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December, 2012
Atsumu has always felt like he belonged on the court. More precisely, like the court belonged to him; the dazzling brightness of the overhead lights; the slight menthol scent of salonpas; the satisfying sting in his palm after getting a particularly good cut-shot in. At his skill level, Atsumu has always felt entitled to everything that comes with volleyball. All of it. It’s Atsumu in his element. It’s Atsumu in control. He controls the crowd; he controls his players; he controls the flow of the game with his sets. He very much loves to be in control.
“That was too easy.”
Atsumu takes a deep breath, trying and failing to stop the build up of tension in his gut. He glances across the net at Sakusa Kiyoomi, who’s smirking at him. Sakusa Kiyoomi, something that is seemingly uncontrollable.
Atsumu had tried to receive Sakusa’s spike, but it had a nasty spin and the ball went sailing out of bounds. Atsumu doesn’t ever let that happen. Atsumu shouts back, “You’re jokin’, right?”
Sakusa rolls his eyes. “I thought the talent at All-Japan Youth Camp would be higher. Too bad.”
Atsumu seethes, but one of his assigned teammates for the practice game claps his back and Atsumu moves to reset for the next play.
It’s been like this all practice game. At first, Atsumu just saw Sakusa muttering shit under his breath, but now the insults were loud and clear. It’s not the first time Atsumu has met Sakusa at a training camp, but during that first camp Sakusa had just stayed silent and brooding the whole time. Atsumu had just ignored him. Now, though, Sakusa seems to have some Atsumu-shaped chip on his shoulder and hasn’t stopped needling him the whole day.
Atsumu’s sense of control hangs on by a thread. He feels it; taunt and threatening to snap.
Atsumu shakes out his arms to dispel some of the tension and then moves to serve again. The whistle blows, he counts his steps, then smacks the ball harder than he has all game. He watches as it beelines for an open spot on the other side of the court, and he thinks it’s about to hit the ground until Sakusa moves in a blur and receives the ball, sending it high into the air. Sakusa isn’t the libero this game, and Atsumu doesn’t know how he got there so fast. What a fucking entitled prick to not trust his libero to get it.
Atsumu curses, running forward to get into position to set the ball after his libero sends it toward him. Atsumu gets underneath it, then looks at the other side of the net for a split second, meeting Sakusa’s harsh gaze.
Atsumu makes his decision in an instant.
He switches into a spiking position at the last second, swinging his arm and aiming right for Sakusa’s pretentious face. Sakusa’s eyes widen and he jukes the ball just in time so it doesn’t collide with his face. The ball hits the ground on their side of the net then flies out of bounds.
“Oops!” Atsumu calls out as the whistle blows. “Sorry about that, Omi-kun.”
Atsumu had discovered earlier in the game that Sakusa hated the nickname, so now he runs with it. It gives Atsumu- even for just a moment- the sensation of having the advantage.
Sakusa glares at him. “You aimed that at my face, Miya!”
“Relax,” Atsumu scoffs. “It’s not like yer face can get even more messed up than it already is.”
Sakusa’s mouth pinches. “I guess when you’re such a shitty player you need to rely on underhanded tactics.”
And just like that, the thread snaps; ragged and frayed and ugly.
Atsumu is a lot of things but a “shitty player” isn’t one of them. Not when he owns the court. Not when he owns every player stepping foot on it.
He stomps up to the net, where Sakusa stands on the other side, looking unbothered.
“Fuck you,” Atsumu spits at him. “Ya wouldn’t be throwin’ a tantrum if I wasn’t a challenge.” If I didn’t own all of this, even you.
“The challenge,” Sakusa mutters, moving closer to the net, “is dealing with your childish attitude. Do you honestly like the sound of your own voice that much?”
“Hey guys, let’s just cool off,” someone on Sakusa’s team says to them.
Sakusa suddenly smiles at Atsumu, and it’s downright venomous. “No, keep going, Miya. It’s not like your team would suffer if you were benched. You’re just that pathetic.”
Atsumu’s entire body flushes with anger, hot and nauseating. And along with that ugliness is the soul-shattering embarrassment of Sakusa degrading him in front of everyone. And so, he impulsively dips under the net and pushes against Sakusa’s chest. “And you’re a whiny piece of shit!”
Sakusa stumbles back and his face twists. “Don’t fucking touch me, asshole,” Sakusa exclaims, shoving Atsumu even harder. Atsumu grabs his collar with shaking hands, and Sakusa smacks at his arms.
“Say it again!” Atsumu screams at him, his arms stinging from how hard Sakusa is hitting him. “Say it again, you fuckin’ prick!”
Just as Sakusa pulls a fist back, probably to punch Atsumu in the face, Atsumu feels arms grab him from behind and roughly pull him away from Sakusa. Atsumu struggles and writhes to get out of the grasp and sees that other players are pulling Sakusa back too.
One of the coaches runs up to them and wedges between them. “Get off the court! Both of you!”
“Gladly,” Sakusa mutters, pushing his players off of him and stomping toward his bench.
Atsumu doesn’t say anything. He owes all of them nothing. Despite his silence, Atsumu’s players finally release their grip on him too. He starts to walk toward his own bench, sparing a glance at Sakusa, whose shoulders are shaking as he walks to his bench.
Atsumu’s heart is beating so fast he forces himself to look away. He never wants to see Sakusa-fucking-Kiyoomi ever again.
