The game had ended, but the match never really stopped. Not for you.

The Bluelock lounge was dim, humming low with leftover tension. Sweat still clung to your skin, drying in patches, the sting of bruises settling in under your clothes. The buzz from the floodlights out on the pitch had faded, but something far meaner was pulsing in here — closer. Sharper.

Reo was stretched across the couch like a fucking painting. Shirtless, golden, cut like a model with no business being that pretty and that dangerous at the same time. Muscles carved lean, his hair damp and tousled like he hadn't even bothered to towel off properly. One hand draped across his stomach, the other casually flicking through his phone — but you saw it. The way his eyes kept sliding toward you. That slow, deliberate drag like he was already imagining your legs on either side of him.

Nagi was lower — on the floor, back against the far wall, long legs stretched out like he was resting. But his stillness? It wasn’t calm. It was calculated. His hair hung in his face, silver strands catching the dim light like a blade. And beneath that lazy, almost bored expression was something far darker — coiled under the surface like a predator waiting for the right fucking moment.

You were between them. No — not stuck. Placed. Caught like a fuse between two lit ends of dynamite.

It was Reo who cracked it open.

“If we ever fucked,” he said, eyes on you, voice like velvet dipped in gasoline, “who do you think would top?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He grinned, slow and wolfish. “She looks like she’d fight it at first. Then melt. Right there in someone’s lap, begging. Maybe mine.”

That tension that had been smoldering in the corner of the room? It snapped.

Nagi’s head lifted.

His phone hit the floor.

The door slammed shut like the building itself had heard enough.

Click.

Locked.

The lights dropped to a low, red hum. And the air shifted. Thickened. Like it knew what was about to happen.

You didn’t see Nagi move. One second he was across the room — the next, his hand was wrapped tight around your wrist. And just like that, you were up. Hauled into motion without warning, without permission, like your body wasn’t even yours anymore.

He shoved you into Reo’s lap — rough, deliberate, like you were a live weapon he’d just thrown at him.

You landed hard, straddling Reo’s thighs. His hands came up to grab your waist. Firm. Hot. His eyes locked to yours, something filthy and fascinated in the way he looked at you.

But Nagi didn’t give you space to think.

He followed.

One knee hit the couch beside you. Then the other. He boxed you both in, arms braced on either side of Reo’s shoulders, body caging yours. The air between all three of you tightened to the point of suffocation.

You could feel Nagi’s breath on the back of your neck — calm, steady, wrong, given the look in his eyes.

He didn’t look at Reo.

He looked at you.

"You look good like that," he said, voice quiet, controlled. Almost lazy — but underneath it, a blade.

“She doesn’t even know what she wants yet,” Reo muttered, dragging a palm down your back. “You’re just mad you weren’t fast enough.”

Then — his grin cut wider for a second as his eyes flicked up at Nagi.

“I mean... come on. You give bottom energy.”

Nagi smiled.

Not with his mouth. Just his eyes. And it wasn’t friendly.

Then his voice dropped, low and smooth, brushing over your skin like smoke.

“Let’s find out.”