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"Can you crush a watermelon with your thighs?"
The entire team explodes into laughter, and the reporter gives a light chuckle with an apologetic smile that screams don't shoot the messenger!
Sakusa looks disgusted by the thought, because of course he would - Atsumu imagines getting anywhere close to a food product with his legs would probably get him killed on sight.
"That's disgusting," Sakusa snaps. "it's also a waste of food. Nobody is touching that after it's been between their legs." He gestures towards the rest of them with a small, measured gesture with one spindly hand.
Bokuto opens his mouth to speak, but the interviewer beats him to it. “We all know Bokuto-san can do it,” she waves her hands around in his general direction as if to say look at that body, and Atsumu full-heartedly agrees. “Who wants to try?”
Atsumu pulls his gaze away from the interesting tile pattern on the floor and to everyone else, and he freezes - because everyone apparently wants to humiliate him, and they all have their shit-eating grins directed in his direction.
“Uh ..? Ya guys are joking, right?”
“Do you think you can’t do it?” teases Meian, and now his pride is at stake, and he can’t fucking refuse on account of being a coward, so he just sighs and holds out his hand for the watermelon.
And that’s how he’s here, sitting on a folding table with 3 watermelons - one mini-watermelon, the kind that’s always on sale and watery, one decently sized watermelon, and one expensive full size watermelon that he and Osamu would always race to finish before the other could start another piece as kids.
That's when it kinda dawns on him - they're actually going to make him try to crush watermelons with his thighs.
"Isn't this some weird kind of kink thing?" Shouyou bounces in his seat, eyes fixated on the watermelons five feet away. "I think I remember a bunch of people wanting to get crushed by Kageyama's thighs, and then I told them that the only person getting crushed by those thighs was gonna be me, because -"
"Moving on!" interrupts the reporter, who apparently doesn't want to sit through another hour of Shouyou gushing about his boyfriend - there are internet compilations of him doing just that, and some of them are over two hours long. It's adorable and reminds Atsumu of how painfully single he is.
She goes over the rules, but there aren't really rules. The only rule is to successfully crush the watermelon. There isn't even a rule against using other muscles, which further cements the idea that this is stupid and not supposed to be taken seriously. Like, someone could put the watermelon between their thighs and then shove their elbows into the top, and say that they crushed the watermelon due to the gaping hole in the shell.
“Wait, I’m the only one doin’ this?” he stares around at his teammates, who are sitting there laughing at him (the audacity!). “Get Barnes to do it, every single one of his muscles are the size of Shouyou!”
Even Sakusa is laughing at him. Well, his lips are quirked into a faint half-smile and for Sakusa, that’s the equivalent of rolling around on the floor in hysterics. “Are you backing out of it, Miya?”
“Ugh, fine! Yer all traitors, guys.” There’s no way he’s going to be a loser on national television. Of course he is one, but all of Japan doesn’t have to know.
Shouyou drops the tiny first-level watermelon into his lap.
Holy shit. He’s actually doing this.
Looking down at his own legs, Atsumu is suddenly glad that he had decided to wear his old athletic shorts from his high school days, the ones that he could care less about keeping clean and ready for further use.
Sakusa throws a pack of disinfecting wipes at him, and he begrudgingly wipes the inside of his thighs down so that the watermelon won’t be completely disgusting afterwards.
The watermelon, for some reason, feels insanely fragile between his thighs. When he's picking them up at the supermarket (because he's never liked watermelon as much as Osamu and why pay for a huge one if you're not going to finish it before it gets bad?) they always have a certain weight in his hands, but when it's in between his thighs it feels smaller. That's probably just a testament to how much stronger his thighs are than his arms.
"Ready, set .. go!"
He tries to estimate how much force he'd need in order to not make a fool of himself on TV, and then grossly underrestimates himself as the watermelon between his thighs fucking explodes. There's no other word for it - he gets watermelon juice on his face, and judging by Sakusa's flinch back, there's juice all the way on the couch a couple yards away.
"That was great, Tsum-Tsum!" and Bokuto breaks the silence, bouncing over and giving him a sticky high-ten. Atsumu grimaces at the feeling of stickiness that's everywhere on his body oh my god and looks up at the next watermelon, currently in Shouyou’s hands as he throws it up and down.
“I could’ve done that,” pouts Shouyou as he twirls the medium-sized watermelon in his grip.
