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Taketora steps out of the shower, rubbing the towel along the side of his face as he bobs his head to the music playing from his phone sitting on the counter. The mirror is fogged over, obscuring his visage as he dries himself off. He can hear Fukunaga in the kitchen on the other side of the wall from the bathroom, in the cupboards and at the stove. He’d been working on dinner when Tora had gone in for a shower, so there’s a high chance it’ll be done or nearly ready for plating when he’s done getting dressed.
After hanging his towel, he tugs on a shirt and then his boxers, and there is a moment where he sees his reflection coming into view through the steam streaking the mirror, and as he tugs his shirt out loose from his boxers, it hits him like a truck.
There’s something about it, and him, and the whole atmosphere- the music, the heat, how clean he feels after a post workout shower- all of it together is a shot of euphoria directly to his brain, licking lightning down his spine.
Tora grins, and lifts his shirt again to try to simulate that same rush, and it works and he chokes out a laugh, grinning wide.
From the low rise of his boxers on his hips, to the stretch marks on his stomach, to his breasts half covered by the shirt he tugged loose, Taketora has never felt so damn good in his own body.
Okay, that’s not true, there’s been other times, and he experiences gender euphoria quite a bit, actually, but it’s always a thrill he never thinks he can ever top. Until it happens again with the same exhilarating high, of course.
Flinging open the door to the bathroom, he rushes out with a roll of trapped steam, “Hey!!”
Kenma is curled up in the corner of the couch, watching the television with his chin propped on his folded arms. The blanket draped over his shoulders looks like a night sky. He looks up at him, squinting vaguely.
“Why are you yelling?”
“Have you seen how hot I am?”
Face scrunching a little in confusion and just how funny that is in retrospect, busting out of the bathroom to yell, Kenma smiles a little, “Yes?”
Tora barks a laugh, turning to look into the kitchen where Fukunaga has stopped cooking for a moment to peek at the sudden outburst. Taketora smiles, “Have you seen how hot I am?”
Fukunaga blinks owlishly before smiling and offering two okay hand signs and a little nod. He’s seen!
“What did it this time?” Kenma asks from the couch, putting his chin back down but watching Taketora instead of the television.
Stepping a little farther into the living room, he turns, and repeats the motion that had done it the first time, lifting his shirt just enough over his stomach and the curve of his chest, shadowed by his shirt, framed by the hem of his silk boxers. He doesn’t even lift it high enough to show his nipples, but it’s not that kind of hotness. Kenma knows from dating Taketora for as long as he has that these big bursts of gender euphoria are more complicated than things like that. Sometimes they are that, but his masculinity and his body are such a unique experience for him.
But, Kenma can admit that the display is impressive, and his face flushes a little.
Taketora has always been on top of weight training since they were in their first year of high school. The way he’d gone about it, and hormones, means that he collected a lot of stretch marks in a fairly quick manner. They pull in jagged lightning bolts across his upper arms and his stomach, hips, thighs, the sides of his chest, and Kenma knows he’s got some on his ass too.
He loves them. He loudly proclaims them to be tiger stripes, and likes when his partners trail fingers over them, idly, or in the bedroom. They make him feel strong. They’re a sign his body changed rapidly in a short amount of time, and he’s proud of the progress he made.
Tora also isn’t a small guy. He’s nearly six foot, and he’s got muscle, but on top of that, naturally, he’s got a layer of fat. Fukunaga’s good cooking has only kind of kept it around despite the fact Tora is on a professional team now. He can throw a punch like nobody’s business, but he’s still soft enough to lay their heads on. And that too is something Taketora revels in. He prefers his own softness to the rigid cut muscle other players sport.
“You look like you’re gonna jump my shit,” Taketora smiles triumphantly.
Kenma glances away, back at the screen, lips pursed in a little pout, “Don’t be so vulgar about it.”
“But you’re not denying it! You see it too, right? I’m a damn hunk .”
