Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/5360897. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: M/M Fandom: ダイヤのA_|_Daiya_no_A_|_Ace_of_Diamond Relationship: Furuya_Satoru/Miyuki_Kazuya/Sawamura_Eijun, Furuya_Satoru/Miyuki_Kazuya, Miyuki_Kazuya/Sawamura_Eijun, Furuya_Satoru/Sawamura_Eijun Character: Furuya_Satoru, Miyuki_Kazuya, Sawamura_Eijun Additional Tags: Threesome_-_M/M/M, Dirty_Talk, Voyeurism, Bottom_Miyuki, dumb_baseball metaphors, Competitive_sex, Kinda, slander_against_pitchers, mediocre_sex Collections: Daiya_Exchange:_1st_Inning Stats: Published: 2015-12-13 Words: 2176 ****** Pair Up In Threes ****** by cerasi Summary The good thing about being physically involved with both his pitchers, mediocre-but-enthusiastic sex aside, is that it makes them even more competitive on the field, and incredibly easy to control. The bad thing is that they’re both terrible about sharing. Notes “Okay you guys, pair up in threes!” ― Yogi Berra, hall of fame catcher, New York Yankees Furuya is waiting for him by his locker after the game, an embarrassing 8- 2 defeat. “Miyuki-senpai,” he says. “I want to practice tonight.” Miyuki smiles crookedly as he sets his mask in his locker. “What, do you mean pitching, or…?” He closes the door to see Furuya regarding him earnestly. “I need to improve my control.” “You really do,” Miyuki agrees. “Wait, are you talking about pitching?” “It’s my fault we lost,” Furuya says, and Miyuki laughs. “Seriously?” He shakes his head. “I’m not catching for you now. Your arm’s already taken enough.” He turns away, but then he glances back, weighs the other option in his head. He prefers to fuck after a win, but he can feel the stifled energy radiating off of Furuya, the need to do something, fix something. He can trace the lines of that energy where they lead: a net for Furuya to pitch into until he’s shredded his arm to pieces. “Come to my room tonight,” he says, finally. “We can work on your control there.” “That’s not…” Furuya’s face clouds over. “I want to pitch.” “It’s more or less the same thing, isn’t it?” Miyuki says lightly. “Senpai--” “If not, I’ll just ask Sawamura,” Miyuki interrupts, because he doesn’t really have the energy to spare on persuasion. This barely counts as that; it’s too easy. “I’ll be satisfied either way.” The heat of Furuya’s aura flares, but it’s a different type of energy, the kind Miyuki knows how to redirect. “I’ll be there.” Miyuki smiles. “That’s what I thought.” * The good thing about being physically involved with both his pitchers, mediocre-but-enthusiastic sex aside, is that it makes them even more competitive on the field, and incredibly easy to control. The bad thing is that they’re both terrible about sharing. “It can’t be your turn again!” Sawamura practically yells, in full earshot of Kuramochi and Ryou’s brother, who are watching practice clips in the opposite corner of the club room, and Miyuki, who’s trying and failing to read the scoresheet in front of him. “It was your turn yesterday, andon Friday!” “I pitched on Friday,” Furuya says, as if that explains everything. Miyuki glances up to watch Sawamura’s face turn pink. “Well, I pitched, too!” “Three innings. I was the starter.” “You gave up fiveruns; I only gave up three!” “Neither of those is very good, you guys,” Miyuki interjects, but Furuya is already talking over him, mildly: “I pitched twice as long. Five is better than three.” “No it’s not, that doesn’t even--” Sawamura’s face screws up, and Miyuki hides a grin as he watches Sawamura do the math. “Okay, fine, but who even said that has anything to do with it?!” “Didn’t you?” Miyuki asks, but Sawamura is still focused on Furuya. “It’s my turn tonight,” he says, with a conviction that even Miyuki finds compelling. Furuya seems to hear it too; his mouth sets into a thin frown. “Next week, it’s whoever pitches, then.” “Fine! It’ll be me, anyhow.” “It won’t.” “It definitely will!” “Do I even get a say in this?” Miyuki wonders out loud, but he knows it’s for his own benefit; they’re already walking away, still bickering. From across the room, the younger Kominato gives him an unreadable smile. “Eijun-kun and Furuya-kun are really passionate about pitching practice, aren’t they?” Miyuki runs a hand through his hair and laughs until Kuramochi silences him with a glare. * It doesn’t take long for things to come to a head. “Why would you even want to practice with Furuya?” Sawamura grumbles, loudly. They’re sitting in the dugout at the bottom of the 6th inning of a practice game that Miyuki strongly suspects