obstacle
Title: Obstacle
Pairing(s): Aiba/Jun, Aiba/Ryo, Aiba/Jun/Kame
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2100
Summary: AU. Aiba has always been with Jun, and he has never had to deal with anyone else trying to get into the picture—until now.
Notes: Written for
yukitsubute during the inaugural 
kitto_slutparty exchange! This was my first time pinch hitting and it wasn't actually that bad. Well! Everything is always easier when it's AU, I guess. :3 10-minute beta done by 
lysanderpuck after we had a brief conversation where I told her I was all porned out.
i.
It is twenty steps from the doorway of the hotel room to the foot of the bed, and as soon as Aiba turns the lock, he knows he’s too far away to join in now. There is a faint scuffling behind him, the slight sounds of hands on fabric, and to Aiba it sounds almost like the beginning of a war. He is on one side of the battle, forehead pressed to the cold metal of the door, counting backwards from ten as he tries to take it all in.
On the same side of Aiba’s war is Jun. in every season, there is Jun. He is there under the blankets in the winter, sliding icicle hands down the heated length of Aiba’s torso like he wants to take over the desert with snow. He is there in the kitchen during the fall, making rice with pike and mushrooms. He is there in the spring with an endless amount of cardigans and smiles when they walk through the cherry blossoms. He is there when the rain settles in for the summer, when the humidity sinks into your bones and you can’t shake it out no matter how hard you try.
It has always been the two of them, and Aiba has never had to deal with anyone else—until now.
ii.
Jun asks the worst questions when he has sex. Usually Aiba is the one who talks, but Jun says he likes that, he likes the way Aiba’s topic of conversation goes from his day at work to how fucking much he loves Jun’s fingers in his ass, yes, more, Jun, there.
“I like the way you just stop talking at the end,” Jun says. “When you lose all your words.”
But Jun is terrible. He likes to interrogate when they fuck, likes to speak around the head of Aiba’s cock when he sucks like that’s okay or something. It drives Aiba insane. He can’t say that he hates it, but sometimes Jun will run a lazy hand from the base to the tip and twist so fucking slowly while he thinks of what he’s going to say next.
“How do you feel about other people in our bed?”
This is what Jun asks tonight as he pushes into Aiba, concentrating so hard the words barely come out of his mouth. Aiba has his face in the bedsheets, panting heavily; they have been touching for hours and he doesn’t know how he’s gone on this long without bursting at the seams. He is sensitive all over, his skin on fire, and his hands are shaking.
Aiba whines and pushes back against Jun. “You’re asking now?” he says, except it takes him a full minute to say each word properly.
“Answer me.” Jun stills, hands on Aiba’s back.
Aiba shakes his head.
“Answer me.”
“You’re fucking unfair,” Aiba says harshly, and when he tries to push back again Jun holds him there, not letting him move. “You are unfair, Matsujun.”
A beat passes. Aiba honestly feels like he might die if Jun doesn’t move or touch his cock. He wonders, for the eighteenth time in their relationship, why he’s so in love with Jun, but again he comes away with the same answer: he just is.
“Okay,” Aiba finally chokes out, and Jun moves, one slow thrust to the hilt.
“Thank you,” Jun whispers in Aiba’s ear on the down take. Aiba can’t help but laugh, even now—only Jun would say thank you at a time like this.
iii.
The very first one was Kame. What Aiba remembers most about Kame is that he liked to be tied.
“Masaki,” Jun had said one night as he scrubbed down the stove, “A friend of mine will be coming over. I think you might know him from somewhere.”
Aiba hadn’t even looked up from the television. “Hm?”
“Kamenashi,” Jun had said, and Aiba finally looked up.
He did know Kame. They went to school together, the performing arts school in the city, when Aiba went for acting and Kame was there to dance. There wasn’t much you could say about Kame’s dancing except that he was okay and could use a lot more practice, but that isn’t how Aiba remembers him.
Aiba remembers Kame because of his wrists. Kame had wrists that look like they’d been spun from glass, and sometimes Aiba stared at them in class and wondered what it would be like if you tied Kame to a bed. Aiba imagined that Kame would struggle for a bit, tugging against the rope or the ties or the ribbons, and his wrists would chafe the prettiest red. Aiba imagined that Kame would whimper and mewl and ask nicely to be let go, but in the end he would just give in, and you would be able to see the flush on his chest as you held his cock in your hand—just held it there, not moving. Aiba imagined that Kame would like all of that, and at the end he would be so wound up he would scream in your ear the way he sang for their professor: out of pitch but genuine, the kind of voice that could move you but not impress you.
