Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

​​Kiyoomi needed to find a way to steal Bukoto’s phone and delete all his playlists. He’d had to endure a whole hour of the same angsty rock song under the guise of letting his teammates celebrate his birthday. That was a thoughtful gesture, he supposed. The idea of buying cupcakes was especially considerate. This way, Kiyoomi could have his own without the brain parasites telling him that sharing cake was nasty.

He’d had two carrot cake cupcakes (Were they called carrot cupcakes since carrot cake cupcakes was inaccurate?) and was eying the red velvet. The last red velvet.

As he was reaching for it, a tanned hand beat him to it and snagged it.

“Ah! Did I take your cupcake, Omi?” crooned Atsumu, hurrying to lick some of the frosting.

Kiyoomi ignored what seeing Atsumu’s tongue glide smoothly over the icing did to his body. The guy always picked on him, and Kiyoomi gave as good as he got—his mother didn’t raise him to be silent.

Rather than words, he switched the directory of his hand and tipped the cupcake in Atsumu’s hand, sending the remainder of the icing all up his nose. Surprised, Atsumu yelped, giving Kiyoomi a glare as he grabbed some tissues. Unfortunately for Kiyoomi, Atsumu had the gall to look good with icing on his face. Fucker.

“You can have it,” he said, wiping his hand with a napkin.

Bokuto guffawed as he watched them. “Aw, come on, Tsum-Tsum, be nice to Omi, it’s his birthday!” He clapped a hard smack to Atsumu’s shoulder.

“Sakusa-san, do you want the vanilla?”

He nearly scoffed at Hinata’s sincere offer. No, he did not want the vanilla. And that applied to tastes that went beyond cupcakes.

“Whatever, I was just teasin’,” Atsumu muttered, getting up. “Gonna use your bathroom, Bokkun.”

“Be my guest!” Bokuto said, then when Atsumu disappeared down the hall, his face lit up with horror. “Oh no.”

“What’s wrong?” Hinata asked, happily finishing off the last vanilla cupcake.

“He’s totally gonna snoop,” Bokuto moaned.

“Is it snooping if you leave whatever you’re terrified of Atsumu finding lying out for your guests to see?” Kiyoomi asked quietly. He’d been to Bokuto’s bathroom (just to wash his hands; he’d never use another person’s toilet) and he’d seen a pair of lacy underwear carelessly left on the floor.

At least Kiyoomi had actually kicked the panties behind the toilet so no one going after him would see them. He wondered if Atsumu would have had the same grace if he'd been in his position.

He was proven right twenty seconds later when Atsumu came sauntering down the hallway to the living room, waving his wrist around. Hanging off of the end of his index finger was a pair of…fluffy cuffs. Kiyoomi shut his eyes and shook his head lightly.

“Look what we got ’ere,” Atsumu sang.

Bokuto was reasonably embarrassed, his cheeks glowing pink as he lunged at Atsumu. But Atsumu was wily, having a twin brother must have prepared him for evading someone trying to take something from him.

With a whine, Bokuto said, “Give that back, Tsum-Tsum! Come on.”

Atsumu cackled, starting to climb up the couch, specifically, behind Kiyoomi. He leaned away from Atsumu’s legs and ignored the pitter of his heartbeat. He was in close proximity to Atsumu most days due to the nature of their jobs. He shouldn’t get this affected just because he felt those solid thighs frame his shoulders.

It was the possibility of what those thighs could look like in an entirely different scenario that made him nervous.

The embarrassment in Bokuto’s voice was evident, though he didn’t usually care what people thought of his dominant side. Kiyoomi had begrudgingly admired that about him.

“Come on,” he was saying, his voice sharp on a, “Stawwppp.” But Atsumu was relentless, now dancing, still occupying the space behind Kiyoomi. He had half a mind to elbow him in the groin, but he didn’t have to.

Bokuto’s voice took on a different tone when he said, low and deep, “Atsumu, stop.”

First of all, he rarely called Atsumu by his full name, going by the horrible nickname most of the time.

Second of all, that was a command. Softly spoken, but still.

And they all knew Atsumu was a sub.

He folded, dropping the handcuffs in Bokuto’s open palm and—he hid behind Kiyoomi’s back. It shouldn’t be even possible, since he was so big, but he managed it. And Kiyoomi had the misfortune of feeling every shiver that raked through Atsumu’s body.

“Shit,” Bokuto said quietly, “Sorry ’bout that.”

Weakly, Atsumu mumbled, “’s OK, I went too far.”

Hinata cleared his throat, but when Kiyoomi looked at him, he saw him giving him some signal. A pointed nod toward the man huddled behind him. Kiyoomi couldn’t act on it, though. He was incapable of even taking a deep breath. He was horribly filled with this ugly feeling in his chest. His limbs demanded he do something damaging to Bokuto’s face. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Except…

Atsumu’s reaction had been…a reminder.

He didn’t look or behave like any of the submissives who Kiyoomi had encountered. He was a whirlwind of a man, always mouthing off and goofing off. To feel him tremble as he got himself under control, Kiyoomi felt personally piqued to assist.

“Come on,” he sighed. He gently wrapped a hand around Atsumu’s elbow and helped him off the couch. “We’ll be using your guest room.”

“Uh, sure,” Bokuto said, running a hand through his hair. “Tsum-Tsum, I’m really sorry—”

“It’s OK! Really!” Atsumu didn’t sound okay, though. He sounded…

Kiyoomi hurried him toward the guest room. Once the door closed, Atsumu lowered himself to the floor and hugged his knees. Kiyoomi followed suit, but he put some distance between them. He couldn’t know how Atsumu was reacting precisely, though he’d dealt with subs before.

Atsumu would likely not cling to him and ask to be comforted.

Lo and behold, he was wrong. What unfolded next left Kiyoomi feeling a mixture of bewildered and…pleased. It began with Atsumu letting out a sound too soft to belong to him at all and ended up with him crawling into Kiyoomi’s personal space.

His eyes were rimmed with tears, his breaths shallow. “Omi,” he said, his voice wan, “please.”

Nothing more. Just that word. In that voice. A voice that tugged at all of Kiyoomi’s instinct, a voice that told him to protect.

He couldn’t make a move, though. He stayed rooted where he was, legs folded in a loose position, waiting for Atsumu.

Atsumu did not disappoint. He took in Kiyoomi’s expression—he was smiling lightly, trying to look welcoming—and began to crawl on his hands and knees to him. He stopped just short of climbing Kiyoomi’s lap.

“C-can I?”

The tone of dominance slid far too easily into Kiyoomi’s voice. “Come here, Miya.”

A soft sigh exhaled from Atsumu’s trembling lips. He was so alluring, tugging at Kiyoomi’s heartstrings with every gesture. He climbed into Kiyoomi’s lap but wouldn’t rest his weight on Kiyoomi’s thighs until Kiyoomi said, “Sit.”

The gentle command punched a breathless moan out of Atsumu, and he settled down.

All this muscle, in Kiyoomi’s reach. In his lap. If he wasn’t hard from hearing Atsumu beg him, he was hard now.

“Can I touch you, Miya?” he asked, tilting his head back to get a look at Atsumu.

Blond hair fluttered as Atsumu nodded.

“Use your words,” Kiyoomi commanded.

“Touch me, Omi,” he said, entreating as if he wanted Kiyoomi to do more than touch him.

His hands began a slow and meandering path from the small of Atsumu’s back, and, upon Atsumu’s little breathless, “Yes,” they slid to his shoulders, kneading the hard muscle there. Kiyoomi wondered what they looked like that moment, a submissive receiving comforting caresses from a dominant like him.

He’d never felt like this before, a surge of protectiveness that sat in his throat. He wanted then to be the sole source of Atsumu’s security. He wanted to keep touching Atsumu’s back, against the soft cotton of his t-shirt or against the smooth skin of his back. Either way, he’d be well and truly content.

Slowly, with the help of Kiyoomi’s silent yet constant care, Atsumu calmed down. His breathing evened and his limbs grew lax around Kiyoomi. He lamented the loss of Atsumu’s thighs tightly clutching his waist, but when Atsumu leaned back, arms loosely hanging off of Kiyoomi’s shoulders, he was smiling.

Brilliant. Luminous. He was like the sun, but far more dangerous to be looked at directly.

“Are you feeling better?”

Atsumu nodded. “Omi’s great at this. I’m slightly disappointed that I recovered so soon.”

The words made blood rush south. He was lightheaded.

“You are?”

Atsumu bit at his bottom lip. “I am. I think the way I’m still wrapped around you like an octopus is obvious enough.”

“I don’t mind,” he said quickly. Shit. “I mean. It’s fine.”

A hearty chuckle filled Atsumu’s chest, and in effect, warmed Kiyoomi’s.

“You’re honest. I like that in a dominant,” he said. His fingers were leaving tantalizing trails up and down Kiyoomi’s nape. He could hardly focus. “Do you think if I, uh, asked you for help again, you’d say yes?”

A question like this needed proper consideration. He needed to weigh the pros and cons of entering a contract with his teammate.

“Yes,” he replied, not even 0.02 seconds after Atsumu asked.

His honeyed brown eyes widened, and his stupidly wet mouth—the aftermath of him chewing on his lips—beamed. “Really?”

“We would need a contract.”

Atsumu nodded. Then he sighed, collapsing forward so his face was tucked under Kiyoomi’s chin. “I will literally be indebted to you until the end of time. I will steal the sun, the moon and the stars for you and gift them to you on a silver platter,” Atsumu said.

Not once was Kiyoomi so thoroughly charmed by a submissive’s words before. Matter of fact, he’d never been made to feel this vital to someone. When it was all he wanted.

But he needed to know Atsumu was being his usual self, not reacting to an ill-timed drop. He gave him a serious look.

“Come over tomorrow. We’ll talk more,” Kiyoomi said. Some part of him detested the delay, it wanted Atsumu as his now. Not tomorrow. Not even ten minutes from now.

Then again, that was the raving of a mad dominant who hadn’t had a taste of such sweet submission.

Especially not one in the form of Miya Atsumu, grinning at him.

“Guess we got our first date covered.” He lightly grazed Kiyoomi’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Who’d have known you’d be so perfect for me, Omi?”

Who, indeed.

It definitely wasn’t him.

A knock sounded on the door next, and if Kiyoomi hadn’t been raptly watching Atsumu’s face, he would have thought he’d been roughly woken up from a comfy dream. Atsumu sprang out of his arms, straight up like an arrow, just in time for Bokuto to open the door and peek his head in.

Kiyoomi was still watching Atsumu so he could only guess at how Bokuto looked as he asked, “You OK, Tsum-Tsum?”

Atsumu, smiling far too bright to be anything but fake, said, “Perfectly fine.” He didn’t say anything about how he turned out fine.

Did he want to keep what had transpired between him and Kiyoomi a secret?

“Why’re you on the floor, Omi?”

He rose without answering Bokuto’s question. That one thought bothered him. He quickly bid Hinata goodbye and left, not caring if he seemed stand-offish. Then again, it was a comfort to know he wasn’t one for lengthy goodbyes as neither Hinata nor Bokuto looked particularly bothered by his attitude. But as he was putting on his shoes, his eyes betrayed him and glanced at the face hovering a few inches behind Bokuto’s left shoulder.

The dark eyebrows framing Atsumu’s watchful eyes were slightly furrowed. Was he worried Kiyoomi would go back on his word that they’d talk tomorrow? Lightly, he gave Atsumu a nod, not daring to mouth Tomorrow, but he thought of nothing else all the way home.

────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────

The morning passed too slowly for Kiyoomi’s liking. Not having the occupation of morning practice (It was their day off. One was supposed to rest.) didn’t mean Kiyoomi would spend his time lazing on the couch.

After his shower, he hit the gym in his building, and he might have gone a bit too hard on the weights. Even three hours in the gym didn’t feel like much. Back in his apartment, he went over the carpets with his hoover three times. Mopped twice. Took Maru for a long, meandering walk. Maru was a rescue German Shepherd Kiyoomi had at first fostered then adopted six months ago, when Maru turned two.

When they came back, Kiyoomi threw his clock a look and nearly growled.

Eleven.

He put on an apron, gloves, and a face mask, and locked Maru in the bedroom—Maru immediately went to his dog bed and began to snooze.

Kiyoomi got out the cleaners and made his favorite peppermint mixture. He got on his knees and began to wipe the baseboards. After that, he took care to shine the top of every surface until they all gleamed. He took another shower. Changed three times.

