Work Text:
The smell of peppers and beef assaults Hyuuga’s nose as soon as his key turns in the lock, and he stops dead.
Beef.
With peppers.
Oh, no.
For a moment, he has the almost irrepressible urge to turn and run away, to ease the door shut and pretend he’d never come home. Maybe he could claim to have been caught in traffic--no, they might have been watching the traffic reports. Maybe he could claim to have died in an accident or something, that sounds a lot better and more permanent. Yeah, all it would take was a little fake blood and a mock-up of a police report. That should be good for at least a little while, and could even buy him enough time to get out of the country.
“Did I hear the door?”
“Ah! It’s Hyuuga-kun!”
Nope. Too late. Perhaps faking a heart attack right here on the threshold would be the best plan. Hell, if his heart keeps going like this, he might not even be faking it.
The look in Riko’s eyes when she catches sight of him, stalking firmly across the living room to grab his shirt and pull him in, tells him how useless that idea is. “Hyuuga-kun,” she says, voice falsely sweet in the I-know-you-were-planning-to-run-and-we’ll-talk-about-that-later sort of way, “we have a surprise guest tonight.”
“I-is that so, Aida-san?”
Too much, her glare tells him. They’ve never quite had a level of telepathy to match some of their friends, but she’s anything but difficult to read when her smile is this sharp. “It is. Teppei already went out to pick up the drinks, so come and help me in the kitchen.”
“You’re cooking?” The sinking feeling in his stomach intensifies. Their mystery guest is bad enough, but add to that the classic twist that his stomach turns whenever she cooks…
“Is there something wrong with her cooking?” a gravelly voice demands.
Hyuuga braces himself, and swallows hard before bowing low to the man currently chopping onions in his kitchen--inexpertly, though at least more accurately than his daughter has ever managed. “N-not at all, Aida-san! Ah, thank you for coming, welcome—”
“I’ve been trying to come over for dinner for a few months,” Riko’s father says sternly, as if it’s Hyuuga’s fault. “For some reason, my princess always seems to be busy with something else. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“She studies so hard,” Hyuuga says in what he’s glad doesn’t come out as a squeak. At least about this, he doesn’t have to do any lying. True, most of the time he’s the one begging her to put the books down and spend time with people who aren’t textbooks, but Kagetora doesn’t need to know that.
“You see why I would be concerned.” It’s a statement of fact, and it doesn’t make Hyuuga feel any better when steely brown eyes are staring him down, making him feel every inch a worm. “When my daughter is living alone with two men, any of whom could be taking sexual advantage of her at any time—”
The beatific smile on Riko’s face belies the sound of the slap to the back of her father’s head. “I told you, you can’t come over if you’re going to talk like that!”
“But they could be—”
“You’re the only one thinking about sex, you pervert!”
“So is he! He’s a young man! Trust me, Riko, I know how men are—”
“It’s because you’re the worst of all of them!”
Even though Kagetora slinks back to the butchering of vegetables to throw in a pot (for some reason, as a store-bought roast sits on the stove), his eyes still glint murder at Hyuuga every time their eyes meet.
“I’m...going to go change clothes,” Hyuuga eventually manages, backing slowly out of the kitchen. Somehow, he’s never been able to shake the impression that he doesn’t want to turn his back on his girlfriend’s father.
A moment later, he has to call awkwardly, “Aida-san?”
“Yes?” two voices answer.
“Uh, Riko-san,” Hyuuga amends, trying hard enough to remember how to address Riko when her father is here, and he doesn’t want to deal with hearing the old man yell about a lack of honorifics. He can’t exactly keep calling her Coach now, can he? “Why is the door to the--why is this door locked?” He can hardly say to our bedroom, now, can he?
“Someone wouldn’t stop opening doors and looking for my goddamn underwear drawer—”
“I just want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself!”
“--so now all the bedroom doors are locked!”
She hurries over, leaving her father in the kitchen with a last glare, and unlocks the door to their bedroom. The others are made up as well, for show and for when anyone’s parents or friends decide to drop over, but this is where the clothing is and where they all sleep.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, as soon as the door closes behind her. “He’s been asking to come and see the new place for months, and I’ve always put him off, but I thought he’s got connections that Teppei might be able to use for that internship he needs.”
