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again, like this

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Since his first accidental call to Sakusa, at least once a day, Atsumu has called him. They haven’t had a call as long as the first, but Sakusa answers every call without fail, even if it’s only to say that he can’t talk.

(Sakusa always talks to him for a few minutes anyway.)

But the feeling of missing Sakusa hasn’t gone away. Every time he hears his voice, it gets worse. He wants to be with him. He wants to see Sakusa scowl at his stupid jokes. He wants to look into his eyes and see the subtle sparkle of his amusement. He wants to curl his fingers in his dark hair and kiss his stupid mouth and hear him say Atsumu.

Real life gets in the way. The season is in full swing and Atsumu finds himself on the road more often than not. In the brief bouts of time he has off, he has to visit his mother and Osamu - and he couldn’t visit Sakusa anyway, since he spends weekends traveling with his own team. Atsumu feels a little bit like he’s losing his mind.

On a Friday, almost two months later, fate must decide to pity him. A training camp scheduled for the weekend is cancelled at the last minute, and a frantic glance at Sakusa’s team’s schedule reveals that they do have a game but it’s at home. Atsumu leaps off of his couch and rushes into his bedroom immediately, already building a list of what to pack.

“Tsum-Tsum?” Bokuto calls.


He’d kind of forgotten that Bokuto was there, actually. They’d been lounging in Atsumu’s living room all afternoon, binge-watching a series of Bokuto’s choosing that Atsumu had tuned out in favor of scrolling through twitter and fantasizing about what life would have been like if he’d followed Sakusa’s example and gone the collegiate route. (He’d be failing out of school, but in this fantasy he’s on the same team as Sakusa and having sex every night, so he doesn’t care too much.)

Atsumu pauses half-way into his bedroom, leaning back to look at Bokuto with a lazy grin. “Oh, uh. I just realized, since we’re off tomorrow, I can go somewhere.”

Bokuto’s mouth twists into a curious pout. “Go somewhere? We’ve been everywhere.”

Traveling hadn’t been so great on Bokuto and Akaashi either. Akaashi is scheduled to arrive in the morning, or Atsumu would consider inviting Bokuto to Tokyo with him. Not that he wants Bokuto to know he’s going to Tokyo.

“I’m gonna go spend the weekend with my ma,” Atsumu lies easily.

Bokuto blinks, then nods sagely. “That’s a good idea.”

Atsumu grins despite himself, leaning against the doorway. “And that means you and Akaashi won’t feel the need to invite me places. Ya might not have to wear pants all weekend, Bokkun.”

Bokuto turns pink immediately, a grin flitting across his face. “Maybe…”

Atsumu throws him an easy wink and ducks back into his bedroom. He tugs a duffle bag out and digs through his closet one-handed, checking train tickets on his phone with the other. The next train leaves in less than an hour, and should arrive in Tokyo with enough time to make it to Sakusa’s game.

He notices somewhere between his apartment and the station that he can’t stop smiling.


Atsumu barely makes it in time to watch the last set. He still has his weekend bag over his shoulder, and bypasses finding a seat to stand at the railing overlooking the court instead. He’s got too much energy to sit, and anyways, he wants the best view he can get.

It’s easy to find Sakusa on the court. He’s already dripping sweat, his curls damp with it and his cheeks flushed from exertion. He’s up next to serve and he manages to score three points before his turn ends. He deftly evades the enthusiastic slaps on the back from his team as they rotate, and Atsumu swallows back a laugh. The rest of his team is good. Atsumu wouldn’t be surprised to see them on the professional circuit in a few years. But Sakusa is art in motion. They win the game, and Sakusa is responsible for seven of the final set points, including the vicious spike that wins the match.

He hustles out of the stands as soon as the game is over, nervous energy propelling him to the hallway outside of the home team locker rooms. There are a few fans lingering nearby, dressed in team colors. There are girls clutching handmade cards and little gift boxes. Atsumu feels absolutely out of place. It’s more than a little disorienting to be at a game as an admirer.

Osamu must absolutely never find out about this.

Atsumu puts a little distance between himself and the rest of the fans. His heart is beating a little too fast, he realizes, and he isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He tries his best to remember Bokuto’s breathing exercises and pulls out his phone.

19:21, Miya Atsumu
omi~ how was ur game?

As usual, the response comes faster than he expects. He can feel his pulse in his fingertips.

19:23, Omi-kun
We won.

19:24, Miya Atsumu
congrats!! going out to celebrate?

19:25, Omi-kun
They are.

19:25, Miya Atsumu
avoiding ur team? not very good team spirit!!

19:27, Omi-kun
I’m sure I’ll be sorely missed.

Atsumu snorts and looks up as the locker room door swings open. Sakusa is the first one out, and even though he’d expected it - he knows Sakusa showers first, knows he doesn’t linger unnecessarily - his heart speeds up at the first glimpse of him. He’s not in his team colors, instead wearing dark jeans and a grey quarter-zip, zipped all the way up his throat. His chin is tucked down, mask over his nose. His bag is slung across his chest and his eyes are on his phone.

He sidesteps the fans waiting outside, ignoring their stuttered calls of Sakusa-kun! without a glance. Atsumu smirks to himself and pushes away from the wall, stepping directly in his path without a word.

Sakusa freezes two steps in front of him and lowers his phone, looking up with an irritated furrow in his brow. The irritation disappears almost immediately, dark eyes widening in an uncharacteristic display of surprise.

“Sakusa-kun,” Atsumu simpers, keeping his voice low enough that the jilted girls a few steps away won’t hear. “Please, wait, I just wanted to say-”

“Miya,” Sakusa interjects, shock smoothing over into his usual impassive gaze. “What are you doing here?”

Atsumu grins, tucking his hands into his pockets. “My training for tomorrow got cancelled and I figured, since ya had a game today, I might come see ya play. Yer form was shit in the last fifteen minutes.” It hadn’t been.

One of Sakusa’s brows twitches and Atsumu’s grin widens. “Let’s not compare form.”

“Ya hungry?” Atsumu says instead, tipping his head.

“Why?” Sakusa tucks his phone into his pocket, rolling his shoulders back.

“Let me take ya to dinner.”

Sakusa arches a brow and glances at Atsumu’s bag and then back up. “I thought you came to see the game.”

“C’mon, Omi.” Atsumu ignores the prickle of heat in his neck and doesn’t let himself look away. “Ya know I came to see you.”


Sakusa leads him to a ramen shop halfway between the gym and his dorm room, less than a five minute walk away. It’s small, with just eight seats at a bar mostly open to the street. There’s only one other customer, who looks about their age with dark circles under her eyes. She has a heavily annotated book in one hand and her chopsticks in the other, and doesn’t spare them more than a cursory glance as they take a seat at the opposite end of the counter.

