Work Text:
During his time living in the student dorm at Inarizaki, Suna disliked how complicated the process of receiving packages was.
Letters were easy, since they were slipped into the student’s respective mailbox, but packages were subjected to intense scrutiny. Although students could order whatever they wanted, the dorm caretakers were the ones that signed them off, as well as inspected them before students could pick it up. You would think that these packages were student-oriented – stationery, helpful tools or accessories, books and textbooks for school – but that wasn’t the case. Many were illicit, and therefore confiscated, deemed inappropriate or otherwise disallowed from school property, destroyed and never to be seen again.
That is why after graduation, Suna scoured listing after listing until he found a relatively cheap one-bedroom apartment for rent, two stops away from campus, with its own entrance on the fifth floor. Is he missing out on the quintessential university experience by living off campus? Maybe, but if it means getting his packages without the risk of confiscation, then yeah, he’ll take it. Sure, getting home every day is a workout, but he’s an athlete. Every day can be leg day.
He opens the door to receive the mailman’s package, a nondescript cardboard box with a shipping label slapped on the side. After signing his name and closing the door, he carries it through the apartment to reach his bedroom, where he falls onto the bed, slicing through the tape with an exacto knife to extract the box hidden within the larger box.
It’s small, barely larger than his palm, with an image of a full-scale butt plug printed on the front, while the back has instructions and disclaimers. Suna removes the plug encased in plastic, small booklet containing further instructions for use and cleaning falling out in his haste. He pops it out of the plastic, holds it carefully between his fingers, arousal pooling in his stomach. Anticipation thrums through his veins as he brings it to the washroom for a thorough wash.
Living away from family for three years allowed him to fall into some rabbit holes, and playing a team sport with similarly hormonal teenagers exacerbated his curiosity, leading him to experiment and venture into unknown territories, because you have to start somewhere, right? Hence why his plug is beginner friendly, four inches long with a flared base and slightly curved tip, a dark blue color that matches his sweater.
He dries it with a towel, then spreads it over the bed before rolling up his sleeves, dropping his sweats on the floor, and lowering his boxers to his knees, ass in the air. He spreads his legs wide enough to expose his hole, shivers running down his spine as he teases his opening. Sufficiently worked up, he squirts some lube onto his finger and slowly pushes it through the tight ring of muscle.
A low moan ripples around him as he pumps his finger. The first time he fingered himself was in high school, using a packet of lube that he and his classmates received after a lecture on sexual education, curious about how it felt. That experience taught him to always have a towel nearby, never buy white sheets, and lukewarm water and paper towels are absolutely useless at cleaning out stains.
He lubes a second finger to join the first. His hips rock a hypnotic rhythm, along with tiny breaths from the glide. Beads of precome stain the towel underneath him, dick pressed against the rough fabric. Once he thinks he’s stretched enough, he removes his fingers, hips bucking involuntarily, and smears lube over the plug. He teases the tip against his hole before taking in a breath, pushing it in.
“Fuck.” It’s a completely different kind of stretch from his fingers, wider and sturdier. He pushes it in and out a few times before bracing himself, pushing it further inside until the flared base sits just against his hole.
The plug makes him feel full, creating a swirl of warmth in his belly. He sits up and strokes his dick, gathers the precome to make the glide easier, throwing his head back with a moan, about to reach behind and play with the plug when–
Knocks sound on his door. Suna cuts himself off, frozen. A moment passes, and the knocks come again, followed by his phone vibrating on the nightstand. He wipes his hand haphazardly before picking it up, staring at Osamu’s name across the screen. Shit . Tonight is their weekly study session. He forgot about it in his excitement. His fingers wrap around the base of the plug, ready to pull it out, until a whisper in his ear stops him.
What if you leave it in? He lowers his hand, glances at himself. His dick is softening, arousal lost. The only trace of what transpired is the box, which he can easily hide. Osamu usually doesn’t stay for long, anyway, just enough to cook dinner, commiserate, and study before calling it a night. Pulling his boxers and pants back on, he tosses the box and lube into the nightstand drawer, throws the towel in the laundry hamper, and takes his phone as he slides off the bed toward the door.
