The room was still. Dim morning light filtered in through half-closed curtains, dust motes lazily dancing in the air.
Satoshi was deeply asleep.
Unfortunately for him, both Shirou and Ashwatthama were very much awake.
He lay between them, one arm tucked under the pillow, his mouth slightly parted, brow furrowed ever so slightly in a dream. The blankets were a little tangled, revealing the curve of his bare waist and the soft rise of his chest with every slow breath.
Shirou brushed his knuckles along Satoshi's cheekbone, watching him closely.
Ashwatthama leaned in from the other side, kissing the corner of his lips lightly. "He's out cold."
"Hn."
"Bet I can touch him without waking him up."
"I'm in."
Ashwatthama smirked and ducked low, trailing a kiss along the line of Satoshi's jaw. The man in question shifted slightly, a breath hitching in his throat. Not to be outdone, Shirou kissed Satoshi's neck, just under the ear—soft and slow.
Satoshi sighed faintly.
Ashwatthama pressed a palm to his stomach, thumb rubbing light circles near the hipbone. "That was mine."
"No," Shirou muttered, mouth brushing against Satoshi's collarbone now. "That was mine."
Ashwatthama leaned down and kissed just below his ribs and Satoshi made a soft, high breath—not quite a moan, but close.
They both froze.
Shirou glared at Ashwatthama, who raised an eyebrow and kissed him again, slightly lower.
This time Satoshi shifted again, his thighs tensing.
"You lost," Ashwatthama muttered.
"Like hell—"
Satoshi stirred, groaned—and blinked awake slowly. His gaze was blurry at first, caught between sleep and—He looked down and saw his two very naked husbands on top of his very naked self. Ashwatthama's lips were close to his lower belly while Shirou's were near his nipple.
Then he remembered what happened yesterday. Hands and lips touching him and making him melt, while he touched them with the same fervor. The heat of it passed through his mind and his voice was hoarse and embarrassed as he croaked out, "Are you competing over who can give me morning wood?!"
Both men had the decency to pause.
"No," Shirou said, not even blinking.
"Maybe," Ashwatthama said at the same time, utterly unapologetic.
Satoshi covered his face with both hands. "I hate you both."
A moment passed. Then Shirou gently moved Satoshi's hands aside and kissed his forehead. "No, you don't."
Ashwatthama nudged in to press a kiss on his cheek. "You love us."
He was still red in the face. Still flustered. Still very much suffering the consequences of being doted on. But his hands, traitorous things, reached out to pull both of them closer anyway, as he mumbled, "Unfortunately."
There was a beat of silence after the words left his mouth.
The air in the room changed as Shirou and Ashwatthama froze where they were, eyes suddenly sharp and focused on him. Not teasing. Not smug.
"You implied you loved us," Shirou said slowly. "Say it again."
Satoshi blinked. "…What?"
"You definitely implied it," Ashwatthama added, voice low, a dangerous kind of amused. "So go on. Repeat it."
Satoshi, still half-draped in the blankets, blinked blearily at them. "I didn't—"
"Take responsibility," Shirou said, inching closer.
"Yeah," Ashwatthama murmured, voice like gravel and heat, his hand sliding boldly down the front of Satoshi's stomach. "Don't worry. We'll take responsibility too."
Shirou's hand mirrored the motion—only his slid up Satoshi's leg instead. And when both hands met near the middle—hot, firm, sure—Satoshi gasped, as he was once reminded that he was still very much naked. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, his mouth fell open, and the tiniest, most damning moan escaped him.
Which immediately lit both of their expressions into wicked grins.
Satoshi, now fully awake and fully mortified, scrambled backward out of the blankets and all but flew into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
There was a long pause.
"We'll wait," Shirou called from the bed, voice suspiciously calm.
"No pressure," Ashwatthama added, far too cheerfully.
Inside the bathroom, Satoshi splashed cold water on his face, trying to breathe past the steam in his brain.
Did he seriously moan? Did they seriously—? I'm going to die.
He took another breath. Then two.
"Dammit," he muttered. "Fine."
The door cracked open a sliver. Two pairs of eyes immediately turned to him.
Satoshi squinted at them, cheeks flushed. His voice was soft and tight with embarrassment. "I love you. Okay? Both of you. I love you."
Shirou's breath caught. Ashwatthama blinked—just once—and then smiled, slow and real. Satoshi ducked back into the bathroom with a squeak, but the door didn't close all the way this time.