Tora flexes in the middle of their living room, and he’s absolutely shameless, but the smile on his face really is priceless. The fact he finds so much happiness in his body and who he is, is honestly incredible to see. Especially when it happens in times like this, quiet and domestic moments.
“Leave some ham for the shogayaki,” Fukunaga calls from the kitchen, and Taketora turns to look at him before sliding across the tile to wrap arms around his waist.
“What do you need help with, Shou? I can take stuff out to the table.” Tora drops a kiss against Fukunaga’s shoulder and when things are pointed out, he goes about moving things out to the table.
After turning the television off, Kenma follows Tora into the kitchen to pull drinks out of the fridge to set them on the table while Tora ferries everything else. Fukunaga brings the main dish out himself before settling in.
Dinner is good, as always. Tora and Kenma both melt within the first few bites, and Fukunaga smiles happily, glad to have made his partners another good meal. They all have faith in his cooking at this point, but it never goes unsaid that Fukunaga’s cooking is the best.
Even a couple of the cats rouse enough to come begging for scraps and warm laps. They get the warm laps, at least.
When they’re done, Tora leans back and heaves a sigh, picking his teeth like an animal.
“When is your match, Tora?” Kenma asks, his phone out now. Tora can see from where he’s sitting that his calendar is open.
“Friday.”
“What time?”
“4 o’clock.”
A few little taps and Kenma sets his phone aside. Tora looks him over curiously, trying to contain his enthusiasm, “Busy schedule free?”
“It is now,” Kenma assures, putting his elbow on the table and letting his wrist fall sideways, his palm open. Tora knows the gesture well now, and leans in to set his chin on Kenma’s hand. Squishing his cheeks a little, he keeps Taketora’s face still so he can lean in to give him a kiss.
There’s a look in his eye that sparks a fire in Tora’s belly, and he glances from Kenma to Fukunaga who’s taking dishes back to the kitchen. His eyes flick back and forth a few times from Fukunaga filling the sink with water, to Kenma pressing a few more kisses to his lips and jaw.
A shiver runs up his spine as he looks between them, and Fukunaga raises his voice to be heard from the other room, “Dishes first.”
Kenma clicks his tongue, calling, “But Tora’s being cute!”
Fukunaga snickers from the kitchen and clatters around a few more dishes. When he passes by the two of them going into the kitchen, he reaches to set a hand with long slender fingers on Tora’s hip, pressing a kiss to his opposite shoulder.
The three of them have a certain dynamic, and a system worked out, and it’s the little things that can be said without words that the other two know well enough by now that they don’t need to talk things over. They still do usually, because it’s good to be open and verbal with their relationship, but certain things don’t always need words.
As far as Tora is reading things though, both Kenma and Fukunaga are down for fooling around tonight. That’s not always the case. With the both of them in a wishy washy undefined kind of asexuality, when they’re interested in engaging fluctuates. It’s something Taketora knew coming into the relationship and is entirely fine with. Sometimes only one of them is down for fooling around, sometimes neither, and occasionally, like tonight, they’re both interested.
That’s usually the case when Tora has a big spike of euphoria he just has to gush about. They love him and his body and the joy he finds in being who he is, and it’s usually something that tips them into wanting to show him that love. Tora has no idea what will be waiting behind the closed door, but it makes standing shoulder to shoulder with Kenma while they do dishes way more exciting.
He doesn’t ask. Half because they’ve talked about certain explicit details making Kenma squirm sometimes, and half because Taketora honestly likes the surprise. Any time he gets to spend with Kenma and Fukunaga in any manner is time he’s more than grateful for. After having such an thrilling high earlier, and a damn good meal, and the look in both of their eyes, Tora could swear he’s managed to forget his own birthday.
