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Kiyoomi wakes to the sound of someone knocking vigorously on his bedroom door. He slowly blinks his eyes open, wincing when he’s immediately hit with a pounding headache. Okay, he definitely shouldn’t have let Bokuto rope him into drinking so much last night.
A low groan escapes him when the knocking doesn’t stop. Kiyoomi lets it go on for a few more seconds, praying that the person at his door will give up and leave, but the sharp sound of knuckles on wood only grows more persistent. He curses under his breath and throws off his covers, a shiver escaping him at the sudden chill.
Kiyoomi’s bare feet pad against the floor as he goes to answer the door, and of course, of course, Miya Atsumu’s the one standing on the other side of it. Sometimes, Kiyoomi swears that Atsumu’s only purpose in life is to annoy him as much as humanly possible: whether that be by nagging him to go out, or constantly calling him by that idiotic nickname, or, currently, waking him up at the ass crack of dawn.
“What?” Kiyoomi forces out as he rubs sleep from his eye, already expecting Atsumu to pout and make some complaint about his tone of voice. A few seconds of silence stretch out, and in that time Atsumu’s eyes dart around Kiyoomi’s face, as if searching for something particular.
“‘Msosorry,” Atsumu eventually says in one big breath. His head is downcast to the floor, his shoulders hunched like he’s trying to hide himself. “I dunno how it got out, but. . . I don’tー’m so sorry, Omi,” he repeats.
Kiyoomi resists the urge to slam the door in his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs; it is way too early for him to be dealing with Atsumu’s half witted pranks, or whatever he’s trying to do right now. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Atsumu raises his head to meet Kiyoomi’s eyes, expression equal parts confused and something else, something unnamable that has Kiyoomi swallowing thickly. “Ya mean, ya haven’t seen it?”
Kiyoomi crosses his arms over his chest, his annoyance growing. “Seen what?”
When Atsumu doesn’t reply, he continues, “I swear to god, Miya, if you woke me up for this shit I’m seriously going to kill you.”
Atsumu’s eyes widen as he runs a hand through his hair. Kiyoomi tears his gaze away the second he realizes that he’s following the movement. “Oh, I. . . okay then. Nevermind, I guess.” Atsumu tries to give one of his signature grins, but it ends up looking more forced than usual. All the while, Kiyoomi’s glaring at him, eyebrow raised in an attempt to mask his confusion as impatience.
There’s a brief moment where Kiyoomi thinks that Atsumu’s about to say something more, but he just squares his shoulders, spins on his heel, and walks off towards his own room. Kiyoomi’s still staring at the spot where Atsumu had just been when he hears a door slam distantly in the background.
Kiyoomi manages another two hours of sleep before he wakes up for the second time. He’s chosen not to dwell on his earlier interaction with Atsumu 一 knowing him, there’s probably some characteristically stupid reason for the way he’d been acting.
When Kiyoomi goes to the kitchen to make himself breakfast, he’s surprised to find Hinata and Bokuto sitting at the counter; the whole team has a rest day today, and the two of them usually go to the gym with Atsumu first thing in the morning. Their animated chatter 一 which Kiyoomi could hear from his bedroom 一 immediately stops when they lay eyes on him.
Okay. Weird.
He gives them a nod in greeting as he makes his coffee, waiting for them to start talking again. When they don’t, he turns his chin over his shoulder to find them staring at him, eyes comically wide.
Bokuto clears his throat. “You’re acting normal.”
“Yes, I am,” Kiyoomi replies, dimly wondering why everyone is acting so strange today. “Am I not supposed to be?”
“No! It’s just,” Hinata cuts in, swirling his spoon in his cereal bowl, “considering what happened, we thought you’d be more. . .”
“Affected,” continues Bokuto. “Weirded out. Angry, even.”
Kiyoomi turns around so that he’s facing them and takes a slow sip from his mug. “First Miya, and now you two. Is anyone going to tell me why you’re all acting so abnormal, or am I just supposed to figure it out on my own?”
“You mean, you saw Atsumu already?”
Another sip of his coffee, smaller this time. “If you count him pounding on my door at six in the morning as seeing him, then yes, I did.”
“And did he say anything to you? About, y’know. . .” Hinata makes a vague gesture to Kiyoomi. No, Kiyoomi wants to say, I do not, in fact, know.
“About what?”
“Wait, what did he talk to you about?”
“He apologized about something, and after I told him that I had no idea what he was talking about, he left and went back to his room.” Kiyoomi narrows his eyes when he sees them looking away guiltily. “You two know what he was talking about, don’t you?”
Neither of them say anything, which is answer enough.
“Tell me.” Kiyoomi is not usually one to care about ‘being in on the joke’, or however it’s supposed to be phrased, but something tells him that there’s a deeper level to this. “Tell me,” he repeats, and when that doesn’t work, “If you guys don’t tell me what’s going on right now, I swear I’m never cleaning the bathroom again.”