“How do you know him?” Aiba is hard in his pants, and he hopes Jun notices.
“Work,” Jun says. “I guess he quit dancing and started studying marketing.”
“Oh,” Aiba says. His voice is tight in his throat. “Really? Marketing? He doesn’t seem like the type.”
“He’s not very good at it,” Jun says, and his eyes flicker to the bulge in Aiba’s pants.
iv.
Here is what Kame is good at: fucking. When he comes over, Jun wastes no time in getting him to their bedroom and stripping him of every single item of clothing, even his watch. Aiba picks it up when Kame puts it down: it’s a genuine Rolex, and Aiba can see tiny diamonds in the face glinting back at him when the light catches just right.
“You’ve done nice since school, huh, Kame,” Aiba says, looking Kame’s naked body up and down. He means the watch, but then again it’s not like he used to fantasize about Kame for nothing. “I didn’t know you liked marketing.”
“I don’t,” Kame says, and his voice is the same as ever. It reminds Aiba of a doe, gentle and unassuming, with a bright laugh to even it all out.
The truth is that Kame doesn’t like his job, but he really likes Jun. Aiba can see this in the way Kame obeys. All Jun has to do is move him to the room, and Kame will take his clothes off. All Jun has to do is nod at the bed, and Kame will lie there, arms and legs outstretched, noticeably turned on and blushing in all the right places. All Jun has to do is tell Kame that he’s been a good boy, and Kame will moan on command.
It is Aiba who gets to tie Kame to the bed, and he does so straddling Kame’s chest, the tip of his cock pushing against Kame’s lips before he finally gives in and takes the whole head in his mouth. By the time Aiba has one of Jun’s cheap ties secured around Kame’s wrist, Aiba’s thighs are shaking; Kame sucks like a pro. He has his tongue flat against the slit, pressing firm before curling, and Aiba can’t even reach the other side of the bed before he’s slumped on the headboard, moaning obscenities into the pattern on the wood.
He comes all over Kame’s face, legs quivering on either side of Kame’s shoulders, gasping Jun’s name like he always does. Immediately Aiba is apologetic—poor Kame, he came here for Jun—but when he turns he sees that Jun already has his finger in Kame up to the knuckle. One, then two.
“Come here,” Jun says to Aiba, voice predatory as he jerks his chin over his shoulder. “Behind me.”
Aiba wipes a hand across his mouth. “What?”
“You’re in charge of me,” Jun says, and Kame cries out when Jun’s fingers have found their goal spot.
In the end, they never got the other tie around Kame’s left wrist.
v.
“You get to choose the next one,” Jun says a week later, when he and Aiba are sprawled on the couch, watching a magic show on television.
Aiba perks up. “Him?” He points at the MC of the show, who is a slim man with the face of a fox, all curvy lips and dark eyes.
Jun snorts. “Sorry, not him.”
But Aiba has someone in mind.
vi.
Once upon a time Jun was in love with Ryo, and Aiba knows this because sometimes when he watches Jun jerk off by himself he says it—Ryo—the name like poison on his lips, a breathy sin.
Aiba knows Jun is in love with him now. They’ve been together for years, and Jun is a ridiculously faithful person where it counts. Aiba has nothing to worry about. But there is something about having Ryo right here, buck naked on his and Jun’s bed, which makes him so very excited.
Now he is face down on the sheets, ass where Aiba wants it exactly to be, wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts with perfect ribbons. The window above the bed is shut and the curtains are drawn, but the moon is a strong nightlight and there is a streak of white across Ryo’s back, highlighting the line of his spine like a lit compass pointing north in the dark.
“Do you think,” Aiba says, “if Jun were here, he’d be jealous?”
Ryo laughs, but the sound is muffled. “He’d be so jealous,” he says.
When Aiba fucks Ryo he doesn’t do it nicely. Usually he likes to be considerate, especially with Jun—he knows it hurts a lot for Jun and he has to take his time, kiss Jun’s neck, wait a few seconds between each push and pull until Jun gets used to it. But he has a feeling that Ryo doesn’t play that way, and when he palms Ryo’s cock he can tell that he was right from the beginning. Aiba takes that as encouragement. He likes the cat-like sounds Ryo makes, and he likes the arch of his compass-spine in the moonlight, the way he rocks to meet Aiba, the slapping sound Aiba’s balls make when they hit the back of Ryo’s thighs.
It is all over before Jun gets home from work. Aiba unties Ryo and rubs his wrists until the redness goes away.
“Thanks for this,” he says, and points to the bathroom. “You can shower.”
Ryo stands.
“Oh,” Aiba says, almost forgetting. “And turn off the video camera, please!”
vii.