Even if nothing explicit is said, the hooded look Kenma keeps glancing at him with from beside him at the sink does exactly what Kenma is always looking for. Turning Tora into a puddle. He bites at his lower lip and stares at the soap suds and Kenma huffs a laugh next to him, rinsing and setting aside dishes in the rack.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I would never,” Kenma says, as he laughs.
“You two are gonna kill me. Mostly you.”
Another little clink of dishes and a sly little twitch curls at Kenma’s lips, “Not our fault you’re so easy to get going.”
Taketora huffs a hard exhale through his nose, scrubbing at a stubborn spot that may or may not actually be there.
When it’s clean, Kenma lets his hand linger on Tora’s when he takes it from his hands.
They end up kissing in the hallway to the bedroom, Kenma pushing his way up and into Taketora’s space. It’s a heavy press of a kiss, no tongue or teeth, and then it’s Kenma nipping at his throat, pawing at his shoulders and biceps.
“W-wait, bedroom first- F-Fukunaga?”
There’s a creak from the office when Fukunaga leans in his chair to see what the commotion is about. His eyes drag over the situation, assessing what’s going on, and reassessing himself in the process. He gets up from his chair and joins them in the hallway, waving his hands to urge them into the bedroom.
Tora reaches for his hand and he takes it, letting himself be tugged along behind Kenma and Taketora, and shuts the door behind the three of them.
“How are you feeling?” Tora asks, and it’s a question aimed at the both of them. It’s important to him to check in regularly, to be sure nothing’s happening that shouldn’t be.
“I want you,” Kenma clarifies, hands on Tora’s hips, thumbs squishing into soft fat and hard muscle underneath.
“I’m okay for now,” Fukunaga nods, and when Tora looks to him to be sure, “If I feel uncomfortable, I will let you know.”
A little nod and Kenma bullies Taketora onto the bed.
A lot of people who see the three of them assume certain things about the dynamics they have romantically and sexually, and nobody is ever right. Not unless they know Kenma really well. He’s bossy as hell when he wants to be and he’s usually the one calling the shots in the bedroom, like he is now.
“I wanna show you how hot you are,” Kenma leans in to press a kiss to his chest, still clothed, “Since you insist on yelling about it.”
Fukunaga climbs up onto the bed as well, settling on Tora’s other side. With them both on either side of him, he already feels the heat rising in his face.
A soft breath of a laugh ghosts over his skin and Fukunaga reaches to smooth a hand over Taketora’s tight hair, his mohawk, and down around the curve of his skull before leaning in and giving him a kiss. It’s slow and soft, and a contrast to the way Kenma’s hands tuck under his shirt and feel over his belly and ribs and then up to cup his breasts. Tora groans in Fukunaga’s mouth when Kenma pinches his nipples, rolling them between his fingers til they harden. It makes his cunt clench hungrily and his feet squirm in the blankets as he tries not to rub his thighs together too obviously.
“Hot,” Fukunaga agrees, stroking a hand down the square of his jaw, holding firm to the join of his neck and shoulder, admiring the muscle he has there. Fukunaga thinks Tora’s said these are his trapezoids?
“I’m gonna die,” Tora groans, his head spinning.
With the rarity in which this dynamic plays out, with the three of them in bed at once, Taketora is overwhelmed. Hands and mouths and warm bodies make him want nothing more than to kiss and touch and revel in their affections. There’s lust in him, but when it’s like this, it’s more just a gut deep urge to be close and affirm his love more than anything else.
He loves this, and he loves them. And it’s times like this that he knows that they love him too.
“Kitten,” Fukunaga hums, thumbing the barely there shine of tears from his eyes.
Tora pouts at him, “Don’t you be mean too.”
Fukunaga chuckles, leaning to give each of his eyelids a gentle kiss.
Kenma peels off his hoodie, tossing it to the side haphazardly, too hot to want to deal with it. He pushes at Tora’s shirt, and he sits up enough to pull it off, but rather than laying back, Kenma holds his bicep to keep him from getting away. His lips press against the front of his right shoulder, dragging kisses along his collarbone, and Fukunaga joins him when he starts peppering kisses against the back of his left shoulder, and up along his neck.