“Oh, fuck,” Suna hisses at the plug shifting with every step, unaccustomed to the sensation. He stops by the dining table to compose himself, takes a few small experimental steps to correct his gait, and stops in front of the door. Inhale. Exhale. He unlocks the door. “Hey, ‘Samu.”
“Hey, Rin. Is this a bad time?” Osamu has a leather messenger bag over his shoulder, grocery bag in hand, brows furrowed with concern. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled to his elbows, sweater vest vibrant with green stripes. Only a few strands of dyed silver hair remain, hidden among his natural dark hair, swept to the side and trimmed neatly above his eye. The way he looks at Suna sends a wave of heat through him.
“Nah, it’s fine. Just…got a call with my mom. She wouldn’t let me go, even when I told her that someone was at the door.”
“Oh, is everythin’ okay?”
He nods, pivoting to let him in. “Yeah, just wanted a life update. You know, moms like to know every little detail about our lives.”
“True that. Thanks fer havin’ me.” Osamu kicks off his tennis shoes and steps into the hallway from the genkan. “I got ingredients fer yakisoba, since ya said it’s been a while since ya last had some.”
“Awesome. Thanks.” Suna closes the door, turns the lock shut. Discreetly, he reaches behind him to feel for the plug, still inside him. He follows his friend into the kitchen.
Osamu opted to stay in the dorm on campus, given his intensive business program keeps him at school for nine hours a day, but still finds time once a week to cook dinner and spend time with him. It’s reminiscent of their high school days, when Suna would go to his house for dinner and study afterwards, although now, there’s more stress, assignments, and commitments, whereas before, it was just volleyball. Sure, Suna still plays for the university team, but Osamu works part-time as a line cook at an izakaya over the weekends. Time where their schedules overlap is rare, but they do what they can.
After helping to prepare the vegetables, Suna moves his books and equipment from the dining table to the couch and sits down. A sharp gasp escapes him, having forgotten about the plug, the curved tip brushing against his prostate. He bites his lip, lowers his head to hide his mouth behind his phone, teeth gritted together to stop himself from moaning. His dick stirs with interest, hips grinding against his chair to chase after the pleasure.
“Did somethin’ happen?” Osamu calls out, looking at him from in front of the stove, pan in hand.
“Just found a meme that surprised me. Hey, remember to turn the fan on.” It’s a miracle that his voice remains steady.
A moment later, the kitchen fan comes to life, a heavy whirr that blankets the apartment. With his free hand, he slides it into his pants, gropes for the plug, and tries moving it, wriggling his hips to find his prostate again. Images pass by in a blur on his phone, thumb scrolling mindlessly as he continues his futile search.
“Yakisoba’s almost done. Can ya get the plates ready?”
“Sure.” Suna quashes his frustration, standing to grab plates and chopsticks from one of the cupboards. Thank god his sweater is baggy enough to hide his half-chub.
The food is delicious, as always, and distracts him from the plug that shifts every time he moves. Osamu complains about his group projects, and Suna tells him about the third-string players’ attempts to impress their coach by organizing a flashmob during practice. As they eat, laughs accompany them, voices bright, smiles wide. He lives for days like these, spending time with his best friend and talking shit without constant interruption from Atsumu or other students at the dorm. It’s nice, a privilege that he takes for granted.
He washes the dishes afterwards, and Osamu clears the table to prepare for their study session. It always takes him forever to arrange all his materials, from his laptop, an old, bulky thing that he used to share with his twin, and a multitude of notebooks and papers since he handwrites his notes. “It helps me remember what I learned,” Osamu explained after Suna pointed out that he could type his notes. “Don’t ya know ‘bout muscle memory an’ notetakin’?”
Suna, on the other hand, survives with a tablet and attachable keyboard, which was a graduation present from his parents. He only managed to buy a case for it last month, given that most of his money goes toward rent and groceries.
Osamu is already absorbed in his work by the time Suna turns the tap off, drying his hands on a cloth. He watches his friend mumble under his breath, eyes narrowed at two sheets of paper, then at his laptop screen. In the fading sunlight, he looks like the very definition of a stressed university student, with his knee propped on his chair, leg stretched across the floor, relaxed but also locked in a bitter battle with market structures and other concepts that Suna heard him complain about but forgot what exactly.
