Chapter Text
Atsumu and Osamu are not actually identical. To the shock of anyone who hears. What they are instead, apparently, are mirror images.
Practically all this means is that the hair on their crowns go different directions and Osamu started off left handed but had that ‘corrected’ early on (which Atsumu is endlessly annoyed about because he could have had a lefty opposite for all of high school!).
That and while Atsumu’s body was making longer eye teeth and adding tissue to the base of his cock, Osamu’s was doing something entirely different. Because whatever complex makeup of genetics that persuades the body to become an alpha, its reverse creates an omega.
The first clue that something was amiss was when, during a middle school volleyball camp, Atsumu received a series of increasingly panicked texts from Osamu, who was hiding out in the toilets.
“‘The fuck’s the problem, Scrub?” he yelled as he burst through the door.
“‘Samu,” Osamu wailed, intensely enough that Atsumu recalibrated from asshole to concerned asshole.
“‘Sup?”
“I think I split my balls open.”
Which is a phrase that Atsumu could have gone his entire life not hearing because fucking ow, even contemplating that made him wince and close his legs.
“What? Lemme in!”
Osamu cautiously opens the stall, his shorts and underwear around his knees and his face red and wet from his distress.
“There’s a bit of blood,” he sniffed. “I don’t want to have to wake Sensei but…”
“Show me.” Honestly Atsumu really didn’t want to stare at his brother’s genitals, but they’re turning thirteen soon and Osamu hasn’t cried since their tenth birthday when Aran scolded him for smashing Atsumu’s face into their cake, so it must be serious.
Osamu turned around and bent over. His scrotum was all puffy and, yeah, it was in two pieces with a little bit of blood staining the skin and his pathetic excuse for pubic hair. But the split was a bit too… neat? Like the outer and inner parts of his balls were both in equal parts and, when Atsumu squinted, there was definitely a hole between them.
It took him a good ten seconds to realise he was staring into a vagina.
After that there really was no excuse not to wake their teacher, and their parents were called immediately since an omega’s menarche is often a sign of an imminent baby heat. Atsumu protested Osamu being taken away from him, of course he did, Osamu is his other half, his reflection, he is his. Atsumu understands why, in history, it wasn’t unheard of to claim a sibling. It wasn’t because Atsumu had any sexual feelings towards his twin, it was just, if Osamu was his mate then no other alpha could hurt him; he’d be safe.
If he had, it would have been all sorts of fucked up, but Osamu wouldn’t be suffering with Suna’s pup in his belly.
Kiyoomi wouldn’t be terrified in front of Atsumu either.
His wife is shaking in front of him, one hand clapped over his exposed gland as if it’ll pull the noxious scent of distress back into his body. There are tears in his eyes. Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sakusa Kiyoomi, is close to crying.
Atsumu leans back away from the stench. “Jesus, fuck, Omi,” he says, “I’m not that repulsive.”
It’s a punch to the ego. A sucker punch at that given the rest of Sakusa’s body language. What changed in the time between Kiyoomi taking off all his clothes and Atsumu coming up to the room is beyond him.
And what’s worse is that there’s no explanation forthcoming, just tears rolling down Kiyoomi’s face. Atsumu doesn’t much like this Sakusa. The one who decides to get naked and wait for him in their bed is the best, but he’d take the blunt version who insults him to his face over this.
It’s not like this marriage is a piece of cake for him, either. If he expects some kind of consolation from him, well he barked up the wrong family tree.
It’s too late for this bullshit and he’s still kind of drunk, so Atsumu flops onto the mattress beside Kiyoomi. Might as well get comfortable until he’s inevitably kicked out.
“Calm down, would’ya?” he says, closing his eyes. “No need t’get hysterical.”
“Oh fuck you,” Sakusa snaps, and hey, the jerk is back.
“Why did you even get naked if you didn’t want to have sex?” Atsumu complains, opening an eye to send a glare to his wife.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Clearly.” No one tells him anything, although that’s mostly by his own request. Maybe he should have taken a little more interest in his own wedding, but then he would have had to take more time off volleyball.
