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terminal curiosity

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Kiyoomi is already regretting inviting his teammates into his home.

It’s been roughly twelve minutes since they walked in the door and the mistake is glaring. Kiyoomi doesn’t understand why they can’t watch this game tape alone in the first place. 

It started a week and a half ago when Coach Foster read some article about group analysis being superior to individual review and it ended with a mandate for the whole team to group up to watch a recent Adlers v. Red Falcons game. 

Kiyoomi supposes this is better than the elevation training idea the coach was obsessed with during conditioning camp. He’s still convinced that the mountain cold left him with nerve damage in his pinky toe, even though the trainers assured Kiyoomi there’s nothing wrong with it. 

“Sakusa-san, do you want one of my sodas?!” Hinata asks loudly from Sakusa’s armchair.

As if Bokuto’s unending energy hadn’t been enough for one team... Kiyoomi can feel a headache forming between his eyes.

Please… please don’t spill, he thinks to himself as he watches the bottle balance precariously between the wing spiker's knees, trying and failing to keep his brow from pinching into a scowl.

“No, thank you,” he replies. 

“Aww, you sure, ‘Kusa? It’s melon flavor!” Bokuto says, horrifically waving his own bottle over his head. 

“Yeah, Omi-kun. Dontcha want somethin’ sweet?” 

And then there’s him. Miya Atsumu is slouched into the corner of his couch, arms spread out over the back of it like he owns the place. His cocky, heavy-lidded gaze nearly makes Kiyoomi roll his eyes.

“I’ll get the tape cued up,” he says instead, ignoring them. 

The thing is, there weren’t really any better venue options for this than Kiyoomi’s apartment. Hinata is still living out of a hotel. Atsumu’s place is apparently a small studio picked more for location than size. Bokuto apparently had the space and was willing to host, but… Kiyoomi’s seen the way he lives on the road. To continue playing on the same side of the net as Bokuto, it is absolutely essential that Kiyoomi never witness the surely horrific state of his home. Bokuto’s boyfriend seems to have a good head on his shoulders, but there’s only so much Akaashi can do for Bokuto’s apartment when he spends most of his time in Tokyo.

So, in picking the least of a series of extreme evils, Kiyoomi invited his teammates to his own apartment. In all honesty, he regretted it the moment it left his mouth. He regrets it now. He’s sure he’ll continue to regret it throughout the night.

Kiyoomi ends up being right in ways he never could have predicted.


Atsumu honestly agrees with Sakusa that this whole group tape watching exercise is pretty futile, which is why he already watched it earlier in the afternoon. With Hinata and Bokuto in the same room, there’s no way anyone could focus enough to break down the opposition’s receive formations. Even so, he’s been vocally supportive of the whole group watch party concept just for the opportunity to see Sakusa squirm.

His current objective is less centered around match footage and more focused on seeing how many times he can make Sakusa look like he’s just stepped in gum. Atsumu knows it’s not exactly mature, but hey, he’s a twin. Whenever Osamu isn’t around, he has to find a way to fulfill his innate need to good-naturedly torture someone. 

And Sakusa is so easy to torment. 

Speaking of the devil, Atsumu’s phone buzzes on the arm of the sofa, flashing Osamu’s name over an extremely unflattering picture of his face. He stands up to take the call, dodging around Hinata, who just hopped up from the couch singing some ditty about going to the bathroom. 

Hinata acts like a twelve-year-old off the court but damn it if Atsumu doesn’t find it endearing as hell. He ruffles bright ginger hair as he heads down the hallway behind him and picks up the call. 

“Sup, ‘Samu?”

“Hey. Just got off the phone with Ma’. She’s gettin’ rid of a few things and needs some help movin’ things. I’d help but I’m up’n Tokyo workin’ on the new store ‘til the end of next week…”

They chat about logistics for a minute, Atsumu confirming that he’ll have time to swing by home sometime in the next day or two. When he hangs up, Atsumu realizes that he has to take a leak as well but, judging by the singing still coming from the bathroom in the hall, it’s occupied. 

Atsumu could wait, but he glances at the door that must lead to the bedroom. This is a nice place; Sakusa surely has an ensuite, he thinks to himself. 

He’d be lying if a desire to see the neat-freak’s bedroom isn’t also at play here, but he’d never admit it out loud. He wonders if Sakusa uses plastic sheets that can be sterilized each morning. The thought makes him chuckle to himself.  

Carefully, Atsumu cracks the door open, leaning to look inside. There’s nothing particularly weird about the room, to Atsumu’s deep disappointment. It’s nice, though: lots of cast iron and soft greys with wood accents. There’s even a fleece throw blanket casually draped over a metal accent chair in the corner with a potted plant on the seat. 

Atsumu sniggers. 

It isn’t surprising considering the size and furnishings in the main areas of the apartment, but this seals Atsumu’s belief that Sakusa absolutely comes from money. A little rich kid, who’d have thought?

Atsumu slides quickly and quietly into the room and towards the open bathroom door. He makes it to the doorway, pleased at his successful territory breach, and then Atsumu freezes.

Feet rooted to the ground. Jaw dropped. No brain activity. Frozen

It’s strange, the way the world immediately tips sideways and Atsumu forgets where he is as he takes in black leather. There’s black leather hanging from a curtain rod—from Sakusa’s curtain rod. Atsumu snaps back into spacetime. 

The biggest item looks like some sort of harness, with buckles and silver rings. Next to it is something that Atsumu can definitely identify: thick leather cuffs, four of them, with a series of chains delicately draped beside them. Finally, small enough that Astumu doesn’t notice it until he staggeringly does, is a ball gag. The ones that Atsumu has seen before, in the margins of porn sites or on the front of smutty manga, always feature a bright red ball. This one is all black. 

Sakusa has a sex toy aesthetic, some voice in the back of his head muses as the rest of his brain goes into a momentary nuclear meltdown. 

He’s already back at the bedroom door by the time that his brain comes back on line. He shuts the door, nearly body-slamming Hinata when he turns around.

“Uwah!” the redhead exclaims. “Ah! Atsumu-san! Were you waiting to use the bathroom?”

“Nope!” Atsumu says, his voice coming out pitchy and strained. 


Atsumu spends the rest of the evening looking anywhere but at Sakusa. He doesn’t watch the game, either. He doesn’t do much of anything except blink repeatedly at the wall and try to figure out how he’s going to live with the knowledge that Sakusa is into kinky sex. Sakusa can never find out that he knows. 

He’d never even thought of Sakusa as a sexual being before today. Atsumu always figured physical intimacy would be beneath him, base and disgusting. 