More kisses trail down his front, and he can feel the way their fingers trace along the scars left from his skin stretching. Fukunaga’s on his shoulders and arms, Kenma’s on his chest and stomach.
“Strong,” Fukunaga comments, the word whispered against his skin. It just makes Tora’s breath hitch tight again.
He can feel the way Fukunaga leans on him from behind and knows he’s watching Kenma douse Taketora with affection as he works a hickey into his shoulder. It’s mostly lips and tongue, but the occasional pinch of teeth really make the mark bloom.
Tora’s breathing draws quick when Kenma tucks fingers in the waistband of his boxers, and he lifts his hips enough to help get them pulled down past the curve of his ass. They stay around his knees for the time being, and the kisses trail down his ribs and over his stomach. Kenma’s hair hides his face, but his lips are soft against the deep pink lines that tug along Taketora’s belly and hips. Fingers trace the ones that strike across his thighs and Tora’s toes curl at the warmth of his hands so close to his cunt.
He shivers and Fukunaga’s hands settle on him, one on his ribs, the other on his spine, rubbing up and down, in opposite directions, to help keep him grounded in the moment.
Licking over his own lips, he watches as Kenma drops a kiss against the softness across his pelvis. His legs squirm again and Kenma stops and sits back up enough to give Tora a few quick kisses across his lips and cheek.
“I’m gonna get the strap, get comfortable,” Kenma instructs.
Muttering soft curses under his breath, Tora shifts to kick his boxers the rest of the way off. He glances to Fukunaga, half turning and reaching to hold his cheek. Taketora gives him a quick kiss, searching his face for clues as to how he’s feeling. It’s the searching eyes that make Fukunaga squirms a little, voice soft, “I… don’t think I can get hands on tonight. But I’ll stay.”
Taketora’s brows arch and he thumbs over his cheek ever so gently, “Anything you want, Shouhei, I promise.”
A little nod, and Fukunaga moves on the bed, situating himself behind Taketora, high enough on the bed that when he leans his head back, it’s in Fukunaga’s lap. His long fingers smooth over Tora’s hair, the backs of them ghost over his jaw, his thumb brushes against his lip gently. The touch is filled with so much attention and adoration and Tora reaches to still one hand just so he can press kisses into Fukunaga’s palm.
When Kenma comes back, he’s stripped himself down to his binder and boxer briefs, and already has the strap on tight. He picked out the red one this time, and Tora can’t help the laughter that bubbles up.
“Are you laughing at my dick, Tora?” Kenma levels him with a look.
Picking up his hand to wave them in faux surrender, “I would never,” Tora says, as he laughs.
Kenma reaches to swat the inside of one of his thighs and settles himself in between his legs. He clicks his tongue and hums, using a softer tone with Fukunaga, “Shouhei?”
Big eyes snap up at him and Kenma smiles, “Are you okay?”
A few little nods, thumb idly tracing the lines of Taketora’s face in his lap. He looks Kenma over before wordlessly digs around in their bedside before offering him one of the bottles of lube. Never hurts to have a little extra help.
Kenma takes it, but keeps Fukunaga’s hand, kissing over his knuckles before he relinquishes the hold.
When his gaze is back on Tora, some of that softness has sharpened, and it only makes Taketora laugh, grinning up at him.
Fukunaga’s hands trail down to trace against stretch marks and watch with minor interest. He’s here for the warm bodies, and the knowledge that they feel good.
Quick fingers trace along the lines of Taketora’s hips before the pop of a cap makes him shiver. Kenma presses in two slick fingers, humming quietly.
“You’re so wet already, I hardly need this.”
Tora’s eyelids flutter at the drag of fingers in and out of his pussy, feet shifting in the blankets again.