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah, so I’m told.” Atsumu frowns because he could probably go to sleep if it wasn’t for his wife talking. “Look. We don’t have to do it. There. No sex, alright?” He sighs. “Just keep quiet. I’m tired.”
He’s hit in the face with a pillow for that and he’s too irritated to respond rationally. Atsumu has spent the whole day being told what to wear, where to stand, what to do, and what to say. He’s been away from Osamu while his brother has been in a vulnerable state, he was banned from inviting his favourite senpai, and he barely had time to see the friends that were allowed to come.
With the whiplash of how Kiyoomi’s treated him, it’s just too much to temper himself.
Atsumu bolts up and grabs the pillow out of Sakusa’s hand, throwing it across the room, and pins Kiyoomi down, forcing him onto his back.
“That wasn’t very nice,” he growls, his hands tightening around Kiyoomi’s wrists. He’s struggling against Atsumu but there’s a clear difference in strength and their biology is working against him.
Like this, Sakusa is forced into a submissive position, with Atsumu’s aggressive pheromones blasting directly into his face. It’s no wonder he’s baring his neck.
“Stop!” Kiyoomi yells and his tears have turned into sobs. “Stop, please!” He inhales deeply, a wet noise as he tries to get a sentence out. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding more terrified than sorry. Unsettled, Atsumu loosens his grip. Kiyoomi looks up at him with tear tracks down his face, going limp underneath him. “I’ll do it. I’ll sleep with you.”
“What?” Atsumu snaps.
Kiyoomi huffs in frustration, raising his arm to wipe at his cheeks. “Just, don’t be such a fucking jerk all the time,” he mumbles, shuffling away.
“Dude, you’re cryin’.” Atsumu watches as Kiyoomi kneels on the bed, eyeing his trembling hands and his decidedly soft sex. “Why are ya forcin’ yourself to do this?”
“Because if I don’t,” he says in a small voice, “I don’t get to play volleyball ever again.”
“Come again?” What the fuck has volleyball got to do with anything?
“If… if I don’t… we don’t consummate this,” Kiyoomi sniffs and waves his hand between them with an expression that indicates he’d rather be eating glass than having this conversation, “I will be blacklisted from every team in Japan, collegiate or not. They’ll cancel my physical therapies, and probably withdraw me from university too.” Kiyoomi laughs bitterly.
“Why–” Atsumu runs a hand through his hair and then gets his fingers stuck; his mother had slathered some gel on it in the morning and it’s turned to putty. “Why are they so fuckin’ mental about us fuckin’?”
“They want an heir,” Kiyoomi mumbles, “preferably a spare too. Got to keep up appearances.”
“This is the first I’ve heard about this.” Atsumu frowns. He just got told he was getting married, bitched for a bit, and then went with it. He doesn’t actually know the expectations now that they’re legally married. Huh.
Kiyoomi snorts and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Clearly they thought conception would go better if you just had a hole to use.”
The way his, and apparently Kiyoomi’s too, parents seem to think of Atsumu is irritating. What, because he likes volleyball above all else he’s kept in the dark? Or is it because he’s a buck? His own father only really started taking an interest in his sons when they were preteens. Still, if he’s going to have a child (big if on that one) he wants to be involved.
“I’m going to go kill my parents,” he declares, getting up. “Possibly yers too, depends on how fast the front desk calls the police really.”
Atsumu is drunk and tired, but more so he’s drunk and pissed. Since sleeping it off and waiting for the morning isn’t looking like an option he’s got to do it now instead. He’ll probably get them all kicked out of the hotel with the way he’s currently feeling.
He’s barely off the bed when he’s yanked back, Kiyoomi’s hand around his wrist.
“Hey! What the hell!?”
“Volleyball,” his wife hisses. “I don’t get to play volleyball ever again, remember?”
“They can’t really be serious?” Sakusa was a top three player when he was sixteen, there’s no way any parent would take that away from him. Threaten him with it, sure, but not go through with it. “Right?”