Atsumu is so wrapped up in his thoughts that it takes Bokuto waving a hand in front of his face to snap back to the present.

“Eyyyy, Tsum-Tsum! We’re headed out. You coming to the station with us?” 

Hinata’s putting on his coat in the genkan and Sakusa is sitting in one of the armchairs, focused on his phone. 

“Ah, I actually drove,” Atsumu says. 

“Alright, then,” Bokuto says, heading over to the genkan to put his shoes on. “See you at practice!” 

“Bye, Tsumu-san!” Hinata waves around Bokuto’s big body as they head out the door. 

Atsumu stands up and realizes he’s made a fatal error as soon as the door clicks shut. Why didn’t he say he’d walk down with them?! Now he’s alone, in an apartment with Sakusa—Sakusa and his leather harnesses. 

He nearly chokes on his own spit, rushing towards the door. 

“You still have a few drinks in the fridge. I won’t drink them so please take them with you,” Sakusa says, grabbing the clicker to flip the TV over to the news. 

“Right,” Atsumu says and abruptly switches directions. 

He grabs his two remaining peach teas up and puts them in the convenience store bag he brought them in. He rushes back into the living room. He doesn’t quite get to his coat on the hook by the door before Sakusa speaks.

“Hey, Miya—”

“I saw the sex stuff in your bathroom,” Atsumu violently blurts against his will.  

Time stretches out again, eternal, unending… the void at the beginning and end of all things coming to claim Atsumu as he stands in his borrowed house slippers by Sakusa’s door. There’s a ringing in his ears, or perhaps it’s the laughter of some vengeful god. 

Sakusa’s expression doesn’t outwardly change. His eyes feel like they’re drilling holes in Atsumu’s head. 

“It’s not sex stuff. It’s bondage gear.”

Well. Ok then. 


Kiyoomi gets a series of texts later that night. He’s just changing into a pair of clean boxer briefs and a white tee shirt in preparation for bed when his phone buzzes on the side table. 

From: Miya Atsumu
>> What do you mean it’s not sex stuff? I thought bondage gear was sex stuff. 

He should probably just ignore the text, but delicacy has never been Kiyoomi’s strong suit.

To: Miya Atsumu
>> It can be used in sexual play but BDSM isn’t inherently sexual. Do your own research Miya.

Still, Kiyoomi would hate for Atsumu to google some porn site and think he was doing research. Considering the horrors that could be heralded by a free-range Atsumu, Kiyoomi decides to pull up a BDSM 101 article from a trusted source and send the link. 

He then decisively turns his phone to do-not-disturb and turns off the lights. 


They don’t have practice the next day, so by mid morning Atsumu has read through the link that Sakusa sent, as well as three or four of the pages that were hyperlinked in it. As a free-wheeling bisexual who’s never had trouble finding a partner, Atsumu considers himself pretty experienced. He’s had a girl ask him to smack her on the ass before, and he had a short lived boyfriend who liked to have his wrists held down when they fucked. Even so, he’s always had pretty vanilla tastes, he supposes. 

Two bodies touching each other has always been pretty much enough to get Atsumu going, either in person or on video. 

So, he really just opens the link out of some morbid curiosity. He hadn’t even really meant to send that text, but it had just been… eating at him. It may have been a tactical error because, no matter his reasons, Atsumu didn’t expect to be fascinated. He had no idea BDSM was so complex. He clicks a link to something called shibari and his eyes go comically wide. 


He’s still having trouble wrapping his head around the idea of this not being a sex thing, though. Especially as he hops in the shower and finds his hand wrapped around his cock, one forearm braced against the tile. The scalding water pounds down on his back as images of rope and kneeling figures run through his head. 

Atsumu pants through his open mouth, fingertips pressed into the wall as his pace speeds up against his will. He thinks about studded collars and an ass so red you need to put lotion on it when you’re done. He thinks about a pale chest wrapped in a clean, black, leather harness.


His strangled curse is drowned out by the sound of water against porcelain, and the evidence of Atsumu’s sudden obsession disappears down the drain. 

About fifteen minutes later, Atsumu is sitting in his kitchen in a pair of sweats with his towel around his neck, perusing an article on different types of doms and subs. Once again he finds his fingers flying over his phone keyboard before he can think better of it.

To: Omi-Omi
>>Omi r ya a dom or a sub?

Atsumu checks the article again, realizing he forgot one of the main ones. 

To: Omi-Omi
>>Or a switch?

Anyone else would probably tell Atsumu to fuck off, but for all his derision, Sakusa is rarely anything but brutally truthful when asked a direct question. Sure enough, only five minutes later his phone dings.

From: Omi-Omi
>>I primarily dom. Stop texting me about this or I’ll tell your mother you entered someone’s bedroom without asking. 

A few prickles of sweat break out on Atsumu’s brow as he’s forced to imagine the hell and fury his mother would bring down upon him for being so rude. 

Well, he’ll have to continue doing any more research on his own. 


Kiyoomi should have known better than to believe that would be the end of it. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t even get through the end of the week before he’s faced with further consequences of trusting his teammates to respect basic boundaries. He’d just needed to sanitize and oil the leather. It needed twenty-four hours to dry. He hadn’t planned for anyone to rudely enter his ensuite bathroom. 

Damn Miya and his nosiness.

On Friday they have morning practice followed by a few hours of individual skills training. Kiyoomi heads to the locker rooms after most of the veterans have already left the courts. Normally Bokuto and Hinata would have been fixtures in the group that stayed late, but the team had three days off and the pair wanted to make a weekend trip to Tokyo, so there were only a handful of players still practicing quietly. 

Kiyoomi showers and then spreads his towel out on a bench to finish getting dressed. He’s just about done packing his bag when Atsumu himself walks into the otherwise empty locker room. 


Kiyoomi isn’t sure when he stooped pushing back on the nickname. Once Bokuto picked it up, resistance became pretty much futile. 

“Miya,” he responds with the extra cool warning he’s been using all week.  

Beyond his texts, Atsumu hasn’t mentioned his discovery of Kiyoomi’s hobby in person so far. He began to hope that it would fade into irrelevance in Atsumu’s mind as he loses interest or the novelty of the discovery fades. That hope is shattered as Atsumu turns towards Kiyoomi, stripping his sweat-stained practice shirt off. 

“Hey, Omi,” Atsumu says. “I have another question ‘bout the BDSM thing.”

“I thought I told you to stop talking about that.”

“Ya told me to stop textin’ ya about it,” he says, with the conviction of someone who played the i’m-not-touching-you game far too much as a child. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t gratify it with a response, but Atsumu is predictably undeterred. 