“I’m starvin’,” Atsumu says, just to break the silence. They hadn’t spoken on the walk over, and Atsumu feels like his body has been invaded with bees, anxiety buzzing beneath his skin. It’s different from any other time he’s seen Sakusa. Usually, conversation isn’t really a problem and he’d expected it to be better this time, not worse. Sakusa’s silence is grating and he’s beginning to doubt his decision to visit. Maybe Sakusa really didn’t want to see him. Maybe he just liked texting him, maybe Atsumu was someone he just used to escape boredom and monotony, maybe he just liked to mock him-

“I can hear you thinking,” Sakusa says. He takes his mask off and folds it carefully. He pulls out a bottle of sanitizer and squeezes some into his palm, then offers it to Atsumu, who takes a dollop with an awkward thanks.

“Are ya a mind reader now, Omi?”

Sakusa clicks his tongue dismissively, rubbing the sanitizer between his hands. Atsumu mimics him. The smell is sharp enough to cut through grease and spices lingering in the air, familiar and oddly comforting. Atsumu feels his shoulders relax and he pulls in what feels like his first deep breath in hours.

They place their order, and once their drinks are delivered (a soda for Atsumu, and a bottle of water for Sakusa), Atsumu asks, “Is it okay that I came to see ya?”

Sakusa twists the lid off of his water and takes a sip, inspecting Atsumu silently for a moment. “It is.”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose, even as the last of his tension begins to dissipate. “So warm, Omi. I feel real welcome-”

Sakusa reaches over and tugs the ties on Atsumu’s hoodie lightly. “I was surprised, Atsumu,” he says quietly. “I don’t like surprises.”

There’s an unspoken implication lingering at the end of that statement that makes Atsumu’s cheeks feel too warm. He realizes belatedly that he’s staring. He snaps his mouth closed when he realizes it’s hanging open, and his teeth click together audibly. He lifts a hand to grab onto the one still curled around his drawstrings. “Only assholes don’t like surprises, Omi-Omi.”

Sakusa’s eyes narrow and he releases Atsumu’s hoodie, but doesn’t say a word when Atsumu’s hand falls with his. Atsumu twists his wrist to twine their fingers together, tugging them to rest against his knee. “How much of the game did you see?” Sakusa asks.

“Just the last set. Yer team’s alright, but the defense is kind of a mess.”

Sakusa sighs wearily and takes a left-handed sip of water. “Don’t remind me. Motoya spoiled me.”

Sakusa talks him through the first four sets while they wait for their food. When it arrives, Sakusa steals his hand back, but he loops his foot through the footrest on Atsumu’s stool, hooking their ankles while they eat. Atsumu pinches his thigh discreetly just to make sure he isn’t dreaming, and launches into a story about a late night milkshake adventure with Bokuto from the previous week.

When their checks arrive, Atsumu snatches up Sakusa’s, passing them both back over with his card at the ready. Their server hesitates, glancing at Sakusa, before walking away to close them out. Sakusa is already staring when Atsumu glances over at him innocently.

“What?” Atsumu props his chin in his hand, raising a brow. “I figured I should buy yer meal. Since I’m a professional athlete and yer just-”

“Fine,” Sakusa interjects, and there’s amusement glittering in his eyes. Atsumu narrows his eyes in response, and Sakusa looks away, draining the last of his water casually. Their server returns with Atsumu’s card. They grab their bags and leave together.

They’re halfway to Sakusa’s dormitory when he asks, “Did you book a hotel room?”

Atsumu stumbles to a halt. “Shit.” He had not booked a hotel room, and certainly didn’t relish the thought of finding something affordable at nearly nine o’clock on a Friday night in Tokyo.

Sakusa glances over his shoulder, mask hiding what Atsumu is sure is one of his particularly nasty smiles. “Did you have any kind of plan?”

“To come see yer game,” Atsumu grumbles, and starts moving again. Sakusa falls into step with him again. “I’ll start lookin’ when we get to yer place, I reckon.”

It’s quiet other than the soft scrap of their sneakers against the pavement, undercut by the ambient noise of the city at night. They’ve already made it back to Sakusa’s campus. Atsumu can see students piled at tables through the huge windows of the library, but the campus itself is almost deserted. He opens his mouth to say something, just to break the silence, and Sakusa beats him to it.

“Just stay with me,” he says.

Atsumu’s heart clenches, hard. He beats his fist against his chest once, and clears his throat. “Nah, Omi, I don’t wanna- put ya out, or make ya uncomfortable-”

“When do I say things I don’t mean?” Sakusa cuts him a look from the corner of his eye and the knot in Atsumu’s chest unravels.

“Just tryin’ to be polite.”

“It’s good to try new things.”

Atsumu snorts and shoves his elbow into Sakusa’s side. Sakusa bats him away, drawing his keycard from his pocket to let them into his dorm. They shuffle up the steps together, and Atsumu looks at Sakusa’s ass unapologetically as they climb the stairs. He’s not as nervous as he’d thought he’d be, suddenly. The discomfort of seeing him again after weeks of texts and phone calls is fading.

Which is why it takes him completely off guard when, as he’s unlocking the door to his room, Sakusa says, “Is this a date?”

Atsumu chokes on nothing, whipping his head up to stare at him with wide eyes. Sakusa pushes his door open, but his eyes are on Atsumu. His gaze is unwavering and Atsumu feels stuck, unable to look away even as prickly heat crawls up his neck.

Atsumu had absolutely intended for this to be a date. He had a plan, a whole speech prepared. He’d been waiting for them to kiss - because they were going to kiss, he knew they were - and he was going to say, Ya know, Omi, I don’t really like t’ put out on the first date. I think I’m a little classier than that, but ya might be able to persuade me. It was going to be smooth. And charming.

Instead, all he manages to do is squeak out an embarrassing, “What?” He winces at his own tone, and barely resists the urge to recoil.

The corner of Sakusa’s mouth curls slowly into a smirk, and he finally looks away. He steps into the dorm and Atsumu follows on autopilot, closing the door behind himself. Sakusa kneels to take off his boots and Atsumu kicks off his shoes beside him, watching him warily. One of his fingers is taped over the first knuckle, and Atsumu’s gaze catches on that, before darting back up. He sucks in a short breath at the glimmer in Sakusa’s eyes. It’s a mix between his usual amusement when he thinks Atsumu has done something particularly stupid and the gravitational shift that usually proceeds him saying something ridiculous like come here, Atsumu, and Atsumu feels sweat beading on the back of his neck. Sakusa rises, sliding his feet into his house slippers without looking away from him.

“Did you come all the way to Tokyo,” Sakusa says slowly, smirk spreading into something horrifically close to a smile, “To take me on a date?”

