Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1054959.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Other, Multi
  Fandom:
      Princess_Princess_(Anime_&_Manga)
  Relationship:
      Kouno_Tooru/Shihoudani_Yuujirou/Yutaka_Mikoto
  Character:
      Shihoudani_Yuujirou, Yutaka_Mikoto, Kouno_Tooru
  Additional Tags:
      Public_Sex, Crossdressing, Threesome_-_M/M/M, Sex_Toys
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-22 Words: 1744
****** Public Decree ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Mikoto ponders life, and why Tooru keeps jabbing him with his elbow.
     Sex ensues.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
              “Hurry up, Shihoudani!” Mikoto hissed, his eyes tight with
irritation, as he scrunched his knees tightly into his chest to make room for
the other boy to squeeze past. “Why are you so late?”
               “Never mind that.”
          Yuujiro breezed past, long hair in a disarray, dress rumpled, and was
that a stain? Mikoto leaned a little closer, but Yuujiro shoved him back. “What
is your problem Mikoto? If you have time to stare, go and help Kouno get
ready!”

Mikoto huffed, hands bunching into fists at his side, before tossing his head
and stomping off. A long fall of artificial hair swung behind him, pink in the
exact same shade as his own. He still had no idea where Natashou-sempai had
procured it. Where did he buy half of this stuff anyway? Mikoto tilted his head
thoughtfully, before knocking on the door to the dressing room, where Tooru
still was.
               “Kouno? Are you in there?”
               “H-hai.”
               “Do you want help?” Mikoto frowned at the sound of Tooru
cursing, one hand lingering in over the door handle. Hmm. One of his nails had
chipped. He needed to fix tha-
               He shook his head to clear it, and then sighed loudly. “Okay,
well hurry up. Shihoudani and I will be waiting for you at the bleachers. On
the court. You remember?”
               “Yes, yes, all right!” shouted Tooru, and Mikoto stomped back
the way he’d come, glowering unbecomingly. What was wrong with all of them? Oh
well. For once he wasn’t the one late and floundering although he would have
preferred Shihoudani’s suffering to Tooru’s… He gasped, and leaned for a moment
on the wall.
               To think such cruel thoughts! Ah, that Shihoudani was rubbing
off on him for sure. Thankfully Megumi-san was not here to see him so
disgraceful. Thinking cruel thoughts and his nail had chipped. What would she-
               “Stop grinning, it’s weird.”
               Mikoto gasped. The object of his ill wishes.
               “What?” Shihoudani muttered suspiciously, before perking up to
wave at a group of boys crossing the hallway in front of them.
               “Ehhh, nothing, nothing. Tooru said he’d be here soon.”
               Hmm, thought Mikoto. Wonder why hearing that had such a
reaction. And he thought my grin was creepy.
:
               “Everybody!” Shihoudani called out, and Mikoto huffed again as
his dulcet tones made a few hundred male heads turn their way. Mikoto fidgeted
a little with the hemline of his dress. Today they were actually wearing color.
Apparently Natashou had been inspired and this inspiration had led to Mikoto
being forced into some sort of green peasant girl outfit. Natashou had been
getting sneakier too; this hemline was well above his knees.
               He saw the chipped nail and tucked that hand behind him, before
waving feebly with his other hand. Damn Shihoudani.
               The announcer’s voice picked up, and they took their seats near
the top of the bleachers, but not the complete top. It was an informal game,
between two of the school’s baseball teams, and while there was quite a student
turnout, many of the bleachers were still quite deserted. Shihoudani was
settling easily onto one of the hard metal seats, his legs elegantly crossed at
the ankles.
               “Where’s Kouno-kun already?” Mikoto muttered, scuffing at the
ground with one foot.
               “I’m-I’m right here.”
               And yes he was, but something was wrong. Mikoto couldn’t put his
finger on it, but something was off. His wig was rumpled as though hastily
pulled on, and one of the buttons on his dress was fastened wrong. Shihoudani
seemed to notice the same thing.
               “Ara ara, look. You buttoned this wrong. What were you doing if
not getting pretty?”
               He reached passed Mikoto, tugging Tooru into the space in
between them, and re-buttoned his top, hands lingering… strange. Tooru looked
pale, and a little nauseous. Or something. Maybe he ate something off for
breakfast.
               “I’m fine Shihoudani. It certainly is my fault for not making it
down here in time, after all the help you gave me in the dressing room.”
Shihoudani just smiled, at him, that coy little grin. Mikoto hmphed to himself,
crossing his arms over his chest. They never helped him. He always had to do
his make-up by himself.
               “Whatever. You’re both here. Let’s shut up and watch the game.”
Mikoto said finally, annoyed by the blatant favoritism and weird eye-contact.
Why didn’t he know what they were talking about? He was a princess too. He
tucked his chipped nail into the folds of his skirt, and bit his lip.
               He looked down only to scowl at a boy beaming up at him. Yech.
Why did he pick this school again?
               -bump-
               Mikoto scooted to the side a little.
               -bump-
               He frowned, and tried to tuck himself over a little, but
               -bump-
               “Kounooo. Why do you keep…” Mikoto trailed off, covering his
mouth with one hand. No way.
               “Ah. Mikoto. Don’t look.” Mikoto drew back, before pulling close
again, uncomfortably aware of the people on the same bench as them.
