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Asahi sneezes.

He’s sitting in bed, going over paperwork for the shop, and he sneezes so hard he shakes the bed. His precariously organized piles fall apart, and he glances at them with a sigh, deciding he probably shouldn’t have been piling papers so high on such an unstable surface to begin with. 

“Damn,” he mutters. He goes about attempting to reorganize them. He glances down at his watch and realizes he’s already been at this much longer than he wanted to be; Yuuji will be here soon, they’re due at Suga and Daichi’s in less than an hour, and he still has to shower and get dressed. His papers are hopelessly mussed now, so he makes one pile, setting it on the bedside table, and just lets it go. He’ll fix them tomorrow.

He notices, suddenly, that he’s very hard. Which is odd, because he hadn’t been before he’d sneezed. Or perhaps it had been the thought of Daichi and Suga to cause it. He wouldn’t be surprised; his crush on them has been growing progressively more intrusive, invading his thoughts constantly despite being perfectly happy with his boyfriend.

He’s seized with the thought of Daichi’s strong hands on his waist, the thought of Suga’s slender fingers running across his skin, and it only serves to add to his arousal. He’s normally better at controlling thoughts like this, which is why it’s so damn confusing when the Suga and Daichi in his mind go to take off his shirt. 

He wonders, vaguely, what kind of line he’s going to cross if he does something about this. If there’s any way to go back from masturbating to the thought of your two closest friends, especially while you’re in a committed relationship. If he’ll even be able to look them in the eyes when he sees them later. In his mind, Suga smirks at him, and tells him to “relax, Asahi.”

“You’re so tense,” mind-Daichi murmurs, and his hands press into the skin of Asahi’s lower back, and then dip lower, caressing the curve of his ass. 

Asahi stands up suddenly, trying to clear his mind. He doesn’t need this, doesn’t need to make this situation any more complicated than it already it is. A cold shower should hopefully do the trick, calming his body if not his mind. 

He pads into the bathroom and turns the water to its coldest setting, trying to ignore the phantom feeling of their hands on his body. He drops his lounge pants to the floor, decidedly ignoring his sizeable erection. He hisses when he steps in, trying to avoid the spray. The cold is the point, he reminds himself, and he reluctantly moves under the water.

“Pointless,” Suga teases him, appearing unbidden in his head again. They move their hands down his sides, and he shivers, whether from the cold or the fantasy he isn’t sure.

“Suga,” he moans. His hand is halfway to his dick before he gets control of himself and opens his eyes again (he’s not sure when they fell shut).

He scrubs at his hair, staring at the shampoo bottle all the while, reading all the stupid instructions on the back in an effort to occupy his brain with something. When he holds his head under the water, it’s Daichi’s hands he pictures rinsing out the shampoo, kissing the hollow of his throat. His head whips upward, and he gets a little shampoo in his eye that he has to rub at furiously.

They haunt him, too, throughout washing and rinsing his body. In his head they’re keeping their hands off of him, now, but Daichi’s got Suga pressed up against the wall and his hands are everywhere, and Asahi imagines Suga’s voice breaking on cries of Daichi’s name.

“Goddamnit,” Asahi mumbles, his head thunking against the shower wall. He wonders what Yuuji would think.

He gives up trying to fight it.

He reaches over and turns the water off, grumbling all the while. He steps out of the shower and does a half-assed job drying himself off, trying to speed up the process, and drops the towel on the bathroom floor before heading back into his bedroom.

Asahi’s not usually one for toys, but he’s also not usually one to fantasize about his best friends, so he supposes he’s just in a mood. He’s got a dildo around for rare occasions such as this, and he retrieves it from the closet and a bottle of lube from the bedside table. (Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, he’s relatively certain it was Suga that had convinced him to buy the dildo in the first place, although there’s no way they could have known it would be used in this capacity). He sits up on his knees and takes a deep breath, slicking lube onto his fingers. He’s desperate enough that he doesn’t want to tease himself at all, doesn’t want to draw it out any longer than he has to, and so he starts right out with two fingers. He lets his eyes fall closed and imagines it’s Daichi’s hand inside of him, imagines Suga’s arms wrapped around his neck. He pictures them kissing his bare, damp chest, murmuring against his skin, and he has to swallow at how easily he’s opening himself up, how relaxed the fantasy makes him feel. With one shaky hand he begins scissoring himself open; with the other he pinches a nipple between his fingers.