November, 2017
Atsumu lets out a breathy moan, furiously working his fist over his cock as he looks at pictures of Sakusa Kiyoomi.
It started shortly after Atsumu signed with MSBY, the rightful passage into the professional volleyball scene that was always destined to be his. He’s always liked keeping tabs on other players. That’s the setter in him. That’s the everything in him. And it didn’t take long for Sakusa to start making a name for himself in the collegiate league. So, Atsumu started to keep tabs on him too.
The boy from training camp. The boy who made Atsumu feel like the ground he once owned had opened up and swallowed him whole.
No one has ever, ever managed to get under his skin like Sakusa has. Atsumu has never gotten so angry, has never felt so frenzied. And all of those burning, intense feelings came back the first time Atsumu saw a small photo of Sakusa in a magazine.
Atsumu doesn’t know what it is about Sakusa that makes him feel so out-of-control. As much as Atsumu has tried to forget about Sakusa since the last time he saw him all the way back in high school, it always comes back to this.
Atsumu knew Sakusa would have a spread in this magazine, and he purposefully bought it to see. He just felt compelled to. Atsumu finds a foothold, a life raft, when he buys a magazine containing Sakusa’s picture and can control the boner he sports when he sees said picture by jerking himself off.
And even then, Atsumu hates that too. He hates feeling like Sakusa has some hold over him. As Atsumu’s thoughts slide and tumble and dizzy as he fucks his own fist, his mind loosely grabs onto the fact that Atsumu cannot even control his body’s own reactions to Sakusa no matter how hard he rationalizes it. His fist is tight and unyielding as he jerks off, like he personally blames his cock for being so affected by Sakusa.
Atsumu has grown up a lot in the past few years, and part of that is learning that he likes to remain in control even in the bedroom. He likes being bigger than his partner; likes when his hands can wrap around their waist; likes making commands, and having the other person submit to him; likes reading the other person’s body language and tells so well that he’s the only one who can make them feel so euphoric. It’s a similar rush to the one he gets from being a setter. It’s the rush he gets in every facet of the life he’s built for himself.
And now, as he looks at the full spread Sakusa got in this month’s issue of Volleyball Monthly, he can’t help but imagine making Sakusa submit to him too.
Sakusa Kiyoomi. No longer a boy; taller since high school, taller than Atsumu according to the statistics in the magazine. His shoulders are broad, and he’s muscled and looks strong, but Atsumu still sees the small taper of his waist. Atsumu imagines gripping Sakusa’s waist tight and holding him in place as he fucks him, with Sakusa having no choice but to take it. And the best part? In Atsumu’s fantasies, Sakusa wants all of it. He wants to be a good boy for Atsumu. He wants Atsumu to mark the sliver of skin he shows between his compression gear, to let everyone know that he belongs to Atsumu. And all of his insults die on his tongue when Atsumu fucks him just right. It’s a delicious fantasy, having someone bigger than Atsumu feel so small in his hands.
Atsumu groans, his cock throbbing in his relentless hand. He imagines Sakusa’s tiny mouth being stuffed with his cock after begging for it, his dark eyes glazed over and wet with tears. He imagines bending Sakusa over, who’s so pliant and willing under Atsumu’s instruction, and sliding his cock into Sakusa’s needy hole. That fantasy is dangerously easy to imagine as he bucks into his own warm, wet hand.
“Please, Atsumu,” Sakusa would say as Atsumu teased him by sliding in slowly, letting Sakusa feel every inch of him. “Please fuck me. I need you so badly.”
And that’s what does it for Atsumu. He spills over his own fist with a startled gasp, his own orgasm catching him by surprise. Atsumu lets out a long exhale, feeling the tension inside of him melt as he basks in the pleasant warmth of his afterglow. As he blinks himself coherent again, he sees that some of his come as gotten on Sakusa’s picture. Atsumu looks at what he’s done to Sakusa. A satisfying feeling burns hot in his chest, the warmth spreading and bringing a slow smile to Atsumu’s lips.
However, that’s when he notices the textbox beside Sakusa that he hadn’t read before.
While Sakusa-senshu has been scouted by numerous impressive teams throughout his collegiate career, he confirmed to Volleyball Monthly that he has chosen MSBY Black Jackals and will be joining them in the new year!
Just like that, Atsumu’s carefully crafted sense of control slips out of his grasp. He feels himself falling, the drop endless.
“Shit.”
January 2018
Atsumu is distracted; distracted by Sakusa’s long legs; distracted by the musk of Sakusa’s cologne when he walks by; distracted by Sakusa’s shirt riding up when he jumps and the trail of hair that disappears into his shorts; distracted by Sakusa growing up to be so goddamn attractive.
Atsumu is never distracted, not normally. He never allows that. He never would have made it here if he allowed anything less than perfection, from himself and others.
And yet, on Sakusa’s first practice session with the team, Atsumu has felt a thrum in his veins since the moment he laid eyes on Sakusa for the first time in over five years.
At first Atsumu had wondered- briefly- if Sakusa had forgotten him and their fight. It seemed like the type of pretentious thing Sakusa would be capable of. But it has quickly become apparent that Sakusa is harboring similar feelings of resentment considering he hasn’t so much as looked Atsumu in the eye all day, as if Atsumu didn’t even exist. It’s frustrating. Atsumu is the pro, and Sakusa is the goddamn rookie. They weren’t on equal footing. Not even close.
