Atsumu isn’t one for thirsting over popular people.
But Sakusa Kiyoomi is different.
The first time Atsumu has heard him sing, it’s when Atsumu has stumbled upon one of his music video. He’s been looking for new music, new songs to listen to while he cleans his apartment. It’s honestly an accident, clicking the wrong video instead of the one under it. He’s about to go back to the previous page when the video starts playing and the voice that graces his ears has him frozen on the spot; awestruck at how amazing it is, the deep baritone of his voice, the emotion that flows from it.
And the rest is history.
Now Atsumu is jumping in front of a massive stage, surrounded by girls and boys singing the lyrics along with the famous Sakusa Kiyoomi that’s on stage, playing the guitar while he croons in their ears, making goosebumps rise on Atsumu’s whole body.
Atsumu screams along with everyone, clutches Tooru’s arm tightly as he watches the musician attach his lips against the microphone, eyes closed as he sings the lyrics to one of Atsumu’s favourite songs. He traces his movements; his fingers gliding up and down the neck of the guitar as he strums the strings, his foot pressing on the pedal, his curly bangs falling in front of his face, the sweat gliding down his neck.
Atsumu can’t stop watching him; can’t stop his heart from beating wildly inside his chest, can’t stop his body from overheating, from sweating buckets because this— this is heaven.
When the song ends, Sakusa Kiyoomi opens his eyes and for a few seconds, with a small content smile on his lips, swipes his gaze along the big crowd. The audience screams louder, waves their lightsticks and banners even wilder. Atsumu’s breath hitches, catches in his throat, when the musician’s gaze pauses briefly on their section. And then it’s gone and Atsumu can breathe again.
The stage goes completely dark and Atsumu is thankful for the small respite he gets from the god that is Sakusa Kiyoomi.
“Did you see that?!” The girl beside Atsumu exclaims, jumping on her spot as she clutches her friend’s arm. “He looked at us!”
“I know!” Her friend screams back, big smile on her face.
Atsumu, too, would’ve started gushing about Kiyoomi if not for his rational mind taking over his fanboy mind, telling him that no, that’s impossible. It’s dark in here and yeah— that basically squashes Atsumu’s hopes and dreams of being noticed by Kiyoomi. Well, he is popular and Atsumu is only a graduating student so this hopes and dreams he’s thinking about is only that, hopes and dreams.
“Stupid. Why would Sakusa Kiyoomi look at us? He’s obviously looking at the banner behind us.” Tooru says, loud enough that only Atsumu can hear him. Atsumu looks behind them, seeing the big banner with the word EFFORT splashed as big as possible on the black cloth.
“Shh,” Atsumu shushes him, sticking his tongue out. “Don’t ruin our dreams!”
“Stupid,” Tooru rolls his eyes, pinches Atsumu’s side lightly.
“Meanie,” Atsumu pouts at him but smiles after, glad that Tooru agreed to come with him.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m a meanie because I came with you. Alright,” Tooru rolls his eyes again, slings an arm around Atsumu’s shoulder. “Now shh, your boyfriend is coming back.”
Atsumu’s head snaps forward so fast, he’s surprised it didn’t break. Blinding lights flash for a quick beat before the spotlight focuses, Kiyoomi under it. He has changed to a sleeveless black t-shirt, his arms on show, letting everyone see the sleeve tattoo covering the expanse of his right arm.
A chorus of screams and cries echoes inside the stadium when they see Kiyoomi in that get up because there’s only one reason that Kiyoomi has changed from his normal band t-shirt to a muscle tee.
Atsumu thinks he’s going to hyperventilate.
He takes a deep breath, clutches his chest, where his wildly beating heart rests.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” he chants to himself quietly.
“Hi,” Kiyoomi says to the microphone. He lets the crowd scream some more, the corner of his lips quirked into a smile, so fucking attractive. The girls beside Atsumu and Tooru screams the loudest they can, waving their arms and lightsticks like that will elevate the excitement they’re feeling for what’s about to come. “So,” Kiyoomi starts then chuckles into the microphone when another bouts of scream echoes. “Okay, everyone. Let’s calm down.”
“I can’t!” A deep voice screams, almost hysterical. Atsumu fears it’s him but when he covers his mouth with his hand, the voice continues, even louder this time, “You’re too hot!”
Sakusa Kiyoomi looks down, covers most of his face with his dark bangs, looking bashful. He scuffs his foot against the ground before raising his head and looking at the crowd once again.
“Thank you,” Kiyoomi says and his voice is just so— enticing. Atsumu honestly almost sheds a tear. He doesn’t; only because Tooru would take a picture and show Osamu and that’s the worst that could happen.
“Kiyoomi,” Motoya, the band’s bassist and Kiyoomi’s cousin, calls out, teasing smirk on his face. “Get on with it. Stop acting embarrassed. You know you’re hot.” He turns to the crowd then, shouts, “Right, guys?!”
The crowd—Atsumu included—screams incorrigible things and Kiyoomi laughs, the sight so fucking beautiful.
Atsumu could die right now and he wouldn’t have any regrets in life. (Except maybe not taking Osamu with him. Dark thoughts. Hmm.)
“Shut up, Motoya,” Kiyoomi says, rolling his eyes. “Right. As I was saying, this is the last set and I’ll be playing the drums—“ Atsumu doesn’t know how loud he screams—joined by the crowd—but he screams so loud Tooru slaps him on the face just to calm him down. “—and Koutarou will be playing the guitar.” He raises his hands then, drumsticks on each palms, before hitting them together. “Enjoy!”
Hinata Shoyo, their rhythm guitarist, starts playing while Kiyoomi settles behind the drums. Atsumu follows him, doesn’t take his eyes off Kiyoomi even when Koutarou starts hyping the crowd up, playing a freestyle riff on the guitar.
And then Kiyoomi hits the bass drum and throws his drumsticks in the air. Atsumu, Tooru, the girls beside Atsumu, all of them are holding their breaths, eyes trained on the stage. And then Sakusa Kiyoomi smirks, quickly catching the sticks, twirls them on his hands before he leans forward, lips to the microphone.
“1, 2, 3—“ Kiyoomi counts, clicking his drumsticks together and then he slams the sticks on the three front drums and everything is moving once again.
The shouting, the guitar, the base, the crowd— Atsumu can hear everything and it pierces his ears like never before. Like the storm after the calm, once Kiyoomi drops the first beat, everything is in motion once again and Atsumu’s heart feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest; it beats so wildly and fast, he fears he might go into heart attack right then and there.
It doesn’t happen and Atsumu is blessed with Kiyoomi playing a familiar beat, drumsticks unforgiving on the drum set surrounding his being. Even when Shoyo starts singing, Bokuto harmonising with him, and Motoya keeping everything in place with his superior bass play, Atsumu can’t take his eyes off of Sakusa Kiyoomi playing the fucking drums.
Atsumu has never thought of himself having a muscle kink but goddamn if he’s not salivating for Sakusa Kiyoomi’s muscled arms, firm and lean and covered in ink and glistening with sweat. Kiyoomi plays with his eyes closed, bobbing his head with the beat, hair wet with sweat matted on his forehead. He reaches here and there to hit different types of drums, doing tricks with his drumsticks. And Atsumu stays frozen in place; like the awestruck, dumbstruck, wonderstruck, fanboy that he is, eyes never leaving Kiyoomi.
“Holy shit,” Atsumu whispers, his words swallowed by the singing crowd. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Tooru whispers—screams—in his ears, startling Atsumu. Atsumu prevents himself from turning towards Tooru, eyes never leaving Kiyoomi’s form. “I’d love for Hinata Shoyo to stomp on me.”
The words surprises Atsumu but not enough for him to turn his head. He simply replies, voice teasing,
The concert continues for another thirty minutes with Sakusa Kiyoomi playing the drums, blending into the background, almost forgotten by the crowd. But Atsumu is different. He’s never taken his attention from Kiyoomi, not for one second. Atsumu watches how he runs a hand through his sweaty hair after two songs, smiling at his band members from behind. And Atsumu watches as he uncaps a bottle of water, chugging the whole bottle and carefully putting it back on the ground. He watches and watches and—
“Thank you for everything!”
Atsumu snaps his eyes towards Koutarou who’s waving with his guitar pick on his hand. He grins and throws the pick towards the audience, causing the crowd to go even wilder. Shoyo follows and another pick is thrown. And then Motoya who grins at the crowd, teases them with his pick before he relents and throws it as far as he could. The guy who won the fight of owning it screams so loud in happiness Motoya lets out an amused laugh.
And then it’s Kiyoomi.
Sakusa Kiyoomi steps forward, rests his lips against the microphone, says, “Thank you for tonight. I’ll see you again next time.”
Then a pair of drumsticks tied together zooms fast in front of Atsumu’s face, almost hitting him on the eyes. It happened so fast, Atsumu doesn’t even have a chance to do anything but clutch the pair of drumsticks close to his chest, protecting it from all the other fans trying to take it away from him.
He got Sakusa Kiyoomi’s personalised drumsticks.
Only when Atsumu comes home, Osamu looking at him like he’s gone crazy, that Atsumu fully realised what actually has happened.
“I got Kiyoomi’s drum sticks!” He screams and Osamu looks at him even more weirdly.
“'samu!” Atsumu takes out the drum sticks from his bag, holds it so carefully like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever hold. The Sakusa Kiyoomi printed on the drumsticks has Atsumu hyperventilating. Or close to it. “Ohmygod, we’re soulmates.”
“Idiot,” Osamu scoffs and hits him on the back of his head. “As if.”
Atsumu pouts, hugs the drumsticks close to him. “A man can dream.”
