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Akiyama doesn't mind being shared.
Even when his brilliant mind can't piece together how exactly it came to be that he, always alone, has not just one but two lovers, he's not unhappy with the situation exactly, just perplexed as he turns the situation over in his brain, yet again. He suspects a conspiracy. In fact, he's almost sure of it, the way those two work together.
He doesn't mind being held between them, Nao in front and Fukunaga behind. He's even gotten used to being penetrated instead of the one doing the penetrating, even as he's the only one among them whose cock isn't made of silicone and held into place by leather and steel. He's not sure who had the initial idea for this. When he asks, Fukunaga just gives a scarily warm grin, and Nao just blushes and looks at him with a sweetly sly gaze.
The submission, something he initially thought he would mind, ends up not being as bad as he thought. Actually, he enjoys it. For one, he trusts them. Fukunaga, who knows what she's doing, leads the other two through this, and Nao would never hurt him. Sometimes, it's just comforting to just stop thinking two or three steps ahead and let his mind wander while someone else takes care of the details and the configurations.
Akiyama actually likes the touching, the way that Nao and Fukunaga treat him like a piece of meat. Fukunaga never breaks character, pinching him, slapping his ass, never showing affection. When she takes his mouth, she pulls him down hard, almost making him choke on the scent of latex. Nao's acting is more shaky, more of Fukunaga's apprentice than a full-fledged top. It's the moments she breaks character and sneaks him a kiss or lays back and enjoys the blowjobs he gives her, while Fukunaga fills him from behind, that elevate the experience.
The conversations he loves. He's full, always too full to talk or even think about anything that they say. The conversations happen just over his naked body. He catches words and phrases and pieces together the stories, the things his lovers never talk to him directly about. Fukunaga thinks the weirdest thing about having a female body is that all the rooms are suddenly five degrees colder. Nao had her first orgasm on a bicycle, and it took her second orgasm over five years later to figure that out.
He definitely appreciates the ingenuity and flexibility they show. Tonight they do different holes. Nao sits up at the head of the bed, legs spread, satin nightgown pulled up to her thighs, showing off everything and her hot pink strap-on. Fukunaga does him from behind. Her perfectly manicured nails leave paths of red skin down his back that will linger for days as a reminder. Other times, Nao lies on top of Fukunaga, and the two play with each other's breasts as Akiyama tries to fit them both into this mouth.
The fullness, or at least the sensation of being filled, feels strange. It's not unpleasant, quite the opposite. The press of bodies sandwiched together comforts him. Plus the motions, the pounding, the groping all override his brain, until he's nothing so dignified as a quivering body between them. He never comes so hard as he does when both of his lovers use him like this.
And afterwards, as he floats down, he tolerates that loose-jointed feeling that comes over him, mostly because once Nao and Fukunaga take care of the clean-up, harnesses off, condoms in the trash, dildoes by the sink to be washed later, they soothe him afterwards with soft, grounding strokes up and down his spine. He's never sure how long they stay together like that. Sometimes just five or fifteen minutes before Fukunaga heads off to work and Nao goes to visit her father, and Akiyama remains alone in the apartment, filled then emptied.
Other times, they stay together the whole night. Nao makes dinner, Fukunaga provides the drinks, and they sit around the table just being a trio. Eventually, they go to bed again, and this time it doesn't matter who takes the middle and gets shared.
The truth is, they all are.