Sakusa should worship the ground Atsumu walks on. Should get on his hands and knees and thank Atsumu for even letting him in his presence.
It’s another distracting thought, a pretty one, but still. Atsumu feels another tug of irritation in his gut.
Atsumu stands by the bench, watching the three-on-three practice game. He’s alone; most of the other players are standing in a group on the other side of the court with Meian or practicing their own drills on the other side of the gym entirely. Atsumu played in the last practice game, but now he watches as Sakusa is put in for the first time. Sakusa has a lot to prove, being the newest player on his first day.
Sakusa doesn’t seem bothered by this. His expression is almost bored as he moves around the court, but it doesn’t matter because his moves are flawless. It makes Atsumu’s jaw clench.
If Sakusa notices that Atsumu’s eyes are solely on him, he doesn’t let that show either.
When Sakusa serves, spikes, or receives the ball, it’s the same poses captured in the magazine. The same shots that Atsumu has jerked off over countless times. Atsumu’s entire body floods with molten heat as he watches, thinking of the endless fantasies he’s had about Sakusa that he never thought he’d be able to make a reality.
And then, suddenly, Sakusa looks over and instantly meets Atsumu’s gaze. Atsumu freezes, watching as Sakusa lifts the collar of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his lip, giving Atsumu a glimpse of his toned abs and that tantalizing trail of dark hair. Sakusa’s expression doesn’t change, and he breaks their eye contact just as quickly as he had initiated it.
“He’s good,” someone to Atsumu’s left side says.
Atsumu swallows down his surprise- and slight embarrassment- at being caught staring at Sakusa.
He glances at Inunaki, whose arms are crossed over his chest with his gaze on the court.
“He’s alright,” Atsumu relents, turning his attention back to the game too.
“He asked about you,” Inunamki replies, ignoring Atsumu’s dig.
“What?”
“He was talking to Meian earlier. Heard him ask if you were going to be on his team for any of the practice games.”
Atsumu doesn’t say anything. He can’t, because his eyes are trained on Sakusa. Sakusa. Not a boy anymore, but a man. A man, who Atsumu imagines likes being tied up. A man, who Atsumu imagines likes being told when to come.
Sakusa- now a man- who asks about Atsumu because he’s practically begging for Atsumu to notice him.
“I don’t keep up with college sports much,” Inunaki eventually says, breaking Atsumu out of his thoughts. “Wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew he’d be talented if we scouted him, but his personality, I mean.”
“Let me save ya the trouble. I knew him a bit in high school. He’s a real prick.”
As if on cue, Bokuto- who’s on Sakusa’s team- raises his hands to offer Sakusa double-high-fives and Sakusa blatantly ignores him.
Inunaki chuckles. “I don’t know. He kinda reminds me of you.”
Atsumu sends a look of disbelief Inunaki’s way. “When have I ever turned poor Bokkun down?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about when you first joined the team?”
Atsumu can already tell where Inunaki’s heading with this, so he lets out a long sigh.
Inunaki carries on, like expected. “I’ve never had an eighteen-year-old kid give me shit before. You were something else. Well, you still are. I don’t know, I think you and Sakusa are huge control freaks. Guess you just have the talent to back it up.”
Atsumu ignores the end of Inunaki’s spiel, his brain caught on control freaks. All the way back then, Sakusa was there to match Atsumu when he had tried to control the flow of the game. Atsumu enjoys to push, and push, and push; take, and take, and take. Yet, he senses that Sakusa wants the same thing.
How delicious it'll be when Atsumu breaks him, trains him, teaches him how to submit. He imagines Sakusa restrained and sweating, muscles strained and sore, hole abused and fluttering. He imagines wearing Sakusa down to the point of tears and drool pouring out of his mouth. He imagines Sakusa too exhausted to form words, but it doesn’t matter because Atsumu knows that this is what Sakusa has wanted this entire time.
Atsumu swallows thickly, realizing belatedly that Inunaki is still standing beside him. This time, Inunaki’s eyes are on him, slightly narrowed; assessing.
Atsumu clears his throat. “We’re not anythin’ alike.”
“Sure,” Inunaki chuckles. “You haven’t even talked to him all day.”
I already know he’s a fuckin’ asshole, Atsumu wants to say, but Inunaki walks away.
The practice game continues, and the next time Sakusa gets into position to receive the ball, Atsumu’s eyes tract where his hands bunch in the hem of his shorts and hikes them up. The view of Sakusa’s thick, sweat-slicked thighs makes it far too easy for Atsumu to imagine gripping them and holding them firmly in place as he fucks Sakusa incoherent. Sakusa’s strong, but Atsumu’s hold would be stronger. It would take the breath out of Sakusa’s lungs, because finally somebody would be able to manhandle him in the way he’s always wanted.
Distracting.
The game ends with Sakusa’s team winning and without Sakusa looking at Atsumu again. Atsumu hears Meian congratulate him, which Sakusa accepts with a curt nod before walking off.
“Circle up,” Meian calls out to the rest of the players. Atsumu blinks, then straightens his back.