“It’s fine,” he says, though it really isn’t. “I mean, you could have warned me.”
Small fingers deftly undo the buttons of his shirt, stripping him more quickly and efficiently somehow than he’s able to do himself. Riko’s always had something of a gift for getting him undressed, not that he’s ever going to say such a thing when she’s close by and in a slapping mood. “You wouldn’t have come home,” she says practically, “and that would have looked suspicious. He knows I’m living with you and Teppei. If neither of you came home, or if only one of you came home, it would look like we had something to hide by keeping us separate.”
“I guess.” Just because she’s right doesn’t mean he has to like it. It only takes a few moments after she hangs his tie on a rack before she’s got him into a more casual outfit, deciding at the last minute against a yukata and putting him in soft clothes that look like a suit but feel like sweatpants instead. “Why is he cooking?”
“He’s not. He just wanted to prove to me that he’s better at it than before. He’s worse than I am. That’s why I ordered in.”
At least he won’t have to eat anything toxic tonight. That’s some comfort, at least.
Hyuuga sighs, leaning his head forward to rest against hers. “How long does he have to be here? I know, he’s your father, but—”
“I don’t like it much more than you do,” she assures him, tilting her head up to nuzzle her nose against his briefly before brushing her lips softly against his. “I told him about thirty times before you got home that he had to behave himself in my space, but...yeah,” she admits, “I expected this. Sorry to spring it on you.”
The sound of the outer door chiming startles them out of their embrace, and it becomes a race to see who can get out of the bedroom first to intercept the very well-meaning third member of their group. Unfortunately, the rush causes Riko to crash into Hyuuga, effectively blocking the door. By the time they get untangled and make it into the living room, Kiyoshi is already donning an apron, sleeves rolled up as he starts helping with dinner. “I can see you put a lot of love into this meal, Aida-sensei,” he enthuses, a delighted and unforced smile on his face. “Meat and peppers, my favorite!”
“That’s not your favorite, you suck-up,” Riko growls under her breath, and slams the front door (which Kiyoshi had left wide open) shut. At least he’d remembered to change into his slippers this time, though Hyuuga hurries over to straighten out the shoes he’d left haphazardly in front of the door.
Usually, the fact that all three of them are off of school and work at the same time would be a godsend. It happens so rarely by itself that they’d had to schedule it, carefully formulating schedules to ensure that at least they’ve got a couple nights all free and all together every month. Now, it just makes Hyuuga sweat…
Until he sees Kiyoshi look up, beaming at him with a wooden spoon in one hand and his briefcase still in the other. “It’s fine,” he says, brimming with so much confidence and calm that it’s impossible to feel too anxious, even for Hyuuga.
With Kiyoshi, somehow, even Aida Kagetora’s piercing inquiries during dinner (“If you tell me you’ve seen her naked, I’ll put this steak knife right through your lungs!” “DAD!”) don’t seem quite so serious. He just laughs them off, ever the picture of innocence even though he has most definitely seen Riko naked. Hyuuga knows. He was there.
“In all seriousness,” Kagetora tells them both, leaning forward onto his elbows to look them in the eye one at a time, “I’m here to make sure she’s not your fucking maid. I’ve never heard of two men living with one woman before, and any father--not just me, Riko-chan--would be nervous.”
“Unless,” Riko says, stabbing a pepper with a steak knife, “a father tried trusting his daughter not to let a couple of big louts walk all over her.”
Hyuuga opens his mouth to protest his innocence, but Kiyoshi lays a hand on his, meeting Kagetora’s eyes with perfect earnest honesty. “That’s what I’m here for, Aida-sensei,” he says, that gentle smile on his face. “To keep Hyuuga-kun in check.”
“Oi! I don’t need to be kept—”
“And he’s here to keep me in check. And Riko is the boss. Right, boss?”
Riko nods, decisive and pleased. “See? I told you they know their place.”