“Anyway, I think I wanna try it,” he says.

“Congratulations,” Kiyoomi deadpans as he zips his bag up. 

“And since yer the only person I know who does it, I think we should do it together,” he finishes.

Kiyoomi freezes for just a moment and then slowly raises his head to level a black stare at the setter. 

“No,” he says, decisively, incontestably. 

“Why not?!” Atsumu asks, head tilted to the side in confusion like he couldn’t possibly imagine why Kiyoomi wouldn’t want to. Like there aren’t millions of obvious reasons. 

Atsumu puts his hands on his hips as he stands there in just his practice shorts. His wide shoulders, bleach-blonde hair, and heavy, cocksure eyes remind Kiyoomi how well he’d fit in an American fraternity. Which is only one of the many reasons, honestly.

“I have no interest in being at the mercy of an overconfident, wannabe-dom who thinks it would be fun to live out some 50 Shades of Grey fantasy. Just find a partner on one of the dating apps you assuredly use who’s willing to have mildly rough sex with you,” Kiyoomi says. “I’m sure it won’t be difficult for you to find a volunteer.”

He then hikes his bag up onto his shoulder and gets ready to leave.

“Harsh, Omi-Omi!” Atsumu says, clutching his chest dramatically. “But I’m not askin’ ya to let me dom you. One of the websites said it’s good to try subbing first, at least once or twice so ya know what it feels like, and since ya said you dom I thought it might work perfectly.”

Kiyoomi hesitates for just a moment. He hadn’t expected that—Atsumu being interested in subbing—nor had he expected him to have any sort of fleshed-out thought process behind it. Apparently he has been reading. Still…

“Still no,” Kiyoomi says and then heads right out the door. 


Atsumu will not be deterred so easily. He can’t really blame Sakusa for making assumptions about his intentions and seriousness, so he’ll just have to prove him wrong. He tries again next time they’re in the locker room alone. 


“No,” Sakusa starts, which isn’t the best sign. 

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say yet,” Atsumu says. “I coulda meant to talk to ya about a new counter attack idea.”

Sakusa raises one devastating brow, sending his distinct twin moles towards his hairline. 

“Were you?”

“No, but-”

Sakusa sighs deeply through his mask. 

“I just really think ya should give me a shot with the whole sub thing,” Atsumu says, stretching on a rolled out yoga mat. 

“You can create a Fetlife profile and look for a dom there like everyone else,” Sakusa says dismissively.

Atsumu scrunches his nose up in disgust at the idea. He tucks his knees up against his chest and tries not to visibly pout. 

“I did that! All the profiles are so weird an’ intense. I don’t want to try stuff like this with a total stranger. What if they’re a weirdo? What if someone recognizes me?”

“You’re not famous, Miya.”

“I’m a public figure!” 

Sakusa snorts, extremely rudely in Atsumu’s opinion. They’re on TV—that’s at least famous-ish. Sakusa zips up his MSBY jacket with finality. 

“Look, Miya. If you’re genuinely interested,” he says, with a notable amount of skepticism. “I’ll reach out through my network and see if anyone in the area is willing to take on someone who just wants to try kink out. I wouldn’t get your hopes up and I won’t make any promises.”

Atsumu frowns again, running his hand through his hair. It could be better than a random profile on the internet, but it doesn’t make him feel good to think about. Sure the articles and porn got him going, but whenever he’s been alone, it’s always been Sakusa’s impassive face looking down on him. He shivers and tries not to let it show on his face. He’s imprinted on Sakusa, like a kinky baby duckling. 

“But Omi-kun-

“Goodbye, Miya.”

Then he’s out the door again. Atsumu tries to hop up to go after him, but standing up out of a stretch gives him a wicked thigh cramp. 

“Ow, ow, ow!”

He flops down onto the mat. Maybe he really should give up on this whole thing. On the other hand… giving up really isn’t in his nature. 


Kiyoomi sits at his kitchen table with his laptop in front of him, perusing an email from a man that had been recommended to him as a potential sub. For a few years now, Kiyoomi has been part of a closed, online group of doms. They primarily discuss techniques, gear, and the community in general. The group is also a great resource for connecting with other people in the community. 

It’s only been a few months since Kiyoomi moved to Osaka to join the Black Jackals after graduating university. He’s met up with different subs twice since his arrival. While Kiyoomi prefers to be nonexclusive and uncommitted, he likes to be able to develop an ongoing relationship with his subs. The few he’s been able to do so with in the past have produced the most satisfying experiences. There’s only so much you can do to a person without an existing bond of trust and experience.

Unfortunately, neither of the subs he’s met in Osaka have been a good match. While the first was a decent fit when it came to shared interests, he spent most of their scene, for lack of a better word, wailing. Kiyoomi found the sound… grating. Plus, it made it extremely difficult to tell what actually hit his buttons when he started at a ten. 

The second, whose cleanup Atsumu unfortunately stumbled upon, was better, but he overstayed his welcome a bit by asking to sleep over, which Kiyoomi respectfully declined. That alone might not have disqualified him from a second scene, but he was also… tiny, frankly. He probably stood at 165cm tops and looked like a stiff wind could blow him over. 

Kiyoomi’s self-aware enough to know that a lot of the pleasure and satisfaction he gains from domming is controlling something, a person, that otherwise couldn’t necessarily be controlled. He likes his subs strong, and vital. He likes to see their muscles bunch up under their skin as they fight Kiyoomi’s carefully tied knots, as they stop themselves from pushing him away, as they bow to the dom’s power. 

Everyone has preferences, and it seems like this newest candidate at least fits that one as Kiyoomi reads weight lifting as one of the sub’s hobbies in the endearing ‘about me’ section he put at the top of his interests checklist. Unfortunately, the positives pretty much end there. Kiyoomi sighs as he reads through the rest: heavy into roleplaying and passionate about ongoing master/slave play. 

Kiyoomi likes to keep his play behind closed doors. The idea of texting someone what they’re supposed to wear or eat sounds like hell. 

He types up a thank you and politely declines the offer to meet up. 

With that done, Kiyoomi considers his words to Atsumu the day before about connecting him to a local dom. He knows there are at least a couple doms in his group in the greater Osaka area. Some of them would probably even like the idea of ‘training’ a new sub, so to speak. That’s definitely an area of interest for many doms. 

Yet, this group has been the only one Kiyoomi’s found that boasts a mature, almost professional culture. He’d absolutely loathe to end up kicked out because he set someone up with the trainwreck that Atsumu is guaranteed to be. 

Kiyoomi steeples his fingers in front of his face, chin resting on the pads of his thumbs. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst idea to take Atsumu on just for one session. It’s not like he has anyone to work with right now, and inflicting Atsumu on others seems cruel. 