Atsumu sighs. “If ya wanna try, then be my guest.”
Shouyou immediately tries to get up on the table next to him, but the reporter lady says that the folding table will only hold so much weight (which prompts another wave of laughter as he protests I’m not that heavy! ), and Shouyou jumps back onto the couch with a sulky huff.
This one feels firmer in his grip, and he silently thanks his high school coach for the hours and hours of quad training he had to suffer through as he clenches down and feels the watermelon make a satisfying crack. When he releases his grip, the insides of his thighs are absolutely covered in pale pink juice.
Atsumu makes another face, because the inside of his legs currently feels like the back of a beachgoer in the middle of July, and then looks up wearily for the next watermelon. This time, everyone in the studio is kind of staring at him? Not the bad kind of staring, but more of a awe-struck gaze. He feels heat rising to his face, and he quickly tries to diffuse the tension because even Sakusa is staring at him, and that’s definitely not good for his health.
“What’re ya guys starin’ at?” he tries, but his accent gets even more prominent when he’s flustered and he blushes even harder. Atsumu grabs the last watermelon, determined to get the rest of this over with, and fits it between his thighs, noting that holy shit this is actually kind of heavy , and he squeezes.
It takes a considerable amount of effort to split this one in half; he can feel the burn in his quads as he presses them together, and then there’s a crunch as little bits of watermelon slough off and onto his skin. Atsumu thinks he can kind of relate to Sakusa and his repulsion to dirtiness right now, because the sensation of slimy watermelon flesh on his bare thighs is disgusting and he would like to take a hot shower right now, please and thank you.
Watermelon bits are absolutely everywhere. It’s like a murder scene involving a woodchipper with no bin to collect the residue, so the parts of the body go absolutely everywhere, covering absolutely everything. It’s gross. So, so gross.
The reporter regains her voice. “W-Well, that was ..”
“So cool!” Shouyou hops over - where does his energy even come from? - and pulls him to his feet, and takes his place on the table. “You’re so cool, Atsumu-san! How did you do that? Can I try?”
Atsumu stretches his legs out, reveling in the slight burn of his muscles that are not overworked because he is a professional volleyball player that uses these quads for a living, so crushing a couple of melons should not have strained his muscles at all. “We’re all pro players, Shouyou-kun, any of y’all could’ve done that. My personal secret is that I’ve never skipped leg day in my life.”
Bokuto slams his hands against his back, hooting with laughter that seems altogether too loud in the quiet of the room. “That was seriously impressive! Like seriously! Tsum-Tsum, what do ya even eat?”
“You don’t need my diet tips, Bokkun, you’re already ripped six ways to Sunday,” he growls in response, and that does the trick - everyone laughs, and the carefree atmosphere in the room returns as Bokuto demands a watermelon to crush with his bare hands.
(Bokuto absolutely destroys a 10 kilogram watermelon by engulfing it in a bear hug, and that’s as frightening as it is arousing.)
-
Later, when Atsumu finally gets home after a long day of interviews, he checks his twitter and it is absolutely overrun by thirst tweets. Like, there are thousands of people tagging the official watermelon twitter account saying ‘god I wish that were me’, and Suna has sent him three voicemails that just consist of him laughing his fucking head off.
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atsumumiyasthighs
oh my fuckign god i knew my account name was in good taste i mean holy sh i t
boku_fan
bro bro bro what the fuck who okayed this i am SCREAMING
godiwishthatwereme
@watermelon god i wish that were me
Imsbylove_bitch
hhhhhhhhh idk if i should be this turned on or what - look at flustered atsumu omg omg
jctopper
guys look at the team they’re all blushing!!! like they’re finally realizing atsumu miya is fuckin ho t
Imsbylove_bitch
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jctopper
guys look at the team they’re all blushing!!! like they’re finally realizing atsumu miya is fuckin ho t
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bro look aT SAKUSA HE’S TOTALLY BLUSHING AAAAAAA
causeofdeath
one thing on my mind and one thing only: atsumu miya’s thighs
-
This is all extremely flattering, but he feels his face burning with mortification that yes, the gif of him destroying a watermelon with his legs is now trending on twitter.
His doorbell rings a second later, to his annoyance because he just sat down, let a guy rest for god’s sake . Atsumu pulls himself off the couch and peeks through the peephole, and then closes his eyes and pinches the meat on his hip. He opens his eyes again just to confirm that yep, Sakusa Kiyoomi is standing right outside his apartment door and this is real life.
