Chapter Text
The pulse of the bass reverberates from Kayn’s chest to deep in his belly, invigorating, addicting. This is what he lives for, he thinks. Music in his veins, the slight warmth of alcohol in his system, body flowing with the beat. He feels endless.
An arm wraps around his waist, and he jolts, ready to push them off, but it’s just Ezreal, slotting into his personal space like he belongs there, smelling like sugary sweetness and too many shots. He leans in.
“You looked lonely,” Ezreal says, teasing.
In his impossibly high platform boots, he’s slightly taller, and it’s an odd sensation for Kayn to have to tilt his chin up to look him in the eye. Kayn rolls his eyes, for once, not rising to the obvious bate.
“Yes, yes, thank you for gracing me with your company,” he concedes.
They fall into step easily: Ezreal’s hands on the bare skin of Kayn’s waist, boldly flaunted by his tight black crop top. Dancing with Ezreal is comfortable and familiar, like riding a bike, with the warmth of touch and the press of his body. He doesn’t need to think, just feel.
“You’re getting soft,” Rhaast states, and it says something that Kayn doesn’t disagree with him. It says something that disdain doesn’t colour Rhaast's words.
In one smooth move, Ezreal turns him around so they’re back to chest, Kayn leaning back as they turn their dance into one that is slightly more filthy. After all, what’s a bit of tipsy grinding between friends?
“Yasuo has been staring at you all night,” Ezreal says, lipgloss sticky on Kayn’s ear.
Kayn’s brows furrow. He turns his head to look at the DJ booth, and sure enough, Yasuo is there, staring. Usually , he would stare back, give as good as he got, but something, some tiny thing has him looking away before Yasuo realizes.
“You didn’t think to say anything, Rhaast?” he huffs. Annoyance fills their bond along with confusion. Rhaast never misses out on a chance to tease or inform Kayn of his admirers.
“I thought it would be in poor taste, seeing as you’re into his brother.”
And that— that catches Kayn so off guard he nearly stumbles. Luckily, Ezreal steadies him with an amused laugh.
“What did Rhaast say now?” Everyone in Heartsteel is so used to his antics that he simply takes it in stride.
“He’s just being a dick,” Kayn grumbles.
Rhaast isn’t wrong, though. Kayn is into Yone. He wants to climb him like a fucking tree.
“He’s watching, Shieda,” Rhaast purrs. He nudges gently at Kayn’s awareness, leading his gaze upwards to where Yone is nursing a drink in the VIP section on the second floor.
Yone leans on the railing, arms crossed, bathed in hazy purple lights. The weight of his eyes is heavy on Kayn’s skin, cloying. It tears a shiver from Kayn.
Kayn meets Yone’s stare and holds it for one moment, two, three. His mouth splits into a grin, sharp, crooked, before he’s looking away. He lets his head fall back on Ez’s shoulder, exposing the devastating line of his throat, a black collar with a heart-shaped ring around it.
Ezreal presses a sticky kiss to the offered skin, where he knows Kayn is ticklish. Kayn does not giggle. He doesn’t.
“Stop that,” he hisses.
“Sorry,” Ezreal laughs. He doesn’t sound apologetic at all.
The song changes to something a little smoother, a little dirtier, so base-heavy it sits in their bones. Kayn lets himself be led, lets Ez drag his hand along his abs, lets Ez show him off. He knows they make a pretty picture, sex appeal oozing from them in waves. He can feel the attention they’re getting, even without paying them any mind, basking it in. It only makes every swing of his hip that much more confident, every roll of his waist that much smoother. After all, he is made for the spotlight and yet—
And yet, at this moment, the spotlight seems to pale compared to Yone’s attention. He wants. He covets.
“You’re just a hungry, desperate thing, Shieda,” Rhaast comments, oh so fond.
Kayn’s eyes flutter shut as an image comes to mind, a reverie: sharp claws carding through his hair, an impossibly large hand spanning his waist. Arousal curls deep in the pit of his stomach. He laughs, a turned-on sound.
