JE, A Series of Badly Taken Turns

Title: A Series of Badly Taken Turns [Kitayama/Hashimoto/Totsuka]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 and Hasshi is still jailbait until NEXT summer even.
Summary: After the Paraguay/Uruguay World Cup match, Totsuka and Hashimoto abuse Kitayama’s couch until he makes demands of his own.
AN: So about a hundred years ago, Kira posted fic where Kitayama/Totsuka/Hashimoto watch the World Cup together on je100, and then I tried to write this in response, only…then six months went by lol. but now it’s finished! So here you are. Also I think somebody asked for this on the Kink Meme.

A Series of Badly Taken Turns

It seems like a kind of miracle, Totsuka thinks, but for the moment, it’s peaceful.

Kitayama’s curled against the opposite armrest of his couch, out cold since halftime. He doesn’t really care anything for either Paraguay or Uruguay, so Totsuka didn’t bother waking him back up after halftime. Kitayama’s sleeping face is cute enough, he supposes, and he sees it rarely enough these days, the way his chest rises and falls easily and his hands fist and relax every now and then.

Curled up against his other side, Hashimoto seems to have dozed off himself since the game ended. His head’s a bit heavy on Totsuka’s shoulder but he’s warm and pliant otherwise, arms around Totsuka’s waist like Totsuka’s a favorite stuffed animal. Totsuka feels too lazy to get up just yet, or even hunt for something more watchable, so instead he flips the television off and just enjoys the silence.

His eyes are just starting to feel heavy when Hashimoto shifts, and the next thing Totsuka knows, there’s someone nosing at the hollow of his throat.

“Not asleep, then?” Totsuka asks, tipping his head back. Not that he’s trying to encourage Hashimoto or anything, but it’s possible that the hollow of his throat happens to be a weak spot.

“No.” Lips replace Hashimoto’s nose, the touch still warm and soft. “Ne, I like Tottsu.”

A very weak spot. “This isn’t my couch, Hasshi.” It’s Kitayama’s actually, his mother away for the weekend on a trip with girlfriends from work, and it’s only fair, Kitayama had said, since Totsuka had them over the last game. He hadn’t expected cooperation on Kitayama’s part where Hashimoto was concerned, but wouldn’t you know, sometimes even Kisumai can surprise him still.

“Kitayama-kun’s asleep, though.” Hashimoto shifts, his warmth sliding along Totsuka’s side until it’s actually in his lap. With his head still tilted back he’s got more than a good enough view of the way Hashimoto looks down at him, brown-eyed and full of like, cheekbones sharper than they have any business being, hair falling around them more softly. “His losses. I can be quiet.”

Totsuka can’t help the smile, can’t help reaching up to cup Hashimoto’s face or thumb his cheekbones either. “You can not.” He runs his fingers up farther, into Hashimoto’s soft, touchable hair, making Hashimoto’s eyes slit in pleasure.

“Can,” he insists, voice breathy with either want or misplaced stealth, it doesn’t matter which. “Gocchi’s been making sure it, for when we have to share again. Tsuka-chan’s helping.”

That explanation could mean any number of things, and Totsuka feels too lazy to bother parsing it at this particular moment. “Of course he is,” he says instead, encompassing in a single statement both Goseki’s idea of proper unit training and Tsukada’s unearthly stamina, rather pithily if he says so himself. He slides one hand down to stroke the bump at the top of Hashimoto’s spine. “You’re a terrible kouhai.”

“The best kouhai,” Hashimoto corrects, then leans down to brush his mouth along Totsuka’s, the touch just as soft and warm as it was on his throat.

It’s nice to have Hashimoto not in a rush for once, for it not to be a race or a competition or a series of badly taken turns. Hashimoto’s arms curl around Totsuka’s neck and he kisses him slow and sure, leaving Totsuka all the time in the world to stroke down Hashimoto’s back or through his hair or anywhere else he pleases. It’s easy, so easy, to give in to Hashimoto’s sweet, coaxing advances, to let him do all the exploring so that when he lifts his head eventually, it takes Totsuka a long moment to get his bearings back. Eventually his vision clears and he finds Hashimoto smiling down at him, knowing and soft-edged and proud.