He made a quick snack of yogurt parfait and cringed because the blueberries were too sour. He made coffee and gulped down three cups, which left him wired and grouchy.

Still, it was only twelve thirty. He and Atsumu had agreed on one o’clock, not quite lunch and definitely not breakfast. Time ticked by at glacial speed.

He then became a menace to Maru who, when Kiyoomi woke him up to play, lifted his head and gave him an unimpressed look. Just as he decided to spontaneously redecorate his living room, his soul nearly departed from his body when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. He lunged for it. (Maru’s sigh of disappointment was duly ignored.)

Miya Atsumu: I’m here ପ(๑•̀ᴗ•̀)*

Kiyoomi sprang to the intercom by the door and unlocked the front door. He was about to let Atsumu know, but he beat him by sending him a thumbs up. And sparkles. So many sparkles.

He stood by the door and listened. When he heard footsteps, he unlocked the door and cracked it open. Atsumu waved. He wore a green hoodie and grey sweatpants. Kiyoomi felt overdressed in his black button-up shirt and black slacks. But the second his eyes landed on Atsumu’s face, specifically his smiling mouth, he couldn’t care less about what he was wearing. He was too busy fighting a thousand butterflies, rioting in his stomach.

Was this what he was supposed to expect? A tingle in his midriff every time he saw Atsumu’s face?

“You’re not anxious at all,” Atsumu said in lieu of a proper greeting.

“Good afternoon to you too,” he muttered under his breath, standing aside to let Atsumu in.

He walked in and took off his shoes, then began to sniff the air. “Did a peppermint tree explode in here?”

“I was… cleaning.”

“Ah,” Atsumu remarked. “That checks out.” He dropped his satchel to the couch, and Kiyoomi resisted the urge to take it and hang it in the closet at the entryway.

Instead, he mirrored Atsumu and sat down on the armchair at a forty-degree angle from where Atsumu was now sprawled on the couch, a gray cushion hugged to his chest.

“So.”

Kiyoomi twined his fingers together. “I—“

Maru interrupted by walking out of the bedroom (the floors had dried now, so Kiyoomi had left the door open) and startling Atsumu into a delighted yelp of, “A dog!”

The German Shepherd’s ears perked up, and he stared at Atsumu, who stared back, his smile large.

“He’s not very friendly. He’d been bred to be a working dog but was put up for adoption. I… transported him to Japan.”

Atsumu’s eyes remained on Maru. “What’s his name? How old is he?”

“His name's Maru—“

“He’s hardly a Maru. More like… Champion.”

Maru’s ears perked.

“That’d been the name on his form,” Kiyoomi explained. Were they going to spend the whole day talking about his dog?

“What do you mean by transportin' him to Japan?” Atsumu asked, his attention only partially directed at Kiyoomi. He was holding a hand under Maru’s nose. Maru sniffed it.

“I found his application online and just did it.” He tried to explain the process as succinctly as possible, but Atsumu asked more and more questions until the whole story came out.

Insomnia was one of Kiyoomi’s blights. He’d suffered from them since forever. One night, he forgot to take his sleeping pills—they were a mild dosage—and he was up scrolling. And he found Maru. As he’d said, Maru was supposed to be a guard dog but was released into the care of a kennel which was facing financial troubles. On a whim, or perhaps it’d been the tiredness of being up until 4 o’clock in the morning, Kiyoomi applied to foster him. The process had been long and tedious, but every time Kiyoomi saw that precious face, he knew he wanted him. It hadn’t mattered that he needed to pay for vaccinations, blood tests, and a six-month quarantine. He wanted Maru. And he got him.

As Kiyoomi spoke, Atsumu’s face was finally beginning to turn to him, and with every piece of difficult information Kiyoomi wrenched out of him, Atsumu’s eyes widening, growing shinier by the passing minute.

“That’s…” Kiyoomi waited for the verdict, assuming he’d be called stubborn, “amazin’,” came out instead, a breathy word. “You’re amazin’, Omi,” Atsumu amended.

By then, Maru had accepted that Atsumu was staying for the time being and climbed up the couch beside him, resting his head on his crossed forelegs

Kiyoomi shrugged, uncomfortable with the undeserved praise. “Dogs are… fun,” he finally said. “I’ll go get us something to drink.”

He expected Atsumu to sit there and wait. He did not. He followed Kiyoomi to the kitchen, marveled aloud at the sparkling granite top, and how shiny his refrigerator door was. “Mine's so grimy with fingerprints but I can’t be bothered to clean it.”

“That’s disgusting. Go wash your hands.”

Atsumu cackled but he complied. Huh. Kiyoomi hadn’t even used his dominant voice for that. Either he didn’t remember the last time he washed his hands, or he was just that susceptible. Neither fit Atsumu.

Coffee poured, Kiyoomi asked, “Sugar and milk?”

“Just milk, thanks. I like my coffee bitter.”

He shrugged. He made himself his fourth cup of the day.

“Just sugar, huh. Is it dark like your soul?”

“Like your future.”

“Ow, Omi, that genuinely bums me out,” Atsumu said, clutching at the front of his t-shirt aligned with his heart. By fisting the fabric, the very hem rose. Kiyoomi’s eyes flew directly to the sliver of skin.

His mouth watered at the sight of a dark trail of hair ending at the waistband of Atsumu’s sweatpants.

He’d seen Atsumu in a towel after showers. Why was he slobbering over an inch of skin at the bottom of his torso?

Because you want to bite a mark right there.

He shook off that thought and handed Atsumu his mug.

There was no point delaying the purpose of why they were together. Kiyoomi nodded to the living room. “Shall we?”

Atsumu followed. They settled back in the same seat, this time with a slight change: Maru began nosing at Atsumu’s lap, found it satisfactory, and laid his head there. Safe to say Atsumu glowed with joy. He moved to put his mug down, but first asked, “Do I need a coaster?”

“No,” Kiyoomi said, pleased Atsumu bothered to even think about coasters. “It’s steel.”

Atsumu gave him a look like, And?

“It’s nonporous.”

Atsumu remained confused.

“Never mind,” he sighed.

Looking more than happy to forget the past ten seconds, Atsumu put down his mug and began to stroke Maru’s head slowly and carefully. Each time his hand passed over the dark fur, Kiyoomi’s chest grew tighter. The knowledge that he was jealous of his own dog settled like a heavy rock in his stomach.

He turned his thoughts to more important matters. His abhorrent jealousy could wait.

“Have you ever had a contract before?”

Atsumu shook his head. “Only platonic ones but they were mostly when I was in high school.”

Kiyoomi nodded.

“Your brother.”

“Yep.”

There were so many types of contracts between dominants and submissives. It didn’t surprise him that Atsumu and his twin had shared a platonic dynamic in their teens.

“Miya Osamu kept you from being a total asshole,” he surmised. Then, thoughtfully, “I cannot imagine a version of you that’s untamed.”

Atsumu’s head shot up, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Who says I’m the one who needed tamin’?” he said, incredulous.

Kiyoomi paused, mug half-way raised to his mouth. He lowered it. “I assumed—“

“Osamu’s the bad one. He needed me as his tether to decency,” Atsumu explained, shrugging.

Kiyoomi felt a rush of shame burn his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s fine. A lot of people assume Osamu had me on a leash just because he gave off that kind of vibe when it was the other way around. Always been. And,” Atsumu paused to take a sip of his coffee, “no one really believes me when I tell them I’m a sub.”

Kiyoomi frowned. “They don’t?”

Although Atsumu was shrugging, his words were tinged with a darker emotion. “They think I’m just a soft dom who likes pretendin’ to be a sub.” His eyes fixed on Kiyoomi, he said, “I am a sub.”

“I know.”

Honeyed brown eyes widened, then he let out a soft chuckle. “Right. Cuz you saw me almost go into sub-drop because of Bokkun,” Atsumu said.

“No,” Kiyoomi murmured. “I just knew.”

He couldn’t explain it, so he didn’t even try. Atsumu took his words at face value and shrugged. “Anyway, I never really cared that doms thought I was too bratty to tame.”

“Maybe they didn’t try hard enough,” Kiyoomi mumbled into his mug, which was almost empty.

Atsumu snorted. “Precisely.” His eyes were wide and clear. “I want to let go. I want what I felt when you took control in Bokkun’s guest room.”

Kiyoomi had to look away; he couldn’t look at Atsumu and not touch, and he’d prefer for them to have a contract before he touched. He had an inkling that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He reached for the tablet tucked beside him and handed it to Atsumu. His eyes began to move over the screen, reading the contract Kiyoomi had painstakingly mapped out. It had all of his interests, hard limits, and soft limits, and in the next pages, it awaited Atsumu’s. He gave Atsumu a pen and the time to answer.

“Here, I’m done.”

Kiyoomi gave the list with the checks and crosses a thorough read. He paused when he saw the ? next to “humiliation.” Other items piqued him more, however, so he decided to put a pin in it for now. “You marked spanking with yes. What’s your number?”

Atsumu waved a hand. “Give or take thirty to forty.”

His eyebrows rose. “Impressive.”

“I like bein’ naughty,” he said, tongue poking out to press against the slight divot in his bottom lip.

Kiyoomi shifted in his seat and returned to Atsumu’s list of interests. Masturbation. Fellatio. Anal intercourse. His mouth twitched at the enthusiastic check beside double penetration. The hard limits aligned with Kiyoomi’s. No fire play, scat, needles—but, there was a check next to blood and piercing.

He glanced up at Atsumu. “Blood. Tell me more.”

“Nothin’ hardcore, but, yeah, I’d lick your blood and let you bite me to the point of breakin’ skin,” Atsumu said, far too nonchalant for what those two words— bite me — did to Kiyoomi’s head.

He nodded but he wasn’t truly reading the rest of the list. He was busy imagining Atsumu’s tanned skin marked with his teeth.

Since today was their first day, Kiyoomi had an introductory scene in mind. Nothing hardcore. Just a trial to test the waters. Once he was done reading, he asked, “Shall we set a Term?”

Atsumu nodded. “A year.”

“That long?” He couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice.

Another nod. “I mean, we’re busy with volleyball most of the time, so I figured…”

That actually made sense, and informed Kiyoomi that Atsumu thought of this very seriously. He nodded and scribbled one year into the empty spot for duration. He marked the date, March 21st.

He wondered, five or ten years in the future, if he’d be looking back at this day, this moment, and noting that on the first day of being thirty, Kiyoomi became Atsumu’s dominant for the whole year.

“This means it ends on your birthday,” Atsumu mused.

He nodded.

“We should plan a really good scene.”

Kiyoomi signed under The Dominant and marked the date. He handed the tablet to Atsumu, who did the same and returned it. Kiyoomi gave his signature a brief look. Funny. If only their avid fans knew.

With the contract completed, Kiyoomi could finally breathe. “Come with me.”

Atsumu sprang out of his seat.

“Maru, stay,” Kiyoomi said without turning. Maru slumped back into the couch.

“Whoa, he’s well trained.”

Kiyoomi closed the door behind him and looked Atsumu up and down. “Did you even doubt that I’d be good at taming?”

Atsumu’s chest rose and fell. “No,” he admitted.

“Kneel on the bed, Miya.”

Kiyoomi watched his expression, which shifted elegantly from curious to compliant. He’d never known the true euphoria of being a sub’s sole caregiver. And now there was Atsumu, kneeling neatly on the foot of his bed, smiling at him and looking so happy to be under his care. Giving him all his trust.

He could admit that this sensation swimming in his chest, filling his veins with purpose, was new but in the same breath, he made a silent vow to do it right by Atsumu and likewise be his safe place.

He stepped closer.

“Breathe with me.” The command was softly spoken but still served its purpose. Atsumu took deep breaths, matching the cadence with which Kiyoomi inhaled and exhaled. “Do you feel that? We’re in sync.”

Atsumu smiled, a small, yet radiant curl in the corners of his lips. “I feel it.”

For so long, Kiyoomi had been denied this. Trust. Care. Permission to be as soft or hard as he needed to be. He wanted to shower Atsumu in softness, then, in his own words, he wanted Atsumu to beg for more. For harder commands.

“What do you need, Miya?”

Atsumu stared up at him, without any masks holding back the desire in his eyes, “I need you.”

“Let’s see if we’re compatible, then.”

Atsumu nodded. “I’m ready to let go.”

His back straightened. He cupped his right hand with his left. “Is that all you want with me? To let go?”