“Okay, okay!” Bokuto says, throwing his palms up defensively. “But you have to promise not to tell Atsumu that we’re the ones who told you.”
That only piques Kiyoomi’s curiosity further. “We’ll see.”
A pause that seems to stretch on and on, then: “His sex tape got leaked this morning.”
A very, very bad feeling takes root in Kiyoomi’s stomach. “And what does that have to do with me?”
Bokuto and Hinata share a nervous look. “You should probably watch it for yourself; I don't think Sho and I can properly put it into words.”
An hour later Kiyoomi finds himself locked in his bedroom, laptop perched on his thighs. Hinata and Bokuto left ages ago, purposefully telling him that they wouldn’t be back for a few hours, and Atsumu is still nowhere to be found. In other words, Kiyoomi is completely, one-hundred percent alone.
In a lot of ways, Atsumu making a sex tape makes sense; from what Kiyoomi hears through their shared wall, Atsumu is nothing short of loud in bed, always begging for “faster, harder, deeper, more,” and making all those wrecked, high sounds.
What doesn’t make sense is Kiyoomi sitting on his bed, thumb hovering over the ‘enter’ key, ridiculously close to searching up ‘Miya Atsumu sex tape’.
Kiyoomi’s not stupid; he’s (maybe a little too) aware that Atsumu’s a fairly attractive guy, what with his tanned skin and the tongue he can never seem to keep in his mouth, which only makes things ten times worse. He just. . . he can’t help but feel like he’s crossing a line, especially when his cock is already half hard out of sheer anticipation.
Hinata and Bokuto have already watched it, a tiny voice in his head reasons, so what’s one more person? And judging by everyone’s reactions, it has something to do with you, so it’s only natural for you to be curious about it. Just watch it, Kiyoomi. If you don’t tell anyone, no one will know.
And that tiny little push is all Kiyoomi needs to hit ‘enter’.
He’s a little surprised by the thousands of results he’s instantly met with; he knew people viewed Atsumu as one of the hotter pro athletes, but Kiyoomi had no idea it was to this extent. A surprising amount of the videos are people cosplaying as Atsumu, shitty blond wig and all, but Kiyoomi’s eyes catch on the very first link.
Despite the thumbnail being all black, Kiyoomi can tell it’s the one; it was only posted four hours ago, and yet it has well over a million views. Not wanting to give himself time to think rationally about it, he clicks on it and leans back a little as he watches it begin.
It starts off with Atsumu fully clothed, and Kiyoomi would think he’s alone if not for the low sound of another man speaking off camera. Kiyoomi holds back a choked noise when he realizes that Atsumu’s wearing his MSBY uniform, the fabric straining against his thighs. Atsumu’s lying on his back, legs spread slightly, a noticeable tent in his shorts as he squirms. “Hurry up,” he cries.
The man out of frame chuckles, and Kiyoomi doesn’t recognize his voice. A small part of him is grateful for that; he’s not sure how he’d feel watching the sex tape of two people he knows.
“You’re desperate tonight,” the man states, his voice sending a violent shiver down Atsumu’s spine. “You wanna be fucked that bad?” His voice is bored, disinterested, and Atsumu must be into that because he arches his back, a bead of sweat running down his neck.
Atsumu whines something unintelligible, the sound of his breathless voice making Kiyoomi’s cock twitch in his pants. He glances down to find himself fully hard, hand curled into a fist with the effort it takes to not touch himself. For some reason, touching himself is like giving in; like admitting that his attraction to Atsumu isn’t as under control as he thinks.
“Yes,” Atsumu rasps, breathless as he starts to palm himself over his clothes. “So get to it.”
Kiyoomi involuntarily leans forward, the thought that he really wants to see Atsumu’s dick momentarily passing over him. He quickly checks himself though, hot shame flooding his features.
“Okay, okay,” says the man, his voice getting closer to the microphone. Kiyoomi’s filled with a desperate need to know who it is; to know who Atsumu would let speak to him like that. “You’ve already prepped yourself, yeah?” he continues as he steps into the shot.
Kiyoomi immediately freezes. Blinks once. Twice. Rewinds the tape by a few seconds and plays the scene again. When nothing changes, he’s suddenly very aware of why Atsumu had apologized to him this morning, and why Hinata and Bokuto had been acting so awkward.
Because standing in the middle of the frame, mouth sucking bruises onto Atsumu’s neck, is Kiyoomi.
Not literally him, of course; he’s pretty sure he’d remember something like making a fucking sex tape with Miya Atsumu. But whoever that is has done a damn good job of impersonating him, from the head of black curls to ー Kiyoomi notices with a start ー an exact replica of his MSBY jersey. The more Kiyoomi looks at the guy, the more striking the resemblance seems ー in fact, when the man turns his back to the camera to pull Atsumu’s shorts down, it looks like. . . like Kiyoomi’s about to fuck Atsumu.