“Yeah, a man can. So go the fuck to sleep. Good night.” Osamu ruffles Atsumu's hair before heading to his own room, leaving his door slightly ajar.
Atsumu smiles at the gesture. He’s definitely going to cuddle the hell out of his twin tonight. Only after he’s told his twin everything that has happened of course.
What an eventful day.
University is killing Atsumu.
It has stolen his social life from him, even his precious lunch breaks where he scrolls through LINE and Twitter to look at Sakusa Kiyoomi pictures and look for new EFFORT articles.
Atsumu is so done with reading multiple articles and books, he feels like his head is going to explode soon. Thankfully, he survives the whole week, the sight of the drumsticks he’s gotten from Sakusa Kiyoomi the only motivation he’s got—along with Osamu’s delicious breakfasts—to wake up in the morning and go to university.
It’s the weekend now, a Friday, and even though Atsumu has a lot of reading to do, he has to work. Money might be made from trees but it sure does not just fall from trees which is bullshit, money should be accessible to everyone. Especially to a suffering broke student like the Miya Twins, namely, Atsumu and Osamu. Fuck Capitalism and all.
Atsumu turns to the owner, shakes his head as he ties his apron around his waist.
“Good evening, Meian-san,” Atsumu greets, smiling. “Mid-terms are coming so I had to read a lot.”
“Ah,” Meian chuckles, pats Atsumu’s shoulder. “Study well. But first, the regulars are looking for you. Go serve them.”
“Thank you,” Atsumu grins before perking up at the mention of the bar’s regulars. “Ah, really? I’ll go serve them now.”
Meian nods, waving Atsumu away as he places a cigarette in between his lips. Atsumu watches him disappear behind the back door before he straightens his shirt and with a deep breath, shoves the door that leads to the bar.
Immediately, when the regulars see Atsumu, they wave him over and quickly orders their favourite drinks. Atsumu smiles at them, nods and converses with them briefly before he goes and makes their drinks, careful with the amount of alcohol he pours on the shaker, mixing the perfect amount, the way his costumers like.
Being a part-time bartender is fun. Atsumu only has to talk to costumers, make drinks, sometimes get to drink when a costumer likes him too much, take payments. It’s an easy job. Doesn’t require much thinking.
Tonight is a slow night, only the bar’s regulars ordering a few drinks. Atsumu settles into a routine of smiling, mixing drinks, cleaning the bar and tables. It’s easy. It’s nice.
But then someone unexpected enters the bar and it feels like Atsumu’s world is turned upside down.
His breath is stuck in his throat, the sight of Sakusa Kiyoomi in their little inconspicuous bar a shock to his fragile mentality.
“Hello?” A familiar face appears in front of Atsumu, hand waving in front of his face.
Atsumu squeaks, very eloquent, articulate— coughs.
“A-Ah,” Atsumu stutters, eyes wide as he looks at Komori Motoya who’s looking at him with amused eyes. He clears his throat, plasters his costumer service smile and with his costumer service voice, says, “Do you want to order something?”
Komori cocks a brow, turns to his side where Sakusa Kiyoomi is. Atsumu doesn’t move his head, prevents himself from oogling his idol crush and instead looks at his favourite musician from the corner of his eyes. He prays to God or Satan for his brain to work properly because if it does not, he will fucking riot.
“Sure,” Sakusa Kiyoomi pulls the bar stool in front of Atsumu, seats on that stool, totally ignoring the way Atsumu is freaking out on the inside. He pulls his mask down his chin and says, “Can I get a glass Maccalan?”
Atsumu thinks of the consequences of ignoring Sakusa Kiyoomi; maybe Meian would fire him, or Sakusa Kiyoomi would ban him from all his concerts and fan meetings. Atsumu wants to risk it so bad, say fuck it and refuse serving Sakusa Kiyoomi just so he doesn’t embarrass himself. Because Atsumu knows he will embarrass himself just by looking at his idol.
This is fucking crazy.
Atsumu wants a hole to swallow him right now.
A hole doesn’t appear. Unfortunately.
So Atsumu is forced to clear his throat and face Sakusa Kiyoomi, costumer service smile on his face.
“On—“ His voice cracks and Atsumu could cry. He’s so fucking nervous his hands are shaking by his sides. Yikes. “I mean, uh, on the rocks, sir?”
“No,” Sakusa Kiyoomi, frowns like the thought of putting ice on his whiskey is a sin. “Leave it neat.”
Atsumu nods, smiles then turns to Komori Motoya. “And you, sir?”
“Just a glass of water,” Motoya says, smiling.
“Right,” Atsumu doesn’t let the confusion show on his face. “Coming right up.”
Why would Motoya order only a glass of water? From what Atsumu has read, Motoya is fond of different types of alcohol and has quite a high alcohol tolerance. It doesn’t make sense that he’s only drinking water.
Is he turning a new leaf? Give up alcohol and only drink non-alcoholic drinks?
Atsumu quickly makes their drinks, ignoring the questions piling up inside his head. At some point, in between pouring a few cubes of ice on a glass for Motoya’s water, Meian comes back. And immediately, he greets Sakusa Kiyoomi with a wide smile.
“Kiyoomi,” Meian grins. “Finally, you visited. Where’s your brother?”
Kiyoomi shrugs, watches as Atsumu slides his glass of whiskey in front of him. “Overtime. Or something.”
Meian rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue. “He never changes. So then, why are you here?”
“On a slump,” Motoya answers, scrunching his nose. “He says he’s out of artistic juice. Won’t even let us hear the songs he’s been working on the whole month.”
Admittedly, Atsumu shouldn’t eavesdrop on other people’s conversation but— but he can’t help it! This is the leader and bassist of his favourite band, he has no choice but to eavesdrop.
“They sound like shit,” Sakusa Kiyoomi spits before downing his glass of whiskey and slamming it on the bar.
Atsumu looks at him with wide eyes, startled. Kiyoomi looks back, points at the glass, and tells Atsumu,
“Y-Yes, sir.” Atsumu stutters and scurries to make another glass of whiskey.
He’s not far from them though so he still hears them talking, Motoya explaining to Meian how Kiyoomi has holed himself in his apartment the whole week, working on a song, only to call Motoya earlier today to tell him to cancel the recording schedule next month because apparently, according to Sakusa Kiyoomi, musician prodigy of the century,
“All the songs I write are shit. Worse than Take Me.”
Oh, hell no.
“Take Me isn’t even—“
“Do not talk shit about my favourite song,” Atsumu says before he slams the glass filled with whiskey in front of Sakusa Kiyoomi, looking at him with blazing eyes.
“Oh?” Kiyoomi’s annoyed expression changes to interest. He studies Atsumu, from head to toe— or well, waist. His toes are hidden behind the bar.
“A fan?” Motoya chirps, smiling at Atsumu. “Was that why you didn’t want to look at this ugly guy?”
Atsumu knows he’s teasing but he takes the bait anyway because he’s stupid and overprotective of Sakusa Kiyoomi. Fuck.
“He’s not ugly,” Atsumu answers, frowning. “He’s handsome.”
“Hear that, Kiyo? You’re handsome.” Motoya nudges Kiyoomi’s side with his elbow, earning a grunt from the other.
“I don’t care,” Kiyoomi says, eyes still focused on Atsumu’s figure. There's something swimming in his eyes that Atsumu can't decipher. It makes him nervous. “You like Take Me?” He asks, startling Atsumu.
Atsumu gulps, looks at Meian for help. Meian tilts his head, raises his hands in the air as if to say I can’t help you. You dug your own grave. What a useless boss.
“I love Take Me,” Atsumu confesses, blush rushing up to his cheeks. “It’s my favourite song. Almost tied with Fantasize.”
“Interesting choices,” Motoya comments, lips formed into a smirk.
Atsumu blushes deeper. He knows his favourite songs are— unconventional. A little bit on the scandalous side but he’s not the one who composed it, so why is he the one being scrutinised?
“Thanks,” Atsumu replies, lips almost pouting.
“I hate Take Me,” Sakusa Kiyoomi says and Atsumu’s blood boils because that song is phenomenal. How can the composer say that about their composition?
Atsumu asks, “What the hell are you talking about?”
Oops. He meant to be polite but— but.
A smirk forms on Kiyoomi’s face and the words that falls from his sinful lips has Atsumu’s brain short circuiting.
“I hate Take Me because I can’t do those things to anyone,” Kiyoomi pauses and Atsumu stares at him, slack jawed. “Yet.” And then his eyes swipes up and down Atsumu’s body and holy fucking shit— what—
“You broke him,” Motoya accuses, snapping his fingers in front of Atsumu’s face.
“I didn’t,” Kiyoomi replies before he takes a sip from his glass of whiskey.
“You did,” Atsumu tacks in, blinks a couple of times, reaches out and pinches Meian hard, earning a squeak from the older man. “Not a dream.”
Kiyoomi huffs a laugh, rests his elbow on the bar counter. He stares at Atsumu so intensely, Atsumu starts feeling like he’s being hunted. A prey.
His dick twitches.
What the fuck.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi reads his name tag. “Nice name.”
“Don’t—“ Atsumu grips his apron hard, nails digging on the fabric. “Don’t say my name.”
“Why, Atsumu?” Kiyoomi asks, eyes dancing in mirth. He knows what he’s doing, knows the power he has over Atsumu, a fan.
“Just— Don’t.” Atsumu says, turns to look at Motoya who pretends to whistle. Atsumu knows he can’t whistle. The asshole.
“Hmm,” Kiyoomi hums, lets his hand fall on the counter, calloused fingers tapping the wooden surface. “You like my voice, Atsumu?”