Atsumu tentatively inches the door open. “Omi-kun ..?”
There’s pink riding high on Sakusa’s cheekbones, stark against the pale white of his mask, and he gazes back at him, unblinking. “Can I come in?”
This already feels like a set-up. There is no way in hell that Sakusa Kiyoomi, the object of his fantasies since Atsumu was 16 and staring at his stupidly perfect form at his first All-Japan Youth training camp, is standing outside his crappy apartment with the too-thin walls and 2 inch windows.
“Didja need something?”
Sakusa looks annoyed, and that’s what snaps Atsumu back to reality because Sakusa looks annoyed with him 24/7, so that kind of helps him regain the sense of normalcy that’s been suspiciously lacking ever since the whole watermelon thing even started.
“Sorry, sorry, come in ..” he stands back and lets Sakusa in, thanking all the gods that had possessed him to clean his house the previous day so that it doesn’t look like a dumpster goblin has taken up residence in the space. Sakusa looks appreciatively at his clean hallways and countertops, so there’s another win.
There’s an awkward beat of silence before Atsumu barks out “let me go make you a drink!” and runs to the kitchen to avoid Sakusa’s piercing gaze.
“I have water, root beer, oh! I have lemonade, if ya want it, and actual beer - but I guess it’s -” he checks the clock on his oven, “- 5:34, and yer prob’ly not tryin’ to get drunk right now huh? Whatever ya get, didja want ice with it? The ice machine in my fridge is all kinds of fucked up -”
“Water is fine.” Sakusa puts him out of his misery, and he snaps his mouth shut with an audible click.
There’s another beat of silence. He’s not making things easy for him, but when has Sakusa ever done so, anyway? “Didja wanna sit down somewhere?”
Sakusa silently sits down at his tiny coffee table in his shabby living room and takes off his mask, shutting down all other conversational topics his mind tries to create because Sakusa Kiyoomi is sitting in his living room.
Atsumu brings his cleanest glass to the table, and sets it gently on the ugly Onigiri Miya coaster that Osamu had sent him a while back, when they were still in production and Osamu was still trying to figure out the right ratio of area to thickness. For this reason, every single one of the coasters in his house are weird and misshapen, but he’s too lazy to go and actually buy some, and a tiny part of him feels a little more at home when he sees Osamu’s (admittedly) ugly hair.
In the split second of him placing the cup down, he realizes that Sakusa hasn’t sprayed down his entire flat with Lysol spray or wiped down every available surface with an antibacterial wipe. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck -
“So ..” Sakusa looks at him, and he thinks belatedly that it is so much harder to think when you’ve got an attractive wing spiker staring at you intently, “What brings ya here to my apartment?”
Sakusa looks down at the droplets of water dripping down the sides of the glass, and stays silent.
“Hey, Omi-kun, you gotta give me something to work with here, did I do something?”
There’s still no response.
Atsumu has never been the most patient person in the world, and he’s not going to change now. “Omi-omi, is there a reason why yer here, when you’ve rejected all my offers to show ya my house before?”
Sakusa, the little shit, just stares at him. He opens his mouth, thinks about it, and then carefully closes it. Atsumu is going to lose his fucking mind.
“Okay, if ya don’t wanna tell me that’s fine, but are ya gonna stay over -!”
There’s a blur of movement in his peripheral vision, and before he can react, Sakusa is pinning him to the couch with one hand on his shoulder and the other on the cushions next to his head.
“Omi -?!” he starts, but Sakusa shuts him up with a glare.
“If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.”
“Want what?” he bursts out, because this is a set-up, there’s no fucking way Sakusa is touching him without gloves or hand sanitizer or whatever he carries around with him at all times. “What are ya doin’? Did someone pay ya to come and mess with me?”
“I’m trying to have sex with you, you moron.”
There’s something so fundamentally wrong with that statement - Sakusa expects him to believe that he, the attractive, curly-haired, most well-known and admired player on their team wants to fuck him. Atsumu Miya, who's not really a catch in comparison to Sakusa. He says as much, and something in Sakusa’s face darkens.
"Do you want this or not?"
Atsumu, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, nods eagerly because if this is a dream, he's gonna milk the hell out of it, and Sakusa slams him down onto the couch cushions.