The image has Kiyoomi’s entire body burning a million degrees hotter. He stifles a gasp as he sneaks a hand past the waistband of his pants, finally gripping himself. Kiyoomi doesn’t. . . this is. . . what the fuck?
The man ー Kiyoomi ー starts to pull his jersey over his head, but Atsumu stops him by gripping his wrist. “Keep it on,” he says, voice ragged. The man hesitates, but eventually nods with his lips pursed.
Kiyoomi’s touches start to get sloppier as Atsumu’s underwear and shorts come off, his jersey shoved up past his nipples. His body is perfect, and Kiyoomi’s so focused on committing every inch of it to memory that he doesn’t see the other man pulling his hard cock out. (In the back of his mind, Kiyoomi notes that he’s bigger than him; he would fill Atsumu up so much more.)
He slides inside Atsumu in one slow thrust, and the sight of Atsumu hole stretching around his cock has Kiyoomi’s stomach tightening, threatening an orgasm. And just as Kiyoomi thinks he’s about to stave it off, just when he thinks he might be able to recover from this experience with his dignity intact, Atsumu throws his head back against the mattress, eyes closed, and moans, “Fuck, Omi.”
Kiyoomi’s orgasm hits him unexpectedly . His entire body shakes, the sounds of Atsumu getting fucked, the sounds of Atsumu moaning Kiyoomi’s name, still playing in the background.
Still a little dazed, Kiyoomi slams his laptop shut, and the consequential silence is a little deafening.
What.
The.
Fuck?
There is no way that just happened, and yet the come drying in Kiyoomi’s underwear feels a little too real to ignore. He crinkles his nose and stands up to go take a shower, legs like jelly.
The first thought that crosses his mind is that he can never let anyone find out about this. The second is that Atsumu apologized to him this morning, and you don’t apologize for things that you didn’t cause.
The realization that Atsumu was the one who initiated the whole random-man-dressing-as-Kiyoomi-and-fucking-him-to-death hits Kiyoomi a little late, but it knocks the breath out of him just the same.
Oh, god, Kiyoomi thinks as he narrowly avoids getting soap in his eye, Miya’s attracted to me.
The notion doesn’t repulse Kiyoomi nearly as much as it should. In fact, he finds himself liking it.
Oh, god, Kiyoomi thinks as he narrowly avoids getting soap in his eye, I’m attracted to Miya.
The next week serves as a bit of a personal hell for Kiyoomi. He notices things about Atsumu he’d never paid attention to before, like the way he lifts his shirt up to wipe sweat off his forehead, revealing a hard stomach that makes Kiyoomi salivate. How his thighs flex when he bends into a squat, putting images in Kiyoomi’s mind of how they would look trembling with pleasure as he swallows Atsumu’s cock.
Atsumu manages to act surprisingly normal, considering he has a sex tape where he pretends to fuck Kiyoomi. For some reason, he continues calling Kiyoomi ‘Omi’, except now the nickname feels tainted. Kiyoomi’s reactions to it definitely aren’t what they used to be, but if Atsumu notices, he doesn’t comment; just furrows his eyebrows and forgets what he’s going to say next.
Kiyoomi knew that everything would come out eventually; he just didn’t think it would be tonight.
He and Atsumu are lying on the couch, watching some dumbass action movie. Hinata and Bokuto are out on a double date with their boyfriends, so it’s just the two of them tonight. Empty bottles of beer lie discarded all around them, and Kiyoomi tells himself that the alcohol is the sole reason for his lowered guard.
“Ya know, they could at least try ta make it more realistic,” Atsumu says, gesturing to the screen. The two of them had been sitting in relative silence for the past hour, so Kiyoomi jolts a little.
On screen, there’s a rather bad, out of place sex scene playing; the female lead is being eaten out in an alleyway, though she looks more like she’s being stabbed to death than experiencing pleasure.
“I guess so,” Kiyoomi replies, averting eye contact. He still hasn’t reached the point of being able to look Atsumu in the eye and act like he hasn’t seen him completely naked.
“‘Ya guess so’? Omi, ya’ve been actin’ super weird lately. ‘S everythin’ okay?” Atsumu asks, setting his drink down on the coffee table.
Kiyoomi tenses. Briefly, he registers that this is very, very dangerous. “I’m fine, Miya. Just watch the movie.”
But because it’s Atsumu, and he’s never one to drop anything, he pushes. “Not ‘til ya tell me what’s goin’ on. I swear, ever since last Tuesday, it’s like. . .” Atsumu trails off, his face paling. “Ya watched it, didn’t ya?”
Kiyoomi says nothing. He thinks he sees Atsumu wince.
“Shit. Ohmygod, ya did, didn’t ya? Fuck, Omiー why?” Atsumu’s rambling now, eyes wide as he tugs a hand roughly through his hair. “Please don’t kill me,” he adds in a small voice, gaze anywhere but Kiyoomi.