“Oh my god,” Atsumu moans in agony, scrambles for a while before slapping his hands on top of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s mouth. “Shut up, will you.”
A cocked brow, a swipe of tongue, and Atsumu is crying for Meian to help me, Meian-san! He won’t stop saying my name! Meian ignores him, tells him to make a virgin drink for Motoya and to serve both artists more professionally.
Again, useless boss.
Atsumu sniffs, wipes his palm on his apron. “My hand is dirty.”
“I’ve had worse,” Kiyoomi replies, head tilted to the side as he watches Atsumu make a non-alcoholic cocktail for Motoya.
“What about your Mysophobia?” Atsumu frowns because Kiyoomi’s mysophobia is a well known fact in the fandom.
Kiyoomi doesn’t like touching unknown objects until he’s cleaned it with wet wipes, he doesn’t touch door knobs directly; using the sleeve of his jacket or sweater to do it, he doesn’t touch people easily. And yet, here he is, licking Atsumu’s hand.
What the hell is going on?
“It’s fine,” Kiyoomi answers while Atsumu strains the drink on a chilled glass. The finished product is a virgin cosmopolitan. Pink and citrusy.
“Here’s your drink, Komori-san,” Atsumu slides the drink towards the bassist, smiling softly.
“That looks disgusting,” Kiyoomi comments, swirling his glass.
“Not only do you hate Take Me but you also hate cocktails? What is wrong with you?” Atsumu asks, genuine.
Atsumu, honestly, doesn’t know how he’s still alive. Even though Sakusa Kiyoomi is purposely trying to get a rise from him, he is still Atsumu’s favourite musician and deep down, Atsumu is cherishing this moment, this rare experience. He tries not to gush at having a damn banter with the Sakusa Kiyoomi. His life is a dream. Perhaps Osamu is going to pour cold water on his sleeping face anytime now…
“Nothing,” Kiyoomi answers, snapping Atsumu from his musings.
Atsumu frowns at him. “There’s got to be something wrong with you if you hate Take Me. You wrote it! You sang it last week!”
“Well, if you come home with me, I’ll start liking it,” Kiyoomi replies, grinning.
Wait— Wait a goddamn—
“Did you just—“ Atsumu points at the musician. The man he thinks of when he jerks off, the man who fucks him in his dreams. What.
“Did I what?” Kiyoomi looks at him innocently, like he hasn’t just flirted hard with Atsumu.
“You want to take me home?” Atsumu squeaks in disbelief. “I’m a fan, you know.”
“I know,” Kiyoomi nods, downs the remaining whiskey on his glass in one go.
“But you want to take me home?” Atsumu asks again, just to be sure because this must be a hallucination, a product of his wildest dreams and maybe weed or something.
“Would you prefer I take you to a hotel?” Kiyoomi makes a face at that. Atsumu guesses he hates hotels, probably a bad experience.
“But I’m a fan,” Atsumu says, emphasises that he’s a goddamn fan and if Sakusa Kiyoomi so much as graze his dick, he’ll come in nanosecond.
“I know, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi leans over the bar counter, face close to Atsumu’s own. “I’ve seen you here before a couple of times. I know.”
“Ha?” Atsumu is speechless because— because what the hell did Sakusa Kiyoomi just say? “Y-You knew?”
A condescending smirk appears on the musicians face, hand coming up to rub Atsumu’s jaw. “Of course. Meian is my brother’s best friend and business partner. Technically, we own this bar. I’ve known you since you started working here a year ago.”
“What the fuck.” Atsumu whispers, wide-eyed.
Kiyoomi laughs, leans back. “Cute.”
“So you knew I’m your fan?” Atsumu huffs then glares at the musician. “And you never offered to give me your autograph? Asshole.”
“I didn’t. I only knew you worked here,” Kiyoomi admits. Then he says, voice teasing, “But now that I do, that makes it easier for us.” He grins, adds, “I’ll sign where no one can see it. How about it?”
Atsumu glares at him, can’t believe this fucking flirt of a guy is the one the whole of Japan is in love with. Atsumu wants to say that his delusions, his fantasies about Sakusa Kiyoomi is now tainted and he is now very, immensely, turned off. But that would be a lie because Atsumu’s dreams and hopes only intensifies. And his dick is very interested in what Sakusa Kiyoomi is proposing.
Atsumu stares at Sakusa Kiyoomi’s handsome face, his dark eyes, his red lips, the piercings littering his ears, the sleeve tattoo peeking from the hem of his jacket.
Atsumu is a goner.
Sakusa Kiyoomi waits for Atsumu by the back exit, smoking a cigarette when Atsumu finally emerges from the bar’s back door. He gulps, stares at the musician’s side profile; his mask is still under his chin but the sharpness of his jaw that Atsumu has seen people praise on the internet is prominent. Atsumu didn’t get it then but now, he can relate with the fangirls posting things like: his jaw could cut me and i’d say thank you. How unfair to be this gorgeous and talented and—
Atsumu, for a brief moment, wants to run away, leave the man of his dreams and live a hermit life while regretting all his decisions.
But before Atsumu can turn and sprint out of there, Sakusa Kiyoomi turns to him, blowing a cloud of smoke on Atsumu’s face. Atsumu scrunches his nose, inhales the smell of blueberry.
“Didn’t know you liked flavoured cigarettes.” Atsumu comments, shoving his hands deep inside his jacket’s pockets to prevent himself from fidgeting. He’s that nervous.
“Well, I do.” Kiyoomi smiles, hums as he takes another drag.
Atsumu is watching him, still in disbelief of what’s happening. He’s watching him and yet, it takes Atsumu by surprise when Kiyoomi pulls him close by the back of his neck, strong hands holding him in place as the musician leans down, lips a few centimeters away from Atsumu’s own. Kiyoomi then blows smoke, white cloud appearing between them and Atsumu is hopeless.
Kiyoomi turns his head, takes another drag and Atsumu can only hold his breath.
Then he smells blueberry and then he tastes blueberry and nicotine on his tongue, Sakusa Kiyoomi pulling him into a deep kiss, cloud of smoke slipping past his lips and into Atsumu's own. Kiyoomi hums while he nibbles on Atsumu’s lower lip, making Atsumu moan and part his lips as he gasps for air. The musician takes that as an opportunity to shove his tongue inside Atsumu’s mouth, the feeling of the other’s wet tongue twirling against his own has Atsumu shivering, skin blooming in goosebumps. Kiyoomi sucks on his tongue and Atsumu can only moan, chase after Kiyoomi’s lips and heat.
“Oh,” Atsumu gasps for air when Kiyoomi pulls away, licking the drool on the corner of his lips.
“Cute,” Sakusa Kiyoomi says, lips quirked into a small grin.
“Shut up,” Atsumu manages to reiterate, mind still stuck at Kiyoomi’s tongue inside his mouth.
He’s now half hard and very much horny.
Fuck Sakusa Kiyoomi. He’s making Atsumu brain dead, mind numb, no thoughts but Sakusa Kiyoomi’s soft and wet and red lips on his.
“I will,” Kiyoomi replies, voice a singsong. “If you kiss me.”
Atsumu throws all reason, let it fly with the breeze of the cold wind, and pulls Sakusa Kiyoomi by his jacket into a kiss. He swipes his tongue on Kiyoomi’s lower lip, sucks the plump flesh before he slips his tongue inside the musician’s hot and wet mouth. This time, he sucks Kiyoomi’s tongue, moaning as he does so while his hands trail up and wrap around Kiyoomi’s neck, pulling the musician even closer, like he’s the only person that Atsumu wants— needs to survive.
Hands settle on Atsumu’s waist, gripping tight, connecting their hips together. Atsumu can feel the hardness in between them, Kiyoomi’s cock and his own dick brushing, making both of them groan against the kiss.
“Holy shit,” Atsumu says, lips red, puffy.
Kiyoomi laughs against the sliver of skin under Atsumu’s ear, tongue swiping the flushed flesh.
“Can you stop calling me cute?” Atsumu pulls back, trembling fingers tugging on Kiyoomi’s soft hair. Shit, he’s gripping the Sakusa Kiyoomi’s hair. Holy shit.
“No,” Kiyoomi grins, presses another kiss on Atsumu’s lips. “Can we go now?” He whispers, pushing his hips against Atsumu’s own.
Atsumu shudders, nodding fervently.
There is no reason to say no. He wants to that cock inside him, on his mouth, anywhere.
He’d let Sakusa Kiyoomi do anything to him.
The moment they enter Sakusa Kiyoomi’s apartment, Atsumu is slammed against the wall, lips covered and devoured by Kiyoomi’s own. Atsumu whimpers, allows his lips to fall slack as he holds on to Kiyoomi’s shoulders, weak kneed and mind going hazy. Kiyoomi grips his thighs, kneads the flesh under his jeans before hoisting him up with no difficulty, forcing Atsumu to wrap his legs around his slender waist. A deep moan slips out of Atsumu’s mouth at the show of strength.
Atsumu’s dick is painfully hard.
He moans again, legs tightening around Kiyoomi’s waist, kissing him in frenzy, in need.
“Saku— Kiyoo—“ Atsumu babbles, not knowing what to say, how to call this man that’s making him lose his mind.
“Kiyoomi,” Sakusa Kiyoomi murmurs against Atsumu’s wet lips. “Come on, Atsumu. Say it.”
The rest of his words turns into a moan as Kiyoomi thrusts his hips against his crotch, his own clothed hard cock brushing against Atsumu’s own. He holds Atsumu’s thighs higher so Atsumu’s clothed ass is on line with his cock, grinding and moaning when his desired angle is met. Atsumu groans, ruts his hips back, wanting more friction.