Atsumu joins everyone in a semi-circle around Meian and Foster. They’re talking about their next practice, and Sakusa, or something. Atsumu’s not paying attention. Sakusa stands two players away from him, but he might as well be the only other person in the room. Atsumu steals glances at him; Sakusa’s cheeks are flushed, and his curls are slightly matted and sticking to his sweaty forehead. Every time Sakusa readjusts his stance, his brows knit together for a brief moment and his mouth falls open. Atsumu is slightly confused because it barely looked like Sakusa was breaking a sweat on the court, yet he now looks a little overwhelmed.
And still, as he tries to sneakily glance at Sakusa, Atsumu wonders how many times he has gotten off to Sakusa. Too many times to count. It’s his dirty little secret, and now Sakusa is standing a few feet away from him and he can hardly breathe. It’s embarrassing to be so affected by someone he hates so much. It was easier to compartmentalize it when Sakusa wasn’t so fucking close, but now Atsumu can’t stop thinking about his hands, his throat, his- his everything. All of it so prominently featured in his most debased fantasies. Atsumu feels like he’s boiling, and he can feel that he’s sweating through his shirt. If he doesn’t do something- anything- with all of this barely-contained energy he feels like he might die.
Foster dismisses them, probably, because players start dispersing. Atsumu both hates and loves that when Sakusa looks at him, Sakusa knows that Atsumu was already looking first.
Then Sakusa breezes by him, saying under his breath, “Shame I didn’t get to play around with you today. Would’ve loved seeing you try to keep up with me.”
And suddenly Atsumu thinks that he’s not crazy. Maybe Sakusa truly does want Atsumu in the same ugly, shameful way Atsumu wants him.
Atsumu grabs Sakusa’s wrist, forcing him to stand still. Atsumu feels the way Sakusa tenses. Oh, right. Sakusa’s weird about touch, or something. Atsumu doesn’t really care.
“Stay back and I’ll show ya,” Atsumu says, keeping his voice light.
Sakusa doesn’t say anything, just stares down at Atsumu with a gaze that could cut steel. Atsumu squeezes his wrist tighter, hoping it’ll pull some reaction out of him, but Sakusa doesn’t even flinch.
Meian walks by them, seemingly unaware of what’s happening, and says, “If you guys stay late to practice, at least clean up the storage closet.”
“Will do, Cap,” Atsumu says back. Sakusa’s expression morphs into a scowl, and he wrenches his wrist out of Atsumu’s grip.
“You better impress me,” Sakusa whispers before walking away, so low Atsumu almost didn’t catch it.
They don’t end up practicing, because Atsumu didn’t mean it like that and Sakusa seems to have known that from the start. It’s a wordless agreement, because as soon as every other player has gone home for the day, they silently walk toward the storage closet Meian mentioned.
Atsumu opens the door, not bothering to hold it open for Sakusa, who catches it with a curse and files in behind Atsumu. The closet is somewhat spacious, and dark. Atsumu doesn’t flick the light on and neither does Sakusa.
Atsumu keeps his back turned to Sakusa, now acutely aware of every subtle shift in Sakusa’s breathing. Sixteen-year-old Atsumu would’ve wanted to hit Sakusa the minute they were alone. Twenty-two-year-old Atsumu still entertains it; the satisfying crunch of Sakusa’s nose if Atsumu just turned around and decked him; the blood pouring out and Sakusa being hopeless to stop it. Atsumu's stomach rolls when a single thought floats through his mind.
Sakusa would look so pretty adorned with blood.
And Atsumu wants that. He wants to make a mess of Sakusa. He wants to show Sakusa that no matter what, he’s just Atsumu’s bitch.
Atsumu laughs. As he turns around, he starts to say, “I heard ya asked about-”
Sakusa’s closer than Atsumu was expecting. Like this, dark and looming, Atsumu suddenly feels small in comparison.
Atsumu never feels small. He never wants to feel small. But Sakusa steps closer, and Atsumu steps back until his back presses against the wall, and something like a thrill zips up Atsumu’s spine.
“You were planning this,” Sakusa says, his voice steady and measured. “Thinking about this all day, weren’t you? You thought you could get me alone, and then what?”
So they’re just…going there. All of Atsumu’s half-assed lead-ins and propositions go up in smoke. If Sakusa wants to go there, Atsumu will sure as hell go there too.
Atsumu laughs, bitter and humorless. “Could ask ya the same thing. You parade around that court like a whore and expect me not to notice.”
“It’s called playing volleyball, Miya,” Sakusa says, sounding bored. “You might want to learn a thing or two about that.”
Atsumu straightens, moving away from the wall and closer to Sakusa. Sakusa doesn’t move at all. They’re so close now that Atsumu can smell Sakusa’s cologne mixing with his sweat, heady and dirty and delicious.
“You don’t talk to me like that,” Atsumu mutters. “You’re the goddamn rookie.”
Atsumu’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and he can see the flat stare Sakusa gives him. Like he’s looking at a piece of furniture, or something as marginally interesting.
Sakusa says, “So your grand plan was to insult me. Get a rise out of me. Do you think anything through?”
Atsumu fucking hates him. He feels that hatred in every rampant thump of his heart, in every shake in his hands as he balls them into fists at his sides.
“Worked at trainin’ camp, didn’t it? Never seen anyone whine like that in my life,” Atsumu mocks.
“This isn’t training camp.”
“So?”
“So,” Sakusa presses. “I have a plug inside of me. Haven’t you noticed?”