“If I was takin’ ya on a date, Omi, you’d know it,” Atsumu says, forcing the words through teeth clenched in a smile.

He can see a flash of Sakusa’s teeth between his stupid, pink lips. “Mmhm,” Sakusa says, like he doesn’t believe him.

“What?” Atsumu drops his bag beside Sakusa’s, just on the edge of the genkan. As usual, Sakusa has managed to snatch the upper hand right out from under Atsumu. Which certainly isn’t fair since this whole visit was his grand romantic gesture. “Do ya want me to take ya on a date, Omi?”

“You say my name more when you’re nervous,” Sakusa says mildly. His smile has flattened back into his usual smirk, and he walks into the bathroom like they aren’t having an important conversation. “Are you nervous because you took me on a date without asking for permission?”

Atsumu sputters and follows him. He reaches up and plucks the mask hanging from Sakusa’s ear, dropping it into the waste bin without asking. “What do ya mean, permission?”

“You can’t take someone on a date without asking first.” Sakusa glances over, his hands already soapy and pink from the hot water. “That would be incredibly rude.” His smirk is widening again. Atsumu kind of wants to hit him. “And weren’t you trying to be polite?”

Atsumu bares his teeth in an ugly smile. “Like I said, you’d know if I was takin’ ya on a date. Cuz I’d ask.” Even though he had and he hadn’t.

Sakusa hums and looks away, scraping beneath his fingernails neatly. “You came to my game, took me to dinner, paid for my food, walked me home… Sounds like a date.”

“But I didn’t ask ya, so it wasn’t.” Atsumu bumps him out of the way as soon as his hands are rinsed and winces at the first touch of the water.

Sakusa picks up a towel, drying his hands methodically. Atsumu focuses on scrubbing his hands until they feel a bit raw, cheeks burning with muted embarrassment. He feels like the entire evening has been ruined, and he’s not really sure how to get back on track. He’d sort of- well, how can he try and approach the topic of his feelings when he’s been thoroughly mocked for their not-date? He has no idea when he’ll be able to visit again, and it’s not a conversation he’d really like to have on the phone, when he can’t look at Sakusa and read his delicate expressions and know how to proceed-

“I would have said yes,” Sakusa says, when Atsumu is in the middle of irritably drying his hands.

Atsumu looks up and doesn’t bother smoothing over his twisted, grumpy expression. “What?”

Sakusa is leaning against the counter beside him, and there’s something soft about the angle of his eyebrows, even though his eyes are still sparkling with amusement. Atsumu hates him and hates even more that he doesn’t.

“If you had asked me,” Sakusa says slowly, like he’s explaining something difficult to a very stupid child. “On a date. I would have said yes.”

Atsumu blinks, mouth going slack. He doesn’t notice that he’s dropped his towel until it lands on his feet. “Oh,” he says.

“Oh,” Sakusa agrees gravely.

Atsumu swallows. A ripple of energy sudden enough to make the hair on his arms stand straight rips up his spine. His fingers feel like they're vibrating again. He takes a step towards Sakusa. “I’m gonna kiss ya now, Omi. If that’s okay.”

Sakusa nods, eyes still twinkling, and Atsumu steps close enough to cage him against the counter, tipping his head up to catch him in a careful kiss. He cups Sakusa’s cheek in his buzzing palm, and releases a breath through his nose. He curls his other hand around the nape of his neck, brushing against his undercut delicately. The hair is a little too long, like Sakusa is due for a haircut, and Atsumu feels embarrassingly tender at the thought. Sakusa’s hands settle on his hips like an invitation and Atsumu leans against him, sighing into the kiss again when their bodies connect in a warm line.

Sakusa’s lips move gently against his and Atsumu stretches his arms around his shoulders to hold him closer. It’s the best he’s felt in weeks, since the last time he’d been kissing Sakusa, actually, and it’s embarrassing, but not embarrassing enough to stop the giddy rush of delight building in his chest. It’s followed closely by the familiar tingle of want that seems like a Pavalovian response to being pressed against Sakusa at this point, but for now, he ignores it.

He lets himself bask in the tenderness of the kiss instead, even as his mind fogs over, and syrupy heat pools in his chest. Sakusa isn’t pushing for more either, though his hands have squirmed beneath Atsumu’s shirt to press against the warm skin of his lower back. Atsumu is the one to break away, pressing wet, light kisses along his jaw. He pauses at his ear and drags his teeth against his earlobe lightly, grinning at the subtle twitch of Sakusa’s shoulders and the huff of breath he feels against his throat.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about kissin’ ya again for weeks, ya know,” he murmurs, blowing lightly against his ear. It elicits another faint shiver and Atsumu presses closer to him in response. “I missed ya.”

Sakusa’s hands abandon his waist and dip into his back pockets, pulling him a little closer. Atsumu makes a pleased noise and nuzzles against his ear, nipping at the curve of it lightly. Sakusa’s head dips down and he presses a lingering kiss beneath Atsumu’s ear.

“Talk after?” he asks, and Atsumu shivers at his tone. He rolls his hips forward and drops his hands to Sakusa’s waist to pull him closer.

“Yeah. I think last time I saw ya we were in the middle of somethin’...”

Sakusa snorts against his throat and gives his ass a firm squeeze. “Subtle.”

“Too subtle? How about this- if ya don’t finger me soon, Omi-” Atsumu pushes away from him, grinning at the irritated furrow of his brow. He steps backwards into the bedroom, dragging the edge of his shirt up over his stomach tauntingly. Sakusa’s eyes follow the movement, dropping down to his abs with barely concealed interest and Atsumu feels his cheeks heat with a pleased blush at the attention. “If ya don’t get to it, I’ll just have to do it myself.”

Sakusa’s eyes flicker back up to his face and Atsumu winks, turning away to tug his shirt off. He flings it to the side carelessly and starts undoing his jeans on his path to the bed. He doesn’t glance back- doesn’t want to show that he cares if Sakusa is following or not, that’s part of the game - but he hears the dull fwap of Sakusa’s slippers being kicked in the direction of the front door and the whoosh of his sweater flying into the hamper in the corner. Atsumu kicks off his jeans and crawls onto the bed, huffing a laugh when hands immediately land on his back.

Sakusa clamps his hands on his hips and shoves him onto his back before he can settle. He undoes his belt quickly to shove off his jeans before climbing over him. His mouth is curled into an irritated pout, but Atsumu has a sneaking suspicion he’s attempting to hide a smile, if the faint crinkles at the corner of his eyes mean anything. “You’re a brat.”

Atsumu shifts back against the bed and spreads his legs open around Sakusa, tucking his arms beneath his head. He flashes him a lazy grin, bumping his hip with his knee. “Maybe. Get to it.”