It wasn't meant as an invitation but as a sign of trust. Clearly, they took it as an invitation.
He was brushing his teeth when he heard it—the unmistakable creak of the bathroom door being nudged open further. He turned his head slowly, foam in his mouth, and saw them. Shirou and Ashwatthama, still naked and smiling wickedly. Satoshi tried to keep his gaze on their faces and not lower.
"No," he said, before either of them could speak. Toothbrush still in his mouth.
"We didn't say anything," Shirou replied smoothly.
"You were going to," Satoshi accused, rinsing his mouth out as quickly as possible before pointing at them. "Whatever you're planning—no."
Ashwatthama tilted his head, eyes raking lazily over Satoshi's bare chest and going lower. "Are you sure? It'd save water."
"I am not showering with you," Satoshi squeaked, wanting to cover himself with his hands but knowing it would look ridiculous and invite further teasing. "Absolutely not."
Shirou's eyes twinkled. "Just thought we'd help you scrub your back. As responsible husbands."
"Very supportive husbands," Ashwatthama added with a grin.
"I said no!"
They paused, faces falling. Satoshi huffed in amusement. "You two are insufferable."
"Yes," Shirou said, crossing his arms and enhancing his very naked chest.
His traitorous gaze drifted downward slightly, then he quickly returned it back up. Stopped. Then looked down once again and squinted. "…What is that?"
Shirou blinked and glanced down. "Ah. That."
The mark was small, delicate in shape, and traced in glowing lines of red so pale it almost shimmered silver in the light. Nestled just above the line of where pubic hair started, it almost looked like—
Satoshi squinted harder. Then stared. "…Is that an…uterus?"
Ashwatthama choked on air. Even Shirou's neutral façade cracked. "…It's a stylized heart. Probably."
"No. That's an uterus," Satoshi said, pointing with a scandalized finger. "That's got the horns, the tubes, the—Oh my god, that's a magical uterus."
Ashwatthama leaned against the door and turned toward him, clearly intrigued. "You've never seen the tattoo? Not even Shirou's?"
Satoshi gave him a deadpan look. "No? I mean, he mentioned when we first met, but do you think I go crawling under your waistlines with a magnifying glass?!"
"Well, you had your hands inside my pants last night—"
"ASH."
Ashwatthama's grin was full of teeth. "Fine. What do you think of mine?"
Ashwatthama jutted his hips forward and pointed toward his lower belly where there was another slightly orange glowing mark. Not identical to Shirou's, but definitely from the same… uterus-y family. Curvier. With sharper angles. More tribal.
Still very much above the groin.
Satoshi's brain gave up.
He looked between them—two deadly men, marked like magical girls by a cosmic catalog system that thought the best way to indicate ownership was apparently enchanted glowing pelvic stamps.
"Oh my god," he whispered. "They're uteruses of bondage."
Shirou looked vaguely pained. "Please never say that again."
Ashwatthama seemed delighted. "I'm going to call it that forever now."
"No! No, you are not—!"
Satoshi grabbed a towel, used it to cover his eyes and groaned.
"This is it," he muttered. "This is how I die. Between two tattooed warriors with cursed uterus sigils. I'm going to be known in legend as the bisexual who collected husbands like Pokémon and made them sparkle at the groin."
There was a long pause.
Then Shirou's voice, deceptively gentle: "That's… not entirely inaccurate."
Satoshi flailed out of sheer embarrassment while Ashwatthama laughed so hard he slid off the wall.
"So. Shower?" asked Shirou voice neutral but with a hopeful edge.
Satoshi huffed, took away the towel and walked forward to pull Shirou into a heated kiss, his fingers curling on the back of his neck. Firm, lingering—definitely not innocent.
When he pulled back, breathless, he turned to Ashwatthama.
"I'm not showering with you either," he muttered.
Ashwatthama was already standing up and leaning in, eyes gleaming. "Worth a try."
Satoshi kissed him too—hotter than he meant to. A little messier. A little more desperate. Ashwatthama let out a pleased hum and followed him for another taste until Satoshi pushed them both away, flushed and panting.
"Now out," he said, waving toward the door like a flustered emperor in a towel. "Out! Or I swear I'll use cold water on both of you."
They laughed, but obeyed.
And when the door finally closed, Satoshi stared at his reflection—face red, heart racing—and whispered, "I'm doomed."
.
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