Title: A Moving Target
Characters/Pairings: Kise, Kasamatsu, and Takao
Summary: When you come right down to it, there aren't a lot of things that Kasamatsu won't do when it comes to taking care of his people.
Notes: Adult for smut. For nana-aniki over at Tumblr, who requested KiseKasaTakao with Kasamatsu being "forced" to wear lingerie. 3126 words.

A Moving Target

"Well," Kazunari had said eventually, after a lot of beer and arguing back and forth, "if you're just not up for it, then it's not like anyone can force you to do it. Not like anyone's gonna think worse of you for not doing it, right?" And that—that right there had done more to make up Yukio's mind than any of the beer or bullshitting or Ryouta's wheedling could ever have done. The way Kazunari said it, tossing it off with a shrug and a fillip of self-deprecation, said that he was intimately familiar with the kind of worse people could think.

So did the way Ryouta saluted the point, lifting his bottle to Kazunari and sighing, "To impossible dreams."

Yukio never had lost the impulse to throw himself into looking after his people's welfare—he wasn't responsible for a whole basketball club anymore, but Ryouta and Kazunari were still his. And, in the grand scheme of things, what they were angling for was a small thing, really. He finished his beer in silence and began to lay his plans accordingly.

The thing about it was that, objectively speaking, he felt pretty silly about it. Ryouta could get away with this kind of thing because he was a beautiful man by anyone's measure. He could make a paper bag look good and had the kind of flashy coloring and the charisma to make it seem like anything he chose to wear was the acme of fashion and good taste. Kazunari got away with it because he had finely drawn features and whole-heartedly enjoyed playing them up to the fullest as he tap-danced back and forth across gender lines like they didn't even exist. Yukio, on the other hand, was fairly sure that no one was ever going to accuse him of being pretty. Handsome, maybe, but not pretty.

He set that aside as irrelevant and bided his time. Honestly, it didn't take more than a few days before Yukio's phone buzzed in the middle of the afternoon—and buzzed again, and again, before he could find a place to pause in the report he was running in order to check his messages. By the time he did, Ryouta and Kazunari were already in the middle of a lurid conversation, one that made Yukio extremely glad that his cubicle was tucked away in a corner and that he'd broken them of the habit of including candid pictures to illustrate their plans for passing a quiet evening at home. He kept his lone reply brief and to the point—I don't care if you two are bored and horny, I have actual WORK to do—not that this even slowed them down. His phone continued to buzz at regular intervals for the rest of the afternoon while he hauled ass on his reports, finishing them up early enough that he had plenty of time to duck into the restroom and get changed before heading home.

Kazunari and Ryouta really had been bored at their respective jobs, he discovered while hanging onto a strap in the train and scrolling through the backlog of messages, because they'd progressed from plotting together to outright roleplay, with—Yukio hurriedly scrolled past the pictures, because it was a public train. I hope you idiots saved some of that for me, he wrote to them, already half-hard and doing his best not to dwell on it too closely. (It was difficult not to; his clothes felt strange over the silky layers beneath them. Ridiculous as he felt, he could almost begin to see just what it was that Ryouta and Kazunari could find so appealing about doing this themselves.)

So MEAN, Ryouta replied first, along with I thought you were busy WORKING and Does this mean you're on your way home?

Kazunari simply sent him—good grief, did he run on batteries?—visual confirmation that he, at least, wasn't done playing for the day.

STOP THAT I'M STILL ON THE TRAIN, Yukio told him, though it didn't honestly do any good. With Kazunari, it never did.

His commute wasn't the longest the three of them had and he'd left work a little early, but Ryouta somehow contrived to meet him in the station through some mysterious luck of his own. They walked the rest of the way home together, Ryouta chattering all the while about his agent's latest plans for him. Yukio listened in half-distracted silence, fully conscious of the way Ryouta was watching him from the corner of his eye and the way their hands kept accidentally brushing together. "And what about your day, dear?" Ryouta asked finally as they headed up the stairs to their apartment. He laughed at the look Yukio gave him. "Well?"