His eyes suddenly widen in horror and he snaps his laptop shut.

If Kiyoomi’s having ideas that stupid, he’d better go find a book or some other way to better himself as a human being. That train of thought is too dangerous to take.


It doesn’t end.

“Omi-kun, is this a good source of info?” 

A phone is shoved in Kiyoomi’s face and he’s hit with images of various implements of impact play and their respective effects and pain levels. He quickly glances around the locker room, which has only just started filling up before practice. He then levels a baleful glare at Atsumu. 

The setter just waits expectantly. Banning Atsumu from texting him about BDSM may have backfired, if it results in it continuously coming up in the locker room. Not wanting Atsumu to ask again, Kiyoomi looks at the graphic as quickly as possible. 

“Seems accurate enough,” Kiyoomi murmurs through his mask.

“Thanks, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu says and begins to walk away. He looks over his shoulder, smirking. “Let me know if there’s anything ya need to double check, though. I’d be willin’ ta selflessly volunteer.”

Honestly, hitting Atsumu sounds pretty good right now. Kiyoomi’s eyes pinch around the edges as he resists dissociating into the void. 

Later, as Kiyoomi drives home, he finally admits that Atsumu hasn’t acted exactly like Kiyoomi had expected him to when he initially showed interest. He didn’t even expect the other man to be interested in subbing, let alone show evidence of doing real research. 

Kiyoomi pulls into his parking spot and turns the engine off but doesn’t get out of the car. He keeps his hands on the steering wheel as his eyes drill into the cement walls of the underground garage. He clenches his jaw. 

He can’t believe he’s going to dom for Miya Atsumu .

You don’t have to. In fact you really, really shouldn’t, a voice in his head counters.

But somewhere deep down, the decision has already been made. It was probably made the moment that Kiyoomi came up with a reason not to send him off to another dom. He rests his forehead against his steering wheel and tries not to bang his skull against it. 


By the next week this whole situation has started to become a problem for Atsumu, too. Clearly Sakusa’s recently been wishing that Osamu ate his twin in the womb, but it’s not like Atsumu hasn’t been suffering himself. He can’t stop looking at Sakusa’s freakishly long fingers and keeps getting dry mouth when the spiker puts his mask on because he can’t stop thinking about whether or not he wears it in the bedroom. So, who’s really at fault for their predicament here? 

They have a road trip and Atsumu decides to let it go for now, see if it’s just a passing fascination. He’s not going to bug Sakusa and he’s going to avoid thinking about whips and chains.

“Are you feverish, Tsum-Tsum? You sure have been taking a lot of showers!” Bokuto, his current road roommate, says when Atsumu exits the bathroom, towel around his waist for the fifth time in two days. 

It’s… not going great.

Atsumu blames the leather jacket that Sakusa wore to the yakiniku place after their win the first night. 

Luckily he’s spared from having to answer the question by Bokuto’s phone ringing. He picks up quickly, pressing the device to his face.


Aw, Atsumu’s going to get cavities. 

Still, through the week, Atsumu manages to mildly keep it together, at least until they head to an izakaya on the final night of the trip. They won out the trip series, so the team is lively and well on their way to tipsy by the time their food arrives. Somehow, Atsumu has ended up next to the man himself, Sakusa wedged in the corner so he can retreat towards the wall as soon as he finishes eating. 

As the night evolves—or devolves, more accurately—Atsumu and Sakusa end up chatting. There are two topics that consistently suppress the antagonism between them: volleyball and judging others. Today it’s the drunken antics of their teammates.

Eventually that topic burns out and there’s a moment of silence. Nobody is paying attention to them in the corner. Sakusa is sitting up against the wall, mask back on. Atsumu’s not even looking at him when he next speaks. 

“Miya, are you still interested in experimenting with subbing?” 

A lot of feelings hit Atsumu at once. First he perks up, and then flushes as he realizes they’re at a restaurant with their teammates. A quick glance around confirms nobody is paying attention to them. Most of the team has shifted down towards the end of the table to watch Hinata try to construct a card tower out of oyster shells. 

Atsumu turns back to Sakusa, blurting out a, “Y-yeah!”

Then he remembers the last thing Sakusa told him, about looking for someone in his community to dom Atsumu, and wilts a little. 

“But I still don’t wanna do it with a stranger. Sorry if I wasted your time talkin’ to your… people,” Atsumu says, looking away from Sakusa. 

“No, I decided that was a bad idea. Sending you to someone else would definitely end up hurting my reputation.”

Atsumu’s head whips around. 

“What’s that supposed ta mean?!”

Sakusa continues as if Astumu hasn’t spoken. 

“So I’ve decided I’ll do one scene with you, if only to prove you’re not cut out for it.”

“Well that’s really rude—wait, what—you will?!”

The dark haired man isn’t meeting Atsumu’s eyes; he seems to be staring off into the distance, maybe counting the number of beer posters on the izakaya wall. 

“First I’ll need you to send me the results of an up to date STI screening. I’ll send you a kink checklist to fill out later. Anything you’re not sure about you can leave blank. I’ll also send you mine for reference,” Sakusa says. “It’s alright if what you pick is sexual in nature, but know that I don’t get sexually involved with my new subs during scenes.”

There’s a ringing in Atsumu’s ears. It’s a lot to take in, so he focuses on the last part.

“What does that mean? How can I pick something sexual if you don’t get sexually involved ?”

“While the play might involve you climaxing, I won’t fuck you and I won’t orgasm during the scene,” Sakusa says bluntly, making Atsumu flush up to his ears.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Atsumu says, voice on the edge of cracking. 

“We can discuss timing once we’re back in Osaka,” Sakusa barrels on. “Now, can you let me out of the booth? I’m going back to the hotel.”

Atsumu is frozen. He bites his lip.

“I.. um... can you give me a minute?”

“Miya,” Sakusa says, warning in his voice. “Move.”

“I can’t!” Atsumu says, face burning. 

Sakusa pauses, looking down, and finally realizes his… issue. Atsumu pulls a jacket over his lap as Sakusa levels him with a deeply unimpressed stare.

Atsumu should probably be embarrassed about the fact that the expression only makes the problem worse. 


Everything moves very quickly after that. A quick doctor’s visit, one chaotic night googling kinks, and an embarrassing email later, Atsumu is heading directly to Sakusa’s apartment after practice. 

This is Atsumu’s first time in Sakusa’s car. He’s not surprised by the immaculate interior. He is surprised by the fact that Sakusa owns driving gloves, although in retrospect he probably should have expected it.