Sakusa arches a brow. Before Atsumu has a chance to react, Sakusa lands a solid slap to the outside of his thigh, cushioned by the thin fabric of his briefs. Atsumu yelps and covers his thigh with both hands, cheeks suddenly burning. The slap didn’t particularly hurt (which meant Sakusa had absolutely held back) but it was a shock, and Atsumu’s tongue feels a little too thick in his mouth.

“What the fuck are ya-”

“Don’t be a brat,” Sakusa says simply, shooting him a smug look. He shifts down without waiting for a response, pressing a brief, apologetic kiss against Atsumu’s thigh before hooking his fingers under the band of his underwear with a questioning glance.

Atsumu raises his hips without hesitation, covering his mouth with a hand to stop himself from saying something truly idiotic like again or harder. Sakusa eases his underwear off, skimming his fingers along his thighs and calves as he goes. He sits back, pausing to cradle Atsumu’s ankles one at a time, peeling off his socks to drop to the floor with the rest of their clothes. He turns his head, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of his calf. Atsumu shifts against the sheets, breath freezing in his lungs under Sakusa’s steady gaze.

“Can you reach the drawer?” Sakusa asks, tipping his chin towards the side table.

Atsumu swallows and twists to the side, stretching to reach into the bedside table. He finds a bottle of lube and a box of condoms next to a scattering of pens, spare bottles of hand sanitizer, and a half-empty box of tissues and grabs them quickly, excited nerves swooping dangerously in his belly. He holds out the lube with what he hopes is an impish smile, wiggling it at Sakusa encouragingly.

“Feels a little light, Omi-Omi. Been busy?” he taunts.

Sakusa takes the bottle with an arched brow, leaning closer to press another kiss against the ticklish skin just above his knee. “I had to practice, didn’t I?” he says, like that doesn’t make Atsumu’s brain go fuzzy at the edges. The thought of Sakusa laying in his bed, fingers twisting into himself-

“Omi,” he says, and he’s not even embarrassed when his voice cracks. “Can I-”

“Next time, maybe.” Sakusa smirks against his skin and shifts closer, pushing Atsumu’s legs back with gentle hands.

“Fuck,” Atsumu moans, dropping his head back against the blankets. “Yer gonna kill me, ya know?”

“I’m going to fuck you first,” Sakusa says nonchalantly, emphasizing the statement with a pronounced click of the bottle cap.

Atsumu drops his arm across his eyes with a strained laugh, lifting his hips. “Fuck.”

He feels Sakusa shift over him. His fingers close around Atsumu’s wrist and push his arm back against the mattress, lips brushing along his jaw, ending in a careful nip in the soft hollow of his throat. “Hey,” Sakusa murmurs. Atsumu peels one eye open to peek up at him, heart thudding painfully at the fondness in Sakusa’s gaze that he knows for sure, this time, he’s not imagining.


“Kiss?” Sakusa smiles, small and real, no trace of his usual smugness. Atsumu hadn’t really thought it was possible for him to look much prettier, and yet. Atsumu lifts his unrestrained hand to trace the curve of his lips with a thumb, huffing a laugh when Sakusa snaps his teeth at it gently.

“Thought ya’d never ask,” he mumbles, and tugs Sakusa down to meet him. The first few kisses are soft, slow presses that make Atsumu shiver at the almost-not-enough. But slowly Sakusa begins lingering, moving into deeper kisses until Atsumu forgets what they were doing before, all of his attention narrowed to the glide of their tongues and the pleasant sting of Sakusa’s teeth and the lazy friction of their bodies. Every time Sakusa moves close enough for Atsumu’s cock to graze against his stomach, Atsumu arches closer, chasing the seductive friction with quiet moans.

Sakusa releases his wrist at some point and Atsumu takes advantage of the opportunity to pull him closer. He drags his nails across Sakusa’s back just to feel the stutter of his breath against his cheek. He’s too distracted to notice Sakusa fiddling with the lube and the first brush of warm, slick finger against his rim makes him gasp, twisting out of the kiss with a full body shiver. When he opens his eyes, Sakusa’s already watching him.


“Surprised me,” Atsumu manages. He tilts his hips into his touch and drags his hands up to curl his fingers into Sakusa’s hair. “But I like surprises.”

Sakusa huffs a laugh against his cheek and turns his head to capture him in another kiss. His touch is almost too light as he massages slick fingers in a careful circle against Atsumu’s rim. He can’t quite focus on the kiss anymore, too consumed with the feeling of someone else touching him- and it’s so fucking different. Atsumu isn’t a gentle person, definitely not to himself. When he fingers himself it’s fast, perfunctory, chasing a very clear end goal. Sakusa’s touch is almost reverent and Atsumu’s thighs are trembling by the time Sakusa eases just one knuckle deep, flexing gently and easing deeper at an achingly slow pace.

Atsumu drops his head back against the bed, giving up on the kiss entirely. He’s breathing too hard for what they’re doing, squirming down against the pressure ineffectually; at some point Sakusa had taken hold of his other hip, keeping him anchored firmly to the bed. But he seems to get the message anyway, and when he finally presses his first finger all the way in, there’s no sting and Atsumu croaks, “Omi” like a fucking prayer.

Sakusa curls his finger, massaging firmly. When Atsumu finally convinces himself to open his eyes, Sakusa is watching him, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. There’s a flush across his cheeks and nose even though Atsumu hasn’t even done anything to him yet and his lips are parted in an unfairly distracting way.

“You feel so good,” Sakusa murmurs, and it clicks. Sakusa is looking at him with the exact same awe as he did when Atsumu was opening himself up for him. The attention makes him ache, and he shifts to loop his arms around Sakusa’s neck, swallowing hard.

“Omi,” he whispers, and he barely recognizes himself when he says, “More.”

Sakusa makes a muted noise, forehead dropping against Atsumu’s. He brushes their noses together and then there’s a second finger gently pressing into him, slotting in beside the first with only a faint burn that dissolves almost immediately. Sakusa spreads his fingers in slow pulses, thumb rubbing against his rim to ease the stretch. Atsumu tips his head up, brushing their lips with a shaky moan.

“You- you’re doin’ s’ good,” Atsumu mumbles. “I can- take more, promise, Omi.

“Shh.” Sakusa kisses him again, messy and brief. “Almost-”

“Fuck,” Atsumu whines, hips jolting when Sakusa’s fingers curl and that’s it that’s it-

“Got you,” Sakusa mumbles, and Atsumu can feel his grin against his mouth. Sakusa rubs his fingers in firm half circles against his prostate and Atsumu shudders under the attention, trembling with the effort of keeping his legs apart. Just when it’s reaching the edge of too much, Sakusa eases off, scissoring his fingers again. Atsumu only notices a third finger squeezing in along the first two as a distant pressure, brain still fuzzy from the onslaught of focused pleasure.