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu rushes, almost a whimper. Kiyoomi moans, lips planted on his neck, sucking bruises. “Kiyoomi.” Atsumu repeats and it’s almost like a prayer, the way he moans Kiyoomi’s name, the way it makes his dick twitch, just by saying the musician’s name.
Squeezing his thighs and giving his neck another bruise, Kiyoomi pulls back, mouths at Atsumu’s red bitten lips.
“Okay?” Kiyoomi asks, eyes dark but soft.
Atsumu cups his chin, licks his lower lip and whispers, “More than okay.”
“Okay,” Kiyoomi nods and covers Atsumu’s lips with his own once again, tongue tangling with Atsumu’s own, fighting for dominance. When Kiyoomi moves his hands on Atsumu’s ass, fingers digging tightly, Atsumu shivers. And when Kiyoomi rubs a finger against his clothed hole, Atsumu lets out a loud whine, burying his face on the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck.
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu whines, nails scratching the musician’s clothed back.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi replies, breathless. He pushes his fingers harder against Atsumu’s hole, rubbing and poking and—
Atsumu lets out a series of ah, ah, ah’s, riding the thigh in between his legs. Reaching his limit, he pulls back and litters kisses on Kiyoomi’s jaw, whispering,
“Fuck me, fuck me. Please.”
Kiyoomi hums against his lips, continues to rub his fingers on Atsumu’s hole.
“You want me to fuck you here?” Kiyoomi pants, resting his head on Atsumu’s own sweaty one. “Want my cock inside your needy hole, Atsumu?”
Atsumu whimpers, nods quickly as he shudders, legs squeezing Kiyoomi’s waist even tighter.
“Want your cock,” Atsumu says, licks Kiyoomi’s lower lip. “Please.”
Kiyoomi looks at him, face set into an expression that makes Atsumu want to bend and present his tight hole to him. He gulps, licks his lips. Kiyoomi follows his actions, fingers on his ass squeezing his cheeks tight. His dark intense eyes filled with wanton desire has Atsumu’s cock twitching, leaking pre-cum inside his briefs.
“You’re so fucking—“ Kiyoomi pushes him against the wall even harder as he kisses Atsumu open mouthed. Atsumu can only take it, lets his mouth fall open and allow Kiyoomi to shove his tongue down his throat, a trail of spit sliding down his chin. “—so fucking hot.” Kiyoomi pants, bites Atsumu’s cheek, teeth gnawing at the reddened flesh.
“H-Hurt,” Atsumu whines when Kiyoomi bites a little hard, imprinting his teeth on Atsumu’s jaw. “Slow—“
“No,” Kiyoomi says, nips Atsumu’s lower lip before pulling back completely. He squishes Atsumu’s thighs tight before he lets him down, holding his waist as Atsumu stumbles, feet clumsy on the floor.
He grips Kiyoomi’s arms, glaring, the lust clouding his mind slowly clearing. “You’re an asshole,” he grumbles, lips set into a pout.
“Thank you,” Kiyoomi offers a smirk, so handsomely annoying; annoyingly handsome. Fuck.
“That wasn’t a compliment,” Atsumu huffs, rolling his eyes.
“I know,” Kiyoomi chuckles as he crouches down and helps Atsumu take his shoes off. Atsumu chews on his lower lip, watching Sakusa Kiyoomi dote on him, helping him like he’s his lover. The hope in his chest blooms even bigger, a foreboding. Atsumu quickly stomps on it, pushes it at the back of his mind as Kiyoomi takes his jacket off, hanging it inside the hallway closet.
“Thank you,” Atsumu whispers, blush high on his cheeks.
Suddenly, Atsumu is embarrassed, a little shy. This is different from them kissing and grinding against each other. The lust that fuels them is still present but it’s mixed with this— whatever this is. Atsumu doesn’t dwell much on it and helps Kiyoomi with his jacket, his shoes already perfectly lined beside Atsumu’s own.
Atsumu clutches Kiyoomi’s jacket close to him as he watches the other unbutton the first two buttons of his black shirt. The sight makes Atsumu’s body heat up, blush rising from his chest to his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. Kiyoomi grins at him. The asshole knows what he’s doing. Atsumu scowls, scrunches his nose as Kiyoomi steps closer to him, hands settling on Atsumu’s arms, hold gentle.
Atsumu is on defensive, expects for Kiyoomi to do something that will make him beg for his cock. So he holds his breath when Kiyoomi leans down, fingers dancing on Atsumu’s arm, feather light and teasing.
His lips attaches against Atsumu’s ear, then he says, a seductive whisper, “Bedroom?”
The sound of bedroom shouldn’t be that erotic. It’s not even an erotic word, just a part of a house but Sakusa Kiyoomi has made it sound so lustful, arousal immediately rising from the depths of Atsumu’s being. The lust that’s just been humming around them intensifies, seeps through his veins, coursing through his bloodstream.
Atsumu’s breath hitches and he clutches Kiyoomi’s jacket tighter.
He answers, a stutter, “Y-Yes. Please.”
“Good boy,” Kiyoomi says, gently taking the jacket from Atsumu’s arm. “Go straight, turn left, the first door. There’s a lube in the right side drawer. Can you prepare yourself for me?”
Atsumu stares at him, eyes dilated, lips parted, panting for air that seems to not get into his lungs. Sakusa Kiyoomi makes him breathless. He’s going to be the death of Atsumu, he’s sure of it.
“Yeah,” Atsumu nods after a moment of pause. “Yeah,” he repeats, then swallows. “I can.”
Kiyoomi caresses his chin with his thumb, pulls him into a desperate kiss, all lips and spit, leaving Atsumu even more breathless.
Scratch that, this nickname is going to be the death of him.
Atsumu rushes towards the bedroom as fast as he could with his cock hard between his legs and the need to be stuffed by Sakusa Kiyoomi’s cock intensifying inside him.
This is really happening.
Atsumu doesn’t cut corners. When he gets to the bedroom, he doesn’t take time to snoop around. Instead, he finds the bathroom and jumps into the shower, cleaning himself thoroughly before he fingers his asshole open, using the lube he found on Kiyoomi’s bedside drawer. It’s peach flavoured, one of Atsumu’s favourite.
Fingers buried inside his ass, Atsumu’s cheek is flat against the tiled wall, lips parted as he moans loud and clear, the sound only muffled by the shower that’s pelting against the skin of his back. His untouched cock leaks more pre-cum, washed by the shower as he continues to fuck himself under the spray of the water.
It feels so good. To finally get the friction that he needs, to finally have something inside him, hitting his prostate with no abandon. He keeps on shoving his fingers inside his tight hole, moaning and groaning, not hearing the door open and the feet pattering towards him.
“You’re enjoying yourself, Atsumu?” The voice from his dreams says, startling Atsumu from his fantasies of Kiyoomi’s cock buried deep inside him, rearranging his insides and fucking him until he’s dumb and drooling.
Atsumu immediately takes his fingers out of his wet hole, hissing at the fast action. He turns to Kiyoomi, the shower pelting on top of his head, making him look like a drowned cat. He can feel his cheeks heating up and hopes for Kiyoomi to think it’s because of the shower’s temperature and not because Atsumu is embarrassed by being caught fingering himself.
Kiyoomi reaches out, turns the shower off and crowds Atsumu against the shower wall. He’s as naked as Atsumu now, curly hair matted to his head, bangs pushed back up as droplets of water fall from it. Atsumu watches the droplets of water trail down Kiyoomi’s defined abs, catching on his happy trail leading to his cock. When his eyes takes in Kiyoomi’s half-hard cock, Atsumu’s mouth waters because it is a beautiful cock; a huge beautiful cock that Atsumu wants inside his mouth; wants for it to choke him, make him gag, make him swallow the cum that would spurt from it.
A huffed chuckle graces Atsumu’s ears, snapping him from his daydreams. He snaps his eyes towards Kiyoomi who’s looking at him, eyes amused. Atsumu blushes deeper, licks the water that fell on his lips.
“I—“ Atsumu starts then stops, chews on his lower lip because what can he say? Oh, I was just fantasising about your cock. Sorry, I lost track of time? Hell no. So, Atsumu stays silent, allows Kiyoomi to study him from head to toe. His gaze is burning, a heat that Atsumu welcomes eagerly. His cock twitches against his stomach, hole twitching at Kiyoomi’s unyielding attention on him.
“It was hot,” Kiyoomi says conversationally and Atsumu lets out a sound that’s half-choking, half-squeaking. An odd sound, so to say.
“You— You told me to prepare m’self,” Atsumu mumbles, pursing his lips. He breathes in, cocks his hips to the side, almost sassy, “So I did. Got a problem?”
Kiyoomi snorts, lips quirking into a grin. “No, not a problem.” He leans in, licks the water sliding down Atsumu’s cheek. “I told you right, baby? It was hot.”
Atsumu shivers at hearing the pet name, fingers digging on his palm that’s resting on his sides. By now, Atsumu knows Kiyoomi’s power on him; he makes him pliant and willing in a matter of seconds, his very being immediately overcome by arousal.
Atsumu should be scared or at least pissed because how dare this gorgeous motherfucker with a big cock make Atsumu want to suck him off without even being told to? The power he has on him should be illegal. But Atsumu knows it’s not even because Sakusa Kiyoomi is his favourite idol that Atsumu is so willing. It’s because Sakusa Kiyoomi is a hot motherfucker and on normal circumstances, if Kiyoomi isn’t an idol and Atsumu has met him in a club, Atsumu would still submit to him. He’s Atsumu’s type; personality, face, body, dick.
