Raising a baby means so many wonderful things: an adventure, an indescribable sweetness, a newfound closeness as parents.
Raising a baby also means Suga hasn't been fucked in a month.
Because between work and trying to keep their little guy alive-in addition to shaping him into a respectful, decent human being-Suga and Daichi barely have time to sleep, much less to get fun and funky with their junk-y.
(Daichi hates it when Suga says that, but he's an elementary teacher, and rhymes are a part of him now. They're involuntary, and if Daichi really loves him, he'll accept that.)
That's not to say they haven't had any intimate time at all. There have been a couple of mutual jerk-off sessions, both lying on their backs in bed, already half asleep. And there was that one time Suga woke up at 4am, randomly ravenously horny, and started grinding against Daichi.
Daichi had drowsily fingered himself open, and Suga got in four good thrusts-had his husband groaning quietly into his pillow-before the baby monitor went off. Daichi offered to go check on Yuuto for them, and by the time he came back, supposedly Suga was out cold.
So, it's not like they haven't touched each other in a month, but it's been that long-a whole month!-since he's had Daichi's dick in his ass.
Yes, he's turned it down a time or two in favor of a nap. But still, it's an injustice, and honestly, he can't believe he's survived this long. He didn't know it was possible for a person to sleep every night for thirty days next to a man who looks and feels like Daichi without finding a way to get his junk in their trunk. He's gotta be setting some kind of world record. Regardless, he has no interest in discovering how much longer he could last.
They have a date night tonight. The baby sitter should be knocking at their door in less than five minutes. And so help him Suga is going to get fucked.
He hisses as the butt plug slides into place. He glances over his shoulder in the mirror. He's got his foot propped up on the toilet, which isn't the sexiest look, but the butt plug itself-a red bejeweled thing from a Valentines Day two years ago-looks pretty good, if a little unnecessarily fancy.
He sets both feet on the floor and hops up and down, giving his butt a little wiggle and shimmy to make sure everything feels secure and not too unpleasant.
It was tougher than it usually is fingering himself open. It's been so long.
It's even more of a good thing that I prepped myself, then, he thinks. The second Daichi's cock is in sight, I can hop right on it, no delays.
After pulling his pants back on, Suga whistles his way out of the bathroom to find Daichi reading their son his favorite tactile picture book on the living room floor. It's Daichi's favorite one too, because it doesn't require any silly voices, which he insists is Suga's domain.
Daichi glances up at the whistling, giving Suga's date night outfit a once over-black loafers, his slimmest black jeans, and a cozy blue sweater with a black-and-white paisley collar peeking out over the neckline.
Sexy Suga. Cozy Suga. Smart Suga.
Daichi's three weaknesses, all in one outfit.
By the lift in Daichi's strong eyebrows and the bob of his adams apple as he swallows, Suga knows he made the right choice. It shouldn't be too hard to nudge Daichi in the direction he wants this night to go.
Suga crosses to sit on their couch, tapping Daichi's side with the toe of his shoe while Yuuto continues his fascinated squeezing of a fuzzy carrot illustration.
"You look nice," Suga says. He really does. These days, if Daichi's not in his firefighter t-shirt, he's in a different t-shirt and sweats.
Suga has never been one to bemoan Daichi in sweats. Daichi in sweats is a work of art-a masterpiece worthy of being eternalized as a marble statue and toured in natural history museums for the entire world to see-and Suga thanks the gods every day for whoever decided legs needed sweatshirts too. But Daichi in jeans and a collared shirt and a bomber jacket is a figure worthy of a monument so large it's visible from outer space.