Oh. Suddenly, it makes sense. The flush on Sakusa’s cheeks when he barely looked like he was breaking a sweat while playing. The soft exhales Sakusa let out when he moved. This entire time…Sakusa’s been stretching himself, teasing himself when he knew Atsumu would be watching. And he says it while sounding so bored, like Atsumu has no effect on him at all.
All at once, the blood drains from Atsumu’s face and pools into his cock. Atsumu doesn’t know if he’s ever gotten so hard so quickly, and his face burns.
Dammit. Atsumu wants to break him.
“You think I want you,” Sakusa continues, “is that it? Hoping I’ve been preparing myself for you?”
Atsumu scoffs, “You’re throwin’ yourself at me.”
“I don’t want you, Miya,” Sakusa says, low and rough. “I want to use you. You’re not good for anything else.”
Atsumu glares at him, his face hot. “Fuck you.”
“You can, if you beg for it.”
Atsumu despises how this conversation has gotten away from him. He reaches up and tangles his fist in Sakusa’s curls, tilting his face down. Sakusa hisses, but he doesn’t push him away. Atsumu says, “I don’t beg, sweetheart. You’re the desperate one.”
Sakusa’s exhales, his lips so close to Atsumu’s that he feels Sakusa’s breath on his cheek. Sakusa whispers, “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”
Atsumu’s heart thrashes in his chest, his grip on Sakusa’s hair tightening. He hopes it hurts. He twists his hand to ensure it.
“Wanna know what I think?” Atsumu asks, a slow smirk forming on his lips. “I think ya like when I’m rough with you. I think ya nearly came in yer pants when I shoved ya at trainin’ camp, Omi-kun.”
For a moment, they just stare at each other. Atsumu feels the tension mounting with every agonizing second of silence. Sakusa’s gaze is intense and searching, like he’s truly considering Atsumu’s words. And just as the last of Atsumu’s sanity is about to snap, Sakusa tips forward and crashes his lips against Atsumu’s.
Atsumu groans, an almost euphoric feeling bubbling in his chest. Sakusa broke first, and it tastes sweeter than any punch could.
Sakusa drives Atsumu into the wall, and the air whooshes out of Atsumu’s lungs. Suddenly, Atsumu tastes blood, and he realizes he bit Sakusa’s lip in surprise. If Sakusa’s put off, he doesn’t show it. He presses into the kiss with tongue, and Atsumu greedily follows him, tasting metallic and whatever toothpaste Sakusa uses. Atsumu feels Sakusa’s hands twitch when he goes to touch Atsumu, and then they settle on his hips, hiking his shirt up.
Atsumu sighs at the first brush of Sakusa’s cold hands on his skin, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin. Atsumu lets Sakusa pry his shirt off, and Atsumu returns the favor. Now that the kiss is broken, Atsumu moves his mouth to Sakusa’s neck. Sakusa sighs, long and low into Atsumu’s ear, as Atsumu nips at the tender flesh of his neck.
That frenzied need is back; the need to mark Sakusa; the need to own him.
Atsumu sinks his teeth into Sakusa’s skin, nipping and sucking to make the nastiest bruise on his neck. Sakusa inhales sharply, but he presses even closer to Atsumu, all hot skin on hot skin.
What a good slut, taking what I give you.
Atsumu can’t say it out loud, not when his mouth is occupied, but he feels the way Sakusa melts against him and knows that Sakusa must understand all the same. After forming another mark, Atsumu returns to the one he already made and latches onto it again just to hurt him. Sakusa whimpers, and the sound goes straight to Atsumu’s cock.
“Fuck,” Atsumu groans when Sakusa nudges a thigh between Atsumu’s legs. “Get on yer hands and knees. I’m gonna fuck ya.”
Instead of doing what Atsumu asks, Sakusa kicks his ankles and shoves him down. Atsumu loses his balance and falls on his ass. During the fall, he accidentally kicks a broom over, and he hears how it clatters to the ground. For a moment, his head spins and he feels the distant ache of his tailbone.
“That’s funny,” Sakusa says. He kneels and tugs at Atsumu’s shorts, pulling the hem down just enough for his cock to bob free.
“You’re leaking,” Sakusa comments lightly. “Did you come already?”
Heat sears up the back of Atsumu’s neck, and he can hardly breathe. Fuck.
Before Atsumu can even form a coherent thought beyond his embarrassment, Sakusa’s hand circles around his cock and gives it a firm tug.
“Hmpf- Shit,” Atsumu groans, dropping his head back against the wall with a thunk. It’s too easy to get lost in the almost-too-dry drag of Sakusa’s hand, his grip tight and bordering on painful.
It feels good. It feels dangerously good that Sakusa is practically looming over him as he jerks him off and Atsumu hates Sakusa for it. Atsumu’s not supposed to like this, and he’s so mortified that he has to squeeze his eyes shut.
Then Sakusa’s hand is gone, and Atsumu sucks in a gust of air. He looks at Sakusa, who has gotten his own shorts off. Due to the sliver of light leaking in through the bottom of the closet door, Atsumu sees the outline of the plug as Sakusa pulls it out of himself. Atsumu’s stomach flutters when he hears the lewd squelching of the lube. God, just how much did Sakusa use?
Atsumu hears a condom wrapper rip and feels Sakusa roll the condom over his cock. Atsumu’s stomach is too much of a distracting mess of butterflies for him to have even half a mind to ask Sakusa where he produced the condom from. Then Sakusa kneels over Atsumu’s lap and reaches for his cock.