"It was busy," Yukio replied, and was the one to get the door.

"I thought you sounded kind of cranky," Ryouta murmured, following him inside, and was too busy laughing to notice anything when Yukio changed out of his shoes and into his house slippers.

Kazunari had contrived to beat them both home and came wandering out of the kitchen to greet them, wearing a yukata (more or less). Yukio blinked at him—"Did you take off early?"—but Kazunari declined to answer the question. Instead he applied himself to kissing them hello, extensively and thoroughly enough that Yukio elected to allow himself to be distracted by the slickness of Kazunari's tongue against his and the way Ryouta's hands looked when they were splayed against the small of Kazunari's back.

"I started dinner," Kazunari reported after he'd satisfied himself with Ryouta's mouth. "But it's going to take a while to bake and I seem to recall that someone was afraid that he wasn't going to get his fair share of attention this afternoon."

Yukio rolled his eyes at the way the two of them turned expectant gazes his way. "It did sort of look like the two of you had yourselves in hand," he said, dry, even as Kazunari reached out to hook a finger in one of his belt loops and begin tugging him the direction of the bedroom.

Ryouta laughed, delighted. "I can't believe that you actually said that," he marveled, insinuating himself at Yukio's back and helping propel him along.

"I'm a man of hidden depths." Yukio let them draw him along and smiled in spite of himself.

Ryouta walked his fingers up Yukio's spine. "That sounds promising."

"Mm." He chose not to say anything more—they'd be seeing for themselves soon enough—and reached back to Ryouta instead. "Come here and kiss me, why don't you?"

But Ryouta didn't oblige him, not even once they were inside the bedroom. He ran his hands up Yukio's spine and leaned in to press his mouth against his skin, kissing the place just at the nape of his neck. Kazunari turned, flowing into Yukio's arms and kissing him again. For a little while, Yukio lost himself in the satisfaction of having Ryouta's lips warm against the side of his throat and Kazunari's mouth moving against his, forgetting about everything but the pleasure of being close to his two favorite people.

Then Kazunari, who was an expert multi-tasker and had been working Yukio's tie free of his collar and unbuttoning his shirt, made a surprised sound as he slipped his hands inside Yukio's shirt to stroke his chest. "What...?" he said, pulling back from Yukio's mouth and running his fingers over what he'd found. "Yukio, what on earth are you wearing?"

Ryouta lifted his mouth way from where he had been nuzzling Yukio's jaw as Kazunari's efforts at divesting Yukio of his shirt turned determined, and he lent Kazunari a hand. Yukio didn't say anything at all, even after they'd gotten the shirt off him and could see the silky, lace-trimmed camisole that was beneath it. Kazunari lifted a hand, running it along the lace that crossed Yukio's chest, and looked at him with eyes gone wide. "What...?" he said again.

Yukio cleared his throat. "Sorry, I love you both, but I'll be damned if I wear a bra or corset, even for you." His face felt hot, either from embarrassment or the way Ryouta's hands felt where they rested against his waist, shockingly warm even through the thin, silky stuff of the camisole.

Kazunari's lips moved silently, as though he was actually at a loss for words, and so it was up to Ryouta to say, "Only a corset or bra? Or...?" He trailed off into a silence stuffed full of possibilities.

Yukio coughed to clear his throat again. "Why don't you see?"

Both of them went still for a moment, though Ryouta made a low sound and Kazunari wet his lips, and then they began scrabbling for his belt and his fly as one. Yukio had to laugh, breathless, and caught hold of Kazunari's shoulder to hold himself steady as they worked to peel him out of his slacks. He laughed again at the sound Kazunari made when they discovered the barely adequate scrap of silk and laze that was already straining tight over his cock and the lacy edges at the top of his stockings. "Fuck," Kazunari breathed, dropping to his knees and dragging Yukio's slacks down with him, helping him to step out of them. He reached out and laid his fingers against the inside of Yukio's knee, tracing it through the sheer silk of the stockings. "Fuck, Yukio..."