“Ya gonna join me, or ya gonna stand there?” Osamu breaks into his thoughts without raising his head. Suna nods, mindful of his steps toward his backpack in the living room to fetch his tablet.
They often listen to music while studying, usually lo-fi. Suna skims over his psychology readings for the week, highlighting quotes that could be used for his upcoming paper, scrawling annotations in the margins. Occasionally, they chat about their work, joke about their readings or lecture materials, bounce ideas off one another if they’re stuck. For all the teasing they do regularly, it’s kept to a minimum when the papers are out.
At the end of the first playlist, Osamu stands to cut some fruit for a snack. Suna puts his pen down to stretch and yawn, legs extended under the table, arms over his head. Bad idea, because the plug shifts again, tickling his prostate. The yawn turns into a whine, then a harsh cough to hide his arousal.
“Rin?” Osamu stills, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “Ya okay?”
“Fine, why?”
“I dunno, ya been…kinda weird since I came over. Did yer ma say somethin’ ta ya earlier?”
“Nope, not at all.” He stands, phone in hand. “I’ll just…use the bathroom.” His chair squeaks against the floor as he hurries down the hallway and shuts the bathroom door behind him.
Bracing himself against the sink, he drops his pants and boxers to wiggle the plug, moaning into his chest as it tickles his prostate again. He’s frustrated that it isn’t long enough to hit it dead-on. Why did he buy the beginner plug again? He should’ve gone straight for the nine inch plug, or a dildo. About to put an end to his misery by pulling it out, he’s interrupted, once again, with a shout. “Rin, can I borrow yer phone charger?”
“Yeah!” His reply is loud to compensate for his irritation. “In the bedroom!” He hears footsteps go by, a door creaking open. A beat passes. Shit, the charger is in the nightstand. He fumbles to pull his clothes back on, bursts out of the bedroom. “Wait, ‘Samu, I’ll–“
Too late. The nightstand drawer is open, and instead of the thin charging cable in hand, Osamu is holding the box for the butt plug. The very obviously empty box, plastic case left inside. His eyes flicker between it and Suna, expression blank. He puts it down. “I didn’t know yer into this stuff.”
Suna can’t hide his heavy breaths. “It’s not nice of you to look for things in places that you aren’t supposed to.”
“Oh, really?” Osamu steps toward him, and Suna is suddenly confronted by his best friend’s wider build. Even though he left sports behind, he still retained his physique, his thick arms and thighs, and large chest. Despite the height difference, he feels small under his gaze.
“This ain’t the first lookin’ in there fer yer charger, so I already know what’s inside. There’s less an’ less lube in that bottle every time I see it.” Another step. Suna’s back hits the door. “An’ now, an empty box fer a butt plug. Where did it go, ya think?”
“Who knows?” His voice is weak, heart hammering in his chest. When their eyes meet, he stares into a sea of mirrored desire, swallowing down his lust. “If you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll show you.”
Osamu plants his hand on the door beside him, the other grabbing his waist. “If ya want nice, all ya had ta do is say so.” Then, he’s craning his neck to kiss him.
It’s shy, but nonetheless hot. Suna reciprocates eagerly, arms draped over Osamu’s shoulders, eyes closed. It isn’t long before the first bit of tongue touches his lips, and he opens his mouth, moaning at the way Osamu deepens the kiss. Both hands press on his hips, body against his, clothed dick rubbing his own.
Suna grinds back in turn, heat pooling in his stomach. He pants for air when Osamu breaks off to mouth his neck, teeth brushing the skin, licking and sucking until he leaves a mark. “Fuck, Osamu,” he gasps, feeling his boxers become wet with precome. “I need you inside me right now–“
“Yeah?” Osamu’s voice is heavy and rough. “Ya want me ta fuck ya?”
“Yes, so stop teasing–“
Osamu spins him around and walks him backwards to the bed. Suna falls unceremoniously onto the mattress, the plug hitting prostate once more. He moans unabashedly, grinding his hips down, Osamu climbing over him, arms planted on either side of him. “Ya sure ya want this?”