“I would love to live in your fantasy world where my father is neither as powerful nor as vindictive as she actually is.” Kiyoomi’s face says that, even if his assessment is incorrect, he stalwartly believes it.
Atsumu sighs heavily and sits back down. He’s not really a considerate guy, quite selfish really, but he’s not heartless, so, as gently as he can (which is admittedly not very) he reaches to wrap the outer layer of his kimono around Kiyoomi’s shoulders. It’s marginally less of a headache without Kiyoomi wholly naked.
“Why don’t we just… tell her that we did it?” Atsumu is an accomplished liar, and he has no problem using that skill on his in-laws. Like, yeah it sucks that they’re not going to fuck, but he’s not someone to push it. He’s an asshole, not a cunt.
Kiyoomi folds in on himself, somehow looking small as an athlete over 190 centimeters tall. “They’re going to check. Afterwards. To make sure.”
There’s a moment, blissful, before the actual meaning of those words sink in. Years later, Atsumu will consider that his life can be separated into before those words and after those words, and only then will appreciate the full magnitude of them.
Right now though, he’s struggling to pick his jaw up off the ground.
Check. Or, more accurately, examine. Presumably at the request of Kiyoomi’s own parents. Atsumu has been accused of being possessive over Osamu before, and he can admit that maybe there’s some truth to that, but he would never– wouldn’t even think to– god, it’s nauseating.
“But like, there’s no real way of checkin’, right?” he asks when his faculties catch up with him. “Like, yer… hymen surely went ages ago playin’ sports.”
It’s a terrible measure of virginity, even he knows that. It can break from stretching or horse riding, and even some omega boys are born without one! Sakusa senior must be bluffing to scare her son.
“Even so, whenever there’s–” the chewing glass expression is back, “penetration there’s damage around the… area.”
Atsumu would like the floor to open and send him plummeting into the basement or hell, or literally anywhere away from here. “It’s not gonna be yer dad doin’ it, right?”
“A nurse, probably.”
“What if I just happen to pass out before I can get ‘round to it? I’ve been drinkin’.” He turned twenty not long ago, but it’s not like he wasn’t sneaking bottles of spirits into the Inarizaki dorms since first year.
“Your mother was in charge of making sure you didn’t over indulge. And I was supposed to make sure that… you wanted me.” Kiyoomi is red, although whether it’s from shame or rage isn’t clear. It doesn’t matter either way.
“I’m going to kill them,” Atsumu repeats. “This is so fucking insane. Tomorrow ‘m gonna go talk t’my parents and sort this shit out.”
Kiyoomi looks at him like he’s an idiot. “This is their idea too. The whole point of this marriage is to blend our two families.”
“I don’t believe that.” More that he can’t. Because if they’re doing this to Kiyoomi then that means they were willing to do it to Osamu too and that makes him sick. Osamu would be the one naked and terrified of a strange alpha, only his would-be husband would have been much older. Surely their parents would have handled things differently though? They would have talked to him about it and the Miyas aren’t anything like the Sakusas when it comes to their kids, they wouldn’t have pushed Osamu into bed immediately… right?
Atsumu thinks back to the wine glass his mother had thrown at Osamu when he’d no longer been able to hide his pregnancy. He thinks about the threats of disowning and disinheriting. He thinks about the fear in his twin's face, and the way he’d protected his belly when their father had started towards him, hand raised.
His skin is fucking crawling, but for the first time since Atsumu found out that he was going to be an uncle, he is very, very glad that Osamu and Suna found each other.
There’s no way his parents would have told him about the plans for Osamu, not if they weren’t telling him about Kiyoomi. If they had, he would have bundled Osamu into a car and driven him to the airport to smuggle him away to America, or somewhere in Europe.
