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In the top of the greenest tree

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It’s the age-old question—what comes first: Oikawa’s hand settling low on Shouyou’s waist or Shouyou’s palm braced against Oikawa’s chest? Is it Shouyou beaming up at him like Oikawa’s hung the sun in the sky or Oikawa looking down like Shouyou is the only thing that gives him light? Is it Shouyou leaning in for a kiss, because he thinks that no one will see or Oiwaka returning it, because he doesn’t care who does?

 

The answer is all of these things; the answer is none of these things. What comes first is this: Atsumu’s jealousy.

 

Atsumu’s been jealous ever since Hinata told him about Brazil . There’s only so many dots the boy can leave unconnected before someone will do it for him. (Atsumu figures by the way Shouyou utters Oikawa’s name–short on breath and with no shortage of awe. It doesn’t take a master of deduction to get that far.) Fact is, everyone knows Brazil is code for fling, and fling, apparently, a synonym for thing that will continue to happen—even back in Japan. 

 

So yes, Atsumu is jealous. Before the game, when the two of them hug like long lost lovers; during the game, when it’s Oikawa’s block and not Atsumu’s set that sets Shouyou on fire; and now, when Oikawa glares him down, Shouyou sheepishly in tow. Atsumu tries not to turn green when the two approach him—he settles instead for a nice shade of red.

 

“Now I always thought Shou-kun was exaggerating, but it turns out you do bend over backwards for him,” Oikawa says in greeting, “It makes me wonder… Do you also bend the other way?” After dumping a set in another setter's face, Atsumu supposes that introductions become unnecessary—but still, it would be nice. Then again, Oikawa doesn't seem to be going for 'nice'.

 

“I try to keep my thighs in shape, you know. There’s little I wouldn’t do if my wing spiker asked for it,” Atsumu replies, and Oikawa has the audacity to smile like it’s exactly what he wanted to hear. 

 

“So you do bend,” Oikawa teases, leaning closely into Atsumu’s space, “I bet you’re flexible.” Even with Oikawa close like this, there's plenty of room to hate the guy. And if Atsumu stutters out his reply… well, it’s only cause Shouyou’s looking his way.  

 

The thing is, Atsumu doesn’t know what comes first: Shouyou’s arm on his waist or his fingers intertwined with Oikawa’s. What counts is his proposal to both of them. It makes him swallow down his jealousy.



* * *



Oikawa can’t help but be amused by Shouyou’s confidence (even if it shouldn’t come as a surprise by now) as by Atsumu’s blush (which is definitely surprising). He thought Atsumu would be like him, like Shouyou—especially with how cocky he is on the court. But once they get him alone, his demeanor crumbles like paper; he can hardly take a little teasing, and begrudgingly Oikawa finds it somewhat cute. It makes him wonder how Atsumu would take his dick—or Shouyou’s. He bets they could make him beg for it. 



In the end, they don’t even have to make him; Atsumu goes to his knees all on his own. Who would have thought that jealousy could so easily be replaced by hunger, that the solution to envy was to let everyone have more. (Oikawa knows he’s got cake; he’s gracious enough to let Atsumu have a piece of it. If Atsumu wants to have Shouyou, he’ll make sure he only gets just enough of him.)

 

“Here,” he says, guiding Atsumu to take Shouyou’s dick in his mouth, “Open up. Just like that.” He keeps a firm grip on Atsmu’s head and eases him down on Shouyou’s cock—steadily, with just enough force. Atsumu moans for it; Shouyou sighs deep as he lets his head fall back against the wall.  

 

“And here I thought jealousy looked good on you,” Oikawa says, grabbing the lube with one hand to slick up his fingers, “But I like you even better on the floor.” 

 

Atsumu keens. He leans in to take Shouyou’s dick even further, leans far enough to shove his ass towards Oikawa and save him the work of bringing his fingers straight to his hole. 

 

“I think Shouyou likes you better this way too,” Oikawa muses at Hinata’s groan. Then he pushes a finger into Atsumu.

 

Atsumu splutters a muffled sound around Shouyou’s dick before he pulls off, mouth agape and slick with spit, and opens his eyes to meet Oikawa’s challenging stare. 

 

Oikawa holds Atsumu’s gaze. “Did you pull off so you could say ‘please’? I appreciate you wanting to ask for it nicely,” he says and rubs a slick finger around Atsumu’s hole. Atsumu's eyes slip out of focus as he makes a soft noise in his throat. Fuck, Oikawa can tell he wants it so bad. 

 

“Is that all you have left to say? What happened to that cocky mouth of yours?” he continues, rubbing at Atsumu’s hole until he feels him loosen up. Oikawa slips in the first finger just as Atsumu chokes out a desperate please. Above them, Shouyou groans.

 

Oikawa leans over, pressing fully along Atsumu’s side to join him in messily licking and sucking at the head of Shouyou’s dick. There’s something heady and powerful about giving Shouyou a long lick while beginning to fuck his finger into Atsumu, who can only pant and hold out his tongue for Shouyou to rub on. Slowly, Oikawa gets Atsumu to sink into the fullness and stretch of his ass as easily as he sinks on Shouyou’s dick, until Atsumu is pressing back into three of Oikawa’s fingers, deep in his ass. 




* * *




Shouyou is so turned on he could die, though he’d always thought he’d go out holding a volleyball, not at the sight of his two favorite people drooling over his dick together. Even if he closes his eyes, there’s the noises, still. God. Shouyou can hear the shlick of Oikawa’s fingers moving in Atsumu’s ass, their mouths and the spit over his dick, and Atsumu’s breathy groans. 

 

He’s more vocal than Shouyou expected. Not that Atsumu isn’t normally loud, but this is entirely different. He’s moaning, he’s sobbing, he’s whining—the noises he’s making are obscene.  

 

With Oikawa fucking him open, Atsumu’s dick hangs heavy between his shaking thighs, dripping and making a mess of the floor. His mouth is wet and red, as Atsumu pulls off once again, his tongue dripping spit as he pants for breath. From his glazed eyes and mussed hair to the arch of his back and his tensed legs—Shouyou never would’ve guessed that Atsumu would be such a slut for him. He loves it.

 

“Atsumu-san,” Hinata prompts lowly, “please, can I fuck you? I want to, so bad.” Atsumu nods eagerly, already lost for words. 

 

Oikawa turns Atsumu's head toward him, pulling him in for a kiss. He kisses him and swallows his moans, gently holds spit smeared cheeks, blushed up to his ears.

 

He continues to kiss Atsumu even as Shouyou fucks him, making Shouyou huff out laughter between moans.

 

Shouyou doesn’t know what comes first: Atsumu leaning into Oikawa’s touch or Oikawa’s fingers extending to feel him. Is it Atsumu breathing out against Oikawa’s skin or Oikawa’s own breath hitching at the sight in front of him? Is it Atsumu’s eyes falling shut in pleasure or Oikawa telling him to keep them open, to keep his gaze fixed on him?


The answer is all of these things; the answer is none of these things. What matters is this: Shouyou is just glad they get along.