Chapter Text
“Damn dude, there’s no amount of foundation I can use to hide that blush.”
“Urgh god. And that’s why I stopped havin’ breakfast before comin’ in the beauty room.”
Funny how Atsumu’s voice — voice famous for the way it charms any onscreen partner or movie viewer — can so easily break the little spell that settled between Osamu and Suna.
A shame, really, since each of these moments is to be treasured. Osamu gets to flirt with Suna often but it's not nearly often enough. And although it's always the occasion for Suna to drag him to filth, Osamu doesn't dream of anything else than throttling his twin brother right about now.
In an instant, the faint blush on his cheeks turns an angry crimson and both him and Suna flip their middle finger at Atsumu in the mirror reflection.
It doesn’t faze him seeing how he simply shrugs and reclines in his makeup artist chair to let Sakusa emphasize his cheekbones with a tinge of discreet highlighter.
“Felt that. Kind of wanted to do the same every time I’m about to see you but I had to resort to suffering with your presence or I’d starve to death,” Sakusa tells Atsumu.
Suna snorts, Osamu lets go of a disgraceful yet fair “ah, loser” but Atsumu doesn’t answer. Osamu knows his twin is too whipped for Sakusa to take the bait and risk outing himself.
Because that’s where both Miya twins stand. Both bisexual famous actors with a massive crush on their respective makeup artist.
It’s only four months, though. Only as in fortunately, they won't have to suffer pinning for longer than that. Or as in sadly they will stop seeing the only two men they ever found who can put them back in place without batting an eye once the production of this movie is over.
Sakusa is the quiet yet prickly jerk, Suna is the sassy and witty smartass.
Point being they’re both mean. Mean without meaning it. And the twins both get off to it.
Twenty five years of life, twenty of them spent on movie sets, and just as long being the golden stars to whom no one ever said no.
“Nope. Don’t touch that,” Suna stops Osamu from reaching out for a brush, batting his hand away with a jab of the pointy end of his brush.
It seems like the seconds they shared allying against Atsumu are the only crumbs Osamu will feed on today. He pulls his hands back in his lap, looking up to study Suna’s profile in the makeup mirror.
His reflection glows with the soft light emanating from the bulbs ornating the glass frame.
He’s stunning and it has less to do with the sharp jetblack eyeliner decorating his eyelids and more with the way he sticks the tip of his tongue between his teeth when he focuses on choosing the perfect shade of foundation to match with Osamu’s complexion.
Once he’s done, he turns toward Osamu again, hovering above him as his tongue disappears back inside that mouth Osamu dreams of tasting at least three times a week when his mind is too chaste to conjure up even hornier thoughts.
He’s desperate, and he’s doomed.
“Uh,” Suna quietly says before heaving a small sigh that has Osamu frowning. “You should try and blush more. And preferably until you get some much needed sleep.”
“The f—”
“I’ll be polite,” Suna cuts Osamu off before he can ask what he means and clears it out for him. “Your skin tone is ashen.”
“He means ya look like shit,” Atsumu peeps in from his own chair although he’s not looking at them, eyes closed as he basks in Sakusa’s attention.
“You two look alike,” Sakusa deadpans to shut him up.
Suna doesn’t pay attention to them, only to Osamu whose nose is all scrunched up in disbelief and annoyance.
“Yeah, that was the impolite way of phrasing that.”
“Thank and fuck you,” Osamu groans, slumping in his chair.
Suna shrugs with a small grin, slipping a finger under Osamu’s chin to tilt his head up.
Osamu suppresses a shiver and follows with the motion nonetheless.
Doomed he said. He’s discovered over time Suna can make him do whatever he wants, whenever he wants it, and no matter what terrible things he said to him.
“Not getting enough sleep? I told Adriah he’s working you to the bone with that schedule,” Suna asks as he squeezes the foundation bottle over his hand to apply a generous amount on his own skin and deep his beautyblender in it.
“We’re shootin’ some promotional material as well as the regular shooting this week,” Osamu answers, closing his eyes automatically as the makeup tool closes in with his face.
“Motoya said they crammed the photoshoot sessions over a week for budget reasons,” Sakusa chimes in.
“That’s really stupid. How can they expect to save money if they have to pay us more?” Suna asks absentmindedly, prompting Osamu to crack an eye open.
The makeup artist’s eyes meet his and he smirks when he sees Osamu’s quizzical expression.
“I mean the bigger the bags under your eyes to hide, the longer they have to book me.”
Osamu huffs.
“And then what?”
“Well, I’m not cheap, sir,” Suna says, rubbing the blender under his eyes.
“You look like the kind of guy who’s lazy enough to order cheap takeouts and thrive on it, though,” Osamu comments.
The jab doesn’t exactly come from nowhere. He’s seen Suna around the craft table or during lunch breaks. It’s a wonder how he looks so fit and lean when he literally only consumes junk food and snacks on the go.
When Osamu’s brain chills for a second and spares him with the horny thoughts, he dreams about taking him out to a fancy restaurant and feed the man some actual good fucking food. Fancy dishes and tasty meals.