Who even is this guy? And why does every little weird thing about him make Atsumu so hot?

“So.” Sakusa’s fingers tighten on the wheel, black leather squeaking. “You filled out the list.”


“Anything in particular you like?”

Too much to fit into one round. Atsumu swallows. 

“‘Course there is, Omi-kun. There were a bajillion things on that list.” 

He pops his phone out of its case, folded paper tucked neatly away inside. 

“Oh, good. You brought it.”

Atsumu crinkles the paper in his hands, folding and unfolding one of the corners as he stares at it, his emphatic yes and no ’s printed in blue next to each kink. 

“Do you want to go over it when we get to my apartment?” Sakusa asks. “Or do you already know what you’d like to try?”

“Uhh, well. A lot of the bondage stuff sounded cool, but I don’t know enough specifics to ask for anythin’ special,” Atsumu says. “And…”

“And?” Sakusa prompts after several seconds of silence.

“Ughhh, Omi, do ya ever get used to sayin’ this stuff out loud? Shit’s embarrassing.”

Atsumu isn’t looking at him, but he can feel Sakusa’s eyes roll. 

“If you can’t even say it, you probably shouldn’t be participating in it.”

“...Can I write it down instead?”


“Fine,” Atsumu whines. His voice most certainly does not crack when he mutters, “Overstim.”

He sees Sakusa raise an eyebrow out of his peripheral vision. 

“Oh? For your first time? Really?”

Atsumu shrugs, “S’just more of the good stuff, right? Call me crazy, but—”

“You’re crazy.”

“—but,” Atsumu slaps his arm, “more orgasms are never a bad thing, the way I see it.”

“Hmm. Well, as long as you understand what you’re getting into. I’m glad you’re interested in bondage, because I probably would’ve needed to tie you up for this anyway,” Sakusa says.

His voice is bored, like they’re discussing the weather instead of tying Atsumu up. It gets Atsumu hotter than it should.

“Yer wrong there,” Atsumu says. “I’m gonna welcome it with open arms.”

Sakusa snorts and says nothing. 

By the time they’ve arrived, parked, and taken the elevator up to Sakusa’s apartment, the two of them have hashed out the remaining details. Atsumu has insisted that Sakusa call him by his given name instead of Miya, which has the unfortunate habit of reminding him of his twin. Sakusa’s reminded him of the traffic light system - green for keep going, yellow for slow down, and red for stop. Atsumu sent him a picture of his list two days ago, and Sakusa repeats it back to him word for word before asking him if anything’s changed.

If someone told Atsumu in high school that he would one day get hard from someone reciting a list he wrote, he would’ve laughed in their face.

“I’m going to get everything ready,” Sakusa says as they put their bags down and toe off their shoes. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Alright. Go ahead and take a shower, then. I need some time to set up.”

Atsumu huffs, “Do I still stink or somethin’? I already showered in the lock-”

“A very thorough shower,” Sakusa says. “Don’t take it personally. I’ll be taking one as well.”

There’s a pause as Atsumu’s brain completely shuts down. When it boots back up, all he can think about is showering with Sakusa—not just in his vicinity in the locker room, but with him-

“The water pressure in the guest shower’s been… a little lacking, I’m told, recently. I’ve got someone coming to fix it next week.”

Oh. Right. Separate showers. Sakusa would be the kind of person to have one bedroom and two full bathrooms. Atsumu blinks. 

“M’sure it’ll be just fine, Omi-Omi. I’m a different breed than the prissy trust-fund babies you’re prob’ly used to sleepin’ with.”

Sakusa’s eye twitches. Because of the mask, Atsumu can’t tell if he’s fighting a laugh or trying not to scream. 

Atsumu follows Sakusa’s instructions and takes a very thorough shower in the guest bathroom save for his hair, which he took the time to style after his post-practice shower. He remembers seeing Sakusa’s list and being absolutely shocked that someone as cleanliness-obsessed as Sakusa was cool with ass-play. Atsumu’s pretty sure that’s something on the table for today, though, so he doesn’t spare any detail in his cleansing routine.

He knows BDSM isn’t inherently sexual, but Sakusa’s about to make him come. Multiple times. And he got that STI test and everything. Atsumu’s pretty sure that qualifies as sexual. He’s getting laid tonight - not only that, but it’s his first time sleeping with a teammate.

His mouth quirks and he hums happily to himself as he rinses off. Turns out no one is safe from his charms, not even the uncharmable Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Atsumu wraps a towel around his hips, checks himself out in the mirror, then strolls into Sakusa’s bathroom with his heart beating rabbit-quick, jumping against his ribcage when he sees Sakusa fiddling with something next to the bed. The other man is also fresh from the shower, but he’s had enough time to put on his mask, again, plus a white button-up and black tailored slacks. Atsumu’s mouth runs dry and he coughs.

“Oh, got all dressed up for me, Omi-Omi? I thought ya said no Fifty Shades of Grey.”

Sakusa glares over at him. It might be a trick of the light, but Atsumu’s pretty sure he sees Sakusa’s cheeks color. 

“I might not be the focus of this scene, but sweatpants don’t really command respect.”

Atsumu hums, “I thought ya were gonna be decked out in leather and latex, ya know? Like, ‘welcome to my sex dungeon,’ all that.”

Sakusa puts his head in his black-gloved hands, muttering, “Oh my god.”

“Should I put clothes on too?”

“No,” Sakusa shakes his head, then fixes his eyes on Atsumu once more, the weight of his gaze palpable as it crawls up and down Atsumu’s body. “You won’t need them.”

His words bounce around inside Atsumu’s head, nearly echoing after he stops talking. Atsumu has a moment, just a moment, where he realizes that this—sleeping with a teammate, sleeping with Sakusa Kiyoomi—might actually, in fact, not be the greatest idea he’s ever had. He feels like a gazelle in one of those nature documentaries, except he’s staring the lion full in the face instead of trying to run.

“Come here, Atsumu,” Sakusa murmurs.

Atsumu’s mouth is still so, so dry. He swallows and walks over to the bed, wondering just how badly he’s blushing.

“I’m going to show you what I set up,” Sakusa says slowly, “and you can let me know if you’re okay with it, alright?”

His voice is gentler than Atsumu’s ever heard it, especially directed at him. He’s not sure if he likes it or not. It makes his chest feel tight.

“S-sure,” he manages.

“These are for your wrists,” Sakusa says, gesturing to two leather cuffs attached to the headboard by chains. Atsumu remembers seeing those on that ill-fated day he decided to go exploring in Sakusa’s bathroom. “And this,” he holds up a black metal bar with one leather cuff on each end, “is for your legs. You’re not going to be able to move much once I get these on you. Is that okay?”