Atsumu shook his head. “Nope,” he said casually. Then didn’t elaborate.

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said, letting a hint of his dominance leak into his voice.

A full body shiver engulfed Atsumu—Kiyoomi could see it. His eyelashes fluttered. “Whoa, you’re really good at this.”

He tried not to let the compliment get to his head.

“I need to know precisely what you need and want,” he said. If he needed to tighten his hold on his hands to keep them from shaking, then that was his cross to bear.

“Dare I say I want it all?” Atsumu said, eyes averted.

“Look at me.”

There was hesitance in those honeyed eyes. A hesitance Kiyoomi did not like. He reached out slowly and, before he touched Atsumu’s cheek with the palm of his hand, he asked, “May I?”

Atsumu shrugged. “I guess.”

He hardened his stare, raising one eyebrow.

The word took on a hint of defiance. Now that Kiyoomi was more familiar with. He knew Atsumu as a headstrong teammate who pushed everyone to their limits because he knew where that limit ended, not the spiker hitting his sets.

But Kiyoomi was stubborn. The word ‘difficult’ might have been thrown in his face. He waited until Atsumu said, “Yes,” before he let his hand make contact with Atsumu’s cheek. It was soft. Textured by an old scar near his ear, but Atsumu’s hair hid that. Kiyoomi explored the spot, let his fingertips brush over Atsumu’s earlobe, then back to his cheek, down to his chin, and, for a weak second, brushed a thumb over Atsumu’s bottom lip. It opened for him.

“Don’t.”

He didn’t want Atsumu to take part. This scene was for Kiyoomi to learn what he needed to know about Atsumu.

Atsumu’s lips met in a tight line, his eyes fierce. But he obediently said, “I understand.”

Kiyoomi resumed.

Stroked the philtrum, the defined spot between Atsumu’s nose and his top-lip that drove Kiyoomi mad.

Ran a fingertip over the bridge of Atsumu’s nose, ending in the space between his eyebrows.

“Why don’t you bleach your eyebrows?” he asked, feeling how soft they were. Thick. Defined. Emotive.

They frowned at him now. “Cos I’m not insane.”

“Miya.”

A sharp inhale. “Sorry, Omi.”

Speaking of. Before they could proceed, Kiyoomi wanted Atsumu to call him by a specific term. Not a nickname Atsumu had likely thought would piss Kiyoomi off the most.

“What would you like me to call you? As your chosen term,” he said, still mapping out the cartography of Atsumu’s face.

Atsumu closed his eyes and hummed, deep in thought. “Kitten?” Not deep in thought enough, clearly.

“Try again.”

“Uh… Good boy?”

He winced. “No.”

“Anata?”

It was what his mother called his father. “Veto.”

Atsumu’s eyes blinked open. “You’re hard to please.”

“Just try to be creative. Or original.”

Atsumu shrugged. “You pick, then.”

Now facing his own challenge, Kiyoomi thought of the one sub he had when he was twenty-five (that contract hadn’t lasted more than two weeks) who wanted to be called darling.

“Darling.” It was a breathy dárin, and as the syllables left his mouth, Kiyoomi felt his face light up.

Atsumu reared back, his eyes wide. “Whoa.”

“Forget it.”

“No, no,” he said, waving his hands in a manner Kiyoomi could only take as encouragement. “I like it.” Atsumu’s cheeks were definitely pink. “It’s… precious.”

“What about me?” Kiyoomi asked, wanting to change the subject. The word darling, however, rang in his head. And how true it felt. This was ridiculous. He’d never even thought of dominating Atsumu before. (Liar, shouted a voice in his head.)

Atsumu resumed the position of thinking deeply. But, with a frown, he admitted, “The only thing I wanna call you is Omi.”

He felt his face drop into mild disappointment. “Hn.”

“Or maybe,” Atsumu mused, then his face glowed. “Uh, actually, no.”

“Tell me.”

Eyes lowered, their focus on Kiyoomi’s lips, Atsumu whispered, “Sakusa-sama.”

Kiyoomi’s dick stirred in his pants. “Okay,” he said, not too quickly lest he expose just how much he liked it.

“But isn’t that too formal? Feels like I’m your maid, here to pick up after you, take your jacket when you walk in, kneel by your feet and help you take off your shoes, cook your meals and serve them, to—” Atsumu’s eyes widened, realizing he was rambling, and stopped.

Kiyoomi leaned back, smirking. “Does that appeal to you? Maid-play?” He lowered his voice. “Do you want to wait for me like a good darling, Atsumu?”

He hadn’t truly called him Atsumu before. In games or training, he was merely Miya. It was only in the privacy of his thoughts that the formality dropped into oddly pleasant familiarity.

Atsumu cleared his throat. “I, uh, I would be open to it, but only if you promise it won’t be the humiliatin’ kind.”

The question mark regarding humiliation play came to mind.

As difficult as it was, Kiyoomi released Atsumu’s chin and rested his arms by his sides. He said, “I will never push you beyond your comfort.”

The disquiet on Atsumu’s face cleared. Replaced by abject relief. “See, that’s why you’re different.”

He didn’t care to be compared to other dominants; he didn’t even want to think of other people speaking to Atsumu and telling him what to do or how to feel, so he simply shook his head.

“I’ve never truly been allowed to be someone’s…” He chose his words carefully, “safety.”

Atsumu’s jaw dropped. “Really? But you’re so good at it. You made me feel so protected.”

His smile was rueful. “I’m glad to know that.”

Sweetly, Atsumu leaned forward and rested his forehead on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “I trust you, Sakusa-sama.”

How could he resist the indelible yearning in him? It thrashed within him. “Kiss me, darling.”

His first intimate command slipped out of him, his voice strange to his own ears. But the way Atsumu lifted his head, his breaths hitched—still matching Kiyoomi’s—eased the embarrassment he couldn’t quite shake off. He held Atsumu by the back of his neck and closed his eyes.

A surge of warmth filled him at the first brush of Atsumu’s lips on his. Like the rest of him, Atsumu’s mouth was warm, his skin soft yet distinct. He moved his mouth, learning the shape of Kiyoomi’s lips, and Kiyoomi reciprocated. His hand tightened on Atsumu’s nape, tilting his head for a more comfortable angle. Their noses fit like puzzle pieces.

He could feel Atsumu smile against his mouth.

Too bad Kiyoomi was nearing his limit for chaste kisses; he leaned closer and licked the seam of Atsumu’s lips, parting them for his tongue to delve into that sweet mouth. A groan vibrated through his throat as Atsumu moaned breathlessly, his hands grasping Kiyoomi’s waist like a lifeline.

“Sakusa-sama, more,” Atsumu said when Kiyoomi pulled back.

He touched the sheen of spit on Atsumu’s lips. “Soon, darling.” I’ll give you everything you desire.

Chapter Text

Lightheaded and hard, Atsumu was on the verge of coming in his pants. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Kiyoomi had been very clear on what he expected.

The words rang in his head. You aren’t allowed to come until I say so, darling.

He’d agreed to it. But his current predicament made him want to invent a time machine, go back to an hour ago, and beat his past-self to a pulp.

But, and this was a more crucial but, his past-self had landed him in the position of kneeling on Kiyoomi’s bed, head tilted back to a degree that promised a crick in his neck come tomorrow, mouth teased by a man who knew what he was doing.

Kiyoomi was unspooling him, one lick of his tongue at a time. And Atsumu was helpless to do anything but love it.

He’d love it even more if he could touch Kiyoomi.

When he’d asked if he could, Kiyoomi had said, “No. This time, I will do the touching.”

That’d conjured a hopeful, this means that next time, I’ll touch him, but now, Atsumu was doubtful he’d even survive the next twenty seconds. The sun had sunk lower in the sky; mid-afternoon sunshine warmed the side of his face.

He moaned uncontrollably as Kiyoomi ran his fingers through his hair, over the back of his neck, dipping between his clavicles. He wanted those slender, cared for fingers under his shirt. Tweaking his nipples. Hell, he’d settle for one nipple tweak. Maybe a pinch?

Instead, he had to endure. Had to be good. Today was a test for his submissiveness, and he intended to pass with flying colors. Even if it meant he had to breathe in that dizzying scent of peppermint clinging to Kiyoomi’s skin without the hope of grazing his tongue over the beating pulse in Kiyoomi’s neck. He was so close, all Atsumu had to do was tilt his head a certain way, and he’d have his mouth on Kiyoomi’s fair skin. Their proximity told him Kiyoomi was reacting as bad as he was. So why was he torturing him?

Kiyoomi pulled away, and Atsumu instantly let out a complaint— a huff of mild annoyance. He quickly pressed his lips together, worried that huff had cost him Kiyoomi’s approval. He wanted to demand for more, but instead, said nothing.

Another Kiyoomi command: Only speak when I ask you a question or when you need to use your safe word.

Yeah, there was no way he’d tap out this soon. This scene of restraint hardly scratched the surface of how kinky Atsumu wanted to get with Kiyoomi. Then again. That was the problem. Atsumu always wanted to jump into the deep end without bothering with the shallow. Never took the time to be properly…trained.

Perhaps his only dominant from a couple of years ago had been right. You have a wild, unharnessed nature, Atsumu, you just need to learn how to suppress it until you’re allowed to release it. I’m not patient enough for this.

Coward.

Look at Kiyoomi now. He had no issue watching Atsumu’s face—he could probably read the thoughts running through Atsumu’s head. I should be butt naked, on my back, legs in the air, ass plundered, and mouth gagged. He’d take two or even one of the above over this. Over feeling like his whole heart pounded between his legs and face burning with need.

Kiyoomi’s thumb brushed over the corner of Atsumu’s lips. “Good, darling.” His praise soothed Atsumu. He let his lashes flutter down for a few seconds, breathing deeply alongside Kiyoomi.

But when Kiyoomi took a step back, then another, sirens wailed in Atsumu’s head. Until he sat in the desk chair a few feet away, legs splayed. The bulge of Kiyoomi's arousal was difficult to discern through his black pants—couldn’t he wear lighter colors? Just for Atsumu’s sake?

“As your reward, I will allow you to watch,” Kiyoomi murmured, his eyes dark. There wasn’t that big of a distance between them, but Atsumu already missed the jerk.

He nodded, shifting to ease the weight on his knees. He nearly sighed in relief when his back straightened; his head lowering so he was looking at Kiyoomi through his lashes. His eyes caught every small movement. From the deliberate stroke of Kiyoomi’s hand on his knee, to the graceful twist of his wrist, undoing his button.

Oh. Dear. God.

When he’d checked the box for masturbation, he’d assumed Kiyoomi would make him jerk off in front of him. He should’ve considered the possibility of watching Kiyoomi take out his dick and hold it in his hand.

Atsumu bit on his sensitive bottom lip. The feel of Kiyoomi’s mouth on him lingering like an imprint.

“Darling, breathe,” Kiyoomi murmured, his voice shot with desire. Like molten chocolate that coated the entirety of your mouth.

Atsumu gulped and breathed deeply, matching Kiyoomi’s rhythm. He was glad Kiyoomi’s bedroom was small and well-lit, the windows letting in the perfect amount of sunlight and highlighting every vein on Kiyoomi’s dick.

“You look like you have something on your mind, darling.” Eyes like obsidian caught Atsumu in their trap. “Tell me.”

“Will you let me see you, Sakusa-sama? Can I come closer? I want to kneel by your feet, Sakusa-sama,” he pleaded. He knew what he sounded like, his voice whiny and needy.

It seemed as if his words shot right to Kiyoomi’s head; his jaw tightened, the jut of it so attractive. Atsumu wanted to bite it. Kiyoomi seemed to like it. He nodded. “Come here, darling.”

“You can watch, darling, but you cannot touch.”

He climbed off of the bed, and on his knees and hands, he slowly made his way to where Kiyoomi sat, slotting his body in the perfect V between Kiyoomi’s spread legs. This close, Atsumu’s eyes widened as they took in Kiyoomi’s dick. It wasn’t like when he looked at his own dick; Kiyoomi’s was prettier. A darker shade of dusky pink, veined, thicker at the base with a tip that glistened with precum. His mouth watered, imagining it on his tongue, down his throat.

He licked his bottom lip, trying to wet it; but his mouth was so dry; it needed something else.

“Do you have any idea how you look right now, darling?” Kiyoomi asked.

He lifted his eyes to Kiyoomi’s face, found those dark eyes half-lidded and glazed over. He shook his head.