So Atsumu doesn’t resist the pull he feels towards Kiyoomi, allows himself to fall headfirst, not caring about the consequences. He’ll deal with it later. For now, he’s got a musician to seduce; got a huge dick to suck.
“Hey,” Kiyoomi calls out, voice quiet, almost a murmur. Atsumu looks him straight in the eyes, leans up and plants a kiss on his enticing red lips. Kiyoomi smiles at the gesture, kissing him back briefly. “You okay?”
“Sorry,” Atsumu smiles, letting his fingers trace the tattoos littered on Kiyoomi’s arms. His right arm with the sleeve tattoo has intricate snake and flower designs on it, red and black and even white blending perfectly. His left arm is littered with simple tattoos like a line around his biceps, a semi-colon under the inside of his elbow. Atsumu traces them mindlessly for a while before taking Kiyoomi’s left wrist and mouthing at the word tattooed on the inside, EFFORT looking so at home there, Atsumu would have thought Kiyoomi was born with it.
“Hmm,” Kiyoomi hums as Atsumu tongues on his skin, tracing the word before he licks his palm and finally, sucks on Kiyoomi’s middle finger, swirling his tongue around the digit. Kiyoomi watches him and Atsumu stares back. He opens his mouth, allows a second finger to slide beside the other before he sucks on them hard, letting saliva pool on his mouth, drenching the fingers.
“You’re so gorgeous,” Kiyoomi breathes out, thrusting his fingers inside Atsumu’s mouth, pushing on his tongue, shoving the digits as far as they go, making Atsumu gag loudly, eyes watering.
Atsumu chokes and groans and moans around his fingers, nibbling on the clean flesh. Kiyoomi’s free hand slides behind him, settles between the crack of his ass before pushing two fingers inside his loosened hole. Atsumu whimpers, the stimulation from his mouth and ass has his dick drooling more pre-cum, begging for attention.
“Wanna—“ Atsumu tries to say but Kiyoomi flattens his fingers on his tongue, saliva dripping down his chin. He must look so filthy and lewd, with fingers on his mouth and asshole.
“What was that, Atsumu?” Kiyoomi presses him against the tiled wall, pressing a leg in between his thighs as he continues to thrust his fingers inside Atsumu’s wet hole.
“Fuck me,” Atsumu says, the words sounding muffled.
Kiyoomi holds his tongue in between the two fingers, disabling Atsumu from talking. Atsumu lets out a whine, nails digging on Kiyoomi’s wrists. He ruts his hard dick against Kiyoomi’s hard cock and chiseled abs, moaning at the slight friction he’s managed to get. Kiyoomi lets him thrust his cock in between them, groaning every time their cocks push together and smearing pre-cum against each other.
The fingers in his mouth pulls back, settles on his hips, gripping tight. Atsumu lets his head fall forward, parted lips on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, panting for breath as another finger slides alongside the two inside him, widening his tight hole, making sure he’s prepared for Kiyoomi’s cock. Atsumu bounces on the digits while his hand grips the two cocks together, pumping in the same pace as Kiyoomi is thrusting inside him.
Kiyoomi scissors his fingers inside Atsumu’s tight walls for a while, pressing on Atsumu’s prostate, making Atsumu sob and cry, his grip on their cocks slack, just lazily pumping. Atsumu’s whole body is on fire, the arousal spreading through him unbearable, so delicious.
“Close— Kiyoomi— Cum—“ Atsumu whimpers as Kiyoomi shoves his fingers deeper, hooking on Atsumu’s puffy rim before shoving hard, spreading his fingers inside Atsumu’s tight heat.
And then they’re gone, the fingers sliding outside Atsumu, leaving him crying for release. He sniffs against Kiyoomi’s shoulders, wiggles and rubs his body on Kiyoomi’s firm one.
“I was close—“ Atsumu whines, scratches Kiyoomi’s tattooed arms. “Fuck you.”
Kiyoomi chuckles, pulls Atsumu by the hair, gripping his wet strands hard. “I’ll be fucking you, peach.”
Atsumu dives for Kiyoomi’s lips and Kiyoomi lets him, kisses back just as hard and deep as Atsumu is kissing him. Then he pulls back, a thread of saliva connecting their lips. Atsumu licks it, chasing Kiyoomi’s lips, desperate, needy.
“Shh,” Kiyoomi thumbs at Atsumu’s bottom lip, rubbing the plump flesh. “Let’s go to the bedroom, yeah?”
Atsumu scrunches his nose because what’s wrong with fucking in the bathroom? He’s so fucking ready to get fucked, he doesn’t care if he has to bend over on top of the toilet seat and spread his asshole by himself just so Kiyoomi would get to it.
But instead of doing those things and being a brat, Atsumu lets Kiyoomi pull back from him and lead him out of the ensuite. Atsumu thought they’re just going to get to it right away, dick in the asshole, asshole on the dick but Kiyoomi grabs a fluffy white towel and while walking out, dries Atsumu with it, from his hair to his shoulders, sliding down his back.
“What—“ Atsumu starts, lets out a surprised squeak when Kiyoomi pushes him on the bed with his back first and starts wiping his legs. Atsumu stares wide-eyed, brows furrowed in confusion. “Kiyoomi… what— what are you doing?”
Kiyoomi rubs the towel on the insides of Atsumu’s thighs before he wipes himself quickly and throws the towel away. He settles in between Atsumu’s parted legs, grabbing one of Atsumu’s legs and settling it on top of his shoulder, nibbling on his calf.
“Drying you,” Kiyoomi answers, simple. He smiles at Atsumu and continues to nibble on Atsumu’s leg, going up to his thighs, teeth sharp on Atsumu’s warm skin.
Atsumu can only let out a breath of, “Huh.” before Kiyoomi sucks on his inner thigh, pulling Atsumu’s upper body closer to him, ass to his cock.
“Hmm, you smell nice,” Kiyoomi comments, tongue swiping on Atsumu’s skin.
“It’s your body wash,” Atsumu replies quickly, clutching on the pillow under him.
“Exactly,” Kiyoomi grins, then adds, “You smell like me.”
What. The. Fuck.
“You’re kind of— different,” Atsumu comments, legs jerking as Kiyoomi bites hard enough for it to quickly bloom into a bruise.
“How?” Kiyoomi retorts while uncapping a bottle of lube, pouring a copious amount on his hands, rubbing for a while to warm it before he slides three fingers inside Atsumu’s twitching hole, easing them carefully, gently. He slowly fucks Atsumu with his fingers, opening him up once again.
Atsumu moans, curls his fingers on the sheets, tugging on them harshly. He forces out in between moans, “You… take care of me.”
Kiyoomi pauses, looks at Atsumu with furrowed brows. “Did you want me to just shove it in?”
Atsumu blushes, looks away as he nibbles on his lip. “Well— I wouldn’t… be opposed to it,” he admits, peeking at Kiyoomi after a beat of silence passes by without the musician moving.
Then Kiyoomi’s face is hovering in front of him, Atsumu’s leg pressed on his shoulder, bent to the fullest. He groans at the strain, hooking his other leg on Kiyoomi’s hips, just to elevate some of the tension.
“You want me to fuck you hard and fast?” Kiyoomi says, thrusting his fingers inside Atsumu faster, shallow thrusts that rubs Atsumu’s prostate deliciously.
Atsumu cries out, clutches Kiyoomi’s arms. “Kiyoomi— oh. There, please. Wanna— wanna come,” he sobs, meets Kiyoomi’s thrusts with his own.
“Come on, babe. Come for me,” Kiyoomi coaxes him, whispering filthy things in his ears. Atsumu leans up, attaches his lips against Kiyoomi’s own as Kiyoomi starts pumping his twitching cock wet with pre-cum.
“Cumming, cumming,” Atsumu bites Kiyoomi’s shoulder, where his sleeve tattoo starts, as he comes hard on Kiyoomi’s fingers, body shuddering violently. Kiyoomi milks his orgasm, fingering him and pumping his cock at the same time until Atsumu is a whimpering and drooling mess, begging for Kiyoomi to slow down, kiyoomi, ah, ah.
“Good boy,” Kiyoomi praises, letting Atsumu’s softening cock go and retracting his fingers from Atsumu’s tight hole. He licks the come on his fingers, tasting Atsumu’s release. Atsumu’s dazed self can only watch Kiyoomi swallow his come, humming as he does so. It’s fucking hot, has his sensitive cock twitching once again.
Then Kiyoomi moves him to his stomach and Atsumu can only follow, body moving to Kiyoomi’s desire. He burrows his face against the pillow as he bends over, shoves his ass up and spreads his legs, allowing Kiyoomi to see his twitching hole.
“Ready?” Kiyoomi whispers, rubbing the tip his cock covered with condom against Atsumu’s wet rim.
Atsumu looks back, meets Kiyoomi’s lust filled eyes, and nods, biting his lower lip. He shoves his ass towards Kiyoomi’s cock and Kiyoomi holds his hips, shushing him once again.
“Easy,” Kiyoomi murmurs, pours more lube on his cock.
Kiyoomi strokes his cock a few times before he pushes the head of his cock inside, punching a moan out of Atsumu’s mouth. He doesn’t stop, keeps on shoving his cock inside Atsumu’s tight walls, the shape of his cock settling perfectly inside Atsumu’s wet hole, like he’s made for Kiyoomi’s cock.
Atsumu whines when Kiyoomi continues to slide in, his stomach clenching at the big intrusion. Mouth parted, he keeps on letting out high pitched moans, drool slipping down the corner of his mouth as Kiyoomi fucks him with shallow thrusts, cock still sliding inch by inch inside Atsumu’s sensitive asshole.