“Come on, Tora, I wanna hear you roar, baby,” Kenma teases, adding a third finger.
“God-” Taketora shudders, “Fuck, how come you gotta be such a- Ah!”
He’s cut off by another sharp slap to the inside of his other thigh and his cunt clenches tight around Kenma’s fingers. Goosebumps prickle down his arms at the feeling of Fukunaga’s feather light touch.
His lips part so he can pant a little, and one of Fukunaga’s hands comes back up to thumb against his lower lip again before two long fingers press, and Tora takes the hint and opens his mouth a little to let him slide them in along his tongue.
Kenma shakes his head a little, but the smile on his lips is fond. He can’t exactly hear Tora roar if his mouth is full, but this is a pretty close second.
The blunt tip of the strap presses against his lips, but not inside, and Taketora groans around Fukunaga’s fingers, shivering pleasantly. Fukunaga leans down to kiss his forehead and hair, attention drawing slowly back and forth, between Tora’s face and all the ways it scrunches and pulls, and where he and Kenma are nearly joined.
The bright crimson of the silicon shines with his slickness already, helped somewhat by the lube too, and Kenma takes his time rutting against Tora’s fuzzy lips, and up through his folds against his clit. He even reaches a hand out to thumb against the inch and a half of growth, humming, “You have such a nice cock, Tora.”
A hard suckling sound calls attention to the fingers still gliding over Tora’s tongue. Fukunaga takes his fingers out of Taketora’s mouth with a little flutter of laughter.
“Please, Ke-Kenma, please,” Tora groans, turning his face into Fukunaga a little.
“What, tiger?” Kenma asks, stroking the insides of his thighs, shifting his hips back and forth to rut against him. “What do you want?”
Swallowing hard, his brows knit, he looks between the two of them, making sure to check in again with a look.
Fukunaga plants another kiss against his forehead, “What do you want, Tora?” It’s enough of an answer without being outright about it. They know each other and their boundaries well enough to know that if they needed to change things further for their own comforts, they could, and would.
Kenma on the other hand, sits up a little higher, shifting himself so he can lean over Tora’s body, even a his cock tucks into the V of his hip where his leg is bent, and holds his face with the hand that isn’t bracing himself, giving Tora a sloppy kiss. That too is the answer Tora needs.
Only after that does he shudder out an answer, “I need your dick- I want it.”
“So vulgar.”
Breathing a laugh over his lips, Kenma gives him one last peck before easing back down to settle in, holding each thigh to wrap them around his own hips. Tora tightens them a little and his toes tighten in the sheets.
“I’ve got you,” Kenma assures.
He settles the head of the strap against his slick pussy and eases himself in slowly, easing his weight against Taketora’s hips to slide it home. He goes slow with it, and Tora’s eyes roll a little at the sensation of being filled so unyieldingly. When Kenma is seated, Taketora finally takes a breath, letting himself slump back down from where his back had bowed slowly with every inch.
His thighs jump and Kenma runs his hands down the outsides of them, up to his hips, his stomach, up his ribs and around his chest to his shoulders. He lets them trail back down his biceps and to his elbows before sliding off to settle between his arms and his body, giving himself leverage before he pulls back out, and snaps his hips the first time.
Taketora roars, or an approximation of as much, groaning loud and reedy, fingers scrambling for purchase in the blankets. Fukunaga chuckles gently above him, stroking over his features again.
Kenma finds a good pace, but after a good five minutes of a constant pace, he starts to taper off, as he usually does. He’s never had incredible stamina, and when he slows to a halt, he smooths his hands all over Taketora’s body again before patting his hips. It’s a seamless movement, but Taketora sits up, and Kenma sits back, and Tora settles himself on top instead. Fukunaga presses against his back like this, too, and now that it’s his turn to brace himself and rock his hips, Tora goes to it with fervor.
Kenma reaches with both hands to hold his face, cupping both cheeks, voice soft, “You’re doing so good, Tora.” The teasing edge to his voice has softened now, too.
