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It truly is bazaar how breathtaking a back can be.
Once slick with sweat and secrets pressed between shoulder blades, now illuminated by slices of sun, winning their way through a crack in between parting curtains. Sheets hugging the curves of tangled legs, more kisses from the sun hiding between thighs and marble carved muscles.
Soft breaths, which were once filled with wanton praise — it’s far too early to think of, the birds haven’t even been alerted of a new day— now tickle his chest, along with misplaced curls, and suddenly Atsumu wonders what it would feel like to card his fingers through the hair of the porcelain man twisted around his body.
It never gets easier, to fight back the urges of tracing the constellations speckled across Kiyoomi’s back. He’s tried counting, losing track and starting over from zero time and time again, until time merely slips through the canons of his fingers, never to reach an end.
That’s all this is destined to be, Atsumu hopes. Never to reach an end, a constant loop of forever with sweat, secrets, and wonder. Dull moment or not, he’ll stay here as long as he's allowed, wrapped in marble, matching the rise and fall of Kiyoomi’s chest against his.
It’s poetic, truly. How enamored a man can be simply by the human body's natural functions. Like breathing, the twitch of a foot, or the rolling muscle behind a shoulder blade as he nuzzles his face deeper into Atsumu's sternum as though he’s trying to drown himself in his skin.
If that were what Kiyoomi wanted, Atsumu would allow him to, with little to no questions asked. He would hollow himself out in order to create space for Kiyoomi to spend as long as he’d like to stay.
I want you in my ribs
Atsumu heard that once. Where? He's not certain, the depths of his unconscious, all-consuming obsessive mind could be to blame for such a crazy saying all on its own — unfortunately, it doesn’t bother him enough to dwell on — not one to take credit where it’s not due. Yet, often, he finds himself thinking about it.
Every time gentle fingers bruise his skin, or brush his back, he wishes they could be one. Every time ankles lock together, and gasps are sung as hymns into coarse hair; Atsumu sings back, songs of tangled spit as he tries to take Kiyoomi in from the meat of his neck. When eyelids flutter, and words fall flat on a tongue pressed sweetly against his, he wishes he could keep Kiyoomi there forever, pressed tight until flesh and bone combine.
I want you in my ribs. Metaphorically, and literally. Atsumu wishes for a day science proves it possible for them to merge mind; they’ve already merged body, and he never misses an opportunity to remind Kiyoomi of that — whether that be for embarrassments sake or to remind himself of what reality he is living in is truly unknown.
The bed creaks gently underneath as Kiyoomi adjusts himself on top of Atsumu, face turning slightly pressing his cheek in a perfectly awkward position to show off slightly parted pouting lips.
Atsumu would kiss him right now if he knew it wouldn’t wake him up, so instead he settles a hand on the curve of Kiyoomi’s thigh, where it's draped over his own, drawing small circles with his thumb.
He’s been in this position many mornings, little room to complain, if any at all. He loves the soft hum of the air conditioner, and sounds of small city life from outside the tiny world they’ve created on a plush mattress.
A soft smile blesses his cheeks, he could never imagine trading this for anything.
A soft huff causes Atsumu to drag his hand up landing on Kiyoomi’s upper back, scratching gently as his head turns, now facing up towards Atsumu, then a soft grumble
“Mornin’ Omi.” A breath of a statement
Words follow, barely even audible. Atsumu hums questionably, a sense of gentleness in his tone as if Kiyoomi is made of glass and he's scared to break him.
“Nooo.” Atsumu laughs a huff softly out of his nose in response to the mumbling from his chest, “s’ the time?”
“Can’t be earlier than 6.” He curls his fingers around the tufts of hair at the nape of Kiyoomi’s neck, earning a content sigh.
“Go back to sleep, fucking lunatic.”
“Ya always know how to make me blush.”
Atsumu knows he could never break Kiyoomi, if some reality were to come where Kiyoomi were to shatter at his hands, Atsumu would do all in his power to pick up the shards and piece them back together, no matter how bloody his palms become.
And if Atsumu ever found a genie in a bottle, his first wish would be spent on making sure that never happened. He’s thought of his second and third wishes, skipping over the whole “wish for more wishes” thing, because it's never worked like that, but he immediately cut those off this morning after a sniffle came from Kiyoomi.
To Atsumu's dismay, Kiyoomi rolled off of his chest and his head took shelter on the pillow that was barely hanging onto the edge, his teeth chattered, the blanket fell further from his body when he escaped the warmth of Atsumu. Angrily he turned to the side, facing Atsumu and popped an eye open, a warning, or more of a threat, that Atsumu read the definition of immediately. Atsumu pulled the comforter up, along with Kiyoomi in.
He could no longer see Kiyoomi’s spiderweb eyelashes, now buried in a blanket and tucked into Atsumu in his new, and less comfortable, position. It didn't matter anyway, images long burned into Atsumu's brain provided comfort; he reached for his phone on the side table, a picture of he and Kiyoomi doing face masks from their bathroom mirror stared at him underneath the time. He was right. It wasn't earlier than 6, which meant even on their day off that Kiyoomi would soon twist and grunt before ultimately giving up on trying to keep his eyes closed, and somehow blame it on Atsumu that he couldn’t fall back asleep.
“What are you smiling at?” the question was mumbled as it was pressed into his skin, and followed by gentle hands wandering up Atsumu's chest
“Nothin’.”
“I can feel you smiling,” Kiyoomi popped his head out from the covers, “it's distracting me.”
Atsumu's hand found the top of Kiyoomi’s head, playing with the loose disarray of curls, the one time of the day he was allowed to without fear of losing a finger
“Ya like my smile that much?”