               “Yuujiro…” Tooru moaned, a low sound, deep in his throat, and
his hips twisted, elbow bumping into Mikoto’s side, where his hand was wrapped
around Yuujiro’s. Yuujiro’s hand that was pumping him slowly, working like a
massage in Tooru’s lap. Mikoto could see him making a tent of the fabric from
how hard he was.
               “Ah, ah…” Tooru whimpered, and Mikoto pulled closer as though in
spite himself, only to glance up at Yuujiro’s crow of triumph.
               “Ah, even Mikoto is interested. Isn’t he pretty?” Tooru mewled,
hips bucking into the air, flashing the garters holding his stockings up, and
Mikoto gulped. He wasn’t wearing that. When had they passed those out, delicate
straps of silk and tiny rosebuds?
               “Shh. Someone will hear you!” Mikoto hissed, and Yuujiro laughed
again, a low sound, and Mikoto could feel his blood pounding in his ears, from
nerves and something else. Yuujiro’s hand was still pumping, delicate lacquered
nails, and soft palms working in a lewd rhythm, pulling and twisting through
the fabric, his other arm wrapped around Tooru, holding up from sprawling back
against the bench behind him.
               Mikoto felt terribly uneasy. He could hear the people shifting
and talking just behind him, though only barely. His ears felt heavy and warm
from the sound of Kouno whimpering, and the rustling of his dress and
Shihoudani just- just molesting him. His heart was beating heavily. He leaned
forward helplessly, trying desperately to keep anyone from seeing what they
were doing.
               “Ah, Mikoto-chan. Did you want to play? Normally I don’t share,
but I suppose this once…” Mikoto was shaking his head furiously, not quite
daring to look at Shihoudani during the refusal. Tooru was looking at him
pleadingly, his hips still bucking, so needy. Whenever Shihoudani caught him by
the wrist he wasn’t even surprised.
               Tooru was thick and warm in his palm, and Mikoto thought
fleetingly of Megumi, and wondered how she would feel in comparison, but his
thoughts felt fuzzy. Tooru had his eyes closed and was grinding into his hand,
his whole body writhing on the metal bleachers, and Mikoto wrapped his hand
tighter, unthinkingly making Tooru squeal. He looked up, and Shihoudani was
watching them hungrily, licking his lips, already slick with lip gloss, and
Mikoto wondered what he tasted like, and the thought made him dizzy, and a
little sick.
               “Do you want to know why he’s like this?” and Tooru’s eyes shot
open, a whine coming from his throat, but Mikoto wasn’t watching him. His hand
pumped on auto pilot, still held by Shihoudani. He was watching Shihoudani,
watching the way his mouth quirked, and the way his pulse fluttered in the open
collar of his dress. It made him feel heavy, and he wasn’t thinking about
anyone else anymore, not Megumi, or the people behind them.
               “Why?” Mikoto whispered, his throat dry, and when Shihoudani
lifted Tooru’s skirt with a flourish his eyes widened.
               Tooru was slick, and wet along the inside of his thighs sticky,
and Mikoto looked at the toy tucked into him, the switch tucked into the top of
his garter, pressed as fast as it could go. And now he could hear it, a very
faint buzzing, coming from where it was buried so deeply inside of Tooru.
               “Mikoto…” Tooru whined, hands trying to bat Shihoudani away to
lower his skirt. “Don’t look.”
               I shouldn’t, Mikoto thought a little desperately, I really
shouldn’t be looking. But Tooru was spread open and wet, and so smooth.
Mikoto’s hands were just hovering now, held above Tooru’s lap, and he squeaked
when Yuujiro pushed his hand down, sliding the length of his palm along where
Tooru was hard, and straining. His fingers curled around the flesh almost
unconsciously, and he swallowed at the feeling, so hard in his palm.
               “Don’t just hold it, move.” Yuujiro hissed. “And hurry, the
bleachers are starting to fill up.”
               Mikoto’s hand started moving, sharp jerky pulls, and Tooru was
muttering desperately a feverish quality to his voice that alternated between
pleading, and cursing them both. It was unexpectedly arousing, and Mikoto
shifted helplessly on his own metal seat, hoping his own erection was less
obvious. Tooru’s hips were moving constantly, pushing up into his hand, and
then back down onto the toy still buried deep within him. Mikoto could see
where the cord led inside, held open by Yuujiro’s slick fingers.
               “Ah, Yuujiro. I’m close,” Tooru whimpered, and Yuujiro smiled, a
warm little smile, and winked at Mikoto before bending over, his long hair
falling like a curtain around his face. Mikoto slowed his hand movements, to
watch his mouth seal slickly around the red head, those lipgloss slick lips
pursing as he sucked, and suddenly Tooru was arching, one hand clamping onto
Mikoto’s wrist painfully hard, and the other backwards across his own mouth in
an attempt to stifle the cries falling from his mouth.
               “Ah,” Yuujiro murmured, sitting up easily. His hands were
rearranging Tooru, who was limp on the seat, his hands smoothing his layers
back into order, and untangling the long curls of his wig, graceful and clean,
hands you would never know had just been. . . Mikoto rubbed his hands roughly
across the skirt of his gown.
               “That was fun Tooru,” Yuujiro said, his voice a teasing sing-
song “But the toy stays in.” Tooru and Mikoto groaned.
               “And now, a small word from our Princesses!”
               “Work, work!” Yuujiro said, and pulled them up, a blinding smile
drawn across his face.
End Notes
     Pull up your skirt. Or submit a request.
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