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the things you deserve (the world in my hands)

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Kiyoomi doesn’t see it coming until he’s there, really.

Atsumu is kneeling in front of where Kiyoomi sits on the couch, in his underwear with dog ears and his tail plug in, a collar held gently between his teeth.

Atsumu is staring up at him expectantly, putting a hand on one of Kiyoomi’s knees.

Atsumu is nudging his hand with his nose, pushing the collar into his palm, and Kiyoomi sets his book aside to pet his head placatingly. “Do you want to play? Will you be a good boy for me tonight?”

Atsumu’s had a bad day at practice, Kiyoomi knows this.

Flubbed serves, too-high tosses— it had been an off day for no other reason than it just was. Carding his fingers through bleached hair, Kiyoomi knows that this is his way of asking for help. Atsumu doesn’t want to be talked down to, or roughed up. He wants to be able to give himself to Kiyoomi and receive praise in turn.

The trust is there in Atsumu's pleading eyes, in the way Atsumu tucks his lower lip between his teeth before releasing it to say, “I’ll be so good. I’ll be perfect for ya tonight, I promise.”

Kiyoomi turns the collar over in his hands, admires the fine leather and the soft lining. Atsumu’s chin tilts up wordlessly and he closes his eyes as Kiyoomi clasps the collar around his neck, the image of dedication and devotion.

“You’re already perfect,” Kiyoomi whispers, watching the way Atsumu’s eyes fly open in surprise. He brushes a thumb across Atsumu’s cheekbone, leans down, and grazes his lips over his forehead. “You’re the best, ’Tsumu. Always.”

When they first started this, it was purely sexual.

Atsumu is always asking Kiyoomi how he's feeling, if it's good, if he's feeling good.

And one night Kiyoomi just says, “You're so good, Atsumu.”

Atsumu is visibly making an effort to not come immediately. Kiyoomi runs a hand through his hair and asks, "Is that it? Are you trying to be good for me?''

It's usually Atsumu who talks more in bed, who mumbles filth into Kiyoomi's ear. It's surprisingly natural, the way the words fall from his lips.

"Just like that, 'Tsumu."

"You're doing so well for me."

"Good boy."

The last one takes a little bit of effort. A risk, almost, because it introduces something that he thinks Atsumu might be into, but he isn't sure. Kiyoomi gets his answer when Atsumu buries his face into his shoulder and he barely makes out, "Yeah, your good boy."

There’s a proper discussion before they delve into it further.

There’s some embarrassment on Atsumu’s part when he admits he wants to try pet play, but Kiyoomi is nothing if not dedicated. And he is dedicated to making Atsumu happy, so he agrees to trying it.

He likes it. Far more than he’d anticipated.

Their scenes— taming Atsumu, training him tirelessly— they give Kiyoomi the control and power he craves. Seeing the way Atsumu lights up at being collared (collared to Kiyoomi, bound to him), scratches another itch he didn’t know he had.

Kiyoomi doesn’t praise Atsumu only during sex, now. He pats his head more often and Atsumu is more inclined to do small tasks for Kiyoomi in return for a kiss as his treat. It bleeds into their daily life, but only minimally, in a way that can be seen as nothing more than fondness and affection.

This time, Kiyoomi doesn’t think Atsumu needs the scene for sexual gratification.

Atsumu’s had a bad day at practice, and he wants to remind himself that he has something that he will always be good at, without fail.

When Kiyoomi pulls away, he sees his own awe mirrored in his expression. Like Atsumu can’t believe Kiyoomi can read him so well just as much as Kiyoomi can’t believe he is lucky enough to have someone who gives him their everything.

Their scenes usually consist of Kiyoomi trying to ‘train’ Atsumu and get him to behave, until he showers him in praise for his good work. There will be some adjustment this time, he thinks. He leans back onto the couch and just as Atsumu reaches for the waistband of his sweats, Kiyoomi clicks his tongue. “Not yet.”

“But I can—“

Kiyoomi doesn’t give Atsumu any time to overthink it when he continues, “As I’ve said, you’re always the best. I think you deserve to be spoiled tonight.”

Atsumu’s lip quivers, face pinching into a pained expression as he brings a hand up to rest on Kiyoomi’s thigh, avoiding his stare. He doesn’t believe him. “Haven’t even done anythin’, not anythin’ that deserves a reward.”

“Atsumu.”

His head snaps back up, and Kiyoomi gives a small smile. “You trust my judgment, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Have I ever given you an unwarranted treat?”

“Well, no, but—“

“You deserve this, love.” Kiyoomi pats his thighs, leaving no more room for debate. “Up.”

As soon as Atsumu has settled into his lap with his hands on Kiyoomi’s shoulders, half-hard cock softening against his thigh, he prods. “What’s gotten into you?” The question is direct, but lacks edge; It’s enough to demand an answer, not enough to wound.

“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know why I couldn’t just—“ Atsumu cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, and as he relaxes onto Kiyoomi’s lap he seems to remember himself and tip his head down.

Kiyoomi has trained him well over their many scenes. He doesn’t necessarily care about any of that in the moment.

“Tsumu, that isn’t what I meant.” His fingers soothe up Atsumu’s back, gently pressing until he’s cuddled to Kiyoomi’s chest with his face tucked into his neck. “You had a rough day. That was it. It can happen to anyone despite our skillset, and you are not a god.”

There’s what he thinks is a sniffle, and he’s suddenly worried he’s made a gross miscalculation. Maybe there actually was something deeper going on, something he was unaware of— then Atsumu is pulling away again with a hand covering his mouth. His smiling, snickering mouth.

Kiyoomi supposes he’s glad at Atsumu’s shift in mood. He’s still confused at the sudden change, and it must be obvious from his face alone.

“It’s- It’s just—“ Atsumu huffs another laugh, open and warm and Kiyoomi holds him as his shoulders shake with it. “A rough day.”

“Yes?”

Atsumu shakes his head, holds his hands up in front of him with his fingers curled into loose fists, and says, “Ruff,” before bursting into a fit of giggles.

It’s not funny. It’s ridiculous. It’s immature.

Kiyoomi kisses him to shut him up, and to avoid cracking a smile of his own.

The laughter dies down, as does Atsumu’s smile, but Kiyoomi can tell that he is at least no longer stuck within his own head. That’s all he can ask for in that moment, and he’ll take care of the rest, as he always does.