When Jun finally gets to watch the video, Aiba narrates every scene to him from beginning to end, describing in perfect detail every little whine Ryo made when Aiba pressed against him, all the dirty things they said to each other.
“And when I came,” Aiba says, each word out of his mouth like a quiet gunshot, “I screamed your name.”
He has his hand in Jun’s pants in a second, and Jun is so hard Aiba imagines it must hurt. One, two, three quick strokes later and Jun is gone, gone, gone.
viii.
It’s the end of the line for Ryo, but Kame keeps calling.
“I told him it was a one-time thing,” Jun complains when his cell phone rings again. He tosses it on another couch cushion and lets the melody of his ringtone play out. “I can’t block his number, either, it’s a work phone.”
Aiba is quiet. It is fall now, and he is washing the plates from dinner. It still smells like chestnuts in the kitchen. “Matsujun,” he says.
Jun sits up and smiles. “Yeah?”
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all, Aiba wants to say. Maybe Kame is serious.
But he just waves a plate in the air. “Come dry these,” he says.
ix.
A week later, Jun tells Aiba that they’re to meet Kame one last time.
“It’s nothing,” Jun says quickly. “It’ll be at a hotel. I don’t know, he just—look, Masaki, it’ll be the last time.”
Aiba pulls the covers up to his chin. “The first time was supposed to be the last time.”
For a while, the room is silent. Aiba watches Jun think, watches how his eyebrows meet together and jump back again and how his mouth gradually curves downwards, a sinking pink line.
He reaches out and touches the crease in Jun’s forehead. Immediately, he relaxes.
“Don’t worry about it,” Aiba says, and leans forward to kiss Jun’s bottom lip. “It’ll take care of itself.”
x.
Aiba figures it’s just that Kame doesn’t know who’s in charge here. Contrary to what he thinks, it’s not Jun. And if he thinks he can just push past through Aiba to get to the other side, he has the wrong idea entirely.
“Matsujun,” Aiba says once he reaches the bed, and Jun moves.
A long time ago, Aiba imagined what it would be like for him to have his way with Kame. Now he’s about to find out.
“This time we’ll tie you up the right way,” Aiba says, and settles himself on Kame’s stomach, legs firmly locking him in. “You’ll like it, I promise.”
And you’ll never want to come back for more.
Pairing(s): Aiba/Jun, Aiba/Ryo, Aiba/Jun/Kame
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2100
Summary: AU. Aiba has always been with Jun, and he has never had to deal with anyone else trying to get into the picture—until now.
Notes: Written for
yukitsubute during the inaugural kitto_slutparty exchange! This was my first time pinch hitting and it wasn't actually that bad. Well! Everything is always easier when it's AU, I guess. :3 10-minute beta done by lysanderpuck after we had a brief conversation where I told her I was all porned out.i.
It is twenty steps from the doorway of the hotel room to the foot of the bed, and as soon as Aiba turns the lock, he knows he’s too far away to join in now. There is a faint scuffling behind him, the slight sounds of hands on fabric, and to Aiba it sounds almost like the beginning of a war. He is on one side of the battle, forehead pressed to the cold metal of the door, counting backwards from ten as he tries to take it all in.
On the same side of Aiba’s war is Jun. in every season, there is Jun. He is there under the blankets in the winter, sliding icicle hands down the heated length of Aiba’s torso like he wants to take over the desert with snow. He is there in the kitchen during the fall, making rice with pike and mushrooms. He is there in the spring with an endless amount of cardigans and smiles when they walk through the cherry blossoms. He is there when the rain settles in for the summer, when the humidity sinks into your bones and you can’t shake it out no matter how hard you try.
It has always been the two of them, and Aiba has never had to deal with anyone else—until now.
ii.
Jun asks the worst questions when he has sex. Usually Aiba is the one who talks, but Jun says he likes that, he likes the way Aiba’s topic of conversation goes from his day at work to how fucking much he loves Jun’s fingers in his ass, yes, more, Jun, there.
“I like the way you just stop talking at the end,” Jun says. “When you lose all your words.”
But Jun is terrible. He likes to interrogate when they fuck, likes to speak around the head of Aiba’s cock when he sucks like that’s okay or something. It drives Aiba insane. He can’t say that he hates it, but sometimes Jun will run a lazy hand from the base to the tip and twist so fucking slowly while he thinks of what he’s going to say next.
“How do you feel about other people in our bed?”