Kiyoomi’s smile was small yet potent. “You look hungry.”

I am hungry, Atsumu wanted to demand. But that kind of attitude would surely annoy Kiyoomi, and he might not want to continue. The thought of going home without seeing what Kiyoomi looked like when he came made his stomach twist in discomfort. He simply bit on his bottom lip and said nothing.

Kiyoomi surprised him by touching the teeth pressed to his bottom lip and said, “Let go.”

He did.

“Don’t hold back. I want you to tell me what you want,” Kiyoomi murmured, giving his cheek a stroke so sweet that for a second, Atsumu thought, He cares about me.

But could that be anywhere near the truth? They were tied together by the binds of a contract. Nothing else. He shouldn’t be getting his hopes up; he shouldn’t think he’d be that easy to love.

“Tell me what’s on your mind?”

Could he really?

Somehow reading the doubt in his eyes, Kiyoomi said, “I mean it. You can be as honest as you like.”

His eyebrows rose uncontrollably. “You’re so fuckin’ hot, Sakusa-sama,” he said, the dam broken. “The sight of you sittin’ in front of me, close enough that if I leaned in, I would be able to lick your dick.” The words flowed out of him, fast and unrestrained. “I want to choke on your dick and show you how good my mouth can be for you. I want to see your eyes roll to the back of your head. I want to hear you lose control. And I want you to come in my mouth, on my tongue, and on my face.” He was heaving by the time he finished; and he wasn’t truly finished. He just hoped he hadn’t said the wrong thing.

Kiyoomi’s hand stilled on himself, then he began to stroke himself, just a few inches away from Atsumu’s face, every slide upward stroking his knuckles against Atsumu’s chin. He shuddered. He pulled his arms behind his back and tightly gripped each opposite elbow.

He thought Kiyoomi would be too lost in his own sensations to comment on his show of restraint, which was foolish, of course. Kiyoomi saw everything.

“How lovely, you’re restraining yourself. Perhaps next time I should tie you up and make you watch,” he said, his voice a dark baritone.

Atsumu nodded. “Please. Let me see you. Fuck, Sakusa-sama,” he whimpered, “you look so good.”

Matching dots of red appeared on the high points of Kiyoomi’s cheeks. A blush. How fuckin’ precious.

“Remember,” Kiyoomi said, “you can watch and speak, but you aren’t allowed to move. I want your full attention.”

“Yes, Sakusa-sama,” he promised.

As Kiyoomi touched himself, Atsumu forgot all about his own needs; he ignored the dull pain of being propped on his knees and disregarded how his muscles were beginning to ache from folding his arms behind his back. His heart pounded in his chest, in his throat, in his ears. His eyes were fixed on Kiyoomi. On how much he enjoyed Atsumu’s obedience. On how much he liked Atsumu talking about how perfect his dick was. When Atsumu said, “I bet you taste so fuckin’ sweet, Sakusa-sama,” Kiyoomi’s thighs trembled, and his hand moved faster.

Kiyoomi was so beautiful as he drove himself to orgasm, he didn’t look like he was putting on a show. He was simply giving himself what he wanted. And that included a breathless command of, “Say my name, darling. Tell me how much you want me.”

Atsumu’s voice trembled. “I want you so terribly, Sakusa-sama. I want you to come on my face.”

“Oh, darling,” Kiyoomi groaned. “You’re unbelievable.” The words were nearly incomprehensible considering he was coming, eyelashes fluttering, his whole body tight as spurts of cum flowed out of him, coating his fingers and sliding down his fist.

He licked his lips, eyes fixed on the creamy cum on Kiyoomi’s fingers.

Kiyoomi tilted his head. “Ask nicely and I might let you lick my hand clean.”

He nearly whimpered, his voice so low. “Please, Sakusa-sama, I promise I won’t ask for too much. Just a taste.”

Relief washed over Atsumu when Kiyoomi’s mouth parted and he said the magic words: “Have a taste, darling.”

────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────

It wasn’t any cause for alarm when the blond MSBY setter let out a few remarks laced by impatience, but the jerk factor was amplified. Kiyoomi felt Atsumu’s eyes on him throughout drills, when he should be watching every player’s form in order to give proper criticism. Yet when their eyes would meet, Atsumu looked away.

He was now yelling, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “Jump higher, Shoyo, you can do it! You do it for the Goody Two-Shoes all the time!”

“Right!” Hinata replied, pumping his fist in the air in that unabashedly determined way he had and tried again.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Atsumu crooned after a rather showy play. He gave Hinata a fierce high-five, which made the middle blocker glow. Oh, it was interesting to watch Atsumu interact with a switch like Hinata, showing how dynamic he could be.

Kiyoomi bit on the inside of his cheek, suppressing a smile.

When it was Meian’s turn, Atsumu let out a bark of, “Come on, Captain,” adding with a smirk, “you can hit it even harder.” Respectful and demanding. Kiyoomi’s blood thrummed in his veins.

“I’m not impressed with your barb today, Miya,” the captain retorted.

“With all due respect, I’m not here to impress you, Captain.”

That word. Captain. As if its syllables were stroking the inside of Atsumu’s mouth on their way out of his soft lips. It irked Kiyoomi. But that irritation quickly turned to amusement when he noted that…every time Atsumu purred the word captain, he was looking strictly at Kiyoomi.

Oh?

Oh.

That big jerk was toying with him, then.

And since Kiyoomi was a bigger—impossible yet likely—jerk, he devised a proper response. He waited for the short fifteen-minute break between drills and stood at the side, his water bottle in hand. Atsumu sauntered over, an eyebrow hiked. They’d discussed and came to the agreement of no public displays; it was one of Kiyoomi’s soft limits though. Could Atsumu be considering breaking that rule?

No.

He may have walked all the way to where Kiyoomi was standing, but he didn’t initiate contact. He merely bent down—Kiyoomi let his gaze slide along the long line of his back and stopped at the roundness of his ass—and grabbed his water bottle.

He shouldn’t have questioned Atsumu’s dedication, considering he’d done so well during their first scene together last night. The memory of that obedient posture, his eyes hazy with desire, the clench of his teeth. Kiyoomi had stayed up late just remembering what Atsumu looked like—eyes darkly possessed by his desire for him, but honoring Kiyoomi’s commands. Keeping his hands held behind his back, his lips trembling for a taste of Kiyoomi's cum.

Then—he inhaled deeply—when he’d finally allowed it, Atsumu leaning into him, head tilted up to him like a sunflower straining for the sun. Open your mouth. Sweetly, those lips had parted. For him. When he’d brushed his fingers over Atsumu’s lips, Atsumu was good enough not to lick—not before he had said, Taste me, darling.

For the rest of his life, Kiyoomi would never forget the feel of Atsumu’s warm, wet tongue gliding over his fingers.

Suck.

Cheeks had hollowed, and the sensation had made Kiyoomi growl. Good.

The feel of Atsumu’s hot mouth around his fingers had nearly made him order Atsumu to turn around so he could finger him loose with the same fingers he’d gotten so wet. But he’d needed to be patient.

Still, he’d let himself indulge in a longer aftercare than might have been necessary for a scene as simple as theirs. After licking his fingers clean, Atsumu still looked hungry, so Kiyoomi had calmly said, Come and sit in my lap, mirroring the incidental but key scene from Bokuto’s guestroom.

Atsumu had let out a sigh of relief, quiet yet potent, and climbed up Kiyoomi’s legs to settle his full weight on his thighs, knowing he could handle it—knowing he welcomed it.

He’d then rubbed Atsumu’s back, murmured the sweetest praise—You’re so good to me, darling. So obedient and lovely. You make me proud to be your Dominant—and he’d felt Atsumu’s pleasure, it'd been raking through him like shivers.

Atsumu had been rock hard, dick pressed to Kiyoomi’s stomach but not once had he tried to hump or grind against him. Kiyoomi, though, had wanted him to.

He’d wanted to watch Atsumu make himself come, wanted to learn how he liked to be touched, but above all, he’d wanted to see how much of his demanding nature Atsumu could curb.

After long minutes of soothing touches and whispered compliments, Atsumu had calmed down. He’d turned pliable in Kiyoomi’s arms, nodding sweetly when he’d asked, Would you like something to eat? He’d then made him onigiri, thinking he’d enjoy the familiar meal. While he’d watched Atsumu eat ravenously, Kiyoomi grew satisfied with his decision not to go too far; that he hadn’t pushed Atsumu too far, but now, as his awareness jolted him to the presence, as he felt Atsumu stand beside him, a deep-seated, ugly emotion rose in him: regret. But Kiyoomi needed more time to train the man who thought himself untameable. At least a whole evening. Or a lifetime.

His restraint wouldn’t survive Atsumu’s goading much longer, however. He needed to be in control. Waiting for Atsumu to raise his water bottle to his mouth, he then whispered, “You want to kiss me so badly,” and quickly, once he heard the first harsh cough, he strode away.

However, no distance could keep him from hearing Atsumu’s wheeze of, “What the fuck?”

After that, Kiyoomi was pleased to see Atsumu’s curious eyes on him. His face was scrunched into desire so acute; it made him seem furious.

Good. Atsumu could burn with need, and he still wouldn’t feel an iota of what Kiyoomi was dealing with.

Practice ran smoothly enough. As the coach drew them in for some final feedback, Kiyoomi made sure to stand beside Atsumu, allowing his chest to brush along a feverish forearm. Quiet enough for only Atsumu’s ears, he said, “Come to my place, darling.”

It was risky to use Atsumu’s sub term, but thankfully, the coach had just clapped his hands to signal the end of practice.

Some of the guys chatted to themselves. Hinata asked Bokuto if he wanted to get a snack. Bokuto loudly announced his “Kaashi” was making him dinner at home. Kiyoomi paid them no mind. His entire attention was fixed on the honeyed eyes fixed on him.

The mouth that whispered, “Yes, Sakusa-sama.”

────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────

Safe to say that Atsumu was in a hurry to get the hell out of his kit and into a shower. So hurried that when Inunaki ended up in his path, he nearly growled in frustration. Inunaki definitely read the irritation on his face. The libero possessed this uncanny ability to decipher all of Atsumu’s expressions.

He gave him a lopsided grin and said, “Whatever’s crawled up your ass… I like it.” He gave Atsumu a smack on the arm and added, going ahead to the showers, “Keep it up, Atsumu.”

He took a few steadying breaths. He must so fucking obvious; a fact that irritated and embarrassed him. But he couldn’t help it. He’d never felt this itch inside him to be dominated. In Kiyoomi, he’d found a real, fitting partner. He wanted to be back on his knees, in Kiyoomi’s well-lit, peppermint-smelling bedroom. There, he’d been safe and cared for. He’d been paid attention to. Praised and looked after. For a silly second, he’d thought he wanted Kiyoomi to dictate every minute of his day, which was alarming. He never cared for twenty-four-seven play, had never even considered trusting someone to that degree.

But all evidence showed that Kiyoomi appreciated him and valued the effort Atsumu had put in following his commands. The way he’d held him after their scene made his heart pound. Complex feelings of fondness and desire were mixing into a heady potion, and he was getting dizzy from the whiplash of both wanting Kiyoomi to cuddle him and to fuck him raw.

In the shower, he scrubbed every inch of his body until his skin was so sensitive. His dick thickened with desire, but he gave it a passing glance and nothing else.

He didn’t want to come without Kiyoomi’s command.

Once he’d calmed down, he walked out into the changing room and met a dark gaze. Kiyoomi was sitting on one of the benches, facing him. All the lines of his body were relaxed. He’d already showered and changed, beating everyone else— as an unspoken rule, the MSBY players allowed Kiyoomi the perk of being first; they looked after one another.

As that gaze took in Atsumu’s face, it slowly began to lower, down to his neck and bare chest. His stomach tightened; he could feel how Kiyoomi was sizing him up, reading his body language. Seeing how relaxed he was, Kiyoomi smiled. It wasn’t a big one, he wasn’t the kind of person who smiled so broadly—not that it stopped Atsumu from harboring a secret wish to be the person to make Kiyoomi absolutely fucking beam—but it shot through him anyway. Made him puff up his chest. Saunter with too pronounced a sway of his hips. He heard the soft huff, too. Smiled to himself at having amused Kiyoomi. He got dressed whilst feeling the awareness of Kiyoomi sitting only a couple feet away, stealing glances at him. Perhaps that was why he took so long just to get his jeans over his ass, because he wanted to show Kiyoomi how hot he was. It was an asshole move of him, sue him, he wanted Kiyoomi desperate for him.