“Holy fuck,” Atsumu manages. He tries to rock down against his fingers again and whines when Sakusa’s hand clamps down on his hip. “Omi fuck, c’mon, enough-”

“Almost,” Sakusa repeats, and he sounds unbearably smug. So much for sweet smiles. Atsumu opens his mouth to complain and it comes out as a high, embarrassing keen instead when Sakusa taps rhythmically against that spot again, little sparks of pleasure skating up his spine in relentless waves.

“Oh fuck-” Atsumu sinks his nails into the curve of Sakusa’s shoulder blades. He can barely appreciate the muffled groan he gets in return, toes curling into the comforter. “Shit, Omi- fuck-”

The onslaught stops and Omi’s fingers spread in him again, pumping in and out at a lazy pace that makes it hard to blink the stars from his eyes. Sakusa leans back enough for Atsumu to actually see him, and the smug turn of his lips is exactly what Atsumu expected. Atsumu glares, or thinks he does- it’s a little hard to focus.

“You’re a bastard, I’m ready, ya- ah- you c’n tell, fuck-”

“I don’t know,” Sakusa muses, curling his fingers in a way that makes Atsumu’s breath hitch. “Are you?”

Atsumu narrows his eyes and twists his leg to kick weakly at Sakusa’s hip. “Yes.”

“If you’re sure,” Sakusa agrees, and withdraws his fingers without warning. Atsumu chokes out a whine at the loss. His hips jerks uselessly, finally free of Sakusa’s hold with nothing to chase.


Sakusa withdraws entirely, picking up the box of condoms abandoned on the bedside table. It’s unopened, and the time it takes him to rip into it gives Atsumu just enough space to collect himself. He sits up and ignores the watery feeling in his legs to shove Sakusa back.

Sakusa arches a brow, back bumping into the wall beside his bed. “What?”

Atsumu takes a deep breath and shifts, swinging his legs over Sakusa’s thighs. He holds out a hand expectantly for the condom, ignoring the fact that he knows he’s pink from head to toe, and sweaty, and already trembling near the edge. He forces more confidence into his voice than he’s really feeling and says, “Ya said I couldn’t ride ya last time, so I’m gonna do it this time.”

The bravado is worth it for the way it makes Sakusa’s eyes darken just a bit more and the flush on his cheeks burns. He still nudges Atsumu’s hand away to roll the condom on himself, but as soon as he does, his hands are on Atsumu’s hips to tug him closer.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu slings one arm around his shoulders, heart pounding hard enough to ring in his ears. “Really sure. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Sakusa agrees, thumbs pressing into the sensitive hollows of his hips. “Not going to say no to you, Atsumu.”

Atsumu stills, staring at him. That- that was a sweeping statement of consent, an acknowledgement of trust and faith and a belief that Atsumu wouldn’t ask for anything that Sakusa wouldn’t want. An emotion is bubbling in his chest that has him embarrassingly close to tears. The hand that had been locked in Sakusa’s hair gentles, combing through his mused curls.


Sakusa glances away for a split second before meeting his gaze again. Atsumu isn’t sure what shy looks like on Sakusa, but it might be this. “Weren’t you doing something?” he murmurs. Atsumu can tell he’s trying to sound casual, but he can hear the trace of discomfort and the echo of talk after rings in his ears.

He tightens his fingers in Sakusa’s hair again. “I’m gonna make ya feel so good,” he promises, and reaches back to guide Sakusa to his entrance.

Despite Sakusa’s efforts, Atsumu still burns with the initial stretch. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing as he sinks down. It feels fucking endless and then suddenly he’s fully seated and the burn is secondary to the absolutely exquisite feeling of being full.

He doesn’t realize his mouth is hanging open until he’s gone still, panting softly as he gets accustomed to the stretch. He opens his eyes in a dizzy flutter and when he looks at Sakusa, he has to fight the urge to close them again, absolutely overwhelmed by the look on his face. Sakusa cheeks are flushed darker than before and when Atsumu cups his cheek in one hand, he can feel the heat of them like a brand against his palm. His eyes are half-lidded and focused on Atsumu in a way that makes his chest clench with a heady mix of nerves and pride.

“Okay?” Sakusa asks. His voice is faint, cracking just a hair in the middle. Atsumu fucking adores him.

“Yeah.” Atsumu smiles, stroking his thumb across the arch of his cheek bone. “You?”

“Is that even a question?” Sakusa’s brow furrows and Atsumu huffs out a laugh. He tips forward to kiss him just because he wants to and because he can. Sakusa meets him halfway, stroking his hands slowly up Atsumu’s sides. It raises the hair on his arms, the touch somewhere between soothing and ticklish. Atsumu shifts, tentatively lifting a fraction and grinding back down in a way that makes them both moan.

It takes longer than Atsumu would like to build up a rhythm. For one, actually moving means he has to pull away from the kiss, which he resents on principle. For another, he hadn’t anticipated the way the angle would press into him just right. Every time he sinks down, his legs tremble. By the time he’s managed to get the pace right, he feels half-dumb with pleasure, and he can’t control the moans and gasps and Omis falling out of his mouth.

He’s holding onto Sakusa’s shoulders tight enough that it must be painful. He’ll have imprints of Atsumu’s nails in his skin in the morning, but if the half-swallowed moans he’s making against Atsumu’s throat are any indicator, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Omi, ah, is it-?” He can’t even get the whole question out, but Sakusa seems to understand regardless.

“So good,” Sakusa mumbles. His hands are locked around Atsumu’s hips and Atsumu didn’t realize until just now that Sakusa’s arms are flexing, lifting him as he moves. He lets out a breathy laugh, prying his hands away from Sakusa’s shoulders to wrap around his biceps instead, just to feel his muscles work. “Fuck- Atsumu. You feel so good-”

Hearing his name sends another wave of pleasure crashing over him and he loses his rhythm for a moment, grinding down against him shakily. “Oh, fuck, I can’t-” He abandons his hold on Sakusa’s arms to wrap himself around his shoulders instead, burying his face in his hair. “Fuck, fuck-”

Sakusa’s hips twitch up, pressing deeper and forcing a little whimper out of Atsumu that he’ll be embarrassed about as soon as he isn’t tettering on the edge of what promises to be the best orgasm of his entire fucking life. “Okay?” Sakusa asks, and this time instead of sweet it’s smug and Atsumu would hate him for it if he didn’t feel a little smug himself.

“Fuck you,” Atsumu mutters, heatless, and does his best to build up a rhythm again, even though his thighs are quaking. He’s so fucking close. “God, fuck-”

“You’re shaking.” Sakusa nips at his ear and the little flash of pain makes Atsumu see white for a split second. He grinds down against him again, shuddering. “My turn?”