Turning his face into Kenma’s touch, he pants hard and kisses at his thumb until Kenma relents and pushes his thumb in past his spit slick lips. He rumbles a soft sound, sucking gently. One of Fukunaga’s hands strokes up and down his spine, and the other holds his arm for that extra bit of support while he fucks himself down on Kenma’s strap.
“Drooling all down my hand,” Kenma teases, and Taketora pulls his face back enough to nip at the pad of Kenma’s thumb, getting him a little gasp for his trouble. Kenma pinches his lower lip between his thumb and first finger for the bite, even if it’s not hard.
When Taketora laughs, his teeth shine fiercely.
Sighing gently, his face scrunches as he toes the line of an orgasm, but can’t quite get what he’s after. Kenma runs hands over his sweaty skin, even if it’s kind of gross, and Tora whines a noise edging on frustration. He wants the touch. He wants to come.
Seeing all that so clearly written across his features, Kenma tucks a hand between them, petting over his pelvis til he can reach his engorged clit, heavy and hard under the hood. Just a brush makes Taketora gasp, chest heaving.
“F-fuck, w-warn a guy-”
“I’m gonna jerk you off, Tora,” Kenma warns.
Taketora gives him an exasperated look and Kenma only smirks up at him.
“Brat,” Fukunaga mutters, pressing a kiss to Tora’s shoulder. Neither of them is really sure which of them he means, but it’s more than likely he means the both of them. They’re both pretty bratty.
His gaze is on Kenma, and between the snarky comment for Taketora, and now this, Kenma sticks his tongue out just a little, biting it as he grins a sly look. He knows he’s a brat. He’s not normally comfortable enough around people to be a bastard, but he is, and these two see it often.
His deft fingers tuck against either side of Taketora’s clit and tug gently, pumping it in time to Tora’s own thrusts down onto his cock. Kenma’s voice is warm and encouraging, “There you go, come on, Tora. You can come.”
It doesn’t take long after that, with both their hands and the press of skin, Taketora’s thighs shake as he angles himself up and down, filling himself over and over. Kenma’s touch unravels him in the end, and the erratic pace makes the bed squeak under the three of them.
He comes with his teeth clenched, chest tight and muscles wound. Kenma jerks him through it, and Fukunaga sweeps a hand over his hair again, easing him through it. When Taketora breathes again, it’s a harsh pant and a hard swallow. His arms and legs shake and before he collapses himself on top of Kenma, a hand pats his hip and encourages him up just a little more to pull out. In doing so, it’s much easier for him to ease to the side and then flop back onto the bed so he doesn’t land on Fukunaga either.
Sighing a content sound before bubbling with laughter, Tora throws a hand over his eyes to just breathe. Kenma rolls his eyes but can’t help his own laughter. Fukunaga’s soft little chuckle rounds it all out.
Taketora reaches for anyone, anything, something to hold onto, and he finds Fukunaga’s hands, which he brings to his lips, kissing every single knuckle across both hands. His long fingers and big hands are always so reassuring and careful, but quick like he is. When Kenma brushes a kiss against his shoulder, Tora turns his head to kiss his forehead, a little sweaty from the work, even if Taketora is way worse.
“Thank you,” he mutters, still breathless, “I love you.”
Clicking his tongue gently, Kenma’s face reddens, but he kisses the corner of Tora’s jaw, “Love you too, you big lug.”
Fukunaga answers the call in kind as well, with a kiss to the forehead, “Love you too, Tora.”
They should get cleaned up, but Taketora is already flagging, even if Kenma and Fukunaga aren’t tired out, and he ends up dozing off between them with their fingers tracing over his skin.
Across every scar, every stretch mark, every part of him that makes him feel alive and powerful.
Across all the marks that remind him that he is exactly who he wants to be.
A prowling tiger, and a man absolutely in love.