It hadn’t even been a full day since he and Kiyoomi entered their contract, but already, Atsumu was feeling antsy. Then there was the little annoyance of how he’d spent the hour before bed scrolling social media and purposefully searching up his name. As expected, he’d found some unsavory things said about him. Things that ticked him off even now, when he remembered them.

Things he didn’t even wish to repeat in the privacy of his mind. He wasn’t insecure about his position as MSBY’s setter. He’d made it to the national team, for fuck’s sake. But of course, he could always be better. The hunger inside him to be the best never lessened. It only grew uglier. He pulled down his hoodie over his head and cut his gaze to where Kiyoomi sat.

Except he wasn’t there anymore.

Fuck. He must’ve been so caught up in his rotten thoughts to notice.

“Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto clapped his shoulder. “Nasty work today. You were a beast.”

“Thanks,” he said, smirking. “Y’all needed someone to yell at you today.”

Bokuto’s grin was blinding. “Hell yeah, we did. We appreciate you looking after our performance, bud.”

The words warmed him down to his guts. He shrugged. “Just doin’ my job.”

Hinata joined them on their way out of the gym. “It reminded me of high school,” he said, his eyes glimmering. “Tobio would be jealous to know you got to order me around today.”

He scoffed. “That guy is always jealous of me.” He looked down at Hinata’s outfit. “Hot date tonight?” He was a little more dressed up than usual. His sneakers looked brand new.

Hinata’s cheeks bunched up. “Yes! Tobio and I are visiting Miyagi for a few hours.”

“Isn’t that a bit far on a work night?” he asked.

Hinata shrugged. “We’re going by Shinkansen and it’s only four to five hours.”

“That’s still a lot of time to sit in a train,” he mumbled, imagining how annoyingly boring that’d be.

Hinata was unfazed. “The time passes anyway, and Daichi-san is promising us as many Chinese buns as we can eat!”

Damn. That was poignant—the time passes anyway. As he bid Bokuto goodbye, laughing at the man’s sprint toward his car—he was always so happy to go home to his husband, he wondered if that’d ever be him. Happy to spend four hours in a train as long as he had that one person who made every moment meaningful no matter how small it may be.

He contemplated getting a car a few times now, thinking it’d be fun to visit home and spend time with his old high school classmates. They were all over the country, but it was only a couple hours’ drive.

As he stood in the parking lot, he took out his phone, thinking of how he wanted to get to Kiyoomi’s place, when he heard a soft beep of a car door getting unlocked. He looked to his left and saw a sleek black sedan. Standing by the driver’s door was none other than Kiyoomi.

When their eyes met, Kiyoomi’s head tilted. “Get it.”

He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and gladly made his way to the passenger door. Inside, the new car smell filled his nose.

“Fuck, I love that. Is this new?” He hadn’t noticed.

“Nope. Had it for a few years now.”

“And it still smells new?” He shot Kiyoomi with a disbelieving look.

“Put on your seatbelt, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said, then with a smirk and his eyes on Atsumu’s face, “I take care of my things.”

Shivers ran down Atsumu’s spine.

Once his seatbelt was clicked in, Kiyoomi did the same and started the car. Jittery over what the rest of their night would look like, Atsumu fidgeted with the seams of his jeans, then with his hair, wondering if he needed a trip to the salon or if he should just get the toner and do it at home—or he could ask Kiyoomi to do it for him. He had a feeling he’d be really good at bleaching his roots.

“What’s on your mind?” Kiyoomi asked a few minutes into the drive.

“Do you wanna bleach my roots?” he blurted out.

Kiyoomi waited until they were at a red light to give him a quizzical look. “That’s what’s been on your mind?”

He nodded. “They’re growin’ out fast, and I thought you’d be really good at it. Osamu used to help but the dipshit once bleached one of my eyebrows.”

A chuckle resonated through the car, and with a pleasant start, Atsumu realized it’d been Kiyoomi. He’d made Kiyoomi laugh. Wow. What a concept. He was definitely going to try to do that again.

“Sure, I can do that for you,” Kiyoomi said. “Do you want to stop at a certain store or—”

“I didn’t mean tonight!” he quickly said. “I mean,” he flushed, “you probably had somethin’ planned for tonight.”

Ugh why was his heart furiously pounding? Kiyoomi didn’t reply, which only made Atsumu more nervous. The rest of the drive was spent like that, Atsumu wondering precisely what Kiyoomi planned.

The car stopped outside Kiyoomi’s building and before Atsumu could undo his seatbelt and open the door, a warm hand slowly grazed his left thigh, and a hot mouth breathed against his ear, “First of all, you’re staying over tonight, darling.”

He swallowed harshly. “Okay,” he replied, then tagged on, “Sakusa-sama.”

He didn’t even bother worrying that he hadn’t packed an overnight bag; knowing Kiyoomi, he was meticulous enough and had already prepared everything. He glowed as they walked into the lobby together, thinking, He got me PJs…how fucking adorable. I hope we match.

Just standing in proximity to Kiyoomi was making him want things. He wanted to be kissed, surely, but he also wanted Kiyoomi to hold him. To put him on his knees again. To soothe and comfort him when he felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. But above all, he wanted to be good to Kiyoomi.

In the living room, once he’d toed off his sneakers and walked in, he saw that adorable German Shepherd and immediately bee-lined to the dog. “Hey, champion!” he said.

Maru raised his head from his paws and gave Atsumu a large dog-smile, which only made Atsumu melt. He folded his legs under him and began to give Maru all the head rubs he deserved, which were a lot.

He didn’t even notice Kiyoomi coming to stand beside him until Kiyoomi pointedly cleared his throat and asked, “Do you want to help me get dinner started?”

He looked up with a start. That hadn’t been a command but a question. A request. He nodded. Kiyoomi put his hand out and Atsumu gladly let him help him up.

Let his hand rest in Kiyoomi’s hold for a few more moments, marveling over how warm Kiyoomi was. March was nippy as usual, and only now did he notice how cool his hand was. In the kitchen, Kiyoomi washed his hands first, then Atsumu followed suit, watching his every move. Kiyoomi was quiet, which irritatingly intrigued Atsumu even more. Was dinner all they were going to have? Also, did he have to put on an apron and look so good in it. Combined with his dark jeans and black turtleneck, Kiyoomi was so handsome, washing vegetables, that it took all of Atsumu’s control not to wrap his arms around that tapered waist and hug him from the back.

Ugh. He needed to get a grip and some patience.

“Here, you can peel the potatoes.” Kiyoomi unceremoniously handed him a bowl with the washed potatoes and a peeler.

“Okay,” he murmured, then got to work.

When he was done, Kiyoomi looked over them and gave him a nod. “Good work.”

Yeah, he fucking glowed from the praise. Over peeling potatoes. When it was a skill he acquired after helping out at Onigiri Miya for hours on end under the tyranny of his twin brother.

Guess he needed to send Osamu a thank you card for yelling at him every time he’d peeled too much of the skin.

Whilst Kiyoomi prepared the protein—enough chicken breasts to feed an army—Atsumu became in charge of cutting up the vegetables for a stir fry. He agonized over every cut, he wanted them all to be identical in width and length, and when he was finished, he showed Kiyoomi his board.

“Those are done very well, Atsumu,” he said, his eyes gleaming.

Atsumu beamed. “Thanks. I helped Osamu out a lot when he was starting out.”

“Do you miss it?” Kiyoomi asked.

He moved to the sink to rinse the knife and wash his hands. “A bit. I mean, he was a total asshole about every damned thing. Supervised me like I was five—” He stopped. “Why’re you smilin’ like that?”

Kiyoomi was leaning against the counter opposite Atsumu. “You realize you’re describing how you were behaving today, right?”

He scoffed. “That was nothin’. The guys like a bossy setter,” he said defensively.

“Are you sure you don’t enjoy bossing them too much?” He took a few steps, so their feet were an inch apart. Atsumu looked up at the brown eyes staring into his face.

He licked his bottom lip and admitted, “Yeah, I do. I like makin’ them move faster and hit harder.”

“I could tell,” Kiyoomi said, his voice so quiet, it could’ve passed for a purr.

He felt his face warm up, embarrassment filling every inch of his skin. He looked away from the knowing look in Kiyoomi’s eyes and scrambled for a change in topic.

“Didn’t know you’d be into stuff like this. Domestic play, is it?” he said in a hurry, rubbing the back of his neck.

He felt Kiyoomi step even closer, his minty shower gel filling his head, turning him lightheaded. The temperature in the kitchen was quite warm and Atsumu was starting to sweat under his hoodie.

“Domestic, hm?” Kiyoomi hummed. “I hadn’t thought of it,” he continued, his voice low, “but now that I consider it…” He trailed a finger up and down Atsumu’s arm, which instantly had Atsumu’s skin prickling for more. “It’d suit you.” His voice was so close, his face an inch away from Atsumu’s. He averted his gaze, unable to look into those bottomless eyes and retain his sanity.

“Look at me, darling,” Kiyoomi instructed, his quiet dominant voice charged with intent.

Atsumu was helpless to do anything but obey. He gulped harshly when he saw the heated look in Kiyoomi’s eyes. He saw him move his hand behind his back, fiddling with the straps of his apron until it loosened around him.

“Take your hoodie off.”

With shaky fingers, Atsumu grabbed the back of his hoodie’s neck and with a yank, pulled it off. His arms still in the sleeves, he looked at Kiyoomi. He didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the look of naked pleasure.

“Hand it over,” Kiyoomi said, palm up.

He slid the hoodie all the way off and, folding it neatly—he thought Kiyoomi would like that, and judging by the way one corner of that mouth quirked, he did—and placed it in his hand. Kiyoomi went to the dining table in the corner of the kitchen and came back with his apron in his hand. “Turn around.”

Atsumu stood facing the sink, his chest rising and falling, his face burning with anticipation. Kiyoomi began to put the apron on him, his chest so close to his bare back that he could almost feel the soft fibers of Kiyoomi’s turtleneck sweater. Kiyoomi slipped the straps of the plain apron through his arms, his fingers leaving trails of fire along Atsumu’s shoulder. Then, he tied the bottom straps at the small of his back, and, leaning close enough for his breaths to brush over Atsumu’s neck, he looped the last bit in a tidy bow low on his hips.

“There, this suits you a lot more than it suits me,” he said, his voice rumbling through Atsumu’s skin like tiny earthquakes.

He clutched the edge of the sink and shut his eyes. Fuck. What was happening to him? His dick was stiff in his pants, pressing against his zipper, and all Kiyoomi did was put an apron on him.

“Turn around, darling. Show me the front,” he said. The command was coated in gentleness.

Atsumu swiveled and let out a huff of bemusement. “Uh, I don’t— I mean— did I have to take my hoodie off?”

Kiyoomi was staring at his chest, the front panel of the apron wasn’t wide enough to cover him, and his nipples had grown stiff.

His eyes rising to Atsumu’s face, Kiyoomi smiled. “Of course you did.” He brushed a knuckle over the left edge of the apron’s panel, and his touch was tormenting, it was so near Atsumu’s nipple, but not really.

He wanted to lean into the touch, redirect Kiyoomi’s finger, but he didn’t want to burst the bubble of the scene. Didn’t want to disappoint Kiyoomi.

So, he endured the tight feeling in his chest as he was surveyed by Kiyoomi.

“So pretty,” Kiyoomi breathed and flicked Atsumu’s nipple.

A surprise whine vibrated in his throat, his lashes fluttered, and his hands shook by his sides.

He looked into Kiyoomi’s eyes and asked, “Am I really?”

Kiyoomi smiled. “Yes, darling.” He brushed his finger over that same peak, torturing Atsumu with the feather light touch. “Pretty enough to ask for a reward.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He caressed the inside of his bicep. “Tell me, darling, what would you like?”

So many requests came to mind, all of them filthy, all of them ended with him on that dining table, pants around his ankles, fucked in that apron. But what came out of Atsumu’s mouth was a quiet, “Kiss me.”

Even though he’d stated it, the request was drenched in Atsumu’s need. When he’d teased him, and made him choke, Kiyoomi had been right. Atsumu did want to kiss Kiyoomi. He wanted it so much, it’d consumed him. Like the fool he could be, he’d channeled that yearning into irritation and been a demon to their teammates.

