aroceu: (bubbles)
black slacks with accentuating offwhite pinstripes ([personal profile] aroceu) wrote2016-01-07 12:03 pm

WIP Amnesty: Oikawa/Suga sextape

The last thing Suga expects when he walks into lunch with Daichi is to see him choke on his food—and not even in a small, and slightly embarrassing kind of way. Suga sees it all: Daichi takes one good look at him, chopsticks tucked neatly into his mouth, and something apparently stops in his throat because he starts coughing and hacking all over the place.

“Um,” says Suga, sitting down across from him. “Are you alright?"

Daichi takes a sip of his water, face red from the recent lack of air. “I’m, uh, I’m fine,” he says. “Have you checked your email lately?"

Well that’s an odd thing to bring up when Suga’s just got here. “Sure?” he says, unwinding his scarf. “I mean, I checked it a couple of weeks ago, why wold you—”

“No, I mean lately,” says Daichi. “As in, like, last night. Or this morning."

The frown that is starting to crease on Suga’s face deepens. “No. Why?”

Daichi’s smile is thin. “You might want to.”

*

Suga is a good kid. He attends all his classes, eats three meals a day, doesn’t forget his vegetables (even the ones he hates), cleans his apartment every other two weekends, and gets along with most people in his life. He’s pretty happy, and nothing really interesting happens in his life. He’s generally grateful for that.

He doesn’t know when his phone battery died—sometime between yesterday afternoon and when he got home, promptly passing out for too long. He could’ve stayed at Oikawa’s apartment, but Oikawa kicks in his sleep and didn’t want to eat before sleeping for like, thirteen hours. Suga did, so he’d picked something up on his way back, ate it until he got to his apartment building, and then fell asleep face down on his couch.

So he pulls his laptop out in this restaurant, and it only takes him two minutes to realize what’s going on. The first minute is opening up his email and seeing a flood of new messages in his inbox.

“What the hell happened?” he says, rhetorically across the table to Daichi.

Daichi turns pink and picks at his food. “Check your ‘sent’ folder.”

Suga does, dread building in his stomach.

And somehow he managed to send the sex tape that he very so clearly meant to send to himself from Oikawa’s laptop, to everyone on his fucking contact list.

“Oh my god,” Suga says, shutting his laptop in embarrassment.

Daichi nods over his food. “Yeah."

Oh my god.”

Suga runs his fingers through his hair. His parents are on the contact list. Everyone he knows from high school! Some people from middle school, even, and new friends from university, not to mention, like, Daichi sitting in front of him, and—

“Oh my god,” Suga whispers, for a third time, sinking into his seat and wanting to die of embarrassment.

“So.” Daichi looks at him with bravado. “That’s—”

“You saw me and Oikawa.” Suga is still whispering. He’s pretty sure he’s just lost any capability to speak any louder. He wants to sink into the floor and become one with the tiles of this restaurant.

Fucking,” he whispers, again.

Daichi clears his throat. “I’ve been trying to purge my brain of that, thanks,” he says, cheeks pink. “But thank you for the reminder. So what are you—”

“So did my parents,” Suga moans. “It was supposed to be a joke, a—well, not really a joke, but we—I—” He bites his lip.

Daichi pats him consolingly across the table. “It’s okay,” he says, strained. “It was just a dumb idea of Oikawa’s, you went along with it, this happened, so it’s technically his fault—”

“No,” Suga interrupts. “It was mine.”

Daichi blinks. “What?"

“It was my idea, we—he went along with it, obviously, he loved it, but.” Suga scrubs a hand across his face, suddenly wishing that it could just stay there. “<i>I</i> was the one who came up with it, not him.”

“Ah,” Daichi says, leaning back in his chair. “That was. Um. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“I’m going to die,” Suga moans.

“You’re not going to die,” says Daichi.

“I want to die.”

*

Suga doesn’t generally think of himself as a courageous person. However, with this… <i>situation</i> at hand, he’s going to need to put on the bravest face he can muster. Even if that does mean confronting his parents about it.

He knows text won’t work for them, so he goes home right after lunch with Daichi (which mostly consisted of Daichi trying to start conversations and not really looking Suga in the eye—not like Suga could look <i>him</i> in the eye, either), charges his phone, and waits until it restarts at five percent.

It buzzes with a flurry of notifications, which doesn’t surprise him at all. He calls his mother before he chickens out or lets himself too anxious.

“Koushi,” she says, both suspiciously and brightly.

Suga groans and puts his hand over his face. “I know you’re going to want to talk to me about the video,” he says, “but I swear I didn’t mean to send it to you.”

“Oh, I figured,” she says, tone too light. “I am—You only sent it to me by accident, right?"

“No,” Suga says, staring fixedly at some point on the wall and trying to distance himself from this conversation. “I sent it to everyone. On my contacts list.”

“Ah,” says his mother.

There is a pause.