“Osamu, I swear–“
“No, Rin, just- just answer the damn question.”
It’s spoken with a hint of frustration. Suna looks at him, recognizes hints of anxiety through the desire in his eyes. Once you fuck a best friend, there’s no coming back from it. But I don’t want to be best friends anymore. I want more. “I want this, ‘Samu. Do you?”
A beat. Then, he lowers his head to whisper in his ear. “More than anythin’ in the world.”
Their lips meet again, unhurried and deep. Osamu pulls Suna’s sweater off, trailing kisses from his neck to his chest, swiping his tongue across his nipple. Suna’s fingers thread through Osamu’s hair, breathy moans escaping him, head thrown back at the unfamiliar sensation, hot and overwhelming. Osamu moves to his other nipple for attention, moving further down until he reaches the waistband of his pants. Suna lifts his hips, lets him take them off, dick straining against his boxers. Osamu nudges his legs open, lowers his head until he’s level with it. Then, without warning, he licks a stripe through the fabric.
“Oh my god.” Suna buries his head into his pillow, thrusting his hips to chase after his tongue. “Take them off, ‘Samu, and touch me.”
A chuckle answers him. “Yer so impatient.” He obliges, lets his cock spring free, wet with precome. “I’ve been dreamin’ o’ this forever.”
When his tongue meets his length, Suna shivers at the contact. Obscene noises fill the room, mixed with his hoarse gasps and Osamu taking his tip into his mouth. Just as he’s about to close his eyes to lose himself in the moment, he feels his plug shift, stroking his prostate.
“Fuck!” Suna’s hips jump, lifting his head to look down at Osamu, who still has his dick in his mouth, a hand wrapped around the plug’s base. He grins around him, slides the plug in and out at the same time he sucks his dick.
Heat overwhelms him, his pleasure building. Suna’s fingers twist through his bedsheets, toes curling at the same time. “Fuck, ‘Samu, I need your dick in me,” he cries. “Please.”
Osamu releases him but keeps teasing him with the plug. “Yer kinkier than I thought,” he rasps, reaching over to kiss him, lips shiny with spit and precome. “Wearin’ this all night, knowin’ that I’d hear yer pretty little moans any time it moved…did ya bank on me fuckin’ ya tonight? Is that why ya wore it? Or…” He twists it at the right angle, Suna’s back arching off the bed. “Ya were so desperate fer somethin’ ta fill ya up that ya went with it, consequences be damned.”
He pulls the plug out in a smooth motion, tossing it aside. Suna whines at the loss. “Please–“
“Shh, I’m gettin’ there. Just lemme get the lube, yeah? D’ya also have condoms?”
“Yeah- fuck, in the nightstand.” There has only ever been one condom inside, wrapped in packaging that Osamu should recognize. He hears him reach over to pull the drawer open, and after a pause, his deep chuckle fills the air.
“Ya still have this? Really?”
Embarrassment floods him, darkening his cheeks. “What? And you don’t?”
“Nope.” Osamu slams it shut, bottle of lube and condom landing on the bed. “I gave it ta ‘Tsumu.”
He makes quick work of his clothes, tossing them on the floor. With two lubed fingers, he prods at Suna’s hole before sinking them inside, stretching him deeper than he has ever reached on his own. “Fuck, yer so loose already. How long were ya plugged up fer?”
“Just- just before you knocked.” Suna moans at the familiar brush against his prostate. “Oh, fuck…I thought about taking it out, but you’d- fuck, ‘Samu- you’d get suspicious and- and it’d get awkward.”
“I knew ya weren’t callin’ yer ma, anyway. My call woulda been declined if the line was busy, but it wasn’t.” Osamu smirks at him, each pump of fingers brushing his sweet spot. “I bet ya were in yer bed, doin’ this ta yerself. Feels good ta have someone else do it, huh?”
“Miya Osamu, if you aren’t inside me in the next minute, I swear–“
“Okay, okay. Ya sure yer ready fer it?”
“Osamu.”
He pulls his fingers out and rips the condom wrapper to slide over his dick, coating it in lube. The bed shifts as he adjusts his position, his tip teasing Suna’s hole. Then, without warning, he sinks inside in a smooth motion.