This is the turning point, that tiny voice in Kiyoomi’s head says again. If you want, you can brush it off; go forward pretending like it never happened. Or. . .
“I’m not going to kill you,” Kiyoomi says.
“Yer. . . yer not?” Atsumu’s voice is a little disbelieving, but it’s not like Kiyoomi blames him; he never acts like this, and especially not around Atsumu.
“No,” says Kiyoomi. “And I watched it becauseー” Atsumu’s hanging off his every word, and Kiyoomi might be imagining it but he swears Atsumu shuffles a little closer to him, “ーbecause I wanted to.”
Atsumu licks his lips, watching as Kiyoomi hungrily follows the movement. “And what’d ya think?”
“I could do better,” Kiyoomi replies, because fuck being coy. He wants Atsumu so much he feels like he’s about to explode, and something in his gut tells him that Atsumu shares the sentiment.
All the air gets sucked out of the room as Atsumu whispers, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
And then Atsumu’s grabbing Kiyoomi’s collar, practically throwing himself over to sit on Kiyoomi’s lap as he pulls him into a kiss. Kiyoomi’s squeak of surprise quickly fades into one of pleasure at the feeling of Atsumu’s soft lips against his own.
It starts off tame, chaste even ー each one giving the other time to pull away. But when they both stay rooted in place, Kiyoomi hears the shattering of their resolve.
Kiyoomi whimpers ー whimpers ー when Atsumu pushes his tongue past his teeth, licking up into the roof of his mouth. He tastes like those stupid cherry lollipops he’s always sucking on, and Kiyoomi finds himself already getting addicted to the taste.
Atsumu’s experienced, and it shows with the way he’s smiling against Kiyoomi’s mouth. Smug bastard, thinks Kiyoomi, and he would say it out loud except he doesn’t want to pull away from their rough kiss until he absolutely has to. Wanting to take back some of the control, Kiyoomi fists a hand in Atsumu’s hair and pulls.
He doesn’t expect the high moan Atsumu lets out against his lips, but he certainly relishes in it.
Kiyoomi pulls away to gulp down air, Atsumu immediately leaning forward, trying to capture his lips in a kiss again. “You like it rough, huh, Miya?” Kiyoomi mumbles, running his hands up and down the lean expanse of Atsumu’s torso. It hits him that they’re wearing way too many clothes.
Atsumu responds by grinding his ass down on Kiyoomi’s half hard cock. It’s so sudden that Kiyoomi’s eyes flutter closed in pleasure, but they quickly snap open when Atsumu bites down on his neck hard enough to bruise. The pain sends a sharp warmth to his belly, making Kiyoomi’s cock twitch in his shorts. Atsumu apologetically licks over the wound, giving it a final kiss before he’s drawing his head up again.
Atsumu smiles down at Kiyoomi, and having to look up at him is doing weird things to Kiyoomi’s lungs. “Yeah, and so do ya,” he responds.
Kiyoomi would roll his eyes if he wasn’t so turned on. Kiyoomi’s hand tightens in Atsumu’s hair, and he uses his grip as leverage to pull their faces into another kiss. He bites down on Atsumu’s bottom lip while his other hand squeezes Atsumu’s hip.
Even through his clothes, Atsumu’s skin is hot.
“Thought ‘bout this for so long,” Atsumu says as he starts to pepper kisses down Kiyoomi’s jaw. “Yer so hot, Omi, sometimes I swear yer tryna kill me.” Atsumu’s voice is muffled because his mouth is pressed against Kiyoomi’s pale collarbone, and he punctuates his words with another grind down.
Kiyoomi’s hips buck up into Atsumu’s ass, and he brings the hand that was in Atsumu’s hair down to wrap around Atsumu’s other hip. Holding him steady, Kiyoomi purposefully rolls his hips up, smirking when Atsumu swears against his skin.
“Me too,” he says without thinking, but as the words come out he realizes that they’re true.
Atsumu’s thighs flex where they’re wrapped around Kiyoomi’s waist. His erection presses into Kiyoomi’s stomach, hot and hard and fuck, Kiyoomi needs to suck him off right now.
Without warning, he maneuvers them so that Atsumu’s on his back with Kiyoomi hovering over him, palms caging his head. “Ya gonna fuck me on the couch, Omi? Gotta say, I didn’t think ya’d have it in ya.” Atsumu wraps a finger around one of Kiyoomi's curls, playing with it as he stares into Kiyoomi’s eyes.
“No,” replies Kiyoomi, and that’s all he says before he’s diving down and kissing Atsumu’s neck. He lightly grazes his teeth over the pulse point at Atsumu’s jaw, feeling it quicken. Atsumu’s hips thrust upward, but Kiyoomi stops them by pinning them down with his hands. “Stay still,” he demands as he pushes Atsumu’s shirt up past his nipples.
“Or what?” Atsumu teases, deliberately moving his hips again.