“I learned that from Kawai, though,” he says by way of explanation.

Something rolls in Totsuka’s chest, warm and strange as the ocean, and it takes a little effort to make sure that all that comes out of his mouth is, “What am I to do with you?”

“Mmm,” Hashimoto lets their noses brush, serious and happy, “whatever Tottsu wants with me, a’course.”

“Stupid, stupid kouhai,” Totsuka sighs and pulls Hashimoto down for a fiercer kiss with no little possession in it, and things get a bit more serious after that.

Hashimoto gets rid of his own shirt fast enough, and then somehow magics Totsuka’s away as well, leaving him all newly-filled-out muscle in Totsuka’s arms, and when Hashimoto shifts to slide all of his skin along all of Totsuka’s, even Totsuka can’t swallow his soft groan. Then Hashimoto slips off of his lap suddenly, making Totsuka blink.

It isn’t even for anything good; when he glances down, Hashimoto’s kneeling next to his bag, unzipping the pocket with the cranky charizard on it. When he holds up a handful of condoms without looking and waves them a bit impatiently for Totsuka to take, Totsuka can’t help but feel a sort of empathy with the charizard.

“I wish you wouldn’t carry that stuff around in your bag,” Totsuka admonishes as Hashimoto turns up the lube and stands to fiddle with the buttons of his jeans.

“I wouldn’t,” Hashimoto explains with a little sigh, “if you senpai could be trusted like you’re supposed to.” And then Totsuka decides it’s probably best if Hashimoto is kept too busy to say much more.

Divested of his pants and everything else, Hashimoto climbs back into Totsuka’s lap like he belongs there, face tilted up for kisses he clearly feels are his due. Totsuka indulges him, letting him take whatever he wants since he’s busy himself slicking his fingers without getting lube all over the Kitayamas’ couch. Hashimoto’s kiss hitches but doesn’t break when Totsuka slides the first finger in, and Hashimoto pushes back against it almost immediately, a clear plea for more. He does pull away on a gasp when Totsuka slides in the second, and Totsuka feels the usual bubble of self-satisfaction when Hashimoto gets exactly what he asked for.

“This is a terrible idea,” he murmurs while his mouth is free to do so, not bothering to add that the only worse possible idea is moving to Kitayama’s bed without him.

“Tottsu’s idea are never terrible,” Hashimoto assures, forehead pressed against Totsuka’s and eyes closed while he works his body into accepting Totsuka’s intrusion. “And mine are always genius, so…”

“Like curry for lunch during the White Day photoshoot?”

Hashimoto cracks an eye. “They had to take all our clothes to be cleaned, right? See, genius.”

“Stop talking,” Totsuka pleads, voice cracking on laughter, because it had been a little bit genius, Kawai taking a verbal beating from the costuming lady when they sent him out with their no-longer-snowflake-white outfits and barely making it back inside before Goseki locked the door and ordered Tsukada on his knees in front of it as a barricade.

Hashimoto’s grin says he isn’t fooled by Totsuka’s stern senpai routine one bit. “Make me.” Taking that as a personal challenge, Totsuka does exactly that, yanking Hashimoto’s head down to kiss him breathless, and when that becomes troublesome because of the height difference and his fingers still stretching Hashimoto, he moves down to nipping at Hashimoto’s throat and collarbones, making Hashimoto writhe against him, his cock pressing against Totsuka’s belly. “Mm, more, Tottsu,” and when Totsuka doesn’t comply quickly enough, a touch of whine creeps into Hashimoto’s, “Hurry up, more.”

“Geez, no wonder he’s so spoiled,” Kitayama’s voice interrupts, and Totsuka turns his head to find Kitayama watching them, one eyebrow raised. “Can’t a guy take a nap without somebody fucking jailbait on his couch?”

“Hey,” Hashimoto comments unnecessarily, “Kitayama-kun woke up.”

“Apologies, Hiromitsu,” Totsuka says, trying to gauge in the dim light which thing Kitayama is actually annoyed about, if either. “Hasshi got bored. I thought it unwise to relocate to your bed without including you.”