“It’s creepy” Kiyoomi scooted further up the bed, Atsumu's arm finding solace under his head, hand still tangled in his hair “I’m trying to sleep.” he closed his eyes again
“That ain’t a no.”
“It ain't a no” Kiyoomi mocked as dramatically as his horse voice would allow, and Atsumu scoffed before looking back towards his phone in the opposite hand mindlessly, as Kiyoomi’s breaths evened back out and the patterns on his shoulders ceased to take shape any longer.
—
Kiyoomis always liked Atsumu's smile.
it's crooked, his canines prominent and gangly, one side of his mouth turns further up than the other, and it always falls so slowly. At times it feels like his smile lingers on for hours.
He's always liked Atsumu's smile, the way his lips curve around his toothbrush just at the sight of Kiyoomi’s robe slipping from his shoulders while he starts the shower. The fabric gathering around Kiyoomi’s ankles and a quick look into the mirror has Atsumu already spitting to rinse his mouth, and tripping out of his boxers.
Kiyoomi has always liked Atsumu’s smile, especially when it’s pressed into his neck, or whispering honeyed words on the shell of his ear; and Atsumu loves smiling, maybe it’s less so of the smiling bit and more so who he’s smiling at. fucking sap.
The steam coiling around a chiseled back, warping with every curve, following the ripples and movement of every muscle; It’s hard to fathom how a back alone could be so beautiful. Sun-kissed and scared from years of youth, a storybook displayed in secret. Unknowing eyes would wander, but feather light fingers trace the marks he memorized long ago, and couldn’t forget if he wanted to. Citrus rolls through the air as suds slip through fingertips and coarse hair, Atsumu hums with Kiyoomi’s hands, leaning into them with his eyes shut, dramatically lulling his head.
“Your hair’s getting long,” Kiyoomi tugged on the strands, looking at atsumus roots “and yellow.”
Atsumu turned around facing Kiyoomi, a soft laugh breaking through as he started rinsing his hair “How many times i gotta tell ya, babe, it's golden.”
“Lying is a sin”
“So is envy, ya’ve always been jealous of me”
“I hate you,” Kiyoomi affirmed, his hands wandering to Atsumu's shoulders and taking half a step closer, not much room left to travel in the first place, “but I think that would constitute as wrath”
Atsumu placed his hands on Kiyoomi's hips, looking up just ever so slightly. Kiyoomi loved being taller than him, he loved the way Atsumu’s eyes would grow when he’d tilt up his gaze ever so slightly before kissing him. Maybe it wasn't that he loved being taller, maybe it was that he loved his eyes. Brown but not empty, like he thought his own to be. A golden hue shining so brightly the sun could only compete. But his smile also carried the sun, and Kiyoomi has always liked Atsumu’s smile
“Lust,” Kiyoomi breathed out as Atsumu's lips found his neck, “you’re going to hell.”
Atsumu hummed nipping lightly just under Kiyoomi’s ear, “Gluttony,” he licked at the spot, whispering, “and yer coming with me.”
Kiyoomi is a weak man, here he stands, looking down on the man in front of him, yet putty in his hands, ready to shape himself into whatever Atsumu needs at that very moment.
Kiyoomi wishes he were one of the gods. He would look down on Atsumu from the sky, able to give him rain when the earth is too hot, and wind when he needs direction. He would hold the moon higher in the sky if it meant he could lay beside him for just a few minutes longer, and he'd lasso the sun just to see it beam from open eyes.
Together they are lace, a never ending thread once tied to pinky fingers twisting in on itself, tangling in a beautiful mess with each tug of the other's hair, or gasp against warm flesh.
Even when water runs cold and goosebumps bite at porcelain skin he can feel the sun shining through a foggy mirror, a welcomed burn graced by fingertips on his shoulder.
“Coffee” Kiyoomi murmurs
“On it, lover” palm replaced with a chaste kiss, smile branded into his skin.
—
Atsumu had long gotten over nagging Kiyoomi about his vices, the smell of cigarettes once bitter and stale now warm and resinous. Perfect coils of smoke break apart when Atsumu steps out onto the balcony, steam from mugs mixing milky and smooth with Kiyoomi’s exhale as he says a quiet thanks and takes one from his hands.
Atsumu sits and pulls his hands deeper into his sleeves, “ ‘s too cold for this”
“Sorry,” Kiyoomi takes a sip from his own cup and hums mindlessly, “forgot to turn the space heater on.”
“Smart ass.”
“I’d hope so, university was expensive. My ass could be a doctor right now.”
“Yer ass does save lives. Oh please help me Doctor Sakusa,” Atsumu feigns discomfort as he fakes a shiver, running his hands up and down his shoulders, “I’m so cold, ya gotta sit on me for warmth!”
“Die of hypothermia.”
Atsumu moves his body closer, leaning over the tiny glass table separating the two, Kiyoomi stifles a laugh when he pushes Atsumu away. the warmth of a palm against his forehead enough to draw him to give up on any further advances.
He watched as Kiyoomi took a sip of his coffee, nodding lightly when he wrapped his lips around the filter one final time before putting it out in a makeshift ashtray Atsumu had come home with from some second hand store the first week they’d moved in together.
He knew Kiyoomi could feel him staring, he had no reason to care — but that didn’t stop a blush from crawling up his neck when Kiyoomi turned his head to meet his gaze. He glows. Kiyoomi glows, and Atsumu feels like a school boy about to get a nosebleed every time he shines his way.
“You’re so fucking weird” Kiyoomi got up from his seat, turning to look at Atsumu once more before reaching for the sliding doors. “If you're still cold you better follow me, my next appointment will be here soon.”
“Right behind ya, Doc.”