Atsumu bites his lip and when he tries to move again, his thighs give out almost immediately. He glowers at his own legs mutinously (the fuck is all that muscle for if it’s gonna give out now) before relenting. “Yeah, Omi, c’mon-”

Sakusa hums against his throat and hooks his hands over Atsumu’s shoulders. He twists, pushing Atsumu down to the mattress and Atsumu hooks his legs around his hips to keep them anchored together, stuttering out a gasp at the shift. It takes them a minute to rearrange their too-long limbs in Sakusa’s narrow bed. For one terrible moment, Sakusa withdraws to shift Atsumu’s hips, shoving a pillow beneath them to lift him up. Atsumu clenches around nothing and whimpers, reaching out for Sakusa immediately.

“Fuckin’ c’mere, I’m fine-”

Sakusa shifts back over him and silences him with a kiss just as he presses back in. Atsumu can’t find it in him to complain after that, not when Sakusa picks up at an immediately bruising pace, the speed a sharp contrast to the steady rhythm from moments before. Atsumu hooks his legs around him and lets him take control. He’d done plenty of work already, muscles still quivering at the brink of exhaustion.

He’s back at the edge almost immediately, head dropping against the sheets when kissing suddenly feels too complicated. “Omi, fuck-” He arches his back a bit, trying to get him just a little deeper, chasing his release. “Omi, Omi, wanna come-”

Atsumu doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opens them again, Sakusa is watching him. Atsumu heart jumps and he feels suddenly fucking raw. It’s Omi, it’s his Omi, with the same eyes that stared desperately down at him when they were seventeen, and Atsumu doesn’t ever want to look at anyone else, ever.

“Omi,” he says again, and does his best to hold Sakusa’s face between his hands, but Omi said talk later so Atsumu digs his teeth into his lip to stop himself from saying anything else.

Sakusa’s brows furrow for just a moment and his hips stutter as he shifts, and then there’s a hand around Atsumu’s length. It’s so much at once he almost shouts, arching away from bed and into Sakusa’s touch. He’s tipping over the edge before he can suck in another breath and everything narrows down to a white rush of pleasure. He doesn’t consciously feel the way Sakusa’s movement changes, just knows that the world returns and as he comes down, Sakusa is still fucking him, but now his hips are moving in languid rolls. He’s still stroking Atsumu through the last of his orgasm, his other hand rubbing soothingly up and down Atsumu’s thigh as his muscles relax.

Atsumu’s back drops back to the mattress and his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. He watches Sakusa blurrily as the last shivers of pleasure crawl through his body and he realizes distantly that his hands have fallen to the mattress beside his head, and he’s not touching Sakusa’s face anymore, which sort of sucks.

He makes a muted noise when the soothing touches and slow thrusts go from good to too-much and Sakusa stills, hands pushing into the mattress on either side of Atsumu’s hips instead. There’s still a faint furrow between his brows, and Atsumu wrinkles his nose in response, flapping a hand bonelessly in the vague direction of his face.

“Wha’s that look for?” he mumbles.

Sakusa lifts one hand, brushing his thumb lightly against Atsumu’s cheek. “You’re crying,” he says, voice tight.

Atsumu touches his own cheek and blinks. He fucking is crying, just a little, just a few errant tears. It shocks a laugh out of him and he swipes at his face. “Oh well that’s fuckin’ embarrassing.”

“You’re okay?”

Atsumu can’t stop a little giggle from sneaking out, mouth shifting into a grin he’s sure looks a little too dopey. “‘M great.” He shifts his hips slightly and shivers when it makes him clench around Sakusa, who is still inside of him and still hard. “Mm-”


“Nah.” Atsumu shifts his hips again, intentionally, eyes locked on Sakusa’s face. “Keep goin’. Yer turn.”

Sakusa hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward once instinctively. His eyes are still clouded with arousal, and when Atsumu moves again his breath catches and his shoulders twitch forward, a tell-tale sign that he’s close. “Fuck, Atsumu-”

Atsumu grins, ignoring the too-sensitive shiver that skates up his spine. Worth it. “C’mon, Omi,” he whispers, and lifts his hands to cradle the sides of his neck, thumbs pressing into the trembling muscles in his shoulders. “Gimme.”

Sakusa groans, dropping his head to Atsumu’s shoulder with a full-body shiver. He stutters into motion again, lacking any previous rhythm. The sensation teeters back-and-forth from bad to good and Atsumu wraps his arms around him with a moan, nuzzling his cheek against his hair. He can feel Sakusa panting against his neck, damp and hot. He cards his fingers through Sakusa’s hair and turns his head to press his lips against his ear, moaning at a sudden, sharp snap of his hips.

“S’good,” he whispers. Sakusa makes a noise like he’s been punched, face pressing closer to his throat, tugging his own hair in Atsumu’s grip at the same time. “S’so good.” He clenches around him with a soft whine. “‘M all yours, Omi-”

“Fuck.” Sakusa’s hands dig into his waist and he tugs him as closer, pressed as deep as possible. Atsumu can feel it when he comes and can’t help hiding a smug grin against Sakusa’s ear as he shakes through it. He strokes his hands slowly through the frizzy length of Sakusa’s hair, gently working out knots caused by his careless hands as Sakusa comes down, body slowly melting against him. Atsumu relaxes under his weight, content to bask in the afterglow despite the slowly cooling sweat and come sandwiched between their chests.

In a surprise to absolutely no one, Sakusa is the one to move first. He peels away from Atsumu and withdraws from him slowly, disposing of the condom in the tiny trash-can beside his bed. Atsumu turns his head to watch him, feeling a little too boneless and satiated to complain until Sakusa stands.

“Hey- where ya goin’?” Atsumu shifts up onto his elbows, ignoring the ache in- well, everything. He wonders if he could include fucking as an individual workout and balks internally at how explaining that to Coach Foster would go.

“Shower,” Sakusa says, voice coming out rough and a little sleepy. He glances back at Atsumu and nods towards the bathroom. “Come on.”

Atsumu blinks and points at himself. “Ya want me to shower with ya?” Sakusa rolls his eyes and walks away without further invitation. Atsumu scrambles to follow him on jelly legs, grinning despite himself.

If he had imagined a shower with Sakusa before (he had), it had always been of the sexy variety or with the expectation of annoyingly meticulous cleanliness. In actuality, it ends up being a lot of casual touching. It’s like the presence of water has somehow erased Sakusa’s usual post-sex squeamishness. After a cursory rinse, he lets Atsumu lean against him while they soap up, and washes Atsumu’s back with gentle hands and lets Atsumu return the favor. He refuses to allow Atsumu wash his hair (“You’ll fuck it up.”) but he washes Atsumu’s hair without being asked and by the time the water is off and they’re wrapped up in towels, Atsumu feels half-asleep on his feet.