“So tight,” Kiyoomi groans, watching Atsumu’s hole swallow his cock.
At the comment, Atsumu squeezes his hole around Kiyoomi’s cock and both of them lets out twin groans, body shivering in want. When Kiyoomi finally settles, balls deep, he gives Atsumu only a second to get used to his cock before he starts pulling back, the tip of his dick catching on Atsumu’s rim. Then he shoves fast and deep and oh fuck oh fuck, Atsumu screams, his once soft cock hardening once again.
Kiyoomi doesn’t relent, fucks Atsumu long and deep, hard and fast, punching moans and screams out of Atsumu’s lips until his throat feels scratchy, until he doesn’t have any energy to scream, only whimpers and cries coming out of him.
Tears trails down his cheeks and drool covers his chin, his ass letting out obscene squelching sounds every time Kiyoomi pulls back and pushes in, cock wrecking Atsumu, ruining him for everyone but Kiyoomi.
“You’re so good,” Kiyoomi whispers, licking the sweat on nape of Atsumu’s neck. “So good for me, Atsumu.” He slides his hands under Atsumu’s head, allows Atsumu to dig his nails on his tattooed skin. Allows Atsumu to bite and drool on his knuckles. “You like that?” Atsumu nods even though he doesn’t know what Kiyoomi is referring to; he only knows about the cock fucking him on the sheets, leaving him dumb and moaning for more.
“Kiyoo— Omi, Omi,” Atsumu chants, shoves his ass forward, towards Kiyoomi’s big cock. “More—“ he hiccups, blinks his eyes, wet eyelashes clumping together. “Please, please. Harder, Omi.”
Kiyoomi huffs, wraps his hands around Atsumu’s clenched knuckles as he drives his cock harder inside Atsumu’s needy hole.
“Omi?” Kiyoomi mouths at Atsumu’s neck, biting the flesh hard enough that it bleeds. Atsumu cries more, sniffing against Kiyoomi’s forearms. “I like that.”
“So good,” Atsumu babbles. “Omi— Your cock— Ah. So good. Want it, want it.”
Kiyoomi shifts and that’s when he hits Atsumu’s prostate relentlessly, making Atsumu’s body jerk violently, sensitive and trembling and needy.
“Do you want my come, baby?” Kiyoomi asks, pulls Atsumu up easily, plasters his back against his chest, sweat and drool and other bodily fluids covering their body. He bounces Atsumu on his lap, impaling his cock deeper inside Atsumu’s ass.
“Wa— Deep— Omi. Oh,” Atsumu shakes his head, legs trembling as he rides Kiyoomi’s cock. “So deep. Ah, ah, ah.”
“I’m close,” Kiyoomi grunts, teeth on Atsumu’s neck.
Atsumu tries to continue riding Kiyoomi’s cock but his legs are weak and he’s almost out of it, he can only chant Kiyoomi’s name like a prayer and beg for Kiyoomi to make him come again. Kiyoomi fucks him for a few more minutes before he bites Atsumu’s neck, body tensing, coming inside with a muffled moan.
Atsumu, feeling Kiyoomi’s cock twitching and coming inside him, comes again, untouched, with his cock spurting white release on his stomach.
The both of them stays in that position for a minute before Kiyoomi groans and carefully settles both of them on the bed, laying on their sides. He rubs Atsumu’s hips as he pulls his softening cock out of Atsumu’s now gaping hole, taking the condom off his cock and tying it before throwing it on the ground.
Atsumu is still trembling, letting out soft sniffles as he clutches the pillow close to him. Kiyoomi quickly unravels the blanket from the bed and settles the both of them under it before he wraps his arms around Atsumu, pulling him to his chest and rubbing his back until Atsumu has stopped trembling and the only sound from him are small sniffles from crying hard.
“Hey,” Kiyoomi rubs the skin under his eyes, looking at him softly, almost fond. “Still with me?”
Atsumu blinks and smiles, reaches a hand up to brush Kiyoomi’s damp curly bangs off his forehead, tracing the two moles for a second before letting his arms flop on Kiyoomi’s chest.
“‘m fine,” Atsumu mumbles, presses a kiss on the moles littering Kiyoomi’s chest.
“I thought you dropped,” Kiyoomi lets out a breath of relief.
“Dropped?” Atsumu furrows his brows in confusion.
Kiyoomi pulls him closer, places a kiss on his forehead. “Just some term for pillow princesses like you.”
“Hey!” Atsumu pouts, pinches Kiyoomi’s nipple.
“Not my nipple,” Kiyoomi groans, pouting back. “I’m sensitive there.”
“Ahah!” Atsumu grins, wide.
“Shh,” Kiyoomi forces Atsumu’s face on his neck, silencing him easily. “I wanna rest.”
Atsumu sighs, cuddles closer. “Hey,” He starts and Kiyoomi hums. “Will you still sign my ass? I want a souvenir of this night.”
Kiyoomi snorts, rubs his hand on Atsumu’s bare arm. “I’ll sign your dick, if you want. But tomorrow. Let me sleep.”
“Fine,” Atsumu smiles to himself. “Night.”
Atsumu closes his eyes, tries to copy Kiyoomi’s calm breathing. He knows Kiyoomi is not asleep yet, just quiet, resting. Atsumu doesn’t say anything, allows himself to relax, think of what has happened, if this is real or if he’s dreaming. If the Sakusa Kiyoomi, leader of EFFORT really fucked him so hard, he almost lost his mind.
Atsumu has these thoughts in his mind, even when he succumbs to sleep, sticky from cum and spit and lube, he falls to dreamland so easily.
It’s a peaceful sleep.
The morning comes quickly and Atsumu wakes up with a start.
The blanket is wrapped around him, almost like a burrito and the space beside him is empty. When he reaches out after wrestling the sheets off of him, the space is cold. He bites his lip, watches the sun beaming high on the sky. He wonders where Kiyoomi is, why he left Atsumu there, why isn’t he here?
It’s not like Atsumu is asking for too much. He just hates waking up alone after a passionate night. Normally, Atsumu doesn’t stay when it comes to one night stands. He leaves quickly, telling his partner an empty promise of them meeting each other again. But it never happens; Atsumu never calls or messages them back; he blocks their numbers, never visits the same hotel, never visits the same club or bar or—
Sakusa Kiyoomi is different.
Not only because he’s the man of Atsumu’s dreams but he’s also someone Atsumu has looked up to for almost three years. The moment Atsumu has heard his voice, Atsumu has been a goner, couldn’t even escape his charm. His voice drew him to Kiyoomi, and everything else made him stay.
Right now though, it seems like Atsumu would have to do the usual. Dress up, sneak out, forget about this evening. Maybe revisit it when he gets too horny and lonely.
Atsumu swallows, shifts for a little, stretching his sore limbs. It’s a kind of sore that is familiar but also new because no one has ever fucked Atsumu so good like Sakusa Kiyoomi did. Maybe no one ever will in the future. But it’s okay. He’s got this memory with him.
Sitting up, Atsumu hisses, rolls his shoulders, then cracks his neck, finding some nagging pain in there. He pushes a finger on the spot and the pain that travels down his spine is awful. Quickly, Atsumu rummages around, grabs a discarded band t-shirt that’s probably Kiyoomi’s own and puts it on. It’s oversized, big enough that it falls past his ass. Kiyoomi is taller so of course it’s bigger but Kiyoomi is also known for his love of COMME des GARÇONS and some other expensive brands that offers many oversize clothing.
Atsumu sighs, limps towards the bathroom. His ass is also throbbing, more sore than the rest of his body. How long had it been since he slept with someone before yesterday? Maybe months. It only makes sense his ass is sore as fuck.
Entering the bathroom, Atsumu immediately examines himself in front of the mirror. He starts with his messy hair, flat on his head, strands standing here and there. Then he moves to his face; slightly flushed from sleep and being buried under the sheets. He trails his eyes towards his neck, tilting side to side. When he turns his body to the side, a big bruise sits just on the crook of the back of his neck, red and caked with blood and ohmygod, is Kiyoomi an animal? Atsumu snorts, answers himself. Yeah, an animal in bed.
He presses on the ugly bruise, flinches at the pain and sighs deeply once again. He’s got to clean this. But first, he does his business, finds a spare toothbrush already on the counter. Atsumu smiles, glad that Kiyoomi hasn’t left him to fend on his own. He quickly brushes his teeth, washes his faces, cleans the bruise, and gives himself a pep talk. He needs to find Kiyoomi, if not for yesterday’s amazing shenanigans, then for the autograph that he’s promised him.
Atsumu badly wants to just sneak out, leave without a peep but—
He's a weak and whipped man.
So he trudges out of the bedroom, looks around the big apartment. He finds the living room connected to the kitchen where he takes a bottle of water from the fridge, then he comes to a stop in front of what seems to be a music room. Well, there’s a recording studio written on the door so—
But that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that from the sliver of glass on the side, he can see Sakusa Kiyoomi in front of the drums, tapping his drum sticks on the surface of it.
Slowly, quietly, Atsumu opens the door and sneaks inside. There are earbuds in his ears, preventing him from hearing Atsumu enter the place but still, Atsumu keeps quiet, just observing. He stands by the door, eyes trained on Kiyoomi’s form. As he studies the musician, Atsumu’s breath hitches because— well, he’s half naked, only a loose checkered pyjamas sitting on his hips, his tattoos and moles and what seems to be nails indent and a few hickeys on display for everyone—Atsumu—to see. His hair is messy, curly bangs falling in front of his face, swaying with his movements.