“You thought right,” Kitayama says, but his eyes are on Hashimoto when Totsuka crooks his fingers, making Hashimoto’s back arch in a clean line.

“You could play too?” Hashimoto offers, so predictable. “I don’t mind sharing Tottsu~.”

His beguiling kouhai grin cuts off when Kitayama sits up on his knees suddenly, growls, “Brat, on what planet are you sharing with me? I’m sharing with you,” and then leans in to crush his mouth against Totsuka’s.

It’s unyielding and possessive, Kitayama pressing Totsuka’s head against the back of the couch and dominating him with casual familiarity, making want wash hot down Totsuka’s spine. The disgruntled noise Hashimoto gives is no doubt at least in part because, settled as he is on Totsuka’s lap, there’s no way he can’t feel Totsuka’s spike of interest.

“Mm,” Totsuka hums when Kitayama pulls back, and when he opens his eyes, he finds Kitayama examining him and looking smug at his handiwork. “Share and share alike, I always say. Shall we retire to your lair, Hiromitsu?”

“Actually,” Kitayama’s hand brushes over the back of Totsuka’s, and Hashimoto hisses as he slides a finger in alongside Totsuka’s, “I think things are going well enough right where we are.”

“Hey,” Hashimoto tries to get in a word edgewise, fingers digging tighter into Totsuka’s shoulders as he rocks against their fingers. “Hey!”

Kitayama summarily ignores him and steals another kiss from Totsuka. It seems lazy, casually domineering, until the sudden curl of his fingers makes Hashimoto jerk against Totsuka and give a curse that he definitely learned from Kawai. Still Kitayama takes his time about it, not pulling back until Totsuka’s lower lip is puffing up from the sharp edge of his eyeteeth, until Hashimoto’s panting, each breath ending on a whine.

The whine gets a lot louder when Kitayama pulls his hand away, curling his fingers around Totsuka’s wrist to tug him out from Hashimoto as well.

“Hush, you,” Kitayama says, giving Hashimoto a dismissive sort of once-over. “And get up.”

Hashimoto gives Totsuka an indignant pout; Kitayama rolls his eyes.

“He can’t very well get his pants off like that, can he?” Kitayama asks, standing up to take care of that himself without waiting for a response.

Hashimoto is still watching Totsuka, looking torn, like he doesn’t want to admit that Kitayama is 100% right. “Ne,” he asks, “Tottsu, am I spoiled?”

“Entirely,” Totsuka chuckles, stroking down Hashimoto’s spine with the hand that isn’t covered in lube, as if smoothing flat Hashimoto’s raised hackles. “But it’s a situation of our own making, so not to worry. It’s cute enough, at times.”

“At these times?” Hashimoto wants to know, and Totsuka lets him steal a quick kiss as a reply. Mollified, Hashimoto climbs off Totsuka and to his feet, and then just stands over him, waiting for Totsuka to get on with it already.

“Are you really worth this?” Kitayama wants to know as he finishes dropping the last of his clothing onto a little heap. He gives Hashimoto a slower up-and-down this time, arms folded as if he’s considering. Totsuka reads easily the flash of Kitayama’s eyes that means really it’s just an excuse to enjoy the view, and his amusement doubles when the subtleties of the situation are entirely lost on Hashimoto.

“‘Course I am!” Hashimoto says firmly, hands on his hips, stance putting everything on display quite clearly. Totsuka swallows a joke about grocery fruit displays and squeezing the melons, and both Kitayama and Hashimoto look at him when he laughs at it anyway.

“Pants, Shota,” Kitayama scolds in mild exasperation, sparing him a glance that makes Totsuka just a hair jealous of the more thorough attention Hashimoto’s getting from him. “Well,” Kitayama uses the knuckle of his pointer finger to draw a slow line from the hollow of Hashimoto’s throat down to his navel, “at least you’re easier on the eyes than most of your unit.”

“Hiromitsu,” Totsuka cautions as he eases his pants and underwear off without looking, not sure what the pair of them might get up to if he takes his eyes off them for long enough even to fold his things properly.

“I said most of.”

“We make it up in flexible,” Hashimoto informs Kitayama, then hisses his next breath when Kitayama curls a hand tight around his cock.