His eyes closed as Kiyoomi stepped closer, his heat engulfing Atsumu in its comforting sensation, but he still shivered when Kiyoomi’s lips brushed against his own. Need pulsed through him, made every part of him sensitive. A finger brushed against his neck, and he let out a sigh, his lips parting. Kiyoomi kissed him deeper, licking into his mouth.

His tongue stroked along Atsumu’s, toyed with the inside of his bottom lip, and sucked it into his mouth. Bit down. He moaned, knees weakened. Every twitch of his body felt amplified by how naked he felt, in jeans and an apron and nothing else.

Kiyoomi pulled away and— for a silly moment, Atsumu chased after him, whimpering, “Please, Sakusa-sama, more,” and, pinching Kiyoomi’s chin in his thumb and index fingers, he tilted it to him.

A sound like amusement filled his ears, but Kiyoomi didn’t push him away. He wrapped a hand around Atsumu’s upper arm and gently held him while Atsumu kissed him. He felt so clumsy, shifting from rubbing his lips all over Kiyoomi’s, then licking tentatively at the tip of his tongue. He wanted more, yes, but he didn’t think he should take it like this. He’d lapsed, and the disappointment in himself made him stop and look down. His fists dangled uselessly by his sides.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I acted without thinking.”

He kept his gaze lowered, until Kiyoomi lifted his chin—his eyes surprising him. They weren’t hard with disapproval but gentle. “I didn’t dislike it.”

Atsumu cleared his throat.

“Let’s finish dinner first,” he said.

Looking down at himself, Atsumu asked, “Like this?”

Kiyoomi smirked. “You can put on your hoodie again if you’re feeling shy.”

Yeah, no, he wasn’t gonna put his fucking hoodie back on. “I’m not feelin’ shy,” he retorted, without much heat, except for the warmth in his cheeks.

Kiyoomi’s smirk turned into a small smile. “I can see that.” He squeezed Atsumu’s arm, and Atsumu chose to focus on the comfort he could derive from that touch.

Dinner was stir fried vegetables with grilled chicken and noodles. Kiyoomi was comfortable giving Atsumu tasks and before he knew it, they were working in tandem, a well-oiled machine. Every time Atsumu did something good, Kiyoomi would stroke the side of his face with his knuckles and tell him so. By the time they sat down to eat, Atsumu’s stomach was tied up into little knots which he had little hope of unraveling. But, seeing the large quantity Kiyoomi had prepared, the chicken glazed with his ‘special’ sauce—details which he wouldn’t tell Atsumu, the juicy vegetables, and the gleaming noodles, his appetite flourished.

After a quick itadakimasu, they dug in, both choosing to shovel his food in quiet companionship. At first, Atsumu felt silly, sitting there without his hoodie and in an apron—he kept worrying some of the food would get on his chest and singe him. But once he took his first bite of chicken, the savory meat melting on his tongue, he forgot all about it. Once or twice, Maru would hover in their periphery, giving them puppy-dog eyes. Kiyoomi cleared his throat.

“Is the chicken to your liking?”

Atsumu started—he’d been literally slurping what had to be the longest piece of noodles ever created—and turned so fast, the last few inches of his bite slapped against his chin.

He wiped it with the back of his hand, grimacing at his rudimentary instinctual behavior—what was he, five?

“Uh, yeah, the chicken is great, Omi.”

The nickname had slipped so unconsciously that it took him a few more bites of his food to even notice that Kiyoomi wasn’t eating. He was just watching him.

“Are you—” His eyes widened as it dawned on him.

He lowered his head and said sincerely, “I’m so sorry, Sakusa-sama.”

To his surprise, Kiyoomi brushed his fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.” Then, “It’s as if we’re dating.”

Now that he’d named it, Atsumu could finally pinpoint what about tonight was confusing him so much. Driving him in his car, reminding him to put on his seatbelt, letting him into his kitchen—which, according to Osamu, anyway, was a sacred place for anyone with any decent cooking skills—and kissed him so tenderly. Now, they were having dinner, knees close enough for them to brush whenever one of them moved.

It was the domestic scene of Atsumu’s dreams. The kind of comfortable relationship he’d never had. The one he’d just been craving.

But it’s not supposed to be like this. You’re just his submissive. Someone who gives his trust when it comes to both of your sexual gratification. Nothing more.

Damn that insidious voice in his head.

It soured the last of his dinner, but Atsumu had been raised to appreciate every bite of food offered to him, so he still finished everything until his plate was gleaming.

He leaned back in his seat and let out a long, satisfied sigh. “That,” he paused to let the feeling of needing to burp pass, “was stupendous.”

Kiyoomi likewise leaned back, his eyebrow raised. “Stupendous.”

“I know what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

The corner of Kiyoomi’s lips kicked up. “High praise from the brother of a cook.”

“Samu makes onigiri. You make…” He let his hands span the table, “miracles.”

Another miracle Kiyoomi was capable of pulling off: bells of heaven rang in Atsumu’s chest when he laughed. A hearty, short burst of ha-ha-ha that was so adorably infectious that Atsumu joined in, slightly more interested in witnessing this phenomenon than actually participating.

“Okay, flattering time is over. We need to clean up and take Maru out on his evening walk.”

That part of the night Atsumu was very familiar with, but first, he asked, “Is it okay if I put on my hoodie, though? I don’t think I’ll like soapy water splashing on my tits.”

Kiyoomi paused, half-standing, half-sitting, and shot him a look. “You don’t?”

“Hey, it’s not like I put on an apron and prance around on a regular basis.”

Kiyoomi leaned forward and flicked his cheek, so light and quick, Atsumu didn’t even have time to react besides a soft whoa.

Even in his state, however, Kiyoomi’s quiet, “If you do, let me know. I’ll come and watch,” didn’t escape his notice.

His eyes widened and it took him a few seconds to register how the teasing tone in Kiyoomi’s voice was underscored by genuine interest.

He gazed at Kiyoomi’s retreating back in silence for a few moments, then asked, “Who taught you how to cook?”

Kiyoomi looked over his shoulder, slowly rolling up his sleeves. “My mother made sure all her children could fend for themselves once we left the nest.”

He picked up the last of their dishes and strode to the sink. He lowered them carefully, but his eyes were fixed on Kiyoomi’s arms. He’d seen those arms plenty of times. He’d seen them in long and short sleeves. He’d seen them bared to the shoulders. He’d seen them red with the mark of hours of dedicated receives. But he’d never seen them in gloves the color of hot pink.

“Those are…”

“My youngest sister Ami’s housewarming present,” he explained, not waiting for Atsumu to ask.

“Ah.” He rolled his lips inward. But the giggle escaped anyway. Kiyoomi didn’t seem to mind him, though. He began to wash the dishes, meticulous yet swift, and Atsumu was hypnotized to do anything but watch.

So much for needing to put on his hoodie. He rested one shoulder against the wall beside the sink and peppered Kiyoomi with questions.

“Do you have more sisters?”

“Two more. One older and one younger.”

“Brothers?”

“Just one.”

“Are they partnered?”

“Ami isn’t, but all the rest are.”

Atsumu let out a long, oh, then perked up. “Does this mean you have nieces and nephews? Little gremlins calling you Kiyoomi-oji?”

Dark eyes met his gaze. “I have six of those.”

“Whoa!”

Kiyoomi smiled down at the plate he was drying. His movements were so economical, as if he knew precisely how many times he needed to pass the clean dish towel over the ceramic to dry it entirely.

“There’s the eldest, Hiro at 12—my eldest sister married young,” he added in explanation to Atsumu’s shocked what? His smile only grew bigger. “She followed my parents’ footsteps, though they got married at twenty and had her at twenty-one.”

“That’s… I can’t decide if it’s amazing or…brave.”

“It can be both.” Kiyoomi finished up the dishes and then it was his turn to watch Atsumu, who’d just then remembered he was supposed to get undressed, put on his hoodie.

“Tell me more,” he said quickly, head popping out of the neck.

Kiyoomi reached out and fixed Atsumu’s hair. “Then there’s Erina, ten, and fiercest protector of her big brother Hiro.”

“And?”

“Do you really want the whole family tree?”

Atsumu nodded. “I had no idea you had such a big family.”

Kiyoomi shrugged. “It’s mid-sized.”

“Nuh-uh, it’s huge. At home, it was just me, Samu, and Ma,” he said. He smiled to himself. “Ma always said she wanted to have more kids but my dad—” He cut himself off. “Let’s just say things didn’t work out between them.”

His chest squeezed when he looked up at Kiyoomi and saw how his eyes were softly rounded. Then he was wrapping Atsumu in his arms, his warmth so pleasant, Atsumu reciprocated with a silent sigh that echoed in his chest.

“All right, the tender moment is over,” he said after a few heartbeats. “Let’s take Maru out before he retaliates.”

“Maru would never disobey me.”

Atsumu chuckled but didn’t say anything. What could he say? He knew? That’d just sound… whoa, would you look at that, he was thinking before blurting out the first thing on his mind. Was this some new improvement of being in the personal vicinity of one Sakusa Kiyoomi or was it the now gnawing need inside him telling him to be good?

He moved to follow Kiyoomi to the genkan but was stopped with a hand on his arm.

“What?” he asked.

“Your hoodie is light. Wear a coat.”

“I don’t have one,” he replied, not seeing where Kiyoomi was going with this.

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “I’m well aware of that, Atsumu. I meant, wear one of mine.”

He took an unsteady step back. “You want me to put on your coat?”

“Yes?” Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with that?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nothin’ is wrong with that. It’s just…” He trailed off, not sure if what he was about to say was super depressing or super pathetic, but the truth was: No dominant had ever cared that much about him.

“Just pick one out. They’re all clean if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kiyoomi said impatiently, a hint of red lingering on the high points of his cheeks.

Under his breath, Atsumu whispered, “That’s not at all what I’m worried about,” but Kiyoomi was already helping Maru into the cutest booties, which made so much sense. It was cold outside, and of course, a man who cared as Kiyoomi cared would have dog boots for the pet he’d rescued from another country.

It was getting so, so difficult for Atsumu not to have random bouts of fainting spells. All because of the dark-curly haired man now telling his precious dog, “You must not sniff any stranger’s crotch, Maru. It’s bad behavior.”

He must’ve noticed Atsumu watching, so he asked, “Why’re you grinning like that?”

He wasn’t even aware he was grinning. “Nothin’,” he lied.

It was everything about Kiyoomi. His entirety was made up for these layers, each calling for Atsumu.

────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────

The walk was not working. The March weather was nippy. After the heavy dinner—or perhaps it’d just been the quantity; he’d made so much, thinking he and Atsumu would have no trouble tucking in, and he’d been right, of course—Kiyoomi had expected a little exercise would…fix him. But it didn’t. Because what he was experiencing wouldn’t—couldn’t—be fixed by such a simple solution such as getting some fresh air and walking for a couple of blocks. What he was going through would need surgical interference. It’d need…

The wind blew across his face, which meant it struck Atsumu’s, as well, and when Kiyoomi saw him shiver, he instantly moved closer. His body was on auto-pilot, and he didn’t know when the automatic response to seeing Miya Atsumu shiver was to slide his hand into Atsumu’s pocket to grab his chilled fingers.

“I knew I should’ve made you wear gloves,” he muttered, a hint too darkly for his liking. It wasn’t like he could wage a war against the weather.

“You’re not even wearin’ gloves,” Atsumu mumbled, but his fingers made room for all of Kiyoomi’s fingers, so all ten fingers of theirs were intertwined together. It was such a simple thing: holding-hands, and yet it was making Kiyoomi’s breaths stutter—that could be the sudden biting chill, though, but who was he lying to? Himself? He wasn’t in the habit of entertaining delusion.

But why? Why was he reacting to every little thing Atsumu did? Why did his body sing in pleasure when Atsumu smiled at him? Why did he want to cover Atsumu from head to toe to protect him from the wind?

These were some of the many and varied questions running through his mind. Which made him a poor walking companion, but Atsumu didn’t complain. He looked content enough, cheeks flushed—the damned cold!—and a smile sweetly curling the edges of his mouth.

Once Maru was done with his business and Kiyoomi was done taking care of it—he took him to the same dog park 10 minutes away from his apartment building five times a day—they turned around.

Until Atsumu slowed his gait, his neck bared on account of how he was looking up at a café’s sign.

“Let’s go in here,” he said, already tugging Kiyoomi toward the entrance.

“Are dogs allowed in? I’m not leaving Maru out.”