“Christ, Omi - didn’t think you’d be this rough -!”
(Sakusa stops all movement to ask, “Did you take a shower when you got home?” to which Atsumu replies “Of fuckin’ course I did, I wasn’t about to go about my business with watermelon drying on my thighs.”)
At the very mention of his thighs, Sakusa immediately drops and pulls his sweatpants down and throws them off to the side. Atsumu shivers as his legs get exposed to the cold air, but his attention is quickly off the temperature because Sakusa leans down and laves his tongue over his skin, and he lets out a surprised yelp, which turns quickly into a moan because his inner thighs are sensitive as fuck.
He slaps both hands over his mouth, because he needs to keep some semblance of his dignity, but Sakusa pulls his hands away from his face and smirks at him - and his heart does somersaults in his chest because it’s not fair to be that sexy.
“Didn’t think you’d be shy,” Sakusa fucking sasses him! Atsumu opens his mouth to reply but whatever retort was on the tip of his tongue turns into a strangled moan as the man between his legs bites down on whatever part of his skin is closest.
He takes what seems like hours down there, pouring attention onto his trembling thighs, and it suddenly hits him - “Omi, are ya doin’ this because of the watermelon thing?”
Judging by the way Sakusa just bites down harder, he definitely was -! “Did seein’ me crush a watermelon between my thighs turn ya on, Omi? Yer just like those people who post those thirst tweets on twitter - ah!”
“Shut - the - hell - up.” Sakusa punctuates each syllable with a nibble, and Atsumu’s gonna have to wear leggings to practice if this keeps up because god, his inner thighs are absolutely covered with bite marks and hickies.
“Yer makin’ it kinda hard to,” he bites back. “C’mon, Omi, lemme see all of ya -”
“We’re doing this my way, or we’re not doing this at all,” Sakusa pulls out condoms from his pocket - (“How didja know I’d say yes?” “You’re not blind, and I’m not either.”) - and asks if he wants to get fucked, or if he wants to do the fucking.
Atsumu has fantasized about this for so damn long - Sakusa stretching him with those long fingers, reaching spots inside of him with those freaky wrists - so he doesn’t hesitate and begs, “Omi please just get inside of me, I don’t care how just do it please!”
I am a thirsty bitch , he muses, but he can’t find it in himself to care when Sakusa somehow manages to make snapping gloves on sexy. He lubes the latex up (“You’re not allergic to latex, right?” “Ohmigod Omi just get inside of me -”) and inserts the first finger, and Atsumu sees stars.
He doesn’t even know what sound he makes, but Sakusa bites down on one hickey-ridden thigh and orders him to “Make that noise again,” and he can’t refuse a command like that, can he?
In no time at all, a second finger joins the first and it feels so much better than when Atsumu does it to himself, probably on account of the fact that Sakusa’s wrist twists and angles itself to hit his prostate dead-fucking-on, and he lets out a muffled scream into the couch cushions because oh yeah, they’re fucking on his sofa.
Sakusa fits another finger in, so there are three fingers pistoning in and out of his hole, and if this keeps up he’ll come embarrassingly fast - Atsumu turns and reaches for Sakusa’s shorts, and surprisingly, Sakusa lets him reach in and pull out his dick.
Atsumu quickly tears two condoms open with his teeth and rolls one on to his own neglected cock, and then shoves the other in his mouth and rolls it onto Sakusa’s dick with his tongue. Sakusa stiffens, and then flips him over onto his stomach with a sly little smile, the jerk.
When Sakusa presses in with the tip of his cock, it’s so thick and big that Atsumu’s momentarily stunned into silence. Sakusa Kiyoomi’s dick fucking punches all the air out of his lungs, and he keens into the midsummer air, clenching his eyes shut with an aborted moan.
“You okay?” and Sakusa sounds way too smug to be genuinely concerned about his wellbeing.
“Shut the fuck up,” Atsumu grounds out, only to be immediately reprimanded by a sharp thrust of Sakusa’s hips that have him biting his lip to muffle another moan.
Sakusa sinks all the way into him, and since he’s perfect at everything, the head of his dick jabs directly into his prostate, and Atsumu is seriously going to come in record time because there is no way this should feel this good.
Atsumu wraps his thighs around Sakusa’s hips, not missing the way he shudders at the contact, and grins up at him with a cocky smile. “Ya like my thighs, dontcha?”