“And other things,” Kitayama remarks, but what should be a compliment sounds arch in Kitayama’s mouth. Hashimoto looks down at him through lowered eyelashes, and Kitayama looks up, raised eyebrow a dare.

Totsuka bursts out laughing.

“Shota, what the hell?” Kitayama demands, the tension that had been thick between them fizzling out like cheap birthday candles. Hashimoto looks similarly disgruntled, especially when Kitayama lets go of him.

“You two,” Totsuka just laughs harder, curling up. It takes a couple seconds for the hilarity to pass enough for him to explain. “You two are completely absurd.”

Kitayama and Hashimoto look at each other, then turn back to Totsuka and both give him a look which plainly says that he’s absurd if he thinks the other is worth fucking, and that sets Totsuka off all over again.

“Look, look,” Totsuka manages when he has some breath back. “Not that I mind you two competing over me, quaint as it is, but if you could see a centimeter in front of your noses, I wouldn’t be able to pry you two apart with a crowbar. Hasshi, it’s the worst-kept secret in the Jimusho that you’re easier than energy jelly for a strong, well-endowed senpai, and Hiromitsu can go longest out of anybody in Ebikisu.”

Hashimoto gives Kitayama a dubious once-over, but Totsuka can already see heat re-kindling in those brown eyes, while Kitayama splutters, “In Ebi—”

“And Hiromitsu,” Totsuka interrupts smoothly, “you are the laziest bastard on this whole green earth. Shouldn’t you be taking advantage of the fact that there’s an energetic, classically-trained kouhai standing right in front of you, ready and willing to do anything a senpai asks, who couldn’t keep still if his life depended on it?”

“Yara says,” Hashimoto puts in with a touch of sulk, “that if I don’t fix my freezes my life will depend on it.”

“You two,” Totsuka repeats, “pardon my language, should be fucking like weasels. Sexually frustrated weasels on a weasel ship who haven’t seen she-weasels in weeks.”

“But…” Hashimoto starts.

“Weasels in weasel prison—”

“Stop saying weasel!” Kitayama roars, which for some reason makes Totsuka laugh again, and then Hashimoto starts giggling as well, shooting little looks between Totsuka and Kitayama while he tries to paste back on his frown and fails miserably at it. Totsuka can see that Hashimoto is already won over, but Kitayama is still all raised eyebrows as Hashimoto inches a little closer.

“Ne,” Hashimoto asks, “the longest? Really?”

“Well, it’s not like we have contests,” Kitayama glances at Totsuka (I see what you’re doing), “officially.”

“He can,” Totsuka answers firmly. “What’s the matter, Hiromitsu, has it been so long since you’ve had a proper kouhai that you don’t remember what to do with one?” It’s a fair question, he thinks as he gives Kitayama a sharp grin, with kouhai like Nikaido and Senga and even Tamamori some days. Not that they don’t have their uses.

“I know what to do with kouhai,” Kitayama growls, looking away from Totsuka just in time to see the shiver run through Hashimoto and his eyes darken. “Hn. Anything a senpai asks?”

“Anything I want to.” Hashimoto edges closer.

That means anything, Totsuka opens his mouth to say, then closes it, deciding to wait and see whether they’ll work out the rest on their own.

For a second, it seems like they really won’t, but then Kitayama reaches up to fist a hand in Hashimoto’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss. Kitayama kisses Hashimoto like he’s taking him out for a test-drive, and Totsuka swallows a soft moan as he watches the flashes of tongue and the way Hashimoto is already leaning into Kitayama.

When Kitayama pulls back, his cheeks are starting to flush and the look of consideration is all for show. “When you say he’s classically trained…”

“Tackey-senpai would’ve taught you too if you hadn’t joined so late,” Hashimoto says, half-tease and half-scold, like Kitayama is the errant kouhai here, and suddenly Totsuka’s had more than enough of the fooling around.

“Bed, Hiromitsu,” he says, standing up and stretching as if it’s casual while putting a touch of iron in the words. “Unless you want me start making height jokes.”