they’re going to lose. “I bet he’s terrible.” Miyuki chances a sidelong glance to see Furuya gazing serenely onto the field. “I mean, the guy doesn’t have any stamina, right?” Sawamura continues. “You don’t have any control,” Furuya counters, without looking. “Neither do you!” Sawamura turns to him. “You don’t have stamina or control!” Furuya finally glances over. “I was practicing with Miyuki-senpai first.” “What are you guys even talking about?” asks Zono, frowning, but neither of them looks at him. “Well, you must not be that good, then, or he wouldn't have wanted to started practicing with me.” “He only started because you begged him to after you saw us.” “I didn't beg him, he offered.” “Because you were so upset you were going to cry.” “That's not true, you asshole--” Sawamura grabs the front of Furuya's shirt with both hands, but he doesn't get any farther before there’s an arm around his neck--Kuramochi’s, from the seat behind them. “Alright, that’s enough!” “Let go of me--!” Sawamura yells, but Kuramochi’s headlock holds fast. “You idiots are gonna end up hurting each other if you don’t cut it out,” he yells. “Plus, I’m tired of hearing about this.” He doesn’t let go of Sawamura, but the scowl that splits across his face is aimed directly at Miyuki. Miyuki tries a shrug in return. “Pitchers, you know.” Sawamura lets out a strangled growl and makes another stymied attempt to grab at Furuya’s shirt, and Miyuki finally has to admit that he may not have the situation entirely under control. Kuramochi’s eyes narrow. “Fix it,” he growls. Miyuki sighs. “Fine.” * The solution, actually, is simple. Miyuki figured it out weeks ago, but while he figured it would come to this eventually, he’s told himself that the competition has been to the team’s benefit. The fact that it’s been to his own benefit, he realizes now, may have been more of a factor than he’s been willing to admit. It’s with this thought in mind that he opens his dormitory door onto the familiar sight of Furuya and Sawamura glaring at each other. “Miyuki-senpai told me to come,” Furuya is saying, placidly. “No, he told me to come!” Miyuki adjusts his glasses. “Guys…” “You’re full of yourself.” “I’m full of myself?! You’re the one who--” “Guys,” Miyuki interjects, and rubs at his forehead. “Both of you, get inside.” When the door is closed, he sits down on his bed, facing them. “If you guys really want to know who’s better,” he says, “the only fair competition is head-to-head.” Sawamura and Furuya stare at him with identically baffled expressions. It’s Furuya who gets it first. “Miyuki-senpai, you want us to--you mean… together?” Sawamura’s face splits in horror. “No way!” he yells. “Miyuki Kazuya, you pervert!” “Well, yeah,” Miyuki agrees, and laughs. Then he shrugs. “It’s up to you, of course. But…” he lingers on the word. “Since you guys don’t know how to behave yourselves, I’m not gonna let you both keep going like this.” Sawamura’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?” “You mean… whoever’s better...?” Furuya asks. Miyuki laughs again, because honestly, pitchers. “Something like that.” Sawamura sputters at him. “That’s--that’s--” “Take it or leave it,” Miyuki says, and reclines easily onto the pillows at the head of his bottom bunk. “If you both want to forfeit, that’s fine with me.” He watches as Sawamura negotiates his gaze to the edge of his peripheral vision, looking at Furuya without turning his head. Furuya’s eyes don’t move. “I want to go first.” Sawamura’s mouth falls open. “Hey--! What, you can’t--!” “Alright.” Miyuki folds his arms behind his head, gauges Sawamura’s level of resistance, and pushes further. “Furuya’s going first. You wanna see if you can compete, or not?” Sawamura bristles. “Hell yeah, I can compete!” He looks sidelong at Furuya again, more obviously. “But I’m not… we’re not gonna…” Miyuki smiles, beneficent. “All you have to do is watch.” * Sawamura watches from Miyuki’s desk chair, pulled close to the side of the bed, and Miyuki knows the second Furuya leans in to kiss him that he was right. Furuya always kisses like his life’s goal is to make sure Miyuki never breathes again, but it’s different with Sawamura watching; Furuya’s normally-focused energy is scattered like a laser through a prism. He grabs at Miyuki’s sweatpants, and Miyuki helps him, then pushes a hand into his hair. “Easy,” he murmurs, smiling. “No need to rush.” He doesn’t even bother to look over at Sawamura until a few minutes later, when Furuya is pulling lube-slicked fingers out of him, fumbling with the condom