“Or I won’t take care of this,” Kiyoomi says, pressing the heel of his palm down on Atsumu’s erection. Atsumu throws his head back against the couch, and Kiyoomi takes that as a win. He slowly begins to work his mouth down Atsumu’s chest, stopping every so often to suck a bruise onto his tan skin.
He pays extra attention to Atsumu’s nipples, lightly biting and pulling at them until they’re a bright shade of red. Atsumu’s built like a Greek God, but Kiyoomi doesn’t voice the thought for fear of inflating Atsumu’s ego.
Kiyoomi’s fingers fumble a little as he unzips Atsumu’s shorts and pulls them down to his ankles. Above him, Atsumu groans, and Kiyoomi looks up to find lust filled brown eyes staring down at him. He maintains that eye contact as he leans down and mouths over the bulge in Atsumu’s boxers, letting saliva pool up in his mouth and drip down his chin. Atsumu makes a strangled noise, his hand flying to Kiyoomi’s scalp.
Kiyoomi pulls Atsumu’s boxers down after a few more seconds of teasing and is met with the prettiest dick he’s ever seen. He’d never thought dicks could be pretty before, and of course Atsumu’s the one to prove him wrong.
“Enjoyin’ the view?” Atsumu teases, using the hand that isn’t in Kiyoomi’s hair to tilt his chin up. “If ya wanted, I could’ve given ya a picture; would’ve lasted lonー” Atsumu’s words taper off into a moan when Kiyoomi swallows him down to the base.
“Jesus christ, Omiー shit.”
Kiyoomi hums around Atsumu’s cock as he waits to get used to the length. It’s been a while since Kiyoomi’s given a blow job, but the unintelligible noises that Atsumu’s making are more than worth the slight ache in Kiyoomi’s jaw.
Suddenly, the hand in his hair pushes, forcing Kiyoomi to somehow take even more of Atsumu’s cock. It’s so surprising that Kiyoomi gags, and above him he hears Atsumu say, “What? I thought ya liked it rough.”
Kiyoomi glares up at him, to which Atsumu smirks knowingly. “Ya look s’good, Omi, perfect.”
The praise sends an unexpected warmth to Kiyoomi’s stomach, and he moans around Atsumu’s dick. “Ya like that, huh? Me tellin’ ya how good ya look? ‘Cause it’s true; ya look fuckin’ amazin’ with yer mouth full of me.”
Kiyoomi’s eyes roll back as he subtly starts to grind on Atsumu’s shin. He’s never enjoyed a blow job this much; never derived so much pleasure simply from giving it. When Atsumu notices Kiyoomi humping him like a dog, he pushes his leg further in between Kiyoomi’s thighs, littering Kiyoomi with praises that have his ears burning pink.
“Omi, Omi.” Atsumu says, fisting Kiyoomi’s hair harder to ground himself. “‘M close.”
Kiyoomi hollows out his cheeks, taking Atsumu that millimeter deeper into his throat. He fights the urge to gag again as he slowly works Atsumu closer to orgasm, and he knows he’s done something right when Atsumu starts trying to pull him off.
“‘M seriously gonna come,” he warns, eyes glazed over, but Kiyoomi doesn’t move an inch. Atsumu bites his lip, though that doesn’t suppress his groan. “Kiyoomi,” he warns again, cock twitching in Kiyoomi’s mouth.
It’s barely a second later before he’s coming down Kiyoomi’s throat, hot and thick. Atsumu curses, pushing Kiyoomi’s head further as he fucks his mouth through his orgasm. Kiyoomi stays there the entire time, pliant, and only when he feels Atsumu’s cock start to soften does he pull off.
“Oh my god, yer. . . yer fuckin’ amazin’,” Atsumu swears when he sees Kiyoomi’s mouth full of come. Kiyoomi refuses to swallow it ー because that’s disgusting ー so he lets it sit in his mouth for a few seconds, feeling the salty taste of it on his tongue. It tastes, surprisingly. . . not bad.
He looks down when he feels Atsumu’s fingers gripping his chin, surprised to find him holding a tissue in front of his mouth. Kiyoomi spits into it, and Atsumu doesn’t look the least bit grossed out as he balls it up and goes to throw it out.
While he’s distracted, Kiyoomi takes the time to appreciate Atsumu’s half naked figure. His normally golden skin is flushed pink, and covered with marks in varying shades of pink. A faint sheen of sweat covers the entirety of his body, and his hair is messed up from all they’ve been doing. The mere sight of him is enough to remind Kiyoomi that he is still very, very hard.
“Yer s’good at that,” Atsumu says upon returning, leaning against the couch, looking spent. “‘S a shame ya didn’t come, though.”
“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” Kiyoomi says with a glance down at Atsumu’s soft dick. “You’ve only come once.”
Atsumu barely has time to widen his eyes and say, “Once?!” before Kiyoomi’s picking him up. Atsumu lets out a squawk of surprise to find himself suddenly in the air, his thighs tightening around Kiyoomi’s waist instinctively. The pressure swims directly to Kiyoomi’s dick.