“No wonder at all who taught you to be spoiled,” Kitayama murmurs, but he leaves off Hashimoto long enough to lead them to his room after all, Hashimoto following like a long-limbed, willing puppy.

Totsuka has serious concerns about whether Kitayama’s bed is at all big enough for this situation, but he supposes they’ll just have to be creative.

“Any thoughts, Hiromitsu?” he asks, feeling generous enough to consider suggestions.

“Him in the middle,” Kitayama says, surprising Totsuka enough to look back over his shoulder. “You on your back. No arguments,” he informs Hashimoto, who had been opening his mouth but now shuts it with a snap, and perhaps Kitayama’s figured him out well enough already. “My bed, my rules.”

“You like the middle,” Totsuka reminds when Hashimoto makes a mutinous noise, knowing full well that Hashimoto’s just grumpy he can’t claim it as his idea this time around. Without waiting for further argument, Totsuka drops onto Kitayama’s bed as ordered, hissing a little as the coolness of the blankets against his over-warm skin.

He stretches himself out with a little sigh, making it seem casual, but he knows exactly what it looks like, knows Kitayama isn’t fooled when he opens his eyes and they meet the brown of Kitayama’s, dark with approval as the sight of Totsuka pale and willing against his sheets.

“Wow,” Hashimoto says, adorably blunt with his compliments, and Totsuka tilts his head to catch Hashimoto’s gaze as well. There’s no subtlety at all about the way Hashimoto’s eyes run over Totsuka’s skin, full of want and like.

Totsuka wonders maybe if having both of them at once might just kill him. Greedy, he chides himself, then orders Hashimoto over with a light, “Come here.”

The heat of Hashimoto’s skin makes Totsuka gasp after the coolness of the sheets, delayed gratification making him burn hotter than even his usual elevated temperature. Hashimoto’s mouth finds his like a homing missile , the kiss wet and rough, the tip of Hashimoto’s cock wet where it’s rubbing against Totsuka’s belly.

Totsuka feels the bed dip when Kitayama climbs up on to the end of it, mildly surprised that he doesn’t interrupt immediately but hardly focusing on that thought with the way that Hashimoto is making greedy noises against his mouth and tugging rough fingers through his hair.

“Oh,” Hashimoto says suddenly, and for a second everything is disorientation for Totsuka as a slick hand grabs the base of his own cock, and then tight heat sinks down onto him, Hashimoto breaking the kiss as he pushes himself up to sink down the rest of the way. When Totsuka’s vision refocuses, Hashimoto is blinking down at him and squeezing around him with muscles that are absolutely illegal as he shivers. Kitayama’s fingers are on Hashimoto’s hips, holding him still, Kitayama up on his knees so that he can keep an eye on Totsuka over Hashimoto’s shoulder.

“Got your attention?” Kitayama asks, and Totsuka opens his mouth to ask which he means, but then all the air rushes out of his chest on a groan when Kitayama tugs Hashimoto up and then shoves him back down.

“Oh,” Hashimoto agrees, squeezing his eyes shut and tipping his head back, in complete agreement with the roughness of Kitayama’s touch. “Yeah, oh, please…”

It’s almost comic the way his eyes pop back open suddenly when Kitayama pulls him up, off Totsuka entirely, then gives him a shove between the shoulder blades that pushes him forward. Hashimoto’s fingers scrabble at Totsuka’s chest as Kitayama slides into him instead, voice a low growl of approval, and Totsuka takes Hashimoto’s wrists and forces them up to grab the blankets on either side of his head instead.

Marks, you know. Takizawa does like them shirtless more often than not.

“God, you’re just begging for it,” Kitayama says in spite of himself, and Totsuka knows exactly what he means, exactly what it’s like to have Hashimoto’s body wrap tight around you and try to drag you in deeper every breath. His own cock throbs jealously, but Totsuka ignores it in favor of reaching up to brush the hair away from Hashimoto’s eyes and make sure Hashimoto’s desperate noises aren’t anything to worry about.

“Okay?” he asks. Hashimoto rubs his cheek against Totsuka’s palm like a cat and moans softly, eyes still squeezed shut, and the little knot of concern in Totsuka’s chest dissolves. He can imagine it himself easily, knows intimately the size and feel of Kitayama inside of him, and Totsuka gives an echoing groan at even the thought of it, especially when he can feel the flex of Hashimoto’s thighs as he shoves himself back against Kitayama with the slap of skin on skin.