Atsumu can’t even coo about that because this Sakusa Kiyoomi is so— open. Like he’s in his safest haven, free to act however he wants to. His expression is of concentration, brows furrowed and lips set into a soft line, almost a smile. Atsumu shuffles on his feet, making sure he makes as little noise as possible.
He watches as Kiyoomi nods to himself, hits a stick against the front drums, followed by the bass drum, and then he pauses again and Atsumu is left to ogle his arms and his chest and his back. If Atsumu hasn’t slept with him last night, he’d be begging Kiyoomi to fuck him right then and there.
In fact he should just—
A loud sound booms in the music room, followed by an unfamiliar beat. Atsumu jumps, almost lets out a scream. He clamps his hands on his mouth and looks at Kiyoomi carefully. Kiyoomi has his eyes closed now, playing an unfamiliar song on the drums. It’s a slow uncomplicated beat at first then it goes fast, more of the bass, of the snare, of the— everything.
When Kiyoomi stops, Atsumu steps forward as he breathes out, in awe, “Wow.”
Kiyoomi snaps his head towards him, surprised, wide-eyed. Then he grins and it’s such beautiful sight that Atsumu can’t help but swoon. This man— This man chose to sleep with a mere fan like Atsumu.
Perhaps Atsumu is blessed by the gods? Maybe he's saved a nation in his past life because there’s no other explanation in why the very talented and popular Sakusa Kiyoomi has decided to fuck Atsumu's normal self.
“Uhm,” Atsumu starts, shuffles on his feet, less quiet than before now that Kiyoomi has caught him. “Sorry.”
Kiyoomi shakes his head as he takes the earbuds out of his ears, smiling at him before he beckons him closer. Atsumu lets his bare feet move him towards Kiyoomi, until he’s outside the circle of the drum set and looking at the intimidating instrument in awe.
“Come here, baby,” Kiyoomi stands up, offers a hand for Atsumu to take.
Atsumu squints at his hand, a drum stick in between his fingers. It takes him only a nanosecond to decide if he wants to find out what Kiyoomi has in store for him. Of course he takes Kiyoomi’s hand, fingers curling around calloused ones. Kiyoomi pulls him inside the circle of the drums and seats him on the stool that he’s been sitting on just a few seconds ago.
“Kiyoomi, what—“ Atsumu looks at the surface of the drums in front of him.
Atsumu has never been interested in playing any instruments, his parents making him and Osamu study foreign languages and advanced subjects instead because apparently, one of them will inherit the family business. Well.
“Relax,” Kiyoomi settles behind him, slipping the drumsticks in between Atsumu’s clenched fists. Atsumu takes a deep breath, allows himself to relax and hold the sticks tightly. “Just want to teach you a little. You okay with that, peach?”
Atsumu blushes at the petname, nods in affirmation while he fidgets on the seat. His ass is throbbing, why are seats so hard? Can’t they make it softer?
“Yeah. But I’ve never played any instrument before,” Atsumu admits, ashamed.
Kiyoomi presses a brief kiss on his ear, letting out a soft chuckle. “It’s okay. It’s not like you’re going to play in a band. That’s my job.”
“True,” Atsumu nods, feels the spot that Kiyoomi has kissed tingle. There’s hope blooming in his chest.
What is this? What is going on? Is this okay? Am I still dreaming? Still asleep?
He wants to ask Kiyoomi those questions but opted for pressing a kiss on Kiyoomi’s cheek instead. Kiyoomi turns to him, surprised. Atsumu nibbles on his lip nervously, hoping that he hasn’t crossed a line.
“Cute,” Kiyoomi comments, grinning.
Atsumu huffs, “Whatever.” He slaps the sticks on the drum in front of him, showing Kiyoomi that he’s impatient and ready to learn. “Come on, loverboy. Teach me how to play the drums.”
“Eager,” Kiyoomi grins then holds Atsumu’s wrists, moving his hands to hit the different parts of his drum set. He tells him their names; the snare, the cymbals, the hi-hats, the tom-toms, the bass drum, the pedal. There’s so many. Atsumu forgets them immediately.
“It’s complicated,” Atsumu admits, pouting. He hits the cymbals and a loud crashing sound echoes in his ears. “How can you play this? You also play the guitar and sing. What more can you play, huh?” Atsumu teases, pushing the tip of a stick against Kiyoomi’s stomach.
“Oof,” Kiyoomi grunts then rolls his eyes at Atsumu’s antics. “The question isn’t what can I play but what can’t I play?” He smirks, cocky.
Atsumu sticks his tongue out towards him, and softly, hits Kiyoomi’s head with his drumsticks.
“So cocky,” Atsumu clicks his tongue. “You’re not even that good,” he lies and it’s obvious because both of them knows Kiyoomi is amazing. He isn’t one of Japan’s top musicians for nothing.
“That’s not what you told me last night,” Kiyoomi retorts, hand slipping under Atsumu’s—Kiyoomi’s—shirt, fingers rubbing his bare thighs.
Atsumu’s breath catches in his throat and his heart starts to beat wildly. Belatedly, he realises he’s not even wearing an underwear. Shit.
“I was lying,” Atsumu grits out, grips Kiyoomi’s wrist.
“Hmm,” Kiyoomi hums, slides his fingers on the inside of Atsumu’s thigh. “Now you’re lying.”
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu moans, fidgets on the stool. “What are you—“
“If I ask you if I can fuck you on top of this bass drum, would you let me?” Kiyoomi asks, fingers now gripping Atsumu’s slowly hardening dick.
Atsumu looks at the drum set in front of him, imagining Kiyoomi bending him over it, feet on the ground, ass up, pounding inside him relentlessly. His cock twitches and Kiyoomi grins, predatory.
“N-No,” Atsumu stutters, glares at Kiyoomi because that sounds complicated. Not only is the space small, he doesn’t want to accidentally ruin Kiyoomi’s drum set. He doesn’t have money to pay for damages.
Kiyoomi sighs then but doesn’t stop stroking Atsumu’s cock. “Then on top of the piano?”
“On top of the what?!” Atsumu exclaims, almost hysterical. Kiyoomi jerks his head towards a part of the room and Atsumu follows, sees a grand piano in there and— Well.
“Okay?” Kiyoomi nibbles on his earlobe, sucking and licking as he thumbs on the tip of Atsumu’s leaking cock.
Atsumu’s breath comes out in a stutter, eyes falling shut as he rests his head back on Kiyoomi’s shoulder.
“Okay,” Atsumu nods, blinks his eyes open and stares at the pristine grand piano. He repeats, lust clouding his mind, “Okay.”
Kiyoomi has said they'll fuck on top of the grand piano.
So how has Atsumu found himself with knees spread wide on the piano bench, leaning on top of the said grand piano while Kiyoomi rubs lube covered thumb on his puffy rim? This isn’t on the deal but Atsumu can’t complain because Kiyoomi is quick to put his mouth to use, shoving his tongue inside Atsumu’s hole, sucking on the rim, humming as he does so.
Atsumu breathes against the wooden surface of the black piano, his reflection staring back at him. He whines, thumps his forehead against the wood when Kiyoomi stabs his tongue inside his twitching hole in quick movements, saliva quickly covering his ass.
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu moans, shoves his ass back towards Kiyoomi’s tongue.
Kiyoomi holds his hips tightly, the t-shirt he’s wearing rucked up to his stomach. Kiyoomi’s fingers starts pinching his nipples, tugging and rubbing until Atsumu is a shivering mess on top of the piano.
“Kiyoomi, please, please,” He chants, drooling on the expensive instrument.
Kiyoomi pulls his hips back, wiggles his tongue inside Atsumu’s loosened hole before squishing two wet fingers inside him, thrusting fast and hard.
“Oh,” Atsumu groans, thighs trembling. Kiyoomi pushes his fingers inside, unforgiving, while he sucks bruises on Atsumu’s asscheeks and the back of his thighs. He nibbles on the supple flesh, tongue swiping and licking on the marks he’s made.
“You’re so loose, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says, fitting a third finger beside the two inside Atsumu, the slide easy, his hole still a little loose from last night.
“Don’t— say that…” Atsumu pants, thrusting his hips back towards Kiyoomi’s fingers.
Kiyoomi bites his thigh and Atsumu can feel his lips forming into a smirk before he says, “It’s true. I bet I can fit another inside…”
And then a cold slim thing slides inside Atsumu’s ass, beside Kiyoomi’s fingers. He looks back at Kiyoomi and he sees the jerk holding the tip of a drum stick.
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu shivers, feels the wooden stick slide easily inside him. “You’re a perv.”
Kiyoomi laughs, kisses Atsumu’s asscheek. “Only for you.”
“What the hell,” Atsumu mumbles to himself, moans loudly when Kiyoomi thrusts the stick inside him, his fingers rubbing on his prostate. “I should— tell you to stop…”
“Why aren’t you, babe?” Kiyoomi slows down, taking out the stick and his fingers from Atsumu’s ass.
Atsumu mumbles his answer, so quiet that even he couldn’t decipher it properly. He’s that ashamed of it, embarrassed, paralysed by the fact that— that—
“What?” Kiyoomi plants kisses along his spine, ending on the nape of his neck.
Atsumu peeks at him, blush high on his cheeks, eyes dark, a little shy.
“I said I dreamt about it before. Now shut up and fuck me,” Atsumu grumbles, turns around to hide his embarrassment.
“Wait,” Kiyoomi pulls him off the piano, carries him so easily before they settle on the bench, Atsumu straddling Kiyoomi’s lap. “You dreamt of shoving a drum stick in your ass?” Kiyoomi clarifies and said like that, it makes Atsumu want a hole to swallow him whole.
Atsumu replies in an embarrassed mumble, “Yeah.”