This is what Jun asks tonight as he pushes into Aiba, concentrating so hard the words barely come out of his mouth. Aiba has his face in the bedsheets, panting heavily; they have been touching for hours and he doesn’t know how he’s gone on this long without bursting at the seams. He is sensitive all over, his skin on fire, and his hands are shaking.
Aiba whines and pushes back against Jun. “You’re asking now?” he says, except it takes him a full minute to say each word properly.
“Answer me.” Jun stills, hands on Aiba’s back.
Aiba shakes his head.
“Answer me.”
“You’re fucking unfair,” Aiba says harshly, and when he tries to push back again Jun holds him there, not letting him move. “You are unfair, Matsujun.”
A beat passes. Aiba honestly feels like he might die if Jun doesn’t move or touch his cock. He wonders, for the eighteenth time in their relationship, why he’s so in love with Jun, but again he comes away with the same answer: he just is.
“Okay,” Aiba finally chokes out, and Jun moves, one slow thrust to the hilt.
“Thank you,” Jun whispers in Aiba’s ear on the down take. Aiba can’t help but laugh, even now—only Jun would say thank you at a time like this.
iii.
The very first one was Kame. What Aiba remembers most about Kame is that he liked to be tied.
“Masaki,” Jun had said one night as he scrubbed down the stove, “A friend of mine will be coming over. I think you might know him from somewhere.”
Aiba hadn’t even looked up from the television. “Hm?”
“Kamenashi,” Jun had said, and Aiba finally looked up.
He did know Kame. They went to school together, the performing arts school in the city, when Aiba went for acting and Kame was there to dance. There wasn’t much you could say about Kame’s dancing except that he was okay and could use a lot more practice, but that isn’t how Aiba remembers him.
Aiba remembers Kame because of his wrists. Kame had wrists that look like they’d been spun from glass, and sometimes Aiba stared at them in class and wondered what it would be like if you tied Kame to a bed. Aiba imagined that Kame would struggle for a bit, tugging against the rope or the ties or the ribbons, and his wrists would chafe the prettiest red. Aiba imagined that Kame would whimper and mewl and ask nicely to be let go, but in the end he would just give in, and you would be able to see the flush on his chest as you held his cock in your hand—just held it there, not moving. Aiba imagined that Kame would like all of that, and at the end he would be so wound up he would scream in your ear the way he sang for their professor: out of pitch but genuine, the kind of voice that could move you but not impress you.
“How do you know him?” Aiba is hard in his pants, and he hopes Jun notices.
“Work,” Jun says. “I guess he quit dancing and started studying marketing.”
“Oh,” Aiba says. His voice is tight in his throat. “Really? Marketing? He doesn’t seem like the type.”
“He’s not very good at it,” Jun says, and his eyes flicker to the bulge in Aiba’s pants.
iv.
Here is what Kame is good at: fucking. When he comes over, Jun wastes no time in getting him to their bedroom and stripping him of every single item of clothing, even his watch. Aiba picks it up when Kame puts it down: it’s a genuine Rolex, and Aiba can see tiny diamonds in the face glinting back at him when the light catches just right.
“You’ve done nice since school, huh, Kame,” Aiba says, looking Kame’s naked body up and down. He means the watch, but then again it’s not like he used to fantasize about Kame for nothing. “I didn’t know you liked marketing.”
“I don’t,” Kame says, and his voice is the same as ever. It reminds Aiba of a doe, gentle and unassuming, with a bright laugh to even it all out.
The truth is that Kame doesn’t like his job, but he really likes Jun. Aiba can see this in the way Kame obeys. All Jun has to do is move him to the room, and Kame will take his clothes off. All Jun has to do is nod at the bed, and Kame will lie there, arms and legs outstretched, noticeably turned on and blushing in all the right places. All Jun has to do is tell Kame that he’s been a good boy, and Kame will moan on command.
It is Aiba who gets to tie Kame to the bed, and he does so straddling Kame’s chest, the tip of his cock pushing against Kame’s lips before he finally gives in and takes the whole head in his mouth. By the time Aiba has one of Jun’s cheap ties secured around Kame’s wrist, Aiba’s thighs are shaking; Kame sucks like a pro. He has his tongue flat against the slit, pressing firm before curling, and Aiba can’t even reach the other side of the bed before he’s slumped on the headboard, moaning obscenities into the pattern on the wood.
He comes all over Kame’s face, legs quivering on either side of Kame’s shoulders, gasping Jun’s name like he always does. Immediately Aiba is apologetic—poor Kame, he came here for Jun—but when he turns he sees that Jun already has his finger in Kame up to the knuckle. One, then two.
“Come here,” Jun says to Aiba, voice predatory as he jerks his chin over his shoulder. “Behind me.”