Atsumu’s ears are ringing. Everything just became very real very quickly, including the nervous thrum of excitement pulsing underneath his skin. 


Sakusa squints. Atsumu can’t tell if he’s smirking or sizing him up; it might be both. 

“What’s your color, Atsumu?”

Color? What does he - ohhh.  

“Oh, um. Green.”


When Sakusa takes one of the cuffs and walks behind him, sliding his gloved hand down Atsumu’s right arm and taking hold of his wrist, Atsumu realizes he might be in over his head. He can only watch, flushing fiercely, as Sakusa closes the padded leather around his wrist with a firm click. 

Right before Atsumu’s brain vacates his skull, he comes to the realization that these particular black gloves are thin, nitrile - disposable. Because they’re probably going to get messy.

“Not too tight?” Sakusa asks; he strokes a hand down Atsumu’s hip.


Sakusa’s fingers tighten briefly, “Good. Get on the bed, then. On your back.”

Atsumu does, slowly, the towel barely hanging onto his hips as he settles against the pillows. Sakusa reaches up and does something that makes the chain on the cuff tighten, drawing Atsumu’s right arm firmly above his head, before climbing on the bed to join him. As Sakusa repeats the process with Atsumu’s left wrist, Atsumu tugs experimentally on the other restraint and shivers when he can barely move his arm at all.

Then Sakusa picks up the metal bar - a spreader bar, if Atsumu’s research serves him correctly. But the cuffs on the ends…

“Aren’t those a little big for my ankles?” he asks, watching Sakusa open up the first cuff. “I don’t have tree trunks for legs, ya know.”

Sakusa squints again. 

“These aren’t for your ankles.” He gets the buckle undone and lifts Atsumu’s right leg off the bed, just enough to ease the leather underneath it. “They’re for your thighs.”

Atsumu gasps when he feels the leather close around him. 


“I suppose you can use a spreader bar anywhere along someone’s legs, but anyone with a basic knowledge of anatomy should be able to figure out that you can still move your thighs if your ankles are chained,” Sakusa says, repeating the process with Atsumu’s left leg, tightening the cuff just above his knee. He looks up when he’s done, eyes boring into Atsumu’s. “And I don’t want you to be able to do that.”

There’s been a tent in the towel ever since Atsumu got on the bed. He squirms—or tries to squirm. Sakusa’s right, he can’t close his legs now, plus he can’t really do much with his arms either. It just makes him harder, especially when Sakusa’s eyes slide between his thighs. 

“You’re enjoying this,” he says, voice unreadable.

“Wha - ‘course I am!” Atsumu splutters. 

What red-blooded dude wouldn’t enjoy being at the mercy of someone as cold, dispassionate, and beautiful as—

“You say that, but it’s not a given,” Sakusa says. His hands play with the hem of the towel. “And we haven’t even started yet.”

With that, he slides the towel to the side, dropping it to the floor. Atsumu makes a little sound in his throat—he knows he has a nice dick, but what if Sakusa doesn’t like it? 

“Hmm,” Sakusa hums. “Pretty.”

Then he reaches for the pump bottle of lube on the bedside table like he didn’t just heat Atsumu’s cheeks with the force of a thousand suns. He presses it a couple times, then makes a fist with that hand as he crawls between Atsumu’s knees. Atsumu’s dick twitches as Sakusa just...  watches him, for a few seconds. He turns his face to the side, desperately trying to hide against his bicep.

Which means he isn’t prepared for the warm, slick hand that wraps around him.

“Nngh fuck…”

Distantly, Atsumu realizes that Sakusa waited for the lube to warm up. How considerate. 

“You’re sensitive,” Sakusa comments, those long fingers sliding up and down, getting him wet. 

Atsumu makes an embarrassing noise when one fingertip circles the head of his cock, teasing; his belly lurches when the restraints prevent him from jerking away from the focused, intense touch.

Fuck, his hand is so wet. Atsumu bites his lip and lets his head loll back against the pillows, panting as Sakusa falls into a rhythm and starts to jerk him off. It’s hot, it’s so hot—it doesn’t even matter that Sakusa is wearing gloves and a mask—if anything, that makes it better—Atsumu should probably get his head checked after this is all over—

“Shit,” Atsumu grits out, despite his best attempts to stay silent. “Oh my god-”

“Mm,” Sakusa hums. He strokes Atsumu’s thigh with his dry glove as his other hand squelches noisily every time he reaches the tip. Atsumu groans and tugs on the cuffs holding his wrists near the headboard. “There’s no point in struggling, Atsumu. Unless you like confirming that you can’t get away.”

Holy shit. Atsumu bites his lip, dick throbbing as Sakusa continues to stroke him, slowly but evenly. He can feel himself leaking all over Sakusa’s fingers, making things even more slick. Fuck, it’s just a handjob, why is it so good?

There’s laughter in Sakusa’s voice when he speaks next, “I guess you do like it, then.”

“Omiii,” Atsumu whines, bucking his hips up into Sakusa’s fist.

“Don’t move or I’ll stop,” Sakusa snaps.

Oh, Jesus. Atsumu stifles a sob and tries to stay still, head spinning. 

Sakusa makes a noise that might be a laugh, “You’re pretty obedient like this. I’m surprised.” Atsumu doesn’t even have time to reply indignantly before Sakusa adds, “Maybe… actually, yeah. Pull your knees up to your chest and hold them there.”

But—but that would—that’s such a revealing position! Atsumu huffs in a breath, surprised he hasn’t melted into the bed by now from embarrassment. Sakusa’s hand slows on his cock and Atsumu whines, pushing everything else out of his mind and lifting his legs up in case Sakusa’s waiting on him to continue.


Then Sakusa takes his hand away completely and Atsumu makes a humiliatingly needy sound, legs shaking as he holds the new position. Sakusa doesn’t even spare him a look as he leans over to get more lube, rubbing it between both hands this time. He nudges closer until his clothed knees are nearly touching Atsumu’s ass, then leans down.

Atsumu is not proud of his reaction when Sakusa wraps his hand back around him at the same time as a slick fingertip prods against his hole, but he can’t fucking help it. He jumps, tensing up and relaxing so quickly that his legs go a little slack, then chokes when the spreader bar braces against Sakusa’s chest and arms, leaving Atsumu’s legs just hanging there , wide open. Stuck.

“Omi, I - oh god-”

He throws his head back and nearly bites down on his tongue when Sakusa slides one long finger inside.