In the nearly claustrophobic press of the crowd surrounding them, Ezreal twirls him so they’re facing each other again. Kayn wraps his arms around his neck, hoping the flush on his cheeks can’t be seen under the low lights.
“Isn’t that why you chose me?” He says to Rhaast under his breath.
“Among many other things.” Rhaast agrees, as easy as breathing.
“I hope you know it’s rude to exclude people from your conversations,” Ezreal sighs, mouth forming a pout.
Kayn rolls his eyes so hard they hurt.
“Sorry,” he teases, “is the little prince lacking attention?”
Ezreal’s nails dig crescents into the skin of Kayn’s waist, drawing a hiss. His smile turns a little mean, a little devious, eyes narrowing, glitter and shimmer catching in the light.
“Says the one who’s dancing on me, begging for an ounce of it.”
and damn, Ez has the ability to read him to filth.
“Shut up,” he hisses, but he doesn’t deny it. His face burns, looking away.
“It’s cute,” Ezreal continues, not shutting up, tugging Kayn closer and tucking his nose in his neck. “You’re cute when you’re pining for Yone.”
“I am not pining,” he bites out, indignant because he isn’t. He is thirsting. He has enough self-awareness to know when he wants someone, but he doesn’t pine. He is above pining.
“You aren’t denying that you’re cute tho,” Ezreal points out, and Kayn sputters, tempted to choke the little shit.
“I will end you,” he threatens.
“You’re so nice to me, baby cakes,” Ezreal cheeks. The song ends. “I’m thirsty. Let’s go sit down?”
They separate only for Ezreal to link their fingers and lead them out of the crowd. Kayn’s eyes immediately dart to the second floor, arch of his brow teasing, mouth taunting, where Yone is watching them, only —
Yone isn’t there anymore.
Kayn’s stomach drops. Something coils in it. He tells himself it isn’t disappointment.
—
Kayn tilts his head back, downing the rest of his drink, the cut of vodka burning his throat and the sweetness of cranberry coating his tongue. The glass clanks against the bar countertop when Kayn sets it down; too rough, too careless. The sound disappears beneath the pulse of the speakers, but he feels it vibrate up his fingers, wrist, and forearm. He motions for the bartender to get him another.
He’s pathetic. So, Yone didn’t entertain his flirting? So what? So fucking what? He’s the idiot who let himself think that Yone would want something from him.
Him and Yone?
He snorts, a wry, pained sound. What a fucking joke. His hand curls around his newly made drink and takes a swig.
“Shieda…” Rhaast croons, soft, and something about it makes Kayn bristle.
“Fuck off,” he murmurs into his drink, ice on his lips, cold on his tongue.
Rhaast protests; Kayn can feel indignation that isn’t his building in the back of his throat, but then someone slides onto the barstool just beside him, which is a little too close and a little too familiar. Annoyed at some stranger in his space, Kayn whirls around, a biting insult on his tongue, but it dies when he sees who it is.
Yasuo.
“Mind if I join you?” He leans in and asks. His voice is low and smooth.
Kayn shrugs.
“Go ahead.”
Yasuo waves down the bartender.
“I’ll have a vodka water,” he tells them, then looks at Kayn, “do you want anything?”
Kayn downs the quarter of his vodka cranberry left, knocking it back. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, holding back a haughty smile from how Yasuo's eyes linger on his collar.
“I’ll have a vodka cranberry.” It’s his go-to drink. He loves the tartness, the sweetness. Vodka is his spirit of choice, plain enough to mix with just about anything.
When the two of them have their drinks, whipped up quickly—no doubt the benefits of the VIP bar—Kayn shifts in his seat, leaning his cheek on his palm, taking Yasuo in, shameless in it. A subtle flirt, he is not.
“Vodka water, huh?” he makes no effort to hide his disdain for Yasuo’s choice.
It’s not that he’s never noticed that Yasuo was hot. He has eyes; the whole quiet, rugged DJ vibe did something for him. He just didn’t know he was an option. Didn’t consider him an option in the name of keeping the peace and not stepping on any toes.
That didn’t matter now. Not if Yasuo makes the first move.