Kiyoomi’s still fully clothed while Atsumu only has a shirt on, his hands roaming over every inch of naked skin he can find as Atsumu pulls him into another burning kiss. Their teeth clack together, and it would hurt if Kiyoomi wasn’t so focused on devouring Atsumu whole. He licks up into Atsumu’s mouth, Atsumu’s heels digging into his back, sure to leave a bruise.
He was supposed to take Atsumu right to his bedroom, but Kiyoomi keeps getting distracted because holy shit, Miya Atsumu knows how to kiss.
He ends up pushing Atsumu against a wall, letting most of his weight lean against it so he can savor the taste of him. Kiyoomi gives himself another minute to sloppily make out with Atsumu before he takes him to his bedroom and throws him onto the bed. Atsumu lands with a giggle as the mattress squeaks under his weight.
“Ya could at leas’ try ta be gentle,” Atsumu says as he watches Kiyoomi pull lube and a condom out of his nightstand.
Kiyoomi huffs a laugh as he joins Atsumu on the bed, sitting across from him. “I would, but something tells me you wouldn’t enjoy that,” he replies, reaching over to pull off Atsumu's shirt.
Atsumu lets him, but the second it’s done he reaches for Kiyoomi’s own shirt. “Yer not gonna be fully clothed while we do this,” he says by way of explanation, reaching down to shove the rest of Kiyoomi’s clothes off. When he’s done, he rakes his gaze over Kiyoomi’s body, so slow that Kiyoomi shifts uncomfortably.
“Holy shit, Omi. Yer. . . yer beautiful.”
Kiyoomi’s cheeks go hot. Unsure how to respond, he settles for looking away to pour lube all over his fingers, warming it up between them. When he turns back around. Atsumu’s looking at him with a challenging fire in his eyes.
“I’m going to finger you now,” says Kiyoomi, pushing Atsumu onto his back.
Atsumu breaks out into a sudden laugh, and he’s still smiling when he replies, “Yeah, I figured.”
This is it, Kiyoomi thinks as he presses his thumb against Atsumu’s hole, feeling it pulse around him, I’m about to fuck Miya.
He starts off deliberately slow, just teasing Atsumu. Barely entering before pulling out, tracing around the ring of muscle, pinching and kneading at his inner thighs. His skin is hot down here, too.
“C’mon,” Atsumu gasps, “I’m agin’ up ‘ere.”
Kiyoomi gives no warning as he slips a finger into Atsumu all the way to the first knuckle. “Yes, oh my god,” Atsumu breaths, eyes screwed shut.
Kiyoomi’s never been more turned on. His finger is barely inside Atsumu, but the tight heat of his hole is enough to bring Kiyoomi that tiny inch closer to an orgasm. Kiyoomi gives Atsumu a few seconds to adjust to the intrusion before he slowly starts thrusting his finger in and out.
Atsumu clenches around him, and all Kiyoomi can think is that fucking him is going to feel amazing.
Kiyoomi slides in another finger, stifling a gasp when it goes in just as easily as the first. His entire head swims, obsessed with the way Atsumu’s writhing under him. Atsumu bucks his hips, pushing himself deeper onto Kiyoomi’s fingers, making Kiyoomi let out a low grunt.
“Miya, stop moving,” Kiyoomi urges. Atsumu’s eyes fly open, pupils overblown, looking positively drunk with lust.
“Atsumu,” he says back, voice breaking on the last syllable. “Call meーcall me Atsumu.”
Kiyoomi’s fingers pause their movements, a plan forming in his mind. “I could ー” Atsumu’s face lights up, “ーor I could just do this.” He curls his fingers at the same time as he grabs Atsumu’s dick, relishing in how it shuts Atsumu up immediately.
And yet, despite being fingerfucked within an inch of his life, Atsumu still finds the strength to say, “Please, Omi.”
Kiyoomi swears under his breath, already feeling himself about to give in. “Beg for it,” he commands, watching as goosebumps break out on Atsumu’s skin.
Atsumu purses his lips, seemingly torn between getting what he wants and keeping his dignity intact. Kiyoomi thumbs at his slit, which seems to make him decide quicker. “Okay, okay ーfuck, please, Omi. I’ll do anythin’, jus’. . . please.”
Kiyoomi crumbles. “My god, Atsumu.” Hearing Atsumu beg for him isn’t something Kiyoomi ever saw himself wanting 一 needing 一 but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t borderline addictive.
Atsumu fucking mewls, and Kiyoomi takes that as a sign to slide in a third finger. The stretch is a little harder this time, so he makes sure to take his time as he scissors Atsumu open. His own cock is the hardest it’s ever been, but he wants to make sure that he doesn't hurt Atsumu.
Atsumu’s desperate, and it shows with his hurried movements and the incoherent noises he’s making.
“If ya don’t fuck me right now,” Atsumu rasps, grinding down on Kiyoomi's fingers. “I swear to god ‘m gonna do it myself.”