“Fuck, I’m-” Atsumu groans, shaking with the effort of holding still. “I’m gonna come…”

He normally lasts a lot longer than this, but something about not being able to move, and the double stimulation, and the gloves, and the almost bored way Sakusa is looking at him—fuck, just—something about Sakusa has him close already. The finger inside him twists, getting him wet there too, and Atsumu cries out, panting as his back arches involuntarily.

“Go on, Atsumu,” Sakusa murmurs. He squeezes him tight, rubs his thumb over the head, and says, “Come.”

Atsumu comes so hard that stars pop behind his eyelids, so hard some of it gets on his chin. So hard he can’t even make a sound. He strains at his bonds as Sakusa works him through it relentlessly.

When he’s done, Sakusa’s hands slow down, but they don’t stop. Atsumu gasps in a much-needed breath and moans, aftershocks shuddering through him; he blinks his eyes open and shivers at the way Sakusa’s have darkened.

Then Sakusa picks the pace back up and Atsumu hisses, sensations turning from blissful to sharp in an instant. “I-” his voice comes out hoarse, so he swallows and tries again, “Omi, give a guy a second t’ breathe, yeah?”

Sakusa cocks his head, arching an eyebrow. “Hmm.” He squeezes in a second finger and Atsumu moans despite himself, toes curling. “No, I don’t think I will.”

He curls his fingers and Atsumu grunts through clenched teeth when he pushes against his prostate, nerves fraying as Sakusa chuckles and locks onto that spot. Atsumu’s dick is tingling, burning with oversensitivity as Sakusa keeps him hard with his tight, slippery grip.

“Nnnngh - fuck, fuck fuck fuck-”

Atsumu’s never felt like this before, like he’s trapped in his own body, bending to someone else’s will. It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time and he doesn’t want it to stop. He grits his teeth, trying to show Sakusa that he can take whatever he can dish out, balling his hands into fists and digging his nails into his palms. Every muscle in his body is tense.


“Wh-what?” Atsumu stammers.

Sakusa stills for a moment and Atsumu can’t for the life of him decide if he’s relieved or frustrated. 

“Your color, Atsumu.”

“Oh. Green, green green green. C’mon, keep going.”

Sakusa chuckles and resumes his movements, “And here I thought you wanted me to stop.”

“I - I don’t-” Atsumu whines as Sakusa’s strokes get faster. “I d-don’t know-” 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Sakusa murmurs. Atsumu whines again, sharp heat blooming inside him as he trembles from the attention to his prostate. “That’s the beautiful thing about this. You don’t have to know. You don’t have to decide what you want, because it doesn’t matter what you want.”

Atsumu has to close his eyes, head spinning as his cock twitches. 

“Oh my god…”

“I can do this until you’re coming dry if I want,” Sakusa continues, fingers squelching as he takes Atsumu apart. “All you can do is take it.”

“I’mgonnacomeagain,” Atsumu slurs, chest heaving as he feels himself twitch around Sakusa’s fingers.

Sakusa makes a quiet noise. “Oh?”

This time, the build-up isn’t smooth and euphoric like it normally is. It’s choppy, ragged, every breath torn from Atsumu’s lungs as Sakusa forces him higher and higher. The headboard is so sturdy that it barely even creaks as Atsumu tugs on the cuffs, desperate.

“Please - please-”

He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for.

Sakusa makes another noise and adds a third finger. It’s enough of a stretch that it burns, and Atsumu howls, long past shame. Sakusa starts to fuck him with all three, thrusting deep over and over, and Atsumu—Atsumu—

“Omi,” he breathes, eyebrows knitting together, and then he comes.

He hears Sakusa gasp. 

It fucking hurts. He’s silent for most of it, breath caught in his chest as his cock jerks and spills over Sakusa’s fingers.

“Breathe,” Sakusa murmurs.

As soon as Atsumu sucks in a breath he’s groaning low, both pain and pleasure coloring his voice. He tries to get away from Sakusa’s merciless fingers, but he’s so weak and stupid from endorphins that all he can do is make his hips twitch. Maybe in response, Sakusa takes his hand off his cock to hold him still, keeping him in place as he finishes coming just from Sakusa’s fingers.

Atsumu’s head lolls to the side when he’s done, moaning quietly on every exhale. His balls are throbbing—hell, his dick is throbbing, and not entirely in a good way.

He hears Sakusa pump the lube bottle again. 

Atsumu doesn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed about the way he whimpers.

“One more,” Sakusa says, wrapping his hand back around Atsumu’s sore cock. “Give me one more.”

“I can’t,” Atsumu gasps. Sakusa curls his fingers and Atsumu hisses through clenched teeth. “I can’t-”

“Yes you can.”

Atsumu shakes his head, delirious.

“I’m not stopping until you do.”

Atsumu whines. He’s going to die. This is how he’s going to go out, tied to Sakusa Kiyoomi’s bed, covered in his own come. He’s not going to survive this.

Being tied up like this is doing really weird things to his brain. It’s also doing really weird things to his dick—he doesn’t have anything else to focus on, nothing else to do except let the pleasure build and build. Sakusa’s fingers inside him are electric, little horrible shocks every time he pushes against his prostate; it’s making Atsumu tremble so badly that Sakusa’s hand keeps slipping off him on the upstroke.

“Stay still,” Sakusa growls.

Atsumu sobs. “I c-can’t - I can’t-” He’s so tense that his muscles are starting to cramp. “Omiii, Omi please…”

Sakusa laughs. “You know what to do to make it stop.”

He pulls his fingers out a moment later; for a second, Atsumu thinks he’s saved, that Sakusa is letting him off easy, but then he realizes Sakusa’s just getting more lube for that hand, now. The slick tightness around his cock feels even more intense without the pressure on his overstimulated prostate; an agonizing sort of pleasure starts to build between his legs, dizzying and strong. It’s intense enough that, even though it’ll hurt, Atsumu might be able to come like this, as long as Sakusa doesn’t—


Atsumu chokes when Sakusa slips his fingers back inside, burning with humiliation at the sloppy sounds of so much lube. He’s close enough to the edge now that the used, sore feeling in his ass is pushing him closer instead of keeping him away. He’s going to die he’s going to die—

“You’re squeezing around me again,” Sakusa observes.

“Mhhmm’gonna,” Atsumu slurs, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Yeah? You’re gonna come for me?”

Atsumu’s head weighs a thousand pounds as he tries to nod, fire starting to spread from his core. It feels good to say yes - he feels owned, in a way he never has before. “S’f’ryou…”

The last thing Atsumu’s aware of is Sakusa drawing in a sharp breath. Then his body ignites and his back arches clean off the bed, come dribbling from his aching cock as his orgasm rips a groan from deep in his chest. 