He changes into his pajamas (the energen pants he had stolen from Sakusa months before) and helps Sakusa change his sheets in an amiable haze. Afterwards, Sakusa fetches them both a bottle of water and a packet of trail mix. They eat in silence, sitting side-by-side on Sakusa’s bed, close enough for their knees to press together.

When they’re done, Sakusa gathers up their trash, tosses it, and turns off all the lights except for his bedside lamp. He sits back down, rolls back his shoulders, and looks at Atsumu expectantly.

“I said we could talk after,” he says. He folds his hands together in his lap, and Atsumu does know how to be nice occasionally, so he doesn’t call him out on the subtle, anxious way he twists them together. “So-”

“I like ya,” Atsumu says immediately, because he’d nearly bitten his own lip off trying not to say it about a hundred times in the last hour or so. Saying it feels good, like he’s been walking around with a weight on his shoulders for months, and he’s finally gotten to drop it. So he keeps going. “I like ya a lot, Omi. I think I liked ya when we were in high school, even, but definitely since the first time we fucked, and I think if I had any chance of not likin’ ya, I lost it when ya kissed me that night ‘Samu called all fucked up, and-”

“Atsumu,” Sakusa interrupts. Atsumu shuts his mouth immediately, and his cheeks feel warm. But Sakusa is smiling, just a little, something small and soft, and his cheeks look a little pink too. “I like you.”

If saying it had been a relief, hearing it is a religious experience. Atsumu doesn’t feel tired at all anymore. In fact, he could probably play a five set match no fucking problem because this is maybe the happiest moment of his life, maybe second only to signing with the Jackals, and even that hadn’t made him feel this much.

“Sap,” Atsumu accuses, biting back his smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was I the one monologuing about my feelings?” Sakusa arches a brow.

“Ya could.” Atsumu leans forward, balancing his chin in his palm. “I’d listen.”

There’s a dangerous flicker in Sakusa’s eyes and he shifts to mimic Atsumu’s posture. “I liked you in third year too,” he says, and Atsumu’s heart feels like it’s jumped all the way to his throat. “That’s why I hooked up with you at nationals.”

“No shit!” Atsumu leans forward. “Ya didn’t.”

Sakusa smirks, and it’s not really fair that he doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. “According to Motoya, I’ve been flirting with you since we played each other our first year. I remember it differently, since I was pretty infatuated with Wakatoshi at the time-”

Atsumu makes a muted noise of horror and leans back. “You liked Ushijima?”

Sakusa’s smirk widens. “Wakatoshi-kun is a very disciplined person. I appreciate that.”

“Yer a freak, Omi,” he accuses. “I can’t believe ya liked Ushijima and me. I’m nothin’ like him!”

Sakusa’s smirk softens a bit until he’s got that delicate smile again, and Atsumu’s heart really isn’t made to deal with this sort of emotional whiplash. “I know.”

Atsumu looks away and twists his fingers in the edge of his stolen sweats. “So ya really do. Like me.”

“Yes, Atsumu.” Sakusa reaches over, taking hold of Atsumu’s fidgeting hand and twisting until their fingers are laced. “I really do.”

Atsumu lifts his head and grins, squeezing his fingers tightly. “So much you’ll let me kiss ya again?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes.


They tuck themselves into bed not long after, since it’s late and Atsumu had spent the day at practice and then traveling, and Sakusa had been in class then played a full game, not to mention the sex.

It’s a tight fit in Sakusa’s little bed, for which Atsumu is privately grateful. It was clearly not meant to fit anyone over six feet tall, much less two athletes, which means that if Sakusa had been feeling any kind of aversion to a good cuddle session, he has literally no room to complain. The biggest surprise is that, after much tossing and turning, Sakusa ends up with his back tucked against Atsumu’s chest. Getting to hold Sakusa close (hands tucked beneath his shirt, nose buried in the back of his neck, toes pressed against the back of his calves) is so nice, he doesn’t even complain about the fact that the arm tucked beneath Sakusa’s body is already going a bit numb.

Atsumu’s nearly asleep when his phone rings, Osamu’s personal ringtone blaring obnoxiously from Sakusa’s bedside table. Sakusa makes a muted noise of irritation and turns his face into his pillow.


Atsumu has to lean across him to dismiss the call, and presses a kiss against his shoulder as an apology when he settles back in. “Sorry, Omi,” he mumbles. Sakusa grunts again and scoots back against him, tugging his arm back over his waist. He doesn’t let go of Atsumu’s wrist, and Atsumu fucking likes him.

They’ve just gotten settled when his phone starts ringing again.

“I take it back,” Sakusa mumbles. “Osamu is the more annoying one.”

“Offended ya ever thought that was in question.” Atsumu presses his teeth into Sakusa’s nape with a fake growl, and Sakusa flicks his hand in retaliation.

“Just answer it.”

“Fine.” Atsumu leans across him again and picks up his phone, dropping his charger into the abyss between the bed and the table. He stays propped on an elbow, flicking his thumb across the accept button before answering. “What do ya want, ‘Samu?”

“So yer not dead.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes heavenward and shifts back into Sakusa’s back, nuzzling between his shoulder blades indulgently. “What are ya talkin’ about?”

“Bokuto called me to ask if I could make Akaashi some onigiri and send ‘em back to Osaka with ya.”

Atsumu freezes. Oh, fuck.

“See, I was a little confused by that. Seein’ as how yer not here, so sendin’ something back with ya might be sorta complicated.”


“So, since ya didn’t reply to my texts askin’ where ya were-” Atsumu winces. He hadn’t really bothered to check his messages. “-ya can see why I’m glad to find out ya aren’t dead somewhere between here an’ Osaka. And pretty curious what ya might be doin’ if ya felt like ya ought to lie about it.”

Atsumu lets out a slow breath, steels himself, and says, “Well, shit. I didn’t wanna tell ya this way.”

There’s a long pause. ”Are ya in trouble, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu’s lips twitch and he muffles a snort into Sakusa’s shoulder. Sakusa kicks at him mildly. “Nah. I’m just in bed with Sakusa Kiyoomi at the moment.”

There’s another pause, a little longer, and Atsumu can practically feel Osamu’s irritation. “Do ya ever stop lyin’?”

“I’m tellin’ the truth!”

“Just like how ya hooked up with him at Nationals, huh? This is a weird one, even fer you.”

“I was tellin’ the truth then, too.”

“Yeah, right. Where are ya really, scrub?”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Hang on.” He mutes the call and leans far enough forward to see Sakusa’s face. He looks vaguely pissed even in the dark. “Hey, Omi?”


