, Tsukumo leaves them with a smile, not ruined--not visibly, anyway--and unchanged. I told you so, says the quiet curve of Hotsuma’s mouth.
Shusei has to remind himself to breathe.