Blissfully—blessedly—Sakusa’s hands slow down as Atsumu does, and he finally takes both away once Atsumu’s back to lying limp on the bed, wrung out and exhausted. He doesn’t even have the energy to open his eyes.

Sakusa shifts on the bed. There’s a snap and some rustling, then the cool, clean touch of a new pair of gloves on Atsumu’s sweaty skin. 

“I’m gonna take these off now, okay, Atsumu?” Sakusa’s using that gentle voice again. Atsumu likes it even better now that he’s been through the wringer. “Then I’ll help you clean up and you can relax a little bit.”

Atsumu smiles and nods, eyes still too heavy to open. He sighs in relief as Sakusa unbuckles the spreader bar, his legs falling limp on either side of Sakusa’s body as soon as they’re out of the restraint. He feels Sakusa lean over him to undo the cuffs. 

Sakusa massages Atsumu’s wrists after each one is released and says, “You did great.”

Whoa, Sakusa has never been this nice to him, like, ever. Boy is Atsumu going to savor this.

“I’m going to go get a washcloth. I’ll be right back.”

Atsumu stretches out and sighs again, fighting the urge to curl up on his side before he’s gotten all the come and sweat off of him. Sakusa is back before Atsumu can go through with it, sweeping a warm, damp cloth over Atsumu’s abdomen and chest.

Sakusa hums. “I’m gonna clean the lube off too, okay?”

“M’kay,” Atsumu manages, surprising himself with how ragged his voice is. He appreciates the warning so he’s prepared for the cloth to run over his oversensitive cock and balls, then between his legs, leaving a much cleaner feeling in its wake. 

Now that he’s free to turn onto his side, Atsumu takes advantage of it immediately, curling up into the fetal position and taking in a deep breath, exhaling as he relaxes into the bed. He smiles and squirms when a thick fleece blanket is draped over him.

He feels the bed dip behind him as Sakusa sits down. A hand comes to rest atop his head and Atsumu sighs. It’s not exactly cuddling, but it’s comforting, which he assumes is the point. 


Atsumu nods. He can’t remember a time he felt this at peace. He lets himself drift, trusting that Sakusa will let him know what to do next. 


Kiyoomi lets Atsumu rest for a little while. He can’t help but note the small smile resting on the other man’s face. He seems completely content. 

“I need to clean up a few things in here. Let’s move to the couch, if you feel like you’re ready to walk?” Kiyoomi says in a low voice.

Atsumu stirs, stretching his arms out and almost hitting Kiyoomi in the face. 

“Yeah, sounds good,” Atsumu says, voice raspier and softer than Kiyoomi’s heard it before. 

Atsumu’s definitely not under, but he’s still quiet and compliant as Kiyoomi helps him get up and dressed in the clean set of comfortable clothes he’d instructed the other man to bring with him. Kiyoomi then wraps the large fleece blanket back around his shoulders and leads the way down the hall. 

“Take a seat here and feel free to pick something to watch on the TV for a bit. I have Netflix and cable, let me know if there’s anything you’re looking for. I’ll make some tea and be back in just a minute.”

“Ya got a system here, Omi-kun?” Atsumu asks with a wry turn of his lips that’s frustratingly endearing when tempered by the heavy softness currently in his eyes. 

Kiyoomi smirks a little behind the mask. 

“Do you want green or black tea?” he asks. “I also have jasmine.”

“Ooh, jasmine. How fancy,” Atsumu mocks, a good sign his head’s clearing up. “When in Rome, I s’pose.”

Kiyoomi takes that as a selection and heads towards the kitchen. Atsumu isn’t wrong. This is his system. He’s never been a naturally cuddly or effusive person, and he doesn’t want his subs getting the wrong ideas about their relationship, so he’s had to come up with other ways to make sure that they feel properly taken care of after a scene. That’s important to Kiyoomi. He’s not a total asshole, like some might claim. 

But he also doesn’t want a sub to fall asleep in his bed.

So when a scene is finished he makes sure they’re okay, cleans them up, and provides water and blankets as needed. When they’re ready, he directs them to the couch, where he can let them pick something to watch on his television—something they find comforting, but that has a clear ending. He makes them a drink and then goes to clean up anything left over from the scene. Once that’s done, he sits with them until the end of their program and arranges a way for them to get home. It’s a good system.

When the tea is finished Kiyoomi brings it out in a traditional, earthenware teacup and places it gently in Atsumu’s fleece covered hands.

“Thanks, Omi,” Atsumu says, looking—for lack of better words—sweet and gentle wrapped in the blanket, tea in his lap, with the TV flipped to the Raijin/Red Falcons game. 

“I’m going to go tidy up in the other room,” Kiyoomi says. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

It takes about twenty minutes to meticulously clean the bedroom. When Kiyoomi returns to the living room, he takes a seat on the other end of the couch. 

“What was the final score of the third set?” Kiyoomi asks.

“Nineteen to twenty-five,” Atsumu says. “Looks like the Falcons gave up the first set but they’ve had the momentum since I flipped the match on.”

“Hm,” Kiyoomi acknowledges, eyes trained on the screen.

True to Atsumu’s assessment, the Red Falcons also take the fourth set to win the match. When the final whistle blows, Atsumu gets up without prompting. He folds the throw blanket and then groans as he stretches again. 

Once he’s got his shoes on and his bag slung over his shoulder, he looks back to Kiyoomi. 

“Thanks for the good time, Omi-Omi,” he says, opening the door. 

“You seemed to enjoy it,” Kiyoomi replies. “More than I thought you would.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” He hitches his bag higher. “Anyway, I know ya said one time, but since you let me pick something, dontcha think it’s only fair for me to do something you wanna do, too?”

Sakusa stares at him.

“Just a thought. Night, Omi-kun.”

He winks—winks—and then he shuts the door quickly, before Kiyoomi can even form a response. His eyes are wide, staring at the empty genkan. It’s sinking in, the realization that Kiyoomi’s been pushing off since he snapped the first cuff around Atsumu’s wrist. 

That was… a really good scene.

Kiyoomi puts his head in his hands. Atsumu, brand new to kink, never having subbed before, with that personality… it’s not the best scene that Kiyoomi has ever been a part of, but it was certainly the best he’s had with a sub he’s never played with before.

He didn’t even expect Atsumu to like it once he was actually faced with the situation up close. Kiyoomi would have bet against Atsumu even going through with it... and yet, not only is he actually sort of a natural, but he and Kiyoomi are compatible.

Kiyoomi groans into his palms. This can’t be happening. 

He can’t believe he’s going to ask Miya Atsumu to sub for him… again.