Kagetora is far from convinced, and Hyuuga is beyond sure that the man has a gun tucked into at least one of his pockets. He tries not to think about it, mainly because the idea makes him break out into cold sweats, and the creases of his shirt are already starting to soak.
It feels like forever until Kagetora finally leaves, with a final threatening glare and a promise that Hyuuga will probably hear in his nightmares from here on out. Riko shuts the door after him (and locks it twice), slumping back against the doorframe. “That,” she says with a huff, “is why we never have people over.”
“I think your father is a good person,” Kiyoshi says, placating as he settles back into the largest, most comfortable chair in the little apartment. “If he weren’t, he wouldn’t have raised such a--oof.”
“No more talking about my father,” Riko warns, hopping onto Kiyoshi’s lap and straddling his hips. “Not on our night off. And you.”
Hyuuga looks up, startled, as she beckons to him. “Me?”
“You’re thinking.”
“Uh.”
“About whether you’re doing the wrong thing and corrupting me, right?”
The telepathy isn’t what he’d call fair, and it’s not any kind of fun for the person on the receiving end, but her way of seeing through his facade and straight to the core of his problems is second to none. It certainly saves a lot of time, anyway. Hyuuga scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Not exactly.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, knock it off. It’s bad enough he thinks you two are homos, you can at least keep from—”
“He thinks we’re what?” Hyuuga yelps, and she rolls her eyes, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and yanking him close.
“Honestly. What do you think I told him about why I was moving in with two men? He would have shot you in the head.”
“Did you think I held your hand for no reason ever time we met up with him, Junpei-kun?” Kiyoshi asks, his smile sweet but his eyes alight with mischief.
This is hardly fair. Hyuuga opens his mouth to protest exactly that--not that he’s against the idea of people thinking that way about him and Kiyoshi, but really, it seems like the kind of thing he should have some say in--but Riko shoves her tongue in it. She’s the most aggressive kisser out of all three of them, demanding and sort of bitey, and Hyuuga doesn’t know how to do anything other than helplessly whimper at the way she holds him in place with one hand, conquering his mouth while she cants her hips slowly above Kiyoshi’s.
“That’s more like what a day off should be,” Kiyoshi murmurs, eyes fixed on the two of them. He settles back in the chair, seemingly content where he is--and when Riko’s straddling his hips, Hyuuga can’t think of any reason he wouldn’t be. “Junpei-kun, I want a taste.”
Hyuuga’s face burns, and it only gets worse when Riko hooks off his glasses, setting them on a nearby table and guiding them together. Kiyoshi is shameless, not at all shy about getting what he wants, however he wants, and Hyuuga can’t imagine being so cavalier as to say something about that, even about the man currently drawing him into a slow, heated kiss.
Kiyoshi’s mouth is larger. It shouldn’t be enough of a size difference to matter, but it is, somehow. He’s also less aggressive, more content to let Hyuuga take the lead and nibble, suck at his lips, even as Kiyoshi’s frankly enormous hands come up. One rests on Riko’s waist, the other sliding down to grab Hyuuga’s ass. He swats at it, and they both laugh and pull him closer.
It only takes about five minutes before Riko is squirming at an odd angle, Hyuuga sort of draped over the other arm of the chair, Kiyoshi trying not to say anything as he gets three or four elbows and knees in his belly. “Someday,” Kiyoshi says with a grin, “we’ll learn permanently that we can never do this in a chair.”
Riko hauls Kiyoshi out of the chair, making him hop awkwardly as his bad knee tries to buckle at first. That’s fine, because Hyuuga’s under his other arm until he gets his footing. He might not be a homo or anything, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to be there for Kiyoshi.
It also doesn’t mean he’s not going to shove the bigger man down to the bed, hungry and confident now that the lights are off, feeling the sweet slight weight of Riko behind him. They fit together, always have, since long before they understood that there were some parts made without other halves.
When it’s quiet, when they’re pressed on both sides of him and everything passionate has turned quiet and worshipful, Hyuuga closes his eyes. Kagetora can bring his gun, if he wants. There’s nothing that could be worse than losing what the three of them have.