“Aren’t you going to like—” Suga bites his lip. “Scold me for having sex with a man? Being—”

He shudders, remembering yesterday all too clearly. The begging, the things that were <i>said</i>… He hopes to every deity in existence or otherwise that his mother hadn’t watched the full thing.

“Oh, no, of course not,” his mother says. “What you do in the bedroom is—well, I am concerned if you’re not using protection,” and Suga moans and buries his face in the pillow on the couch because even though they had gotten tested, barebacking is <i>both</i> of their kinks and <i>why</i> is Suga even thinking about this right now, “but I hadn’t watched the full thing, dear, what you do in the bedroom is fully your business.” There is another pause. “Are you alright?”

Suga lifts himself up and breathes through his nose. “I’m fine,” he says, into the phone. “Aside from wanting to throw myself into a volcano and die of embarrassment, I’m fine, Mom.”

His mother laughs. “Of course you are. You always get yourself out of situations like this.”

“Being benched in high school volleyball and sending <i>everyone in existence</i> my sex tape are not the same thing, Mom!”

“So you’ve needed a challenge lately.” His mother, ever the supportive one, laughs again. “Be good, and don’t let anyone upset you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Suga manages, and hangs up.

*

The next order of business is telling Oikawa, who opens the door to his apartment with a bright smile on his face.

“Suga-chan!” he says, making something small inside of Suga flutter. “Fancy seeing you here again.”

Suga pushes his way past him and into Oikawa’s apartment. “We need to talk,” he says. He looks around for somewhere to sit.

Oikawa follows as Suga sits himself at the dining table, because it’s the closest place and Suga, being a brave person, will do this quickly and get this over with. He twiddles his thumbs and stares at his reflection through the polished wood as Oikawa sits across from him.

“Yeah?” Oikawa says, kicking his foot lightly under the table. “What’s up?”

Suga meets his gaze, feeling a flush beginning to start over his cheeks. “You know the, uh,” he says. “The thing we did yesterday?”

“The sex tape, yes,” Oikawa says, nodding.

Suga blushes even more—it’s not because of the sex tape thing, because if it was just between the two of them, that would be fine. Yesterday afternoon had been good—great, even, they’d bantered like they hadn’t before, Oikawa’s stamina was tantalizingly incredible (though Suga had been more than decent himself, he’d admit), and two weeks of holding off and self-restraint had ultimately paid off. Shit, Suga had made Oikawa talk the whole time, told him when and when not to come, which the hottest thing for the both of them—and Oikawa’s fingers, later, the look in his eyes when he watched Suga, and—

Suga shifts in his seat, adjusting his ass.

“I emailed it to myself,” he says to Oikawa. “As you know.”

Oikawa nods. “Was there something wrong with the file?”

Suga sighs and looks off to the side, at the reflection of the fruit bowl on the table. “No,” he says carefully. “I. Accidentally sent it to everyone on my contacts list.”

Oikawa blinks at him.

“Everyone?”

“<i>Yes</i>,” Suga bursts, unable to hold himself back any longer. “My parents, friends from class, high school, <i>middle school</i>, oh my god.” He buries his face in his hands. “I had lunch with Daichi earlier and <i>he</i> was the one who had to tell me. My phone died yesterday! I didn’t even know.”

“Ah,” says Oikawa. “Did Sawamura enjoy it at least?”

“I don’t know,” Suga moans. “I don’t want to know.”

They sit across the table, letting it sink in between the both of them. Suga wishes they were back to yesterday, cuddling post-sex and discussing what they should put in their next one. If they were even going to make another one.

“What are we going to do about this?” Suga asks. “Everyone knows about us now. I don’t—”

“I mean, they knew we were good friends, at least,” Oikawa points out. “Now they know we’re—”

“Dating.”

Oikawa frowns. “Having sex with each other,” he corrects.

“Well if they saw a video of me <i>riding your dick</i>, I’m pretty sure they’re going to think we’re dating, at the very least.” Suga rolls his eyes. “I don’t even want to look at my other emails. I’m just going to delete it, and make a new account.”

“There’s no need to be dramatic,” says Oikawa.

Suga snorts. “You’re one to talk.”

“No, really,” says Oikawa, reaching over the table and patting Suga’s hand. It’s not like him and throws Suga off for a second, watching Oikawa’s hand on his. “Just say it was a mistake and move on. No need to answer their questions.”

“Iwaizumi and some of your other friends are on my contact list, too,” Suga reminds him; they’d met through the intramural volleyball team, and Oikawa’s friends from Seijou had visited them up here a handful of times.

Oikawa shrugs. “It’s just sex,” he says, pulling his hand away from Suga’s. “Did your mother approve of us?”

Suga rolls his eyes, kicking Oikawa back on under the table. “She says she hasn’t watched the full thing, so luckily she missed the part where you called me names,” he says.

“She should’ve watched up to that point,” Oikawa says wistfully.

Suga snorts and kicks him again.