Ryouta was running his fingertips along the lacy edge of Yukio's panties, following the way they rose high over his hips and stretched taut across his cock.

Yukio reached down to Kazunari and slid his fingers through the fall of his hair. "You two said you wanted to see me dress up like this," he reminded them, trying to make it come out sounding gruff and largely failing. "So here I am."

"Here you are," Ryouta agreed. He raised his hand and ran his fingers up one of the camisole's straps, slipping it aside and pressing his lips against Yukio's bare shoulder. "Now what should we do with you?"

"I seem to recall that the two of you frittered away your afternoon on that very subject," Yukio said, hearing the way his voice was going husky with the way Kazunari was running his hands up his thighs, slow and reverent.

Kazunari laughed at that. "But that was then. We didn't know you were going to go and do something like this."

Anything Yukio might have liked to have said in reply died in his throat when Kazunari leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the skin just above the top of his stockings, high on his thigh. He reached for them, gripping Ryouta's hand and Kazunari's shoulder, and groaned when Ryouta brushed his mouth along his shoulder, slow and wet, and Kazunari nibbled at the inside of his thigh. Ryouta hummed to him, steadying him, and slid his free hand down to cup Yukio through the panties, finding the place where they were already soaked through and making a low, pleased sound. Yukio groaned as Ryouta fondled him through the cloth, which slid and dragged over his skin and made heat twist at the pit of his stomach.

"It would be a shame to undress you too quickly when you went to all this trouble for us," Ryouta said after a moment. "Don't you think, Kazunari?"

Kazunari leaned his cheek against Yukio's hip and lifted a hand to tangle with Ryouta's, grinning up at them when Yukio couldn't keep himself from rocking against the pressure of their entwined hands. "It would definitely be a waste," he agreed. He tipped his head to the side, looking dangerously thoughtful. "I don't think we should undress him at all."

"Mm, my thoughts exactly," Ryouta said, even as Yukio said, "Now wait just a damn minute—"

"Shh," Kazunari said, soothing, rubbing him through the panties. "You know we'll take care of you."

Before Yukio could reply to that properly—give a pair of brats like the two of them even a fraction of an inch and all that, not to mention the fact that he was the one looking out for them—Kazunari raised himself up to mouth the line of Yukio's cock right through the silk. Ryouta stroked his hand over Yukio's chest, dragging the slightly scratchy lace over his skin. Yukio lost track of his plan to scold them and groaned instead, arching into the rush of sensation. That was undoubtedly why they'd done it, he thought distantly, even as they conspired together to steer him in the direction of the bed. When they teamed up, sometimes all a man could really do was hang on and enjoy the ride.

"You look so pretty like this," Ryouta said as he slid onto the bed after them, still wearing his work clothes. He chuckled at the look Yukio gave him. "You do!"

"I look like a guy in women's underwear," Yukio retorted, a little breathless with the way Ryouta had dropped his hand on his ankle and was moving it up the inside of his leg, slow and deliberate. "Not pretty."

Kazunari wriggled the rest of the way out of his yukata, shamelessly naked beneath it, and immediately bent to kiss him. "Pretty is a moving target," he said, spreading his fingers against Yukio's chest, teasing a nipple through the lace. "I think you look very pretty."

Yukio groaned and thumped his head back against the pillow. "Oh, would you stop trying to coddle my delicate self-esteem and just fuck me already?"

They were about as good about following that order as they ever were, which was to say that they pretty well ignored him and got on with what they wanted to do themselves. Kazunari kissed him again and again, murmuring lavish compliments into Yukio's mouth to tell him how gorgeously sexy he looked all dressed up in silk and lace for them, and Ryouta seemed determined to get his hands on every last bit of Yukio's skin. He dragged his hands up and down Yukio's legs, kneading the muscles beneath the stockings, and teased his fingers along the edges of his stockings and his panties. He lowered his mouth to run it over every bit of the bare skin between each line of lace until Yukio was trembling with how hard he was, strung taut between them and on the verge of either coming without being touched or begging.