Before Totsuka can think to do anything about it, though, there’s another irritated whine from Hashimoto, and when he’s pushed back down onto Totsuka instead, suddenly Totsuka understands exactly what Kitayama’s game is.

“Hey,” Hashimoto protests, obviously having caught on as well, but he can barely get words out around his pants for air, “Hey!”

It’s a glorious, terrible tease, Kitayama only letting either one of them fuck Hashimoto long enough to drive him to distraction before switching again, not nearly enough to get him off, the constant switch of angles holding him close to the edge. Hashimoto moans and begs brokenly as they pass him back and forth like a cigarette, sweat soaking his hair and skin flushed pink all the way down. Kitayama varies the length of their turns so Hashimoto can’t even start to adjust, sometimes switching after only half a dozen thrusts, other times leaving him go long enough that Totsuka’s afraid it’ll be him that ends the game after all, especially when Kitayama drops a hand during his turn to work Totsuka’s cock as well. Kitayama’s fist is hardly comparable to fucking up into Hashimoto, but he does a thing with his thumb and wrist that’s nearly as distracting in its own way.

“Please, Tottsu,” Hashimoto finally sobs, dropping his forehead against Totsuka’s collarbone and shivering from head to foot, “I can’t, I need, please.”

He certainly held out much longer than Totsuka would have guessed, at any rate.

“Up,” Totsuka commands, and Hashimoto gives a distressed wail before Totsuka shushes him. “Let Hiromitsu feel you, it’s only fair.”

“Too easy, Shota,” Kitayama says, but his voice is strained and hoarse, and the use of Totsuka’s given name means he’s close as well. As he pushes back in and finds his rhythm, Totsuka works a hand down to close around Hashimoto’s length. It jumps against his fingers as soon as he touches it, tacky with the precome that’s been dripping onto Totsuka’s stomach.

Hashimoto chokes on something that might be his name, or anybody’s, digs his knees in on either side of Totsuka’s thighs and then comes a ridiculous amount all over both of them.

“Fuck,” Kitayama mutters, but Totsuka hears it loud and clear even over Hashimoto’s breathless sobs.

He’s more than a little surprised when Kitayama rolls Hashimoto off to the side to reveal that he has not come, cock pulling up tight enough that it’s nearly flush with his stomach. Totsuka licks his lips without meaning to, and Kitayama’s eyes flash heat lightning.

“Let me,” he orders, and Totsuka spreads his legs without a second thought.

He’s not prepared at all, and Hashimoto definitely needs attention after a thing like that, but Totsuka can’t be bothered with any of that as Kitayama crawls over top of him and lines up, and anyway it’s not going to take long at all.

Kitayama goes slow, he wouldn’t forget himself that much in any circumstances, but it burns, the pressure and stretch of it stinging enough to make tears gather at the corner of his eyes, even as it feels good, so turned on that he can’t tell the difference at all.

“Hey,” Hashimoto protests from the side, confused and obviously worried. “You shouldn’t—”

“Don’t stop,” Totsuka cuts off Hashimoto’s complaint, but he swipes a hand across the bunched sheets until it hits one of Hashimoto’s, laces their fingers tight together so he can squeeze, all the comfort he can give or take at the moment. “Fuck, Hiromitsu, don’t stop or I’ll kill you.”

“Got it,” Kitayama grunts, braced above Totsuka with his eyes shut and jaw clenched, concentrating on either coming or not coming, Totsuka’s not sure which. He draws out a little, pushes back in, and both of them give raw, desperate noises. “Can’t reach you,” Kitayama warns, and Totsuka growls in frustration because he can’t get off this way and he can’t get any of his limbs to do what he wants.

But then the soft brush of lips against his temple makes Totsuka’s eyes snap open, and a hand closes around his cock, gloriously strong and lube-slick.