“Hmm. Really now...” Kiyoomi laughs and Atsumu pouts at him. He trashes in the musician’s hold, wanting to go away and wallow in his misery.
But Kiyoomi holds him tight, not letting him go. He plants a deep kiss on Atsumu’s lips, tongue swiping his lower lip, gentle and soothing.
Atsumu pouts more, adds, “It’s because of you! You asshole. Why do you even play drums, you’re a guitarist. Give me back my innocence.”
Kiyoomi grins at him, fingers probing the crack of his ass as he says, conversational, “Well, I do like the drums better but I’m the leader so they appointed me as a guitarist too. I play both so it’s fine. Good enough reason, Atsumu?”
“Hmpf, it’s your fault,” Atsumu tells him, accusing.
“Okay,” Kiyoomi nods, indulging. “It’s my fault,” he parrots before humming and kneading Atsumu’s ass.
“Good,” Atsumu huffs, wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s neck. “Now fuck me, please.”
“Okay,” Kiyoomi agrees, changes their position and settles Atsumu on the bench. Atsumu leans his elbows on the piano keys, the tinkling sound echoing throughout the room. For moment, Atsumu fears he’s breaking the keys so he leans forward, fingers gripping the edge of it instead.
Kiyoomi though, pushes him back, making him scramble for purchase, ending where he’s been in the first place, fingers pressing on the ivory keys once more.
“Relax,” Kiyoomi says, pressing a kiss on Atsumu’s stomach as he settles in between his legs. “You won’t break anything. It’s sturdy.”
Atsumu looks at him in doubt. Kiyoomi looks back as he swirls his tongue on Atsumu’s navel, eliciting a shiver and a loud moan from Atsumu.
“Fine,” Atsumu breathes out, leaning more of his weight on his hands, fingers pressing on the keys hard. “Your fault if it breaks.”
Kiyoomi hums, nibbles on the flesh of Atsumu’s hips. “Of course, baby.”
And then Kiyoomi holds his ankles, spreads his legs wider. He pushes his pyjamas down, enough to take out his leaking cock before pouring more lube on Atsumu’s asscrack and on his leaking cock. He rubs the tip of his dick on Atsumu’s wet rim, making Atsumu breathe out a groan, toes curling on the air.
Kiyoomi starts pushing then, cock sliding in easily. This time, there’s no condom separating them and it feels more intense. Kiyoomi’s dick throbbing inside him, pushing on his tight walls, making him shiver and curl his fingers on the wooden instrument.
“Oh,” Atsumu clenches his hole around Kiyoomi’s cock and Kiyoomi moans, loud and clear, grip on Atsumu’s thighs tightening.
“You feel so good,” Kiyoomi pants as he starts moving in and out, thrusts shallow, slow.
Atsumu blinks his eyes, licks his lips while he watches Kiyoomi watch his cock impale Atsumu again and again, strands of his curly bangs covering his forehead, his jaw tight as he lets out deep groans. And when Kiyoomi fucks him faster, stimulating his prostate, Atsumu cries out, throwing his head as his back arches, hard cock twitching in between them.
“Yes,” Atsumu tightens his legs on Kiyoomi’s side, tries to meet Kiyoomi’s thrusts by pushing his hips forward, ass swallowing Kiyoomi’s cock willing. “Faster, Kiyoo— Oh. Omi.”
Kiyoomi leans forward, presses a kiss on Atsumu’s lip, licking the red bitten flesh. “Again,” Kiyoomi fucks him harder, deeper. “Call me that again.”
Atsumu wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s neck, letting the musician support his weight. “O—Omi?” He stutters, a moan following when Kiyoomi kisses him hard, shoving his tongue inside Atsumu’s mouth, swirling his tongue and licking the spit on the corner of his lips.
“God,” Kiyoomi moans, mouthing on Atsumu’s jaw. “You’re so hot.”
Atsumu shivers, pulls Kiyoomi closer, sucks a mark on Kiyoomi’s neck. “You too.”
Kiyoomi lifts his ass then, pulling Atsumu almost off the stool. The muscles on his arms bulges, his muscles and tattoos rippling with every move he makes. Atsumu scrapes his nails down his biceps, leans down and licks the ink covered skin. Kiyoomi digs his fingers on Atsumu’s asscheeks, his muscles clenching in the process. Atsumu jerks, leans his cheek on Kiyoomi’s shoulders as Kiyoomi pistons his hips, thrusting deeper, eliciting moans after moans from Atsumu’s lips.
Kiyoomi fucks him like that, gripping him tight, shoving his cock hard inside him, kissing and sucking on his neck, licking the sweat dripping down the side of his face. Every action, every movement has Atsumu begging for more, moaning like a slut, whimpering for Kiyoomi to make him come.
When Kiyoomi crowds him against the piano, settling his ass on the stool, toes curling on the edge of it, Atsumu whines. Then it turns into a cry as Kiyoomi grips his wet cock, pumping in the same pace as Kiyoomi is thrusting inside him. Atsumu’s head is fuzzy, his mouth babbling words, as the lust he’s feeling reaches the highest peak.
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu sobs as Kiyoomi thumbs on his cockhead, fingers tight around his dick. “Coming, coming. Please. I—“
“Come with me, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi whispers against his lips.
Atsumu nods, fucked hard and desperate. “Yes, Omi. Inside—Inside,” Atsumu whines, clawing at Kiyoomi’s arms.
“Yeah,” Kiyoomi moans, meeting Atsumu’s hazy gaze. “Come for me, baby.”
Kiyoomi commands and Atsumu’s body can’t help but obey. He comes with a moan, body tensing and cock spurting white come on Kiyoomi’s hand and on his stomach. Kiyoomi pushes inside him a few more times before he comes inside, cock decorating Atsumu’s wet hole with his release.
Feeling Kiyoomi’s come spurting inside him, Atsumu shudders, loving the feeling of Kiyoomi’s warm come staining his insides. He lets out soft moans as he basks in the feeling of his orgasm, leaning on Kiyoomi, hugging the musician close.
Kiyoomi holds him, hands gripping tight even as he shudders, cock inside Atsumu’s wet hole gradually softening.
They don’t move for a few seconds, taking deep breaths, allows the sweat covering their body to dry on their skin.
“Fuck,” Atsumu is the first to say a word, looking up at Kiyoomi. “You came inside.”
Kiyoomi huffs out a laugh, amused. “You told me to.”
Atsumu sighs, then moves and groans, body sore, ass gaping, back digging against the edge of the piano.
“I did,” Atsumu admits, cheeks red. “It’s gonna be awful to clean though.”
“I’ll help you,” Kiyoomi offers, smiling innocently.
Atsumu squints his eyes and from what he’s seen of this popular musician, his innocent smile is not innocent at all. It’s the opposite.
So Atsumu replies, “No shower sex. My ass is killing me.”
Kiyoomi shrugs, blinks at him, his curly bangs covering one of his eyes. “Not promising anything.”
“Asshole,” Atsumu retorts but his tone is less poisonous but more fond. He drapes his body on Kiyoomi’s own, groaning in discomfort. “I’m so sore. It’s your fault.”
“It’s my fault,” Kiyoomi repeats, rubbing Atsumu’s back.
“And I’m hungry,” Atsumu whines, pulling back and stretching his muscles as he squeezes his ass around Kiyoomi’s soft cock.
Kiyoomi hisses, glares at him. Atsumu smiles innocently, shrugs his shoulders.
“Brat,” Kiyoomi clicks his tongue as he takes his cock out of Atsumu’s ass, eliciting a small whine from Atsumu.
Immediately, white liquid drips from Atsumu’s abused hole, pooling on the leather bench. Atsumu looks down, watches his gaping hole twitch, more of Kiyoomi’s come dripping from inside him. Kiyoomi scoops the come on the leather seat, presents his come coated fingers to Atsumu. Atsumu, used to eating come, mindlessly takes Kiyoomi’s fingers inside his mouth, sucking on the digits, licking the come from them. He hums around the fingers, swirling his tongue, swallowing.
Then Kiyoomi says, “There’s your food. Was it good?”
And Atsumu doesn’t stop himself from kicking him on the stomach, making him stumble back, his fingers inside Atsumu’s mouth slipping out. When Kiyoomi hits the ground with a loud thud and an even louder laugh, he looks up at Atsumu’s figure; legs spread wide, ends of his shirt bunched on his lap, his hole coated white.
“Sexy,” Kiyoomi comments and Atsumu thinks he has to give up listening to this artist's music.
He tells Kiyoomi, “I’m going to unstan you. You’re just a pervert who preys on his biggest fan and doesn’t even feed him. What a joke.”
Kiyoomi grins at him, crawls towards Atsumu until he’s in front of him, gripping Atsumu’s calves. “Please don’t. I need you with me,” he says, voice pleading, joking.
Atsumu huffs, grips Kiyoomi’s chin. “Only if you feed me.”
“Okay,” Kiyoomi replies, plants a kiss on Atsumu’s thigh. “I’ll cook for you.”
“Don’t poison it.”
Then and there, Atsumu forgets that their relationship is only that of a fan and an artist, of spending only a one night stand together. He forgets that after today, there’s nothing else in between them; he’s going to go back to fawning over Sakusa Kiyoomi who probably would forget him easily, finding a new ass to fuck, a new person to spoil the next morning.
Later, Atsumu would watch Sakusa Kiyoomi focused videos on the internet; hundreds of them, on repeat, while Osamu sighs at him because he’s stupid. Who even sleeps with their idol? Apparently, one stupid Miya Atsumu.
But those are for later. For now, Atsumu basks in the attention Sakusa Kiyoomi gives him, heart beating a happy tune.