It was honestly a relief when Ryouta reached under him, dragging the flimsy scrap of the panties aside so he could push slick fingers into Yukio, hard and deep. The unforgiving edge of that pressure stretching him open pulled Yukio back down from the edge, even as he swore into Kazunari's mouth. Kazunari laughed, low and wicked, and bit down on his throat, hard enough that Yukio knew he was going to see a mark there, just above his collar, in the morning. As if he was going to forget this any time soon...!

Ryouta twisted his fingers inside Yukio, working his muscles hard, and said, "What do you think, Kazunari?"

"I think he's going to kill us if we don't get on with it."

"Damn right," Yukio gasped, breathless, shuddering as Ryouta curled his fingers inside him, dragging them out of him slowly. "C'mon already...!"

"All right," Kazunari said, low, and pushed himself up, leaning back against the headboard. "Be my guest."

Ryouta was all too willing to help Yukio turn over and set his hands on Yukio's hips, drawing him up onto his knees as Yukio bent over Kazunari's lap. He licked a slow line up from the base of Kazunari's cock and stroked his tongue over the head while Kazunari fanned his fingers along his jaw and groaned, low and vibrant. He slid his mouth down Kazunari's cock, swallowing him down and listening to the way Kazunari breathed his name like a prayer. Then Ryouta took his hips again, holding him for it as he slid the panties out of his way. Yukio groaned around Kazunari's cock as Ryouta sank into him, one long slide until he was buried in Yukio and he could feel the metal teeth of Ryouta's zipper pressing against his flesh. Kazunari swore, breathless, and they held like that for an endless, motionless moment, until Ryouta shuddered and rocked himself against Yukio again.

Yukio groaned, listening to the sounds they were making as Kazunari reached down, bracing his shoulders as Ryouta's thrusts shook him. He arched between them, every nerve in his body singing with the heat dancing through him. He rocked back against Ryouta, wanting more, and groaned as Ryouta answered him, letting his hips snap forward into him. Kazunari groaned too, flexing underneath Yukio's mouth, moving with the way Yukio ran his mouth up and down the length of him, sucking hard. Together, the three of them hovered at the edge of falling into sync, then found just the right rhythm—Ryouta burying himself inside Yukio, Yukio letting himself be rocked forward, taking Kazunari's cock all the way down as Kazunari rolled his hips up, and then the down stroke as they eased back from each other, trembling with the heat rolling through them. Sweat slicked Yukio's skin, made the silk cling, and the feel of it plastered against him and sliding over his cock was the layer of sensation that broke his equilibrium at last and sent him spinning headlong into the rush of orgasm. He groaned as it rippled through him, shuddering between them as he threw his head back, and he felt the hot splash of it as Kazunari followed after him, coming all over his throat and his chest.

Ryouta dug his fingers into Yukio's hips, groaning deep in his chest and grinding against him as the two of them came undone. "Fuck," he chanted, "fuck fuck fuck, oh...!"

Yukio collapsed across Kazunari's lap, letting Ryouta hold his hips up as he jerked against them, the sharp movement of them sending aftershocks shivering through his body as Ryouta pumped into him. It was all Yukio could do to breathe in that aftermath, sprawled across Kazunari's thighs, and he closed his eyes when Ryouta folded up over him, draping himself against his back and breathing hard. Kazunari moaned softly, his head tipped back against the headboard, and he dropped a hand on top of Yukio's head, patting him. "You are the very best," he said eventually, husky.

Yukio grinned without opening his eyes. "And don't you forget it."

Ryouta stirred against his back, just enough to press his lips in the space between Yukio's shoulder blades. "Never," he promised, and Yukio had no reason to doubt either of them on that score.

end

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