Aiba wipes a hand across his mouth. “What?”
“You’re in charge of me,” Jun says, and Kame cries out when Jun’s fingers have found their goal spot.
In the end, they never got the other tie around Kame’s left wrist.
v.
“You get to choose the next one,” Jun says a week later, when he and Aiba are sprawled on the couch, watching a magic show on television.
Aiba perks up. “Him?” He points at the MC of the show, who is a slim man with the face of a fox, all curvy lips and dark eyes.
Jun snorts. “Sorry, not him.”
But Aiba has someone in mind.
vi.
Once upon a time Jun was in love with Ryo, and Aiba knows this because sometimes when he watches Jun jerk off by himself he says it—Ryo—the name like poison on his lips, a breathy sin.
Aiba knows Jun is in love with him now. They’ve been together for years, and Jun is a ridiculously faithful person where it counts. Aiba has nothing to worry about. But there is something about having Ryo right here, buck naked on his and Jun’s bed, which makes him so very excited.
Now he is face down on the sheets, ass where Aiba wants it exactly to be, wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts with perfect ribbons. The window above the bed is shut and the curtains are drawn, but the moon is a strong nightlight and there is a streak of white across Ryo’s back, highlighting the line of his spine like a lit compass pointing north in the dark.
“Do you think,” Aiba says, “if Jun were here, he’d be jealous?”
Ryo laughs, but the sound is muffled. “He’d be so jealous,” he says.
When Aiba fucks Ryo he doesn’t do it nicely. Usually he likes to be considerate, especially with Jun—he knows it hurts a lot for Jun and he has to take his time, kiss Jun’s neck, wait a few seconds between each push and pull until Jun gets used to it. But he has a feeling that Ryo doesn’t play that way, and when he palms Ryo’s cock he can tell that he was right from the beginning. Aiba takes that as encouragement. He likes the cat-like sounds Ryo makes, and he likes the arch of his compass-spine in the moonlight, the way he rocks to meet Aiba, the slapping sound Aiba’s balls make when they hit the back of Ryo’s thighs.
It is all over before Jun gets home from work. Aiba unties Ryo and rubs his wrists until the redness goes away.
“Thanks for this,” he says, and points to the bathroom. “You can shower.”
Ryo stands.
“Oh,” Aiba says, almost forgetting. “And turn off the video camera, please!”
vii.
When Jun finally gets to watch the video, Aiba narrates every scene to him from beginning to end, describing in perfect detail every little whine Ryo made when Aiba pressed against him, all the dirty things they said to each other.
“And when I came,” Aiba says, each word out of his mouth like a quiet gunshot, “I screamed your name.”
He has his hand in Jun’s pants in a second, and Jun is so hard Aiba imagines it must hurt. One, two, three quick strokes later and Jun is gone, gone, gone.
viii.
It’s the end of the line for Ryo, but Kame keeps calling.
“I told him it was a one-time thing,” Jun complains when his cell phone rings again. He tosses it on another couch cushion and lets the melody of his ringtone play out. “I can’t block his number, either, it’s a work phone.”
Aiba is quiet. It is fall now, and he is washing the plates from dinner. It still smells like chestnuts in the kitchen. “Matsujun,” he says.
Jun sits up and smiles. “Yeah?”
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all, Aiba wants to say. Maybe Kame is serious.
But he just waves a plate in the air. “Come dry these,” he says.
ix.
A week later, Jun tells Aiba that they’re to meet Kame one last time.
“It’s nothing,” Jun says quickly. “It’ll be at a hotel. I don’t know, he just—look, Masaki, it’ll be the last time.”
Aiba pulls the covers up to his chin. “The first time was supposed to be the last time.”
For a while, the room is silent. Aiba watches Jun think, watches how his eyebrows meet together and jump back again and how his mouth gradually curves downwards, a sinking pink line.
He reaches out and touches the crease in Jun’s forehead. Immediately, he relaxes.
“Don’t worry about it,” Aiba says, and leans forward to kiss Jun’s bottom lip. “It’ll take care of itself.”
x.
Aiba figures it’s just that Kame doesn’t know who’s in charge here. Contrary to what he thinks, it’s not Jun. And if he thinks he can just push past through Aiba to get to the other side, he has the wrong idea entirely.
“Matsujun,” Aiba says once he reaches the bed, and Jun moves.
A long time ago, Aiba imagined what it would be like for him to have his way with Kame. Now he’s about to find out.
“This time we’ll tie you up the right way,” Aiba says, and settles himself on Kame’s stomach, legs firmly locking him in. “You’ll like it, I promise.”
And you’ll never want to come back for more.