“It’s not my favourite,” Yasuo laughs, giving a one-armed shrug, “but after a long set, it helps me rehydrate. Plus, it doubles as liquid courage.”
Kayn raises one arched brow.
“And what do you need courage for?” He taps his foot on Yasuo’s calf, lingers, nudges him forward until Yasuo gets the hint and cages one of Kayn’s thighs between his own.
Kayn swallows, throat suddenly dry because Yasuo’s thighs are thick, all sturdy muscle, impossibly warm even through ripped denim. An image assaults him then, unbidden (not from his own subconscious), of one between his thighs, straddling it, grinding against it until he cums and leaves it wet with slick.
He feels a telltale throb between his legs, and he wants to squeeze his thighs together for some relief, some contact, but he can’t in this position.
Yasuo places one large hand on Kayn’s thigh, leaning in so their faces are mere centimetres apart.
“Courage for this.” He kisses Kayn without any more hesitation, closemouthed but bruising, intense, and Kayn huffs a small laugh into his mouth before turning it filthy, curling his fingers in the collar of Yasuo’s shirt to pull him closer.
—
They end up at Yasuo’s place because Kayn’s is a no-go for apparent reasons. Kayn is given an expedited tour from the front door to the bedroom, all the while trying to undress Yasuo as quickly as possible, articles of clothes trailing like breadcrumbs. The moment the bed is in sight, Kayn pushes him onto it.
“Let’s get some pleasantries out of the way,” he murmurs into Yasuo’s ear.
Yasuo blinks up at him in a daze.
Kayn unbuttons his jeans, unceremoniously grabs Yasuo’s hand and shoves it beneath denim, thin boxers until he reaches slick warmth.
He sees the realization dawn on Yasuo’s face, a barely there uptick of eyebrows, and then the expression is gone, replaced by a dirty grin.
“You have got to let me eat you out,” Yasuo rasps, inching his fingers further down and oh, he starts drawing slow circles around Kayn’s clit.
Lashes fluttering, Kayn inhales sharply, hips hitching forward. Who is he to say no to that?
Yasuo eats him out like he’s starved for it, tongue lapping at his clit, alternating with flat, broad licks from hole to clit, dipping in ever so slightly to where Kayn pours slick and dragging it upwards. It’s messy; Kayn’s wetness mixes with Yasuo’s spit leaking down the curve of his ass onto the blanket beneath him. Yasuo’s scruff scratches his inner thighs and drags deliciously along the sensitive skin where his thigh ends, sucking a bruise.
“Who said you could—oh fuck,” he cries, shoving his knuckles in his mouth to muffle his pathetic whine when two fingers slip inside him, and Yasuo takes his clit into his mouth and sucks.
Yasuo’s fingers are thick. Two are just enough to give a nice stretch, and when he curls them, Kayn arches through a whole body shudder. It’s perfect. It’s so fucking perfect, and he’s going to cum.
He tells Yasuo so, tangles his fingers in his hair, and swallows down sounds as he’s fingerfucked and eaten out with the single-mindedness of a man on a mission. With a ragged groan, he cums, arching into Yasuo’s mouth, hips hitching, thighs twitching as he gushes on his fingers and tongue.
Finally, Yasuo pulls away and Kayn slumps against the mattress, struggling to catch his breath, arm thrown over his eyes.
“Fuck,” Kayn manages, although it doesn’t even encompass half of what he feels right now. A warm, broad hand pets his thigh, and he opens one eye to regard him. “Who the fuck taught you that?”
Because the amount of men that Kayn has slept with who knew how to eat pussy were few and far between. So few and far that he could count them on one hand and have fingers left over.
“A long-term girlfriend in college. She trained me well,” Yasuo grins, and it looks filthy with the sheen on his mouth and chin.
A pulse of arousal hits Kayn right in the gut.
“Well, thank god for her,” he laughs, then nudges him with his knee. “Now lie down so I can fuck you.”
“Yessir.” Yasuo scrambles to take his boxers off and climbs on the bed.