He looks absolutely gorgeous like this; tan skin flushed pink all over, greedy hole swallowing everything that Kiyoomi’s giving him. All Kiyoomi’s been able to think about for the past week, and probably even longer than that, is how it would feel to have Atsumu writhing under him exactly like this. And yet, he’d be lying if he said Atsumu’s offer wasn’t tempting.
“Okay, then,” Kiyoomi replies, leaning back to get a better view. “Have at it.”
Atsumu’s eyebrows furrow, his gaze traveling down to where Kiyoomi’s fingers are still inside him. Kiyoomi watches as his expression shifts from confusion to realization. “Yer jokin’.”
Kiyoomi shakes his head. “No, I’m not.” His erection’s starting to border on painful where it presses against Atsumu’s thigh, but he purposefully doesn’t pay it any heed.
Atsumu’s eyes travel down to it then back to Kiyoomi’s face. A wolfish grin stretches all the way to his eyes. “No touchin’ ‘til I say so.”
He reaches his arm down and wraps his fingers around Kiyoomi’s wrist, his skin like pure fire. Kiyoomi thinks Atsumu’s about to pull his fingers out, but Atsumu simply slides them out before slowly pushing them back in. Holy shit. This is. . . holy shit.
“Yer fingers are s’ good,” Atsumu praises as he starts fucking himself on them. “Bet yer cock would feel even better.”
Kiyoomi’s cock twitches against Atsumu’s thigh, smearing precome all over it. He reaches his other hand down to play with one of Atsumu’s hard nipples, but Atsumu immediately slaps his hand away. “I said noー fuck ーno touchin’.”
As retaliation, Kiyoomi curls his fingers directly into Atsumu’s prostate, smirking when it shuts him up immediately. “You sure about that?” he asks, hovering a hand over Atsumu’s chest, over his thighs. Not touching, not quite, but enough for Atsumu to start grinding down a little faster.
Atsumu bites his lip. “Mhm,” he nods, though there’s a considerable lack of conviction behind it.
“Still sure?” Kiyoomi breathes after a few seconds, having to put all his effort into not humping Atsumu’s thigh. “Atsumu?”
“God, that's not fair,” Atsumu moans, toes curling. “Omi, c’monー I need it.”
“Need what?”
“Fuck me.”
Kiyoomi doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls his fingers out of Atsumu, and Atsumu cries at the loss of contact. “Hold on,” he says as he rolls on a condom, fingers fumbling. It feels like hours before he’s aligning his tip with Atsumu’s hole and pushing inside with one, slow thrust.
Kiyoomi had thought Atsumu’d been tight around his fingers, but it’s nothing compared to the way he's swallowing Kiyoomi’s dick. It’s intoxicating, and Kiyoomi has a horrible feeling that this won’t last very long at all.
“Move, Omi, c’ mon,” Atsumu pleads beneath him.
Kiyoomi pulls out all the way before giving a singular thrust back in. Atsumu’s taking him like a fucking champ, hot and tight everywhere. “Atsumu, youー fuck.”
Atsumu’s hands grab Kiyoomi’s ass, using the angle to pull himself deeper onto Kiyoomi’s cock. He looks up at Kiyoomi with a cocky grin, having the audacity to look bored. “That all ya got? I said fuck me, notー ah!”
He’s shut up by Kiyoomi thrusting into him hard. Kiyoomi grabs Atsumu’s waist to anchor himself, enjoying how he feels the muscle tense every time he pushes in. Atsumu clenches around him every time he pulls out, as if he’s trying to keep Kiyoomi inside him as long as possible.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Atsumu babbles, his cock fully hard again against his stomach. He’s leaking precome all over himself, and the sight is so lewd that all Kiyoomi wants is to blow him. Again.
“Am I fucking you now?” Kiyoomi gasps after a particularly rough thrust.
The fact that Atsumu doesn’t bite back is a testament to how fucked out he is. He grabs at Kiyoomi’s shoulder, pulling him into a messy kiss. Drool leaks down their chins as they breathe into each other’s mouths, Kiyoomi still roughly fucking into Atsumu.
The spring in his stomach starts coiling tighter, signaling that he’s about to come, but Atsumu still hasn’t said he’s close so Kiyoomi tries to stave off his orgasm. That seems impossible to do when Atsumu clenches around him and rolls his hips up into Kiyoomi’s cock.
“Kiyoomi, harder.”
And that’s what does it for Kiyoomi. He comes with a start, spilling into the condom as his hips stutter, fucking Atsumu through his orgasm. Atsumu groans when he feels Kiyoomi’s cock kick inside him, and Kiyoomi prays that it means he’s coming too.
It takes longer than it usually does for Kiyoomi to come down, and when he does he crinkles his nose at the feeling of wearing a used condom. He pulls out of Atsumu for the final time, grimacing as he takes off the condom and throws it in the trash. A sudden tiredness settles over him; he feels completely spent.