“Did you know they paid my tuition for Itachiyama?” Kiyoomi cuts through his internal crisis with a bitter laugh. “My middle school too, they found the specialist that manages my Ehlers-Danlos, hell, they’re almost certainly funding my college too. My whole family are– but mostly me– bought and paid for already. If your parents don’t think they aren’t getting the value out of what they put in…”
Kiyoomi shudders and Atsumu just sits and stares, trying to work out if he’s more horrified or angry right now. The idea that his parents, the Sakusas too, are waiting in their rooms feeling pleased with themselves because of course Atsumu wouldn’t question a naked doe in his bed is… dehumanising. Yeah, that’s the word.
“We just need to get it over with,” his wife says, as if it’s as simple as that.
“Shit. Ya’ve had longer to come to terms with this,” Atsumu mutters. “And I assume ya’ve not been able to come up with a way t’get out of this? Yer smarter than me too.”
“If there was literally any other way I would tell you,” Kiyoomi says flatly.
“Cold, Omi, but yeah okay.”
His wife rolls his eyes and then moves to open his legs expectantly. The haori is still covering his upper body, and Atsumu finds that he doesn’t want to look at Kiyoomi’s unaroused genitals. Guilt isn’t a feeling that Miyas experience very often, but Atsumu would guess that’s his dominant emotion right now. Ugh.
“Well then?” Kiyoomi says expectantly.
Slowly, because the pheromones in Atsumu’s nose still tell him this is an uninterested omega and because part of him still thinks he will find a way out of this, he leans in to kiss Kiyoomi.
It’s like kissing a mannequin. But that’s not very surprising, all things considered. He just needs to warm Kiyoomi up, touch him in the right places and surround him with the scent of alpha. Once he’s all loose and wet they can forget about everything else and just feel good. Atsumu moves his hand to Kiyoomi’s breast to run his thumb over a nipple.
He barely makes contact with skin before he’s pushed violently back and Kiyoomi throws himself to the side off the bed, colliding with the bedside table in a way that must be painful. Atsumu is too annoyed by the surprise attack to be sympathetic though.
“Omi, what the fuck?” he asks, and then, when he sees the damage the corner of the table’s done, “Jesus, are y’alright?”
There’s going to be a bruise, just under his eye if he’s lucky or in his eye as well if he’s not. Kiyoomi clutches one hand to his injury and waggles his other at Atsumu as if to wave off the concern.
“I panicked.”
“I noticed.” Kiyoomi is a lot stronger than he thought. “So if ya don’t wanna be touched I don’t know how ya think this is gonna work. Look, ya wanna tell me what ya like? So ya don’t toss me across the room again?”
“What do you mean?”
“Uhhh, ya know, like do ya like presentin’ or are ya more into missionary? That shit,” he says, trying not to gesticulate at Kiyoomi’s body. Atsumu’s pretty good at fingering if he says so himself, and he once had a hook up come from just eating her ass. Sure, he’s never sucked dick, but he has one himself and he’s a fast learner.
“Oh.” The glass-chewing face is back once more and Atsumu has the sinking feeling he knows why. “I’ve never had sex before.”
Perhaps the christian god is real and he has a grudge against Atsumu. This feels like a cosmic joke– Sakusa Kiyoomi, naked in front of him, waiting to have the Miya Atsumu experience, and it’s under the worst circumstances possible.
“Okay, but like, ya’ve had heats, right?” He says, clutching at whatever straw might be available.
“I’ve never been allowed toys or a doe partner, and they’re bad so… I’m usually sedated.” Kiyoomi scowls and Atsumu wants to tear his hair out and scream. “Aren’t alphas supposed to want virginal brides?”
“I ain’t so insecure as t’think I need no competition fer my wife t’think ‘m good in bed.”
“Great,” Kiyoomi grumbles, “so this was all for nothing.”
“It ain’t my fault!” Atsumu never asked Kiyoomi to save himself for their marriage, or abstain from masturbation. Frankly, if he could just be told ‘hit it from the back hard for at least ten minutes and then suck me off to completion’ this would be so much smoother.
“Just get on with it!”
“We tried that! Ya threw me off, and I barely touched ya.”