Kayn sheds his top, crawls over Yasuo and sinks onto his cock. It’s been too long since he’s had sex. Way too long. The feeling of Yasuo’s warm cock inside of him, his big hands digging bruises around his waist as he rides him, tilts his hips so he grinds deep and —
“Oh holy shit, you’re gorgeous,” Yasuo groans, goves, mouth open as if he’s witnessing god.
“Better. He sees you,” Rhaast sighs, almost whimsical, and it sends a fucking rush of lovefondnessfeelingstoomuch in his veins, in his guts, in the center of his chest.
He can’t keep this sound from ripping from his chest—something between a whine and a whimper. Yasuo grabs him, one hand behind his neck and pulls him down for a dirty kiss. He tastes like Kayn. The angle is so delicious, Kayn grinding his clit on Yasuo’s abs, breaking their kiss with a gasp. A mouth is at his neck, biting, sucking marks along his throat and shoulder, and it hits him like a truck—he cums again, digging his nails into Yasuo’s shoulders, desperate grinds as he clenches around Yasuo’s cock.
Kayn shudders one final time, then stills.
Yasuo exhales so harshly it sounds like it hurts, fingers clenching around hips. He noses at Kayn’s cheek, murmuring softly.
“Can you go again?”
Kayn nods. He raises off of him with a sigh, and, wow, Yasuo’s a bit of a mess, still-hard cock and abdomen, shining with slick. It’s a nice look. He settles onto the bed, raising a brow.
All along, Yasuo watches, enraptured, hypnotized.
“Sure,” Kayn agrees. He can definitely go again. But, he’s not just going to give it freely. He’s Shieda-fucking-Kayn, after all. “you’re doing all the work this time, though.”
“No worries, sweetheart.”
With a laugh, Yasuo crawls over him, taps Kayn’s thigh, and watches them spread. Slides home.
—
Kayn and Walks of Shame are pretty acquainted. One might call them old friends. It’s been a long while since he’s had to sneak out of someone’s bedroom at five in the morning, but he never really forgets how to do it. There’s a sort of game to it: wracking your brain for last night’s action so you can track down your belongings, getting dressed and staying quiet enough so you don’t wake whoever you slept with. He would always make Rhaast wake him up early so he could do precisely that, regardless of how hungover he was.
Walks of Shame might be familiar to him, but feeling actual shame isn’t.
Only when he’s inside his Uber does it hit him:
He just slept with Yone’s brother.
What is wrong with him? Of all the selfish—
“I didn’t know there was a rule against that in Heartsteel’s contract,” Rhaast quips.
“You were the one who didn’t even want to point out that he was into me,” Kayn hisses, because what the fuck. He has his AirPods in; always easiest to pretend to be on a call in public rather than look batshit crazy.
“Because I knew this would happen if you fucked him,” Rhaast snipes, and oh, Kayn scathes.
“Oh fuck you,” Kayn spits, vision blurring, chest growing hot. “You think you know me?”
Rhaast doesn’t rise to the bait, and it only makes him madder.
“I do know you, Shieda,” he says, “More than anyone alive or dead.”
Kayn doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t deny it because it’s true. So, he just doesn’t say anything anymore.
The rest of the ride goes by in silence. When he pulls up the driveway to the Heartsteel house, he notices all the lights are off besides the one in the kitchen. He sucks in a breath and hopes someone just forgot the light on.
The house is silent when he walks in—the complete opposite of how it usually is in the day. He shuts the door behind him and toes off his shoes next to the dozens by the door.
In the next room over, the kitchen, he hears a sound like the clatter of a mug on a countertop and then—
“Kayn? You’re home?” Yone calls out, just loud enough for his voice to carry to the front door.
Kayn freezes, stomach dropping.
Ohnoohno
“Y-yeah,” he replies, voice catching in his throat.
His socked feet move of their own accord. He walks into the kitchen, and Yone is there, leaning his hip against the counter.
Yone looks at him and then pauses. He gives him an unsubtle once-over.
Kayn knows what he looks like—he has marks all over his neck and collarbones. His crop top does nothing to hide the hand-shaped bruises. He feels strangely panicky.The swirl of self doubt resurfaces along with shame.
“I fucked your brother,” he blurts out.