Atsumu’s in the same spot where Kiyoomi’d left him, panting heavily. Kiyoomi gives himself a few seconds to admire him, pausing when he realizes that Atsumu’s still hard. He didn’t come?
Kiyoomi’s about to say something, to apologize for not making Atsumu come a second time, when Atsumu pounces on him. One second, Kiyoomi’s standing at the foot of the bed, and the next, he’s somehow lying under Atsumu.
Atsumu spreads his thighs on either side of Kiyoomi’s hips, looking down at Kiyoomi with an unmistakable hunger in his eyes. “Ya didn’t think we were done, didja?” He echoes Kiyoomi’s earlier words with a pointed look at his own erection.
Kiyoomi’s eyes travel down to it, and he swallows thickly. “I don’t think I have the energy to fuck you again,” he says truthfully as he watches Atsumu grab another condom out of the nightstand.
Atsumu’s eyes cut to him as he drops the condom by his side, like he’s not going to use it. Yet. “Don’t worry ‘bout that, Omi. I’ll do all th’ work.”
And before Kiyoomi has time to think about what that means, Atsumu’s traces a finger down Kiyoomi’s soft cock. Kiyoomi isn’t expecting the touch, so his body jumps in surprise, but the solid weight of Atsumu on his lap stops him from moving too much.
“Atsumu, what’re youー shit.” Kiyoomi cuts himself off when Atsumu wraps his hand around his cock. He’s still really sensitive, so it feels a lot more intense than usual. It fills up quickly in Atsumu’s hand, making Atsumu whistle lowly.
When Kiyoomi tries to buck his hips up into Atsumu’s fist, he’s stopped by a hand roughly coming down on his stomach. He looks up only to find Atsumu grinning at him in a way that has a fresh warmth settling in his belly. “Don’t get too excited; this is jus’ to getcha hard again.”
Kiyoomi throws his head back when Atsumu twists his wrist just so, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine. But just when he starts really getting into it, just when he thinks he could come from just this, Atsumu rips his hand away.
Kiyoomi’s eyes flutter open 一 when had he closed them? 一 to the sight of Atsumu grabbing the condom he’d placed at his side. Kiyoomi almost comes for the second time when Atsumu places it between his teeth, opening the wrapping with his mouth.
He slowly rolls the condom onto Kiyoomi and drizzles some more lube over his cock before giving it a few firm pumps. Kiyoomi’s mouth goes dry as he watches Atsumu lift his hips up, grabbing Kiyoomi’s newly hard cock and adjusting it so that the tip presses into his hole.
“Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu 一” Kiyoomi says, voice thick with arousal.
Atsumu ignores him, brows furrowing as he sinks down on Kiyoomi’s cock. A low grunt escapes him when Kiyoomi is fully sheathed, and he rocks his hips a few times. The movement makes Kiyoomi go ballistic.
“Fuck, Omi, it feels. . . feels even better like this. Can feel ya in my throat.”
Kiyoomi nods dumbly, too turned on to speak. Like this, he’s reaching parts of Atsumu he hadn’t even known existed.
Kiyoomi’s hands fly out to Atsumu’s waist, but Atsumu quickly slaps them away. “It’s my turn now; ya had yers.”
And that’s all the warning Kiyoomi’s given before Atsumu starts fucking himself on his cock. Atsumu’s palms press against Kiyoomi’s shoulders as he rides Kiyoomi, and the noises Kiyoomi makes sound more animal than human.
Atsumu leans forward, his breath hot against Kiyoomi’s mouth. Kiyoomi thinks they're about to kiss, but Atsumu just runs a tongue over his own teeth, forehead resting against Kiyoomi’s. Atsumu smells like sweat, like sex, and Kiyoomi adores it.
Unable to resist himself, Kiyoomi pinches one of Atsumu’s nipples, making Atsumu arch his back. Atsumu’s cock slides against Kiyoomi’s stomach every time he grinds down, and the dual stimulation has his mouth dropping down to suck a mark on Kiyoomi’s jaw.
It hurts, and the pain has Kiyoomi bucking up to meet Atsumu on his next grind down.
Kiyoomi doesn’t even register Atsumu babbling his name, or him clenching around his cock, but he does register the way Atsumu’s entire face scrunches up. He looks like an angel when he comes; cheeks flushed pink, dick spilling come onto Kiyoomi’s stomach.
Kiyoomi follows not long after, moaning something along the lines of Atsumu’s name as he fucks them through it. When Atsumu pulls himself off, Kiyoomi feels as if he’s just run a marathon.
Atsumu slumps on top of him, elbows digging into Kiyoomi’s chest as he looks into his eyes. “So, does this mean ya liked the sex tape?”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and pushes him off. Atsumu makes a strangled sound as he almost falls off the bed.
Kiyoomi’s looking away from Atsumu when he replies, “Yeah, it does.”