“Good,” Daichi murmurs. “Take it for us, Asahi.”

He slips a third finger inside himself. In his head Suga smiles at him encouragingly and Daichi drops a kiss to his shoulder, and involuntarily he whispers Daichi’s name. 

“Yeah, baby,” Daichi mutters in his brain. “Feel good?”

“Yes,” answers Asahi aloud, scissoring his fingers, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself up. “Daichi…”

Suga presses a teasing kiss to his cheek. “What am I, chopped liver?”

Asahi whimpers. “Suga…”

“There you go, sweetheart,” Suga hums. 

He’s rapidly losing patience with himself, and he shoves a fourth finger inside, curling them all as he does. He gasps, the stretch burning slightly until he gets used to it. He works his fingers a few more moments, imagining Daichi holding him by the waist, Suga running their hands through his hair, and then he withdraws them and reaches for the dildo.

The dildo is thick and long, and Asahi imagines Daichi’s cock in his hands as he lubes it up. He hesitates once more—is he really doing this? yes, yes he is—before lining it up and pushing it inside himself.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He hisses just a little at the stretch it causes. He could probably have used a little more prep, but oh, well, he supposes. He takes it slowly, inching it inside of himself. The Daichi and Suga in his head kiss him everywhere as he does, his neck, his back, his chest. 

“That’s it, baby,” Daichi says, once he’s full. “Take a breath.”

Asahi does, breathing in deep and getting used to the feeling of the cock inside of him. It’s been a while, so he takes a few more deep breaths, just to make sure.

“Asahi,” Suga whispers. “Let us know when you’re ready, alright?”

“I’m ready,” Asahi answers. He slides the dildo back out and then moves it back in, still slow, but enough to cause him to moan quietly. His dick is weeping pre-come into the sheets but he ignores it for now. He fucks himself gradually, taking the dildo all the way in and brushing against his prostate, gasping with it before pulling it back out. 

Suga’s touching themself in his mind, one hand on their cock and the other on Daichi’s ass. Daichi’s got Asahi by the hips and starts moving at a more rapid pace, and Asahi pumps his hand in time with the image in his head. He moans Daichi’s name loudly, too worked up to be embarrassed about it anymore, and Suga moans in time with him. 

He adjusts the angle of his hand and finds his prostate again, crying out when he does. “There, fuck!” he shouts. Now he finds it with each shove of the dildo inside himself, and he struggles to keep himself upright, his legs trembling underneath him, threatening to collapse at any time.

“Let go, baby,” Daichi murmurs. 

Daichi bends him over and fucks into him hard. Asahi cries aloud, the crest of orgasm threatening to overwhelm him, and Suga places their hand on Asahi’s lower back.

“We’ve got you,” they assure him. “Come for us, Asahi, we’ve got you.”

And then, suddenly, Yuuji is there, too, just behind Daichi, fucking into him and crying Daichi’s name. He looks down and makes eye contact with Asahi.

“Come on, Asa,” he pants, “you can come for us.”

“I—Yuuji—Daichi— Suga !”

He grasps at himself desperately, jerking himself to completion and spilling into his hand. It seems to last longer than it normally does, the waves of pleasure rolling through his body over and over, and even now that he’s finished he’s got them in his head, whispering praise and encouragement against his skin. They hold him close, Daichi and Yuuji on one side and Suga on the other, their foreheads bent together, their arms around his chest. He opens his eyes again and they’re finally gone.

He collapses on his back in the bed.

“Goddamnit,” he says again, because now he has to face them like this. Has to see them in—he checks his watch—twenty minutes, having just imagined both of them getting him off. 

Shit. Yuuji’s going to be here any minute.

He sits up with a sigh and runs his clean hand through his hair and wonders how the hell he’s going to be able to look them in the eye. He’s buttoning his jeans when the door opens.

“Asahi!” Yuuji calls.

“Bedroom,” Asahi answers. Guilt washes over him, and he sits back on the bed and Yuuji enters, his shirt held loosely in his hands.

Yuuji comes over and sits beside him. “What’s wrong?”

Asahi sighs and looks up at him. "We need to talk."