“Bad habits,” Suna tells him, eyelashes fluttering to go with his fake, cheesy pout.
Osamu should find it disgusting but even when he’s acting silly, Suna is too pretty for him to look away and not be completely mesmerized.
“Change habits then,” Osamu croaks out, horrified to find out his voice is broken.
“I’d need someone to actually take me out, instead of dealing with cheap takeouts,” Suna says airily, his lopsided grin doing things to Osamu’s stomach.
There’s a long beat.
“He’s not askin’ that in a murder kinda way, scrub,” Atsumu finally breaks the silence.
“He’s not as silly as you are, Miya. He got the innuendo,” Sakusa punctuates, forcing Atsumu to look back at him with a fierce grip on his jaw.
Osamu knows the blush on his face couldn’t be nastier, but he’s helpless and lets it wash over his features.
“The two jerks aren’t wrong but I guess you did get the innuendo if I trust your efforts to stop looking like an ashtray.”
“Fuck all of you,” Osamu breathes out, ruining Suna’s fresh job as he buries his face into his hands.
“Tell me again how the hell did I’ll change your nasty food habits turned to famous and crazy ass rich Miya Osamu paying for the Happy Meal I’m about to eat in a filthy McDonald’s playground at 1AM.”
“I knew you were the kinda guy to kick a man when he’s down but you really need to shaddup,” Osamu couldn’t sound more defeated as he slumps on the soft pad at the top of the slide that disappears further inside the playground.
Suna laughs wholeheartedly, unable to refrain for even another second. Tonight has been a wild ride.
A really wild ride, but he wouldn’t have it any other way, he realizes as he climbs behind Osamu and takes shelter in the shadows of the giant and abandoned structure.
Suna is laughing too loud, actually. They’re not supposed to be there. The McDonald’s restaurant might be open despite the late hour, but the playground area shut down a few hours ago.
Kids aren’t supposed to play past 10PM, apparently. Suna thinks that mindset is bullshit.
Kids come in all sizes and shapes, and sometimes kids are twenty-five years old and deflating from a romantic date turned wrong and they want to have fun getting stuck in the tunnels of a playground they’re way too large to fit in and that’s okay.
He’s content trying to muffle his too loud laughter while Osamu flops on the soft flashy red mat that looks a deep brown in the dark and he’s even more content when Osamu cracks an eye open and can’t help but grin when Suna’s attempt at containing his own hilarity fails.
It’s ironic to think that at 10PM they were actually acting like the proper grownups they’re supposed to be, arriving on time for their very late reservation in a famous restaurant the twins praised more than once. Famous restaurant in which Osamu got a reservation for him and Suna tonight.
Reservation for one Miya and his date, to be precise.
It was fifteen past ten when the poor waiter came back to the bar where Osamu and Suna were asked to wait to announce Miya-san and his date were already sitting at the only table left, as the reservation specified.
“I’ll kill ‘im,” Osamu groans, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow when Suna finally calms down.
It’s the sixth time he mumbles that; as many as their attempts at getting a table past ten that went completely vain.
Suna hushes Osamu as he flops next to him, a paper bag full of nuggets and hamburgers disposed between them. He pulls out his phone once he’s settled on his back and takes a selfie of both of them, even if Osamu keeps hiding his face and doesn't even look as he goes through with it.
Suna does that all the time and his phone is full of memories with Osamu, although most of them are around the set or in the beauty room, with Osamu nailed to his makeup chair or painted by the hands that know his face by heart now.
It’s refreshing. Suna almost feels high from how thrilled he is to be here with him tonight.
“Try to be optimistic. If your brother scores tonight, they’ll stop flirting aggressively in the beauty room. End of our suffering,” Suna says as he rolls on his side, pillowing his head on his hand to look at Osamu who doesn’t budge.
“First off, your logic is full of shit. If they get together, they’ll be even more awful, I can guarantee that much,” Osamu groans but he uncovers his face to look sideways. “And two,” and he lifts two fingers between their faces as he says that. “You, sir, are full of shit calling them out on their aggressive flirtin’.”
He punctuates the sentence by poking Suna’s nose with his two raised fingers and withdraws immediately.
“Don’t know what you mean,” Suna answers with a smirk, aware the tip of his nose is burning.
“You bullied me into takin’ you out tonight but keep tellin’ yourself that,” Osamu huffs, rolling on his side too and mimicking Suna’s position so he can face him.
They look more like two kids exchanging secrets in their made-up lair than two men on a romantic outing. Suna doesn’t mind. He’d do his eyeliner and wear his best outfit to fool around in a closed playground any day (or night) if it means he gets the famous Miya Osamu to try and do the impossible to make sure Suna spends the best evening of his life.
And although Osamu said multiple times his attempts were ruined, Suna will gladly tell him he perfectly succeeded.
He has a point, though, and even if Suna didn’t exactly bully Osamu into asking him on a date, he sure took multiple detours to get them there. So there’s no reason to change and be straightforward now. Suna knows Osamu likes it when he’s being a smartass, anyway.