“Yep, it’s pet friendly,” Atsumu assured him. “See?” He pointed at a sign pasted to the door.

ALL FURRY FRIENDS ARE WELCOME

JUST MAKE SURE THEY’RE TRAINED

In smaller print, it said:

HEAD BAKER WILL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE AMOUNT OF SQUEEING AND COOING HE WILL DO WHEN HE SEES/MEETS YOUR BUDDY, BTW.

Atsumu, clearly having read the smaller print, let out a choked laugh. “Is this sign real, though? Sounds like whoever made it was a bit soused.”

Kiyoomi sighed. “I don’t think we can go in after all.”

“Why not? Maru’s well behaved!” Atsumu argued.

“It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Ha! So funny! Wow!” Atsumu had a wild look in his eyes.

Kiyoomi covered a smile behind his free hand. “If anyone tries to pet Maru, they will have to deal with the consequences.”

“He’s not so bad. He’s already warmed up to me,” Atsumu said in defense of the German Shepherd who was glaring daggers at Kiyoomi.

“You’re an exception,” he explained.

Atsumu’s breath puffed out in a large cloud. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s just go in,” he quickly said, trying to save himself from those large, honeyed eyes staring into his soul.

The café was cozy and warm, which Kiyoomi instantly hated because if they were out of the cold, then what reason would he have to keep holding Atsumu’s hand? Still, that didn’t mean he’d be the one to pull away. Besides, Atsumu didn’t look like he cared. He was pulling Kiyoomi, who in turn pulled Maru by his leash, toward the counter where a tall, blond man stood.

“Good evening, sir.”

Kiyoomi’s hackles rose. That voice. That was a listen-to-me-as-you-fall-asleep kind of voice. That was a whisper-things-in-my-ear kind of voice. He glowered at the counter, where laminated sheets boasted the coffee, teas, and other beverages available.

Much to his chagrin, he heard Atsumu greet the barista back, “Good evening.”

With a tug, the cloud over Kiyoomi’s head dispersed; he remembered he and Atsumu were still locked, fingers interlaced intimately. “Omi, what’s your opinion on caffeine after 8 o’clock?”

“I abhor it.” It kept him up all night. Then again, he didn’t get much sleep last night and he hadn’t had a drop of caffeine in his system. You had a whole lot of Atsumu in your system, retorted a voice in his head. The voice of unreasonable libido which demanded he cut this trip short and herd Atsumu and Maru back to the safety of his apartment, where the only blond, handsome man was Atsumu, thank you very much.

Except that Atsumu looked very excited by his answer. And had turned to the barista and asked, “Do you do decaf?”

The blond, handsome freshly spawned demon of Kiyoomi’s nightmares replied in his velvety smooth voice, “We do.”

“Then we’ll have two decaf and…” Kiyoomi caught Atsumu’s gaze drifting toward the dessert window.

“And two cinnamon rolls.”

“Would you like extra cream on that?” the barista asked, his gaze turned to Kiyoomi.

Fuck. He had an effect even on him. He must be some super Dom or something because why was Kiyoomi’s back suddenly drenched in sweat?

“Yes, please,” Atsumu replied in his stead, which was good and bad. It was good because Kiyoomi was too busy trying to murder this blond devil with his eyes and bad because that please belonged to him and no one else.

The barista nodded and rang them up. Still seething in this unbearable ocean of feeling, Kiyoomi missed the chance to pay and turned the ferocity of his gaze on Atsumu.

“Why did you pay?” he asked as they moved as a party of three to the end of the counter to wait for their coffees.

Atsumu shrugged, leaning one elbow on the counter. He was looking up at Kiyoomi with a lazy smile. A smile that wreaked havoc on Kiyoomi’s otherwise pristine body.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He growled, low and deep. And Atsumu licked his bottom lip.

“If you don’t stop that, darling,” the term of endearment slid so easily out of his lips, he didn’t even notice, “I will punish you when we go home.”

“Whoa! Don’t let me get in the way of your freak!” said a rather cheerful voice that did not belong to one blushing and stuttering Atsumu.

Kiyoomi didn’t look away from that red face. He didn’t want to.

“Sorry ’bout that,” Atsumu mumbled, reaching for the coffee. Realizing his hand was still in Kiyoomi’s hold, he turned his head to him and asked, “Do you mind?”

Since he’d already knotted Maru’s leash around his wrist, one of his hands was free. “I do,” he replied and grabbed one of the takeaway cups.

“Your dog is adorable,” said that same cheerful sound.

Kiyoomi finally remembered his manners and gave the white-haired man (Why were his eyes so blue?) a nod. “Thank you.”

Atsumu didn’t partake of the small talk through which the white-haired barista practically dragged Kiyoomi. Then again, he’d always had a soft spot for Maru and would engage anyone who inquired so sincerely about him.

“It was nice to meet you, Maru,” the barista said when Kiyoomi decided he’d had enough People Time for now.

He clutched Atsumu’s hand and said, “Let’s go?”

Atsumu nodded.

And said nothing.

And kept saying nothing all the way back.

Kiyoomi grew more and more alarmed by each block, and when they finally got into the elevator, he cornered Atsumu and asked, “Are you upset?”

Atsumu’s eyes rounded. He looked so sweet when he was surprised, lashes fluttering, blond hair flopping into his eyes. He was astonishingly beautiful like this. Then again, he was a marvel to look at in all his states. A notion Kiyoomi was not even begrudging. He simply accepted it like the fact it was.

“Why would I be upset?”

Kiyoomi stared into those honeyed pools. “Because since I let your term slip, you’ve been quiet. Alarmingly so.”

“I can be quiet when I want to.”

He tilted his head like, I doubt it.

“Something is bothering you.”

“You say that like it’s a fact, Omi.”

“So, we’re back to Atsumu and Kiyoomi… Not darling and Sakusa-sama,” he said.

Atsumu’s throat moved on a swallow. “I guess?”

“Tell me, Atsumu, what’s bothering you?”

“I’m tellin’ you, nothin’s—” Kiyoomi only stared harder. Atsumu let out a sigh. “Fine! You broke me down, you stubborn jerk.”

The elevator doors opened, which Maru took as his signal to start yanking Kiyoomi along, which meant he was yanking Atsumu along. By then, their hands were clammy with sweat, which should alarm and gross Kiyoomi out. But instead, it was… nice.

Don’t fucking lie, spoke the voice of unreasonable libido. It’s fucking euphoric. Perhaps that was the voice of unreasonable libido and unknown yearning.

He ignored it anyway and waited for Atsumu to walk in before him. He placed his takeaway cup on the entryway table and released Maru from his leash. The dog disappeared behind the bedroom door.

Kiyoomi turned his attention to the untrained man, who apparently needed to learn how to open up to him.

“So?”

Atsumu tried to shrug out of his coat (Kiyoomi’s coat) but with his hand still in Kiyoomi’s hold, it was proving impossible. “Are we goin’ to talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about? I wanted to hold your hand, so I did.”

“For thirty minutes?”

“It wasn’t thirty minutes.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “It felt longer.”

“And it wasn’t enough,” he retorted.

Silence stretched between them, taut and…electrifying. Atsumu’s lips parted, and his tongue grazed his bottom lip.

“Is this,” he raised their clasped hands, “something you want?”

He nodded. “I already said I did.”

Atsumu’s eyes narrowed. “You said you wanted. Past tense. You didn’t say you want to.”

“Are you arguing over semantics with me?” Kiyoomi asked, a baffled chuckle chasing after his inquiry.

He didn’t know Atsumu paid this much attention to every word coming out of his mouth. That’d been a mistake on his behalf. An error he intended to never repeat.

Checklist item #1: Never underestimate Miya Atsumu’s attention to detail. (Especially when it comes to me.)

“I’m just sayin’,” Atsumu replied, sounding somewhat deflated. He sighed and shrugged. “It’s fine by me.”

Hope burst into Kiyoomi’s chest, like a vine growing at rapid speed, it wriggled into every crevice.

“Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he said, sincerity dripping out of his tone, which should be alarming, but no part of Kiyoomi felt a hint of disquiet.

Quite opposite, in fact. He felt serene.

“C’mere,” he whispered, pulling Atsumu by the hand until their chests aligned, and pecked Atsumu’s mouth. He tasted like the coffee from which he’d been sipping. Kiyoomi licked into his mouth, groaning at that sweetness underneath.

It was pure Atsumu.

Who trembled so sweetly against him, his lashes fluttering when they broke the kiss. His mouth was so shiny; with Kiyoomi’s spit, and it only made him steal another kiss. Then another. And another. Until the slight furrow between Atsumu’s forehead intensified to the level where he looked pained.

Kiyoomi palmed him through his jeans, startling a soft moan out of Atsumu.

“Shall we take care of this before or after you tell me what else is bothering you?”

Atsumu mumbled, “Before.”

He nodded and proceeded to curl his free arm around Atsumu’s back, drawing him in for a tight hug, their hands still clasped. That hold, he thought, could weather any catastrophe.

Atsumu looked a bit more put together when Kiyoomi released him, which satisfied the part of him that was now solely dedicated to making Atsumu feel good.

He allowed Atsumu only a few seconds to take off the rest of his coat and hang it (“You don’t have to do that,” he muttered, itching to have Atsumu’s now-hot fingers intertwined with his own.) before he was reaching for it again.

“You’re weird,” Atsumu accused him but was it an accusation if Kiyoomi was proving it right this very second?

He didn’t care.

He drew Atsumu to the living room. Took a seat. Then promptly carted him into his lap. Atsumu landed with a soft oof and gave him a wide-eyed look. He rested his chin on Atsumu’s shoulder and dared him to object.

Atsumu had said yes to this. He’d said it was fine by him that Kiyoomi wanted to hold him in any way he liked. Okay, he might not have said that explicitly, but it was implied.

He’d worry about the specifics of what Atsumu agreed to later. Now, he wanted to hear him out. He wanted the demons plaguing Atsumu to be expelled so he can properly exorcise them for him.

“Go on,” he prompted.

Atsumu wriggled in his lap, so he was sitting sideways. Kiyoomi liked this position even more, it meant he could hold Atsumu’s hand and wrap his other around the meat of his thigh; under the guise of steadying him, of course. Not because he wanted to touch the hard cock an inch away from his palm.

Atsumu was properly distracted by the touch, but he must have the patience of a saint, because he didn’t complain, he just talked.

And talked.

And talked.

He rambled, actually, going in circles about ‘dickheads’ online who chose to hide behind anonymity and didn’t have the courage to criticize him to his face.

As Kiyoomi listened, his face hardened, his jaw clenched, and the hand he had on Atsumu’s thigh tightened.

Atsumu finally sighed and said, “It’s my fault, really. I seek out these fuckin’ assholes and never learn.”

“Hey,” he finally said. “That’s not true.” He’d kept quiet this whole time because he wanted Atsumu to speak freely.

Atsumu’s expression was a hint impatient. “Don’t tell me I’m not at fault for searching for dirt and gettin’ a handful shoved down my throat.”

If anything should be shoved down your throat, it should be my dick—

He shut down that thought. This wasn’t the time.

“That part is your fault, yes, but those people have no right to criticize you. You don’t play for them,” he said, his voice a few notches too emphatic. “You play for you.” If he had a third hand, he’d use it to poke a finger into Atsumu’s chest.

He settled for digging his chin into Atsumu’s shoulder.

“You’re a demanding, stubborn, downright sadistic setter. You push and push and push and it’s because you know your hitters more than anyone else. More than they know themselves, even. And that includes me.” Atsumu turned his face to him. His eyes were glassy with surprise. Kiyoomi would be surprised by how easily he admitted that, too, but nothing would surprise him at this point.

He'd woken up this morning with the faint idea that he was embarking on a year-long contract with a submissive. And now he was ending the night holding Atsumu like he couldn’t breathe without him. Feelings growing in the span of twelve hours? It could only be the work of the man in his arms.

His fingers trailed over Atsumu’s reddened cheeks. “Do you hear me?”

Atsumu nodded, but he looked dazed.

Was it the arousal getting to his head? Kiyoomi glanced down at Atsumu’s lap; his mouth watered at the sight of how thick he was, tenting his jeans. There was even a darkened wet spot, evidence that Atsumu got wet from hearing Kiyoomi praise him—not as his sub, but as his setter.

“Oh, darling,” he found himself crooning and pulling Atsumu for a searing kiss. A kiss that felt like sparks. A kiss that felt like the beginning of the best thing in Kiyoomi’s life.