“I’ve got you,” Hashimoto says, confident and determined, and Totsuka can only give a little sob of relief before Kitayama’s next thrust makes the edges of his vision go fuzzy. He’s gone after only another few seconds, no choice but to trust Hashimoto at his word as he falls apart.

It feels like he’s trying to claw his way back from unconsciousness, but when he forces his eyes open it must be less than a minute later, because Kitayama is still over top of him, braced on his hands with slow drops of sweat working their way over his muscles. Totsuka can’t help but admire the strength of Kitayama’s arms and shoulders, strong enough to carry six other people at least. When he reaches up to brush fingers over Kitayama’s bicep, Kitayama shivers and gives out, dropping onto Totsuka’s chest like a rock.

“Shh,” he soothes, and Kitayama growls against his skin that he doesn’t need to be babied, despite the violent aftershocks still twitching his muscles. Totsuka turns his head to check on Hashimoto and finds him, as he feared, obviously needing to touch Totsuka and be touched as much as possible, but struggling to keep himself in a space far too small for him near the edge of the bed.

Totsuka realizes that he’s lost feeling in the fingers that are wrapped through Hashimoto’s.

“Ryosuke?” he asks, using his voice as a stopgap while he shoulders Kitayama’s dead weight more to one side. “Hiromitsu, a little help?”

“Whaaaat,” Kitayama groans, but when Totsuka says please, serious, Kitayama lifts his head to blink. A glance to the side as Hashimoto, and Kitayama sighs but pushes himself onto his side. “Hashimoto, get over here.”

“Eh?” Hashimoto asks, and Totsuka echoes it when Kitayama shoves him in the thigh, but Kitayama apparently does really mean for Totsuka to make enough space for Hashimoto to crawl over and in between them.

“Thank you,” Totsuka makes sure to say when they’re settled, Hashimoto busily checking over Totsuka’s condition while Kitayama is curled up against his back, an arm around Hashimoto’s waist to keep his back firmly anchored to Kitayama’s chest despite the wriggling.

“Whatever, he’s warm.” But after a second, he adds, “I have kouhai in my group too, you know.”

Nikaido does seem the type to need a lot of cuddling, Totsuka thinks, and Senga as well, but he keeps his comments to himself for the moment. Instead he turns his attention back to Hashimoto, catching his wrists to keep his roaming hands from starting something that nobody is in a condition to finish.

“I’m fine,” he assures, looking Hashimoto straight in the eye to make him believe it. “A little stiff, it’s nothing.”

“You always tell me not to do that,” Hashimoto accuses, worried and not buying Totsuka’s lie at all. “You make sure it!”

“That’s because I’m the senpai,” Totsuka goes right on talking over Hashimoto’s protest, “so it’s for me to take care of you, but both of you are my kouhai, so I’ll do as I please, thanks very much.”

“Shut up,” Kitayama and Hashimoto both tell him, and Hashimoto’s mouth tightens even more. “But…”

“Do you want to argue or do you want to cuddle?” Totsuka interrupts, and it’s unfair, but his eyes and limbs are heavy, and Totsuka is intensely jealous of Kitayama’s use of Hashimoto as a heating pad.

Hashimoto gives in right away, as he obviously must, but he’s still unsatisfied as he draws Totsuka in close and rubs his cheek along Totsuka’s shoulder. “I won’t let you do it next time. Someone has to take care of Tottsu,” Hashimoto’s hands tighten possessively against Totsuka’s back, “’cause Tottsu won’t do it himself!”

“Wisdom after all,” Kitayama puts in. “Huh.” And then his breath evens out into the slow heartbeat Totsuka’s most used to.

“You’re welcome to try,” Totsuka tells Hashimoto generously. Better men than him have tried, but then again, few of them were nearly as serious, nor get their way quite so often as Hashimoto does. Maybe he’ll manage it, at that.

It’s not a terrible thought.

“So you guys are coming to my place for the next game, right?” Hashimoto murmurs against Totsuka’s skin. He drops into sleep like Tsukada into a roll, without waiting for an answer. Totsuka chuckles to himself, content to be the last awake for a while yet, enjoying the soak of Hashimoto’s warmth into his stiffening muscles.

And then, it’s kind of like a miracle, but for at least a little while, it’s peaceful.