“Okay then. And I bet you see me as your executioner now that you have to spend the night in the least fancy restaurant in town, delicate nostrils assaulted by the sweet aroma of greasy fried chicken.”
“Nah. That started way back with that torture tool ya keep fuckin’ up my eyes with,” Osamu says with a pout.
“You mean the eyelash curler?” Suna asks with a chuckle, bringing a hand between them — and throwing the paper bag off in the process — to cup Osamu’s jaw and drag his thumb over his cheekbone.
Even in the dark, it’s easy to make out the familiar red stains blooming on Osamu’s nose and dusting his cheeks.
“You have beautiful eyes, though. It’d be a shame not to bring out their full potential,” Suna adds, not taking his hand back.
He’s confident Osamu won’t shy away from the touch, and he’s delighted to be proven right.
“I’ve got droopy eyes, ya filthy liar. I prefer when you roast me,” Osamu says, swallowing a little loudly.
“I’m not lying. I love your eyes,” Suna blurts out faster than he intends to.
He’s still not proven wrong, on the contrary. Osamu shifts slightly to lean into the touch — maybe to hide his growing blush but surely not backing away from Suna’s caress.
Suna feels his heartbeat spike dangerously.
He clears his throat.
“Say, Osamu. Want to get sweet revenge on your brother?” Suna asks, sounding a lot more confident than he feels.
“Does this revenge taste like cheap nuggets?” Osamu answers a little breathlessly as he leans toward Suna, closing the space between them minutely.
“Something along the line,” Suna hums, aware his body moves toward the same direction.
“Listenin’.”
The intensity in their gazes as they refuse to break eye contact for even one second is overwhelming. Suna tries to focus on the heavy pounding of his heart into his throat to ground himself to no avail.
“I say I help you score tonight, so you can be equally as annoying as him in the beauty room starting tomorrow.”
Osamu sucks in his breath.
“I’d need a partner in crime as fuckin’ annoying as Sakusa for that,” Osamu notes and Suna tries to ignore the implication of Osamu grabbing the McDonald’s order and dropping the bag somewhere behind him — out of their way.
“I know just the guy,” he answers instead, tongue heavy in his mouth.
“Is he a jerk too?” Osamu asks, repositioning himself on his side, now close enough for Suna to count the eyelashes he loves to torture every chance he gets.
“Kinda. Although he’s funnier, so you’re winning.”
“I think he’s prettier too,” Osamu breathes out against Suna’s lips.
“He sure is luckier.”
Suna knows he is when their lips meet and Osamu ‘s hand cups the back of his head delicately to immediately accentuate the kiss.
There are a few things Osamu didn’t get to do, with the way he grew up a famous actor and was very sheltered. Sneaking into a closed McDonald’s playground past midnight sure was on the list since he never got to play in one when he was the appropriate age and during appropriate hours to begin with.
But now that he got to do it and he’s rolling on the bright red top floor of a plastic fort while he makes out with Suna Rintarou, he thinks everything comes to those who wait and he’s sure happier than the meal he got for his date.
Osamu doesn’t think he’d have done that when he was a kid, and although he’d have liked it when he was a teen, it sure tastes better now that he waited for Suna to do it.
It tastes better than the dozens of dreams he had over the last weeks and Osamu hopes he’ll get to taste it again after tonight is over, after the four months of filming are up even.
As he smiles against his mouth and lets Suna bite on his lower lip, boldly asking to deepen the kiss, Osamu knows he wants to taste Rintarou’s nips and kisses long after the curtain closes.
He might be used to playing parts, he’s never felt anything more real than the way they come together as one in the cramped up space they’re not supposed to fit in even during opening hours.
“I might change habits,” Suna whispers breathlessly against his lips as they part and Osamu pins him down to the mat to claim another kiss.
“No complaints as long as being a prick to me still is yer favorite.”
“I’ll settle for something low like that,” Suna teases lightly but his gaze is burning. “But work harder and you could become my new favorite.”
Osamu gets dizzy, and even dizzier when Suna drags his tongue along his lips.
“Knew you were cheap,” he answers, trying to ignore Suna’s second statement.
“I did let a wealthy guy buy me with a Happy Meal.”
Another drag of his tongue and Osamu releases a shaky exhale.
“I thought Suna Rintarou was worth a little more than a few nuggets.”
Suna chuckles into his mouth and it’s not just the tastiest thing Osamu’s ever tasted, it’s also the most endearing sound he ever heard.
He doesn’t regret being doomed. He’s ready to embrace it.
“You didn’t lie when you said it would be a romantic date. I’m already charmed.”
Osamu’s heart leaps into his throat, his lips brushing Suna’s.
“Good. ‘Cause you’ve barely seen what I’m capable of.”
"I'll throw actual money to see what you've got."
Osamu can feel Suna's grin against his own. His new favorite, for sure.
"Raising your standards?" he asks with confidence.
Suna snickers.
"My cheap nuggets for the Star, sir."