“I lost my nerve!”
“What were ya gonna do if I hadn’t taken yer patch off?! Just let me do whatever and then live with it?” He means to sound gentle but it comes out as annoyed and furious. It’s hard not to be belligerent when he has the image of Kiyoomi hobbling off to the bathroom to cry while Atsumu slept, unaware that he’d just forced himself on his wife, playing on repeat in his mind. Kiyoomi flinches away from him, and, god, he’s never wanted to be a people-person before in his life.
“I was gonna call Motoya after,” Kiyoomi murmurs. “He was trying to get me some purple cherry to drink so that I’d be in a pseudo heat and it wouldn’t hurt as much, but he couldn’t get it before we left Tokyo and he doesn’t know anyone here who might have it.”
“D’ya want to call him now? He could calm ya down and… I don’t know…” The idea of having someone else to deal with the emotional mess in front of him is very appealing. Komori has been managing his cousin for probably their whole lives, he’s basically a professional.
“...fine, I’ll call him. You should have a shower though, you smell like liquor and body odour.”
Atsumu flips him off but does retreat to their ensuite. There’s a lot less pressure on him when he’s standing under the shower than when he’s looking directly into the eyes of his wife. The only way this could be shittier for him is if Kiyoomi was disappointed rather than scared, Atsumu considers, and then makes a face at the taps because that definitely makes him a piece of shit.
They are at least provided with fancy soaps by the venue. It’s all subtle floral notes, fragranced to enhance a natural scent, and there’s an expensive looking conditioner that Atsumu immediately douses his hair in. He’s been bleaching for over four years now and, while toner was a recent discovery, he’s always looking for ways to ensure its health.
He postpones the inevitable by thoroughly washing every inch of his body and scrubbing until his skin is as red as a lobster. Once he can no longer justify being under the water, he procrastinates by brushing his teeth with more care and attention than he’s ever given them, flosses and scrapes his tongue too. Atsumu even blowdries his hair too, using his vanity as a flimsy excuse.
Kiyoomi is still on the phone when he reemerges in the fancy bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door. Speaking to his cousin must have calmed Kiyoomi a lot because the room no longer reeks of fear and anxiety, and Kiyoomi himself has physically relaxed. He’s also spent some time rearranging the bedding into something of a nest, and Atsumu’s haori still wrapped around him.
It's almost cute.
Like, from the outside, it looks like the two of them are a real couple and this is their highly anticipated wedding night.
It’s a shame to ruin that illusion but Atsumu clears his throat and goes to sit on the edge of the bed anyway. Kiyoomi’s eyes flick to him.
“Yeah, he’s out now,” he says to Komori, and then offers the phone to Atsumu. “Motoya wants to speak to you too.”
It’s not like Atsumu’s never been given a shovel talk before– his first girlfriend’s dad had hated him– but in those cases he’d shrugged it off because he already knew those girls were into him. By the time he met the parents of both his high school girlfriends he’d already been led, giggling, by the hand into sexual relationships with them.
“Hey Komori-kun,” Atsumu says, trying not to sound weary. He doesn’t bother with any platitudes; he doesn’t care how Komori found the wedding and Komori knows that.
“Hey Atsumu.” Komori lets out a heavy sigh. “Take care of him, won’t you? He’s scared.”
Atsumu’s eyes flick over to Kiyoomi without him meaning them to. Yeah, he knows he’s scared.
“I will.”
“He likes affection, more than he lets on. Make sure you’re sweet to him, okay?”
“I will.” God. Why is he scared now too? All he’s got to do is fuck his wife, literally one of the most natural things on earth, but his instincts are getting involved now and he’s feeling all protective. He’s on edge, Kiyoomi’s on edge, his hindbrain has decided that means some paleolithic big cat must be stalking them and now is the time to find safety, not procreate.
“I leave him in your hands then–”
“Hey, Komori-kun?” Atsumu interrupts and then doesn’t wait to be acknowledged. “D’ya want to be here?”