Miyuki hands him. He doesn’t have to; Sawamura has always been the easier to read of the two of them, and he knows what he’s going to see. It’s a shame, though, he thinks, as Furuya pushes into him with a choked whimper. It’s one thing to be the intersection of two lines, unbounded; triangles are too much of a shape. He sighs heavily and twists his head. “You were right, you know,” he says, and then almost laughs because Sawamura looks even more stricken than he imagined-- eyes round and face lava-red, slack, his hands balled at his sides. He contains himself to a lazy smile, lifts his hips as Furuya moans into his shoulder. “It’s his stamina that’s the problem,” he continues. “His technique has gotten a lot better, but no matter how hard I try--” he stumbles over the words as Furuya reaches down to wrap a hand around him, but he licks his lips, recovers-- “I can’t get him to hold back when he’s like this,” he finishes. He grins breathlessly, his eyes falling half-shut as Furuya, on cue, gives up all semblance of control as he fucks Miyuki in pursuit of his own end. “You pitchers are all the same,” he adds, because Sawamura is still frozen stiff. “So--” he gasps at a lucky angle--“selfish.” He lets his grin widen. “But I guess that’s what I like, you know? You always take what you want.” It takes longer than he expected, but finally Sawamura is lunging out of his chair, his palms landing on the mattress, shoulders shaking. “Let me--” he starts. But he doesn’t seem to know how to finish, so it’s up to Miyuki to grab his collar, yank him in so his head knocks against Furuya’s, and kiss him hot and slow. Sawamura’s moan reverberates through both of them--through the whole dorm, probably--and while Miyuki was telling the truth about Furuya’s stamina, he’s pretty sure it’s a new record when Furuya comes a second later, shuddering and thrusting fast through his release. “Miyuki-senpai,” he whispers, soft and reverent as always. He pulls out and collapses onto the mattress. “Sorry.” When Sawamura finally breaks away from his mouth, gasping, Miyuki runs a hand through Furuya’s sweat-slick hair. “Hey,” he says, and grins at his own awful sense of humor. “This is what relief pitchers are for, isn’t it?” He laughs to himself as he fishes another condom out from under his bed, but Furuya is in his usual post-orgasm haze, and Sawamura looks like he can barely remember his own name, much less get a joke. “Here,” Miyuki says, and pulls Furuya’s hand onto his half-hard dick as Sawamura prepares in uncharacteristic silence and starts to push inside him. “Teamwork can be good, too.” But pitchers really are all the same, under their idiosyncrasies, and the two of them are more like a binary star system than a team--two burning egos that have circled each other for too long, finally spinning out of balance and falling prey to the inevitable pull between them. At least, this is what Miyuki thinks about when Furuya’s grip on him goes slack; when Sawamura’s hugely-wide eyes flick away from Miyuki’s face, tentatively at first, but then for good; when Furuya lifts a hesitant hand to brush against Sawamura’s chest, and Sawamura beats both their records, coming with a spasm and a shocked yell, his cheek pressed to the inside of Miyuki’s knee. There’s silence for a while, and then, finally, Sawamura seems to remember he’s there, looks at him again. “Oh…” Miyuki laughs and pushes him away, debates taking care of his own erection and then decides he can’t be bothered. He’s accomplished enough, anyhow. “You’re both terrible,” he says confidently, and reaches for his pants. “It’s a tie for last place.” “So…” Furuya says. “So I’m going to go for a run,” Miyuki says, crawling off the bed and leaving them both where they lie. “If you want a rematch,” he adds, unnecessarily, “get some more practice first.” * “You did something, didn’t you?” Kuramochi asks, as they’re putting their bats away after practice the next day. Miyuki blinks at him, then follows his gaze to Furuya and Sawamura, both standing uselessly by the dugout, looking out on the field in equal, serene silence. “You told me to do something,” Miyuki reminds him. Kuramochi frowns. “I just meant, get them not to kill each other. This is weird.” “Hmm,” Miyuki says. “Well, don’t worry. They’ll be competing again soon. They’re just too stupid to have figured it out yet.” “Figured what out?” “That they’re still going to have to take turns,” Miyuki says, and laughs, long and hard, for no one’s benefit but his own. Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!