“No,” Atsumu says, batting his hands away. “No, I’m fucking you.”
“Hmm, I don’t think so. Your dick doesn’t even look big enough.”
Atsumu glares up at him. “I hate you.”
Sakusa grabs his cock again, and Atsumu groans when Sakusa gives him a hard tug.
“Doesn’t feel like it,” Sakusa says evenly.
“You’re a di-”
Sakusa kisses him again, roughly. Atsumu opens his mouth to accommodate Sakusa’s hot tongue pressing in again, and breathes harshly through his nose. The scent of sex and sweat fills his nostrils and it’s hard to focus on anything else.
Sakusa’s hands move to Atsumu’s shoulders, and Atsumu’s eyes close again when he feels his cock press against Sakusa’s hole. That’s all the warning he gets before Sakusa starts to sink down. It’s so warm, and so wet, and still so tight despite the plug, that Atsumu's mouth stills against Sakusa’s. He can’t breathe; he’s suffocating.
Sakusa takes shaky, little breaths, and Atsumu hopes Sakusa feels the burn of the stretch. Not big enough? When it’s practically splitting you open?
If Atsumu could breathe he would say that, but he can do nothing but place his hands on Sakusa’s thighs, his fingers smoothing over the compression sleeves Sakusa wears on his legs.
It’s gross, running his hands over the unclean fabric, but something about Sakusa being so desperate he didn’t fully undress is also so nauseatingly hot that Atsumu feels his cock throb inside of Sakusa.
Once Sakusa’s fully seated, he leans back to look at Atsumu. Atsumu’s eyes fly up to meet his gaze. Sakusa’s thumb drags over Atsumu’s bottom lip, and he almost looks fascinated. “Judging by your expression I thought you were going to come as soon as I sank down.”
Atsumu scowls at him, but his traitorous cock twitches. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Sakusa huffs out a laugh. “I bet you think you’re so generous. What, do you always let the other person come first? Does that make you feel good, Atsumu?”
Atsumu’s face flushes at the use of his first name. Shit, he can’t let Sakusa get to him. He slides his hands up Sakusa’s thighs, his thumbs brushes over the crease where his thighs meet his hips. “Generous is me lettin’ ya fuck yourself on my cock. If ya come first, well, I wouldn’t blame ya.”
Atsumu tightens his grip on Sakusa’s hips, pressing his fingers deeper into Sakusa’s skin so that’ll bruise too. He bucks his own hips up, drawing a noise from the back of Sakusa’s throat.
“So, that’s how it is,” Sakusa muses. Sakusa’s hands move from Atsumu’s face and circle around his wrists. Sakusa doesn’t scare him, so he lets Sakusa take his hands from Sakusa’s hips and pin them against the wall behind him. “When I make you come first, I don’t want you getting in the way.”
A challenge. Atsumu can more than work with that.
Atsumu smirks. “It’ll be amusin’ to watch ya try.”
Sakusa’s expression hardens, and he lifts his hips and slams back down, punching a breath out of both of them. And just like that, he sets a fast pace, bouncing on Atsumu’s cock in a way that makes Atsumu’s toes curl. Atsumu drops his head against the wall again, drinking in every change in Sakusa’s expression and the bruises starting to form on his neck. Sakusa squeezes his eyes shut, tipping his head back.
Sakusa may have Atsumu’s hands pinned, but Atsumu is still able to move his hips. He thrusts his hips to meet Sakusa’s pace, earning a gasp from Sakusa before Sakusa bites down on his own lip to silence himself.
“Feels good, yeah?” Atsumu goads, but his own cock aches inside of Sakusa. Shit, Sakusa is even tighter and hotter inside than Atsumu had ever imagined.
Sakusa’s hands tighten around Atsumu’s wrists as he opens his eyes and looks down at Atsumu. “Forgot you were even here.”
Any insult dies on Atsumu’s tongue when Sakusa grinds down, his back arching.
Atsumu groans, his hips twitching as he tries to bury himself deeper inside.
“Mmm,” Sakusa sighs. “Finally found a way to shut you up.”
Sakusa lets go of Atsumu’s wrists and Atsumu takes the opportunity to grab the curls toward Sakusa’s nape again, pulling his hair. Sakusa gasps, exposing the long column of his neck. Atsumu leans forward and starts leaving another mark.
“No one talks to me like that,” Atsumu mutters against his skin. “Keep fucking yourself on my cock.” He smirks when Sakusa complies, lifting his own hips and slamming back down without any help from Atsumu.
“You like it, don’t you?” Sakusa asks, sounding breathless. “The way I talk to you gets you off and you don’t even know it. You’re pathetic.”
Atsumu’s stomach lurches; maybe Atsumu is the broken one if Sakusa’s words just make him impossibly harder; maybe he’s beyond fucked up if he’s never been spoken to like that before but it’s pleasurable instead of a turn-off. Instead of answering, Atsumu asks, “You’re the fuckin’ masochist. I tell ya I hate you and you take my cock like a whore.”
“I think you’re disgusting,” Sakusa says, contradictory to the way he’s riding Atsumu’s cock. “Nasty. Foul. But I-” Sakusa lets out a low moan, and Atsumu realizes he must have brushed against his prostate. “I can’t do this with anyone else. I’d let you hit me and you’d let me humiliate you. You’re just as fucked up.”
