A/N: Hello! This is my first time posting an Uta no Prince-sama fanfiction over online ^^ I'm slightly nervous, but also excited. I'm trying out a new writing style, with three POVs. I'm hoping that the way I wrote is clear enough, but there's an explanation at the end of the fic, just in case. I hope someone likes it!

Three Points of Contact

You awaken, blinking into the morning light that threatens to burn your retinas. Quickly, you put on your glasses and sit up. You see him beside you, his bare back to you. You frowned in confusion, trying to remember if anything happened last night. But alas, nothing surfaced, as if there is a portion of your memory wiped off. You swing your legs off the bed, only to realize that you are naked; your clothes and his clothes on the floor, haphazard.

Piece by piece, you form the full picture. He was with me last night. You feel a blunt stab through your chest, like someone hammered a stake through your heart. You pick up your clothes and slipped them on, only to realize the button was torn off. You wonder, for a brief moment, what was it like to be with him last night. Your heart ached, just thinking about it.

You scuffle to the other side of the bed, and you kneel down next to him. He looks calm. He looks satisfied. He looks... content, happy, blissful. Why does it hurt so much to see him happy? You shake your head, and shake him awake; both of you have work today.

He rouses, his bright blue eyes blinking sleepily into yours. He smiles and kisses you, murmuring your name. You feel the pain even more dully this time. You know that he is thinking of me. You know this kiss is meant for me. You kiss him back nevertheless, because it was the only time you ever could.

He pulls away, and you force a smile. You say, "Good morning. You look cute today."

He gruffs, and tells you not to call him that, but he is smiling. He pulls you in and kisses you once... twice... thrice more, more, more. But with each kiss, you feel the hurt in your chest even more unbearable. You push him away, and turn your back to him, so he does not see the tears slowly forming in your eyes.

You do not belong to him.

He belongs to me.

Recording today was dull. The interview after that was dull. You chatter on with him about menial things in the bus, and I merely sat there, barely listening. I was just waiting for work to be over, for us to be alone, so I can start doing things I like.

I grab a fistful of his hair and pull, forcing him to look at me. My hand is clutching both of his wrists, holding them above his head. A pathetic moan escaped his lips as he thrusts his hips toward mine. I had to stifle a chuckle as I continue to tease him with my tongue. His eyes are clouded with lust, his stuttering moans and his begs nearly enough to take me over.

"Beg," I bark, pulling harder at his hair. He whines my name – "please, please, please." – , and I have to sink my teeth into his shoulder, lest I lose control. I slam into him, merciless, and his ascending moans fill the air as he reaches his peak.

He is mine. All mine.

You awake. He is facing you, and again, with that content look on his face. Something hard and heavy fell in your chest, aching, throbbing. Funny how things work; you feel so light and happy in the day with him, but in the early mornings, when he looks like this, you want to push him away. Or you want to push yourself away.

You don't know how he looks when he is with me, you don't know how he screams my name as we both fall into the depths of ecstasy, you don't know how it feels. All you know is how contented he looks in the morning after. That is all you know.

And yet it still hurts.

Because you know that he is happy with me, not with you.

You reach out and pull him close, burying your face in the curve of his neck, inhaling him in, his scent making your head spin. You shut your eyes and you hold him tighter, wrapping your lanky arms around his torso, your legs entwined around his. You want to fuse your skin with his. You want to be so close to him, and this is not nearly enough.

You hold him too tight, so he awakes. He pushes you away, reprimanding you. He never liked being hugged. You reluctantly let go, slowly disentangling you from him. You cannot meld together. He does not want that with you. You think, for a moment, that maybe he only comfortable with me.

"What's with the sad face?" he asks, offhandedly. You do not know how you look; you only know how you feel. That aching mass in your chest grew to infinity, swallowing you whole. "Hey, come on, Nacchan. Stop it." He laughs, trying to ease the mood. He tugs at your messy fringe, then brushes your hair from your eyes.

You realize that you are crying; tears silently spilling from your eyes, and you try, you try so hard, but it won't stop.

He sits up, shocked. He tentatively reaches out for you, tentatively saying your name. You never cry, never. And he does not know what to do to make you feel better. So you tell him, "Please," you whisper his name in a broken, sobbing voice, "Please let me hold you for a while."

He lies down next to you, and coils his arms around your neck, pulling you close. You inhale him again, needing it like oxygen. He hushes you, his nimble fingers ruffling your hair in an attempt to calm you. You breathe quietly for a while, as you try to organize your thoughts.

You love seeing him smile, you love seeing his vibrant eyes when he is excited, you love seeing him happy. You love him. You love him. You love him. But when you see him so... blissful in the morning, everything feels like crumbling down.

You realize, though you like seeing him happy, you do not want anyone else giving him that happiness. You want to be the one to give him that. Only you.

He asks you to stop crying, please. He kisses your eyes, your tear-stained cheeks, your nose, your chin, your lips. You could not withhold the quiet giggle surfacing, and you see him smile at you. He has that effect on you. I thought, So sappy. Smile, he requests. And you do; you really do. Especially when he kisses the tips of your fingers, one by one. He kisses your palms, your wrist, your arms, your shoulders, your neck and your ears. He traces your body, very lightly, like butterflies; and he looks at you, really looks at you, like there is no one else in the world. And it feels like the burning mass in his chest is replaced by something else. Equal in magnitude, but much lighter. Like a light drizzling rain.

You and him are always close, but have you ever been this intimate? You try to remember, but nothing came to mind. You feel goosebumps on your skin. You wonder if this is how I feel whenever I am with him. I stare at you and him, discontented. Him and I, we only fucked. I do not feel these fluttering feelings in the pits of my stomach. I feel nothing but heat and desperation and need. But you and him, you make love; soft, sweet, slow, like how girls like it. It disgusts me.

He kisses your chest, your stomach, your thighs, your ankles. He runs his fingers across the backs of your legs, shooting tingling sparks across your skin, and you giggle. He worships you, every part of you, inside and outside.

Anger bubbled within me, rushing, boiling. I feel like hitting someone. It feels like I am being burned alive, watching this. This is repulsive. He is mine. He is mine! So why does he look at you like that?

You ask him, as if my thoughts has been conveyed, your voice muffled against his bare skin, "Who do you love?" You or me? It is unfair of you, putting him on the spot like this, but you need to know. I need to know. So one of us could back away from this; so one of us could start putting up walls against our heart again, as you did when you were a child, when I was born.

"Stop being stupid," he says affectionately. "Both of you, of course." You stumble back slightly. You never thought that possibility even existed. "Both of you are important to me," he says, kissing your lips.

I feel a familiar heat between my legs, and ran my tongue across his, and I pull at his hair, possessively. He laughs. He pulls apart, and looks into our eyes. "-'Tsuki," he whispers, his voice muffled against our skin. He whispers it too quietly, as if those words were only meant for us. He says your name, then my name. He kisses me, then kisses you. Your lips are my lips are his lips. Our skin fused together, like melting honey.

He nips at our ears, tugging it, biting it, licking it and kissing it. I held back a moan, and you breathe out his name. I flip him to his back, and I sink my teeth into his neck, and then you kiss him gently. My hands are roaming his body, knowing full well where to touch him. Your hands are in his hair, loving, gentle and kind.

We bite and we kiss. We scream and we hush. We love and we fuck. We feel everything and nothing and anything, all in an infinite space.

You are me.

And I am you.

And he is ours.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading :)) For clarity, Satsuki is in first POV, Natsuki is in the second, and Syo in third.

Any comments would make me a very happy person! :)