“Since ya told Komori about us hookin’ up, it’s really only fair-”


“But he’s kinda not gonna believe me, because-”

“You’re a habitual liar and Osamu has developed a sense of self-preservation?”

Atsumu sticks out his lip. “Hey. I’ve never lied to you.” He doesn’t need to see Sakusa’s face to know the look he’s getting. “Not about anything important!”

“What do you want, Atsumu?”

Atsumu leans his chin on Sakusa’s shoulder, smiling down at him. “Can I prove it to ‘im?”

Sakusa lets out a heavy sigh and stretches out an arm to flip on the bedside light to its lowest setting. His eyelids are particularly heavy, and Atsumu feels sort of terrible about keeping him awake. It also feels totally worth it.

Atsumu settles in against him and unmutes his phone. “Video callin’ ya now. Accept it.”


Atsumu taps the video icon and has about three seconds to adjust the angle of their camera to perfectly frame himself and Sakusa before the call connects properly. When Osamu comes into view, his brows are furrowed and his teeth are clenched in irritation. From the looks of it, he’s sitting on the couch in their mother’s living room, in an overly large sweater Atsumu is pretty sure used to belong to Aran. He smirks at him, chin still pressed into Sakusa’s shoulder.

Watching his irritation be replaced by shock, and immediately followed by abject horror is the second most gratifying thing to happen to Atsumu today.

“No,” he says, voice oddly croaky.

Atsumu gives his best shit-eating grin, and the Sakusa staring back at him from the corner of his screen blinks boredly at his brother. “Told ya.”

“Hello, Osamu,” Sakusa greets tonelessly.

“No,” Osamu repeats. He leans away from his phone like distance will somehow make Atsumu not with Sakusa.

“We’ve been hookin’ up for about a year,” Atsumu says loftily. “First time really was at nationals, though, so ya can’t say I didn’t tell ya.”

“There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“There’s been plenty of fucking,” Sakusa says, and it’s only because Atsumu knows him that he can pick up the edge of humor in his tone.

Osamu’s jaw drops.

Atsumu fucking loves him.

“Oh no,” Osamu says faintly.

“Anyway,” Atsumu says, chipper. “As ya can see, I’m not dead. Looks like ya wish ya were, though. Must be tough! Sleep well!”

He ends the call before Osamu can reply and tosses his phone onto the side table. He leans down, planting a loud kiss on Sakusa’s cheek. “Yer the best, ya know?”

“Can we please go to sleep now?”

Atsumu snorts and leans over to turn off the light.


Atsumu wakes up the next morning with his mouth full of dark hair and his left arm completely numb. Sakusa is still dead asleep, half of his weight reclined against Atsumu’s chest. He’s kicked one foot out from under the covers in the night, letting a little cool air beneath their covers. Sakusa is warm to the touch, and when Atsumu nuzzles against the nape of his neck, he smells like sleep-sweat and shampoo.

Holy shit, he thinks, while carefully prying his arm from beneath Sakusa’s body. I think I really do kind of love him.

Sakusa stirs when Atsumu’s arm is almost extracted and makes an irritated noise, rolling onto his stomach and away from him. Atsumu’s arm is free, but Sakusa’s shoulders nearly nudge him right off the mattress and he has to loop an arm around him and hold on to not be thrown from the bed.

Sakusa doesn’t react, face buried in his pillow. Atsumu slumps his chin against his shoulder and flexes his hand until the pins and needles sensation goes away. When it does, he shifts up to kiss the side of Sakusa’s neck, humming softly.

“Omi,” he mumbles. “Omi, wake up.”

“Shut up.” Sakusa tips his head, trying to force Atsumu away. Atsumu nuzzles deeper, humming against his ear.

“Omi, it’s important.”

“It’s early. I’m sleeping.”

“It’s like, almost ten.”

“I said it’s early.”

Atsumu snorts and bites his earlobe gently. He doesn’t miss the way Sakusa relaxes, head tipping a bit in the opposite direction to give Atsumu a little more room. “Yer not a mornin’ person, huh, Omi-Omi?”


“C’mon, really,” Atsumu coaxes. He blows cool air against his ear and barely manages to avoid being thrown off the bed when Sakusa jerks his shoulder beneath him violently. “Hey-!”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I’ll be quick!”

Sakusa makes another irritated noise and shoves at him until he can roll over and face him. There are soft pink creases on one of his cheeks from where he’d been pressed into the pillow. His hair is flat on that side, and sticking up in frizzy ringlets on the other, significantly larger than Atsumu has ever seen it before. His eyes are barely open and he’s glaring at Atsumu through narrow slits, mouth pressed in an irritated line.

Atsumu’s heart feels like it’s being put through the dryer on the tumble setting. He leans forward and presses a quick kiss against Sakusa’s beauty marks (finally) before leaning back to look at him properly. “I realized I forgot to ask ya somethin’ last night.”

Sakusa’s eyes narrow further, somehow, and Atsumu isn’t actually sure he’s not already falling asleep again. He wiggles cold fingers beneath the tail of Sakusa’s shirt just to make sure and Sakusa makes a noise, flinching away from the touch. His eyes open again. “What, Atsumu.”

“I forgot t’ ask ya if you’d be my boyfriend.” Atsumu rubs a hand against his ribs, with the barrier of his t-shirt between their skin, apologizing silently for his cold hands.

Sakusa blinks once. Twice. Then his eyes narrow again. “Are you fucking with me.”

Not the best reaction he could have hoped for, but also not the worst.

“Nope.” Atsumu snuggles closer until their noses are nearly touching. “Will ya be my boyfriend, Omi?”

Sakusa’s tongue-click is particularly impactful at such close range. Atsumu can’t help grinning, squeezing his hip. “I thought that was a given.”

Atsumu snorts. “So I gotta ask ya for it to be a date, but we can be official without ever talkin’ about it?”

Sakusa’s eyebrows furrow, pained, and his eyes are nearly closed again. “Official,” he repeats, derisive.

“If ya say yer my boyfriend, I’ll leave ya alone.”

“As I said, I thought it was a given.” Sakusa snakes an arm around his waist, tugging him closer. He presses his face beneath Atsumu’s chin with a groan. “Yes, you’re my boyfriend, shut up.”

Atsumu grins, nuzzling his face into Sakusa’s wild hair. “Yer my boyfriend.”

Please, Atsumu.”

Atsumu mimes zipping his lips even though Sakusa can’t see. Sakusa’s body relaxes, breathing softening with sleep in less than forty-two seconds (he counts). Atsumu stays awake, even when it grows a bit too hot under the covers with Sakusa, who is apparently a human furnace. Even when his arm starts to fall asleep again, awkwardly bent between their bodies. Even when the need to piss goes from vague to threatening.

He ignores it all, would probably ignore any inconvenience, to be exactly where he is right now.