Just as Atsumu didn’t think he had any more threads to snap, Sakusa finds another and rips it. Atsumu grabs Sakusa’s waist, his heart rate spiking when he sees that his hands almost circle completely around it, and shoves Sakusa off of him.
Sakusa looks panicked when he hits the floor, and his arms flail to try to catch himself but all he does is knock over a mop bucket. The bucket falls with a splash and the sound of the mop hitting the floor. Sakusa grimaces, and Atsumu wonders how gross the dirty storage room floor feels on his sweat-slicked skin. Atsumu doesn’t think for long, moving instead to roughly flip Sakusa over and pull his hips up and toward Atsumu.
“Yeah?” Atsumu goads, his heart thumping so hard it makes his ears ring. “You’d let me hit you?”
Sakusa doesn’t protest before Atsumu smacks his hand down hard against Sakusa’s ass. Sakusa gasps, his cheek biting into the floor.
“Wanted to do this at trainin’ camp,” Atsumu mutters, bringing his hand down again. Sakusa whimpers, his eyes squeezing shut. Atsumu hopes he can’t even sit down to drive home after this. “Wanted to do this all goddamn day.”
Atsumu hits him again, and again, and again, until Sakusa’s mouth is hung open and it sounds like he’s gasping just to take in enough air to stay conscious. Then Atsumu kneads his ass and spreads his cheeks, bringing his face down so he can lick a strip up Sakusa’s hole.
Sakusa moans loudly, and Atsumu can feel Sakusa’s thighs quiver with the effort to keep his back arched. Atsumu’s own heart feels like it’s threatening to beat right out of his chest as all of the lube Sakusa used gets all over his lips and chin. He thrusts his tongue into the tight hole, knowing how good he’s making Sakusa feel.
“Mmm,” Atsumu moans, making a show of it. Right now, Sakusa’s so wet and is moaning so wantonly that he really is Atsumu’s bitch.
When his tongue gets tired, Atsumu moves his mouth away from Sakusa’s fluttering hole and starts sucking and biting at the tender flesh of Sakusa’s ass. Sakusa makes little ah ah ah! noises and Atsumu can’t help but grin against his skin. Sakusa said it himself; Atsumu is the only one who gets to have Sakusa like this; the only one who gets to bite and hit him and Sakusa wants all of it.
Atsumu fucking knew it; Sakusa’s nothing but Atsumu’s little slut.
Sakusa blinks up at him with big, glassy eyes and suddenly nothing else in the world matters to Atsumu except the man underneath him that’s practically begging to be fucked. Sakusa’s wet hole is glistening even in the darkness and his ass is covered in bite marks. Fuck, he’s a sight. Atsumu is so turned on it hurts.
So, he spreads Sakusa’s asscheeks again and slides his cock into him, his breath caught in his throat at how obscene it is to watch Sakusa’s hole swallow his cock. Atsumu isn’t nice about it. He doesn’t give Sakusa a moment to breathe or adjust or do anything before he thrusts into Sakusa so hard that he’s sure Sakusa’s cheek will bleed from scraping against the floor.
Sakusa lets out a strangled sound, and Atsumu reaches around to grab his cock. It’s hard, and hot, and hangs heavy between his legs. Atsumu drapes himself over Sakusa’s back and leans close as he fucks him.
“I’m the only one who would touch ya like this,” Atsumu whispers. “You’re disgusting.”
Atsumu feels Sakusa’s cock jump in his hand as he suddenly spills over it. Sakusa moans, louder than he has since this started, and Atsumu jerks him off through it.
Atsumu did it. He made Sakusa come first. He’s so high on it that he laughs out loud.
Once Sakusa’s finished, Atsumu pulls out roughly and lets him go without a care. Sakusa slumps, a low groan rumbling out of his chest. Atsumu grabs the nearest rag and wipes his hand on it before tossing it away.
“What was that about usin’ me?” Atsumu asks. “You’re just my fuckin’ cocksleeve.”
Sakusa chuckles, saying, “Get off yourself then.”
Atsumu glares down at Sakusa, at his sweaty, used body.
Sakusa’s eyes grow hooded as he slowly moves and crawls over to Atsumu. Atsumu backs up until he’s pressed against the wall again.
“No, because you need me to get you off,” Sakusa purrs, placing his hands on Atsumu’s knees. They twitch, then slide higher up Atsumu’s thighs, leaving little trails of fire wherever they touch. Atsumu gulps, staring up at Sakusa. Like this, Sakusa looks huge, and Atsumu’s spine tingles as his face burns.
“Let me help you, baby,” Sakusa leans close to whisper at the same time he grabs Atsumu’s cock. Atsumu sighs at the tickling sensation of Sakusa’s breath against his ear and the steady cadence of Sakusa’s voice.
Sakusa doesn’t remove the condom before he starts to jerk Atsumu off, so agonizing slow that Atsumu goes to grab his wrist to make him hurry the fuck up. He’s so close, he just needs-
“Don’t touch me,” Sakusa hisses, latching onto Atsumu’s wrist with his free hand and pushing it away. “Touch me and I won’t get you off.”
“Shit,” Atsumu exhales, biting his lip and forcing his hands to stay at his sides. He glances up at Sakusa, who looks so bored again.
Everything- Sakusa’s even voice, his commands, the disinterested way he’s looking at Atsumu- is suddenly sending Atsumu closer to the edge instead of turning him off. No, no. Atsumu doesn’t want to like this, doesn’t want to be into this.