He barely has time to dig his hands into the couch when Sakusa slams into him, not bothering to deign him with a response and working his way into a steady rhythm.
This the best lay he’s ever had. It’s something about how the way Sakusa’s dick is the perfect shape to apparently jab every single nerve ending he has, or the way one of his bony hands is tugging at his nipple (of course this guy knows all of his weak points) and the other is pinching at the raw skin between his thighs, and Atsumu throws his head back into the cushions and squirms, trying to delay his orgasm so that this miracle doesn’t end too quickly.
Sakusa leans down and sucks a hickey onto his skin, and it’s no use - Atsumu is going to come regardless of whether he tries to stop it, since Sakusa is just too damn good at sex, (which is fucking ridiculous!) but unfortunately, or fortunately for him at this very moment, that’s life, and life is unfair.
He tugs him closer with his thighs, and Sakusa gives him a smoldering look that shoots straight to his dick.
“Do you want to touch yourself?”
“Not really, I - mnn - can come without touching - ah! ”
As soon as he finishes talking, Sakusa thrusts even deeper into him and returns to marking his neck with a constellation of bites, and he whispers something into his skin that Atsumu wouldn’t have heard if Sakusa hadn’t been in the hollow of his neck - “You’re driving me insane.”
Sakusa makes one final push of his hips, hitting his prostate dead on, and Atsumu comes - and this is the best orgasm he’s ever had in his life.
Like, there’s a white light at the end of the tunnel, and Atsumu imagines the headlines - “ MSBY Jackals setter fucked to death by their own wing spiker! ” - and pleasure sparks through his veins, bringing it back to his heart and pumping it all throughout his body and he twists and moans his release, and vaguely in the corner of his eye he can see Sakusa curling in on himself in his own release, and his face is open in a way that he’d never allow if he knew Atsumu was watching.
It’s gorgeous.
There's a moment of silence as they both bask in the afterglow of the literal eye-opening sex they just had, before Sakusa begins to clean up, pulling his condom off and throwing it into the trash can, prompting Atsumu to do the same, and they just lay there in a comfortable silence. At least, until Atsumu opens his mouth.
"So, uh, Omi-kun, why didja come to my apartment ...?"
Sakusa turns to look at him with a deadpan glare.
Atsumu backpedals. "Was it to get laid? I mean, I'm not complainin', but I just kinda wanna know yer reasoning, ‘cause y’know, I don’t think you’d normally do this, so was it the thigh thing?"
“I wanted to be the only one that touches you,” Sakusa huffs with an adorable pout on his face, and it’s such an attractive look on him that all the air leaves Atsumu’s body with a wheeze.
“It was the thigh thing - oh my god, Omi, you were jealous , you saw all those thirsty people on twitter beggin’ for a taste of these,” - Atsumu pats his marked-up thighs for emphasis - “and ya wanted ta’ stake yer claim, right?”
“Shut up,” and Sakusa is blushing , and Atsumu suddenly feels like he’s conquered the world, or done the impossible - he had sex with Sakusa Kiyoomi, and he made him blush just by flexing his thighs at him, and -
"Omi, yer so cute, please tell me you’ll date me because I don’t think I can go back to being just bein’ yer friend after this,” he gasps out, because Sakusa is lying on his couch, looking like he belongs there, and there’s nothing he wants more in that moment to be able to say that Sakusa Kiyoomi is his, and his alone.
There’s a stunned silence, and it lasts just long enough that Atsumu thinks I managed to fuck this up, how the fuck did I do that? and he’s ready to swallow his words and go back to masturbating alone with his pale-in-comparison wrists and hands, but Sakusa grabs his face with his hands and forces Atsumu to face him.
“I like you. More than I should, anyway.”
And that’s a fucking yes. That’s a fucking yes!
Atsumu can’t contain himself - he lunges upwards and straddles him with his thighs, pinning him into the sofa, and he leans down to whisper in his ear, “Hope ya can go again, Omi-omi, ‘cause I’m gonna ride ya until yer begging for mercy,” and Sakusa rushes up to meet him, and they don’t emerge from the apartment for hours.
(“Hey, Omi, why didn’t ya spray down the place when ya got here?” “Because you posted on your story that you cleaned the place yesterday, and I wasn’t about to waste time.” “Oh.”)
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AtsumuMiyaOfficial
these thighs are taken baby ;))) @SakusaKiyoomiOfficial
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