Their moans tangle in a frenzy of heat. Never again will Suna feel satisfied with his plug, not when he’s had a taste of how an actual dick feels inside him. “Yer so fuckin’ tight,” Osamu grunts, leaning over his body on his forearms as he bottoms out. “God, Rin, yer a dream.”
“Kiss me, or fuck me already.”
Osamu lowers his head until their lips touch, Suna’s tongue meeting his. He moans as Osamu moves his hips in an unsteady rhythm, breaking off to bury his head against Suna’s neck, sucking at the hickey from earlier.
“Fuck, oh fuck.” Suna wraps a hand around his dick to pump, legs wrapping around Osamu’s hips, his entire body jostling with each thrust. “Deeper, faster–“
Rough hands grip his hips as Osamu moves deeper, quickening his pace. Suna feels tears spring into his eyes at every stroke that hits his prostate, hand pumping his dick, the other pinching his nipple. His breathless moans join the chorus of Osamu's grunts, both chasing after their highs.
He comes after a deep thrust to his prostate, spilling across his chest. His hand slows, milking every last drop, falling to his side in exhaustion. Osamu fucks him the entire time at a brutal speed, faster and faster until he throws his head back, his load shooting deep inside him, followed by a long low moan. His hips stutter in the aftermath, their heavy breaths echoing each other. “Oh, god…”
His eyes meet Suna’s, who gives him a tired smile, which morphs into a pinched expression when he tries to move. “Fuck, wait. Let me- give me a moment first.”
“Yeah, Yeah, ‘course.” Osamu carefully lowers himself onto the bed beside him, careful not to touch his cum-stained chest. “Fuck, Rin. That…”
There are no words, eyes twinkling with mutual understanding. “You can pull out, now,” he tells him. He still hisses as Osamu pulls out slowly, getting off the bed to tie the condom and dispose of it. The bed creaks under his weight, collapsing back onto the bed beside him, giving him a loop smile despite his disheveled look. “Yer good?”
“Yeah. More than good.” Suna tries to roll to his side, wincing at the flash of pain in his lower back. Fuck. Walking down five flights of stairs is going to hurt like a bitch. “We need to shower.”
“Later. Just lemme…enjoy the view.” A finger reaches toward him, gently brushes bangs out of his face. “So…were ya savin’ that condom fer me?”
“Huh?”
“Y’know, the one that we got back in high school. I never thought ‘bout it ‘till now, but yer lube’s always on the low side whenever I grab yer charger, but I never found condoms. D’ya stash ‘em somewhere else, or d’ya just use ‘em all before I come over?”
Suna maneuvers himself upright, wincing at the dried cum on his skin. “No, you idiot. No one else uses the lube except for me. I never…had to use the condom for anyone or myself, until now.”
“Oh.” A deep blush overwhelms him, and he looks away. “I thought…ya just…”
“What, you never fingered yourself to get off before?” His silence is all that Suna needs. He spots the plug among the sheets and reaches for it. “I…fingers stopped satisfying me. That’s why I bought this, but now that I had your dick, I don’t think this’ll work anymore.”
“Was I…” Osamu seems to be at a loss of words.
“My first, yeah.”
“Oh.” Another pause. “Same.”
They raise their eyes at each other. Perhaps it’s the lethargy, the low lighting, or both, but Osamu looks ethereal, hair tousled and matted, body gleaming with dry sweat and other fluids. Suna smiles at him, eyes lidded and voice low. “A pretty intense way of confessing to each other, huh?”
“Rin, if I didn’t like ya, d’ya think I’d climb five flights o’ stairs every week ta cook ya dinner?” Osamu retorts with a snort. A deep blush darkens his cheeks, mumble muffled by the sheets. “Maybe…next time, I could…try the plug.”
Suna smirks. “Already thinking about next time?”
“We’ll need condoms, though, an’ lube, but…yeah. Let’s do it.”
“I’d rather you take me on a date first.”
A grin answers him. “Sure. Then we can do it again.” He tugs Suna back onto the bed, assaults him with a dozen kisses across his body, the plug lost among the sheets, again.
He has something even better to fill him up, now.