The way I talk to you gets you off and you don’t even know it.
Atsumu is mortified that Sakusa is right. In this moment, it feels good to rise to the challenge of keeping still every time Sakusa’s thumb brushes over the tip and his cock aches; it feels good to give control over to Sakusa.
“Like that, Atsumu,” Sakusa says. “Knew you’d be easy like this.”
Atsumu makes an embarrassing whine in the back of his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see Sakusa’s face. His heart is beating so hard and all the blood is rushing south; Atsumu’s light-headed, lost in the slow drag of Sakusa’s hand.
“Fuck,” Atsumu says through the lump in his throat. “I’m close, I’m-”
“Already?” Sakusa asks, sounding disappointed. Atsumu bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, anything to stop another whine from slipping out. Sakusa says, “I might jerk you off the way you want if you say please, Atsumu.”
Atsumu shakes his head quickly, but he feels his cock throb in Sakusa’s hand. And then Sakusa’s hand stills, and Atsumu lets out a sob at the loss.
Atsumu opens his eyes, blinking the haze out of them and, once again, his heart skips a beat at how big Sakusa looks looming over him.
“No?” Sakusa says, smirking. “I’m not touching you until you do.”
Atsumu has never, not once in his life, said please to the person he’s sleeping with. It’s usually the opposite. It goes against every sick fantasy he’s had regarding Sakusa.
And yet…and yet…Atsumu does need Sakusa to get off; he needs that firm, calloused hand; he needs that bored, almost clinical voice Sakusa’s speaking to him with. He hates Sakusa for doing this to him; he hates himself for wanting this.
Atsumu’s cheeks are scorched as he finally whispers, “Please.”
But Sakusa doesn’t touch him, and Atsumu’s stomach clenches so hard he feels sick.
“Please what?” Sakusa asks.
Atsumu lets out small, panicked breaths. He’s fighting desperately to hold onto his last sense of control, but he’s- he’s so hard that he can’t think properly. Right now, all he wants is for Sakusa to touch him again. He’ll do anything. Even-
“Please touch me, Omi. Fuck, please.”
Just as Atsumu is sure he’s going to suffocate over the sob he’s holding in, Sakusa grabs his cock again and starts jerking him off tight and fast. Exactly the same way Atsumu would jerk himself off when thinking about Sakusa. Atsumu gasps, his entire body trembling as his pleasure spikes again.
“See how good it feels when you give everything to me?” Sakusa asks, but Atsumu can barely hear him over his heart beat pounding in his ears. “What a good boy.”
Atsumu comes so hard and so suddenly that he almost blacks out. He’s moaning and gasping so loudly that he feels like he has zero control over his own reactions.
Atsumu is used to owning; the court, the players, his partners. Now, though, Atsumu is the one that feels owned.
Maybe, with Sakusa, Atsumu is allowed to experience both.
When Atsumu finally stops coming, he feels like he’s floating. He barely registers Sakusa rolling the condom off, tying it up, and setting it down somewhere. And then Sakusa slumps against the wall beside Atsumu.
They’re quiet for a few minutes, and Atsumu listens to the sounds of their breaths evening out. Atsumu can hardly believe what just happened, but his thoughts are still too hazy to process.
“This floor is filthy,” Sakusa says eventually, breaking the silence. Atsumu smiles, slow and sleepy; he knew Sakusa would be pissed about it the minute he stopped feeling good.
“Why’d ya join this team?” Atsumu asks out of nowhere, his curiosity getting the best of him.
“So I could fuck you.”
Atsumu looks at him, brows shooting up.
Sakusa smirks. “At least, that’s what you want me to say.”
Atsumu stares up at the ceiling. “I hate you.”
Sakusa chuckles. “Sorry, but I don’t make life decisions based on Miya Atsumu. I went with the team that performed the best last year. We’ll perform even better with me on the team.”
Asshole, Atsumu thinks begrudgingly. Atsumu smooths his thumb over his left wrist, feeling how sore it is. “Christ, ya hurt my wrists.”
“You hurt my everything.”
Atsumu laughs, then he lets out a long sigh. He presses his thumb into the thin skin of his wrist and his stomach flips at the dull ache. “It feels good.”
“Yeah. It does.”
“Ya know,” Atsumu says slowly. “So much talk about how I play and I’ve never actually set to ya.”
“No, you haven’t.”
Atsumu stands, reaching for his clothes. “Wanna get cleaned up and practice for real?” After he’s dressed, he glances at the mess they’ve made of the storage closet; brooms and mops knocked all over the place; the dirty rag and the used condom. With a chuckle, he reaches a hand out to Sakusa. “And then, ya know, actually clean the storage closet?”
Sakusa stares at Atsumu’s hand, and then moves his gaze to Atsumu. Sakusa grabs his hand, and this time it doesn’t tremble as he touches Atsumu.
As he pulls Sakusa up and sees the dried blood on his lip, such a pretty sight, Atsumu knows he doesn’t hate Sakusa. Not really. He has a sneaking suspicion that next time, preferably in the privacy of one of their own bedrooms, Atsumu will be able to explore the new dichotomy he’s discovered he enjoys and Sakusa will be right along with him. They’re control freaks, but it seems like giving up control to each other might be too good to pass up doing again and again.