Was this what his siblings had spoken of when they said they’d just known they met their partners? But he hadn’t just met Atsumu. He’d known him for nearly a decade now.

Yet it was this carnal knowledge, like how his mouth tasted, or how his ears burned when Kiyoomi rubbed them, and his breaths hitched when Kiyoomi bit at his bottom lip and tugged it into his mouth to suckle, it turned his inside to molten lava.

His teeth ached; he wanted to sink them into every inch of Atsumu’s skin. He wanted to be embedded in this man so nothing could tear them apart.

He didn’t just want to dominate Atsumu. He wanted to court him. Wanted to pry Atsumu open and crawl inside him. But that could wait. What couldn’t wait was Atsumu’s punishment. He kissed Atsumu one last time, a hard kiss that had his head ringing, then pulled away.

“You’ve kept this from me all day,” he said.

Atsumu’s lip trembled. His eyes were dazed. “I… I didn’t know I could tell you about it.”

“You still kept it from me and…” He inhaled deeply. “You were goading me when you called Meian-san captain.”

“That’s not fair. He is our captain.”

He gently wrapped Atsumu’s chin with two fingers and fixed him with a stern look. “Darling, don’t lie. You knew what you were doing.”

It took a couple of minutes of silence, where Atsumu looked like he wanted to squirm and avoid the inevitable, but eventually, he nodded. “I did, yeah, I wanted your attention, Sakusa-sama.”

Oh, like a shot to the heart. He probably couldn’t count the times he’d called him Sakusa-sama in the span of twelve hours, and still. It wasn’t enough.

“And, at the café, you said please. To a dominant who wasn’t yours,” he ground through his clenched teeth. “Do you know how that made me feel, darling?”

Atsumu’s eyes widened. “H-how?”

“It made me want to spank you.”

He shuddered. Full-bodied. Moaning weakly in his throat. And Kiyoomi ate up every second of that reaction, because Atsumu, his sub, was reacting to him.

“But I won’t,” he said coolly. “You’d enjoy that. I want to punish you in another way.”

Honeyed eyes beseeched him. “Sakusa-sama…”

“Lie back, darling,” Kiyoomi said.

Atsumu blinked owlishly for a second, then nodded and began to crawl backwards, until he was sprawled on his back, the distance between them bridged by their clasped fingers.

Kiyoomi didn’t let go. And he implored Atsumu not to do it either.

“Unzip your pants and take your cock out.”

A heavy swallow then Atsumu was reaching for his zipper, slowly lowering it. He groaned when his hand wrapped around his cock—Kiyoomi was too captivated by the way he looked, his head slightly tilted back, mouth parted on a silent moan, his chest heaving under his hoodie. Like the rest of him, Atsumu’s cock was flushed, the length impressive, as was the girth. It’d fit nicely in Kiyoomi’s mouth.

“Stroke yourself, darling.”

He looked half-dazed with disbelief. “I- I can?”

“This is your reward for being honest,” he told him. “But not to completion,” he tagged on, just to watch the words fall on Atsumu.

His expression crumbled.

“W-what?”

He loosened his hold on Atsumu’s hand, to rub his fingers along the inside of his palm. “You get to touch yourself, with my guidance, and have some relief, but not all of it. Not to the point of release. That is your punishment. Do you agree to it, darling?”

He could practically see Atsumu’s gears working. A few minutes of relief with him or coming without him?

“Yes,” Atsumu moaned, “t-tell me, please.”

Kiyoomi smiled and gave Atsumu’s hand a squeeze. “Now isn’t that word far sweeter when you used it for me?”

Atsumu nodded frantically. “It is. It is. Please. Sakusa-sama.”

The words flowed through him, in a voice deep and low. “I want to watch you play with your cock, stroke it slowly, relish every pass of your fist over your hard length—” Atsumu moaned as he complied, his hand a tight sheath around his arousal, and every slow slide down to the base, the tip glistened with more pre-cum, until it ran down the length of his cock, wetting his fist.

“You’re so wet already, darling,” he noted. “I knew you were talented,” he praised.

His own body was duly ignored. He didn’t care that his blood rushed south. Didn’t care that his balls tightened with every hitched breath Atsumu exhaled. He only wanted to watch him. Memorize how Atsumu twisted his fist on the upward stroke, thumbed at the underside. He raised Atsumu’s hand—he liked to think of it as an extension of his own by now—and kissed one knuckle.

This spurred Atsumu on, but he didn’t speed up, he squeezed harder around himself. His thighs shook as Kiyoomi kissed another knuckle. Then another.

Rivulets of precum slickened his hold, and the sound of him moving his fist over his cock echoed in Kiyoomi’s living room.

“Follow my pace,” he said, then licked Atsumu’s middle finger into his mouth and began to run his tongue over its length.

Atsumu matched him, gliding his slick fist over his cock in the same rhythm as Kiyoomi slid his tongue over Atsumu’s finger. He sucked it hard and released it.

“Tell me when you’re about to come.”

Atsumu nodded. He continued in that same, quickened pace, but a few strokes and he was begging and whining. “I need you—nnngh— inside me, p-please, I can’t wait anymore.”

Drool gathered on the corner of his lips and the sight of that shine drew Kiyoomi closer. He crawled to him, knees digging into the couch cushion. He loomed over Atsumu, then began to lower himself.

Just as their mouths were about to meet, he paused and said, “I’ll fuck you, Atsumu, that’s a promise, but only when you’re good.” When you’re completely mine.

Atsumu’s eyes filled with tears. “Please, Sakusa-sama, tell me. T-tell me how to be good.”

“When someone dares to belittle you in the future, you will prove them wrong.” He breathed a sigh. “You’ll show them the tenacious and hungry side of you. The side that wants only to win.”

“Yes,” Atsumu said, the word broken by a moan as his thumb pressed against his slit in a gentle, circular motion. “I promise I will. I’ll be the b-best setter you’ve ever seen.”

Kiyoomi smiled. “You already are.”

“F-fuck.” Atsumu shuddered, his hand working faster over his cock, and this close, his knuckles almost brushed against Kiyoomi’s stomach. “I’m s-so close, Sakusa-sama.” He’d never tire of hearing the term Atsumu chose for him drip like honey from his lips. “I’m gonna c-come.”

“Hands off,” he said, his dominant voice low.

Shuddering, Atsumu obeyed. His fingers were shaking as they hovered a few inches away from his hard cock.

Kiyoomi gazed down at his body, how every muscle twitched with need but didn’t dare go against his command. He didn’t rock his hips off of the couch. He listened to Kiyoomi like his words were gospel.

There was a side of him that wanted to wrap his hand around Atsumu’s cock and finish him off. It wanted to feel cum dripping down his wrist. It wanted Atsumu to lick it off again. But a bigger part wanted to test Atsumu’s temper. Wanted to know what an impatient sub, deprived of his release, would look like.

“Let’s go take a shower.” At Atsumu’s blank, heavy look, a look that straddled the line between obedience and disobedience, he asked, “What should you say, darling?”

Atsumu’s voice shook. “Thank you, Sakusa-sama.”

They were both unsteady on their feet, so Kiyoomi rested Atsumu’s weight on his side and helped him to the bathroom. In there, he was quiet as Kiyoomi stripped him, slightly bemused. He sat him down in the bathtub and, after adjusting the temperature of the water, he sprayed him with the shower head. His heart melted when Atsumu leaned his head back, a small smile on his lips. The water ran down his face, his neck, tiny rivers bisecting and spreading all over him.

Kiyoomi wanted to be that water.

He took his time to carefully shampoo Atsumu’s hair, mentally noting that he needed to buy some purple shampoo. All the while, Atsumu hummed, the sound quiet yet resonant under the running water. Once finished with Atsumu, he helped him out and into a large fluffy towel. It was a deep maroon, and the color seemed to transfer onto Atsumu’s cheeks.

“Shall we go to bed?”

Sleepily, Atsumu nodded.

He dried Atsumu thoroughly and laid out the new pajamas—had he known, subconsciously, he’d need to save them for someone? He watched him put them on, an adorable smile on his face. He lifted his arms and showed Kiyoomi the plain sky-blue pajamas. “Do they suit me?”

He nodded. “Perfectly.” He patted his thigh and Atsumu more than happily complied. He was such a comforting weight. He opened his drawer and took out a few items.

He rubbed hand lotion all over Atsumu’s hands, paying extra attention to the calluses formed by years of ballhandling. Finished, he raised Atsumu’s hands to his mouth and kissed their backs.

“Get in bed. I’ll go shower.”

Except Atsumu was reaching for his hand. “Can I watch?”

He smiled. “Sure, darling.”

That was how Kiyoomi ended up with an audience of one, sitting on the closed lid of his toilet, fiddling with the hem of his pajama top and watching him raptly.

He felt Atsumu’s gaze on every inch of him. His back when he took off his turtleneck sweater. His ass when he peeled his jeans off. His cock when he dropped his boxers in the hamper.

But neither of them spoke a word, they communicated in glances.

He was faster washing himself than he’d been washing Atsumu, but he felt impatient to get in bed with Atsumu. To wrap his arms around him and press him to his chest.

He rubbed a towel over his chest and back on his way out of the tub, but there was Atsumu, asking sweetly, “May I?”

He nodded and gave him the towel. Atsumu gently glided the towel over Kiyoomi’s body, sparing no inch of his shoulders, arms, back, and—getting on his knees—his thighs and legs. He stayed there, craning his neck up to him.

Kiyoomi ran his knuckles over Atsumu’s cheek. “Thank you, darling.”

Atsumu smiled, happy to be praised.

He helped him to his feet and nudged him to the bedroom, where he put on a pair of pants and peeled back his top sheet. “Get in.”

Atsumu wriggled under, then, with an expectant look, asked, “Can we cuddle?”

He joined him. “Come here.” He opened his arms and, with a tiny giggle, Atsumu slid so his head was resting partially on Kiyoomi’s arm.

He wrapped him up in his embrace, kissed a few kisses along his temple, and finally, Kiyoomi could relax.

This is what I’ve been missing last night.

In the morning, Kiyoomi woke first, the heavy weight of an arm thrown over his chest momentarily alarmed him, then he caught, through slitted-eyes, the harsh blond of Atsumu’s hair and—he remembered every second of their evening together. He ran his fingers through Atsumu’s hair, thinking, I need to find a beauty supply store and get these roots taken care of ASAP, when Atsumu woke up. In increments, his eyes blinking and head moving lazily from left to right. When Atsumu finally turned his gaze onto Kiyoomi, he got an eyeful of a joyful grin. Directed right at him.

I want to make that smile mine, he thought. And did not for a second refute that he was falling for Miya Atsumu.

Chapter Text

The sun was shining. The birds were chirping, and Atsumu was getting the world’s best cuddles. For a man normally so prickly, Sakusa Kiyoomi sure gave excellent cuddles. He wrapped his arms all around Atsumu’s back, pressed his face to his neck, and murmured the sweetest words: “Would you like some breakfast?”

It made him grin, loopy with happiness, and say, “Yes, please.” As a result, Atsumu’s first morning at Kiyoomi’s—his first morning at anyone’s—went like this: he was fed the world’s greatest breakfast burrito, to which he got instantly attached.

“I could eat this every day,” he said, savoring every bite. Don’t let Osamu hear this, however, or he’d get supremely pissed. Or maybe he should be informed that there was a serious contender to his title as “Atsumu’s favorite chef.”

A rumble of enjoyment quietly vibrated through Kiyoomi’s throat. He ran his thumb over the corner of Atsumu’s mouth. “I could teach you how to make it,” he suggested.

“Nah.” He shrugged. Then he grinned sheepishly, “I’d rather you made it, and I ate it.”

“Brat,” Kiyoomi snorted.

Atsumu happily ate the last few bites of his burrito and ignored the flutter in his chest. Goodbye was imminent; he’d probably overstayed his visit, but how would he know the etiquette of how long he was supposed to stay at his dominant’s home when he’d never stayed the night with anyone before? Besides, he didn’t get the sense that Kiyoomi wanted him to leave.

Judging by the way, after breakfast, Kiyoomi turned to Atsumu and asked, “Since we don’t have practice until the afternoon, do you want to watch a recording of the Adler’s latest match?” he wanted him around.

He gleefully rubbed his hands together. “Hell yeah. I wanna see Tobio get all intense and scary.”

That led to them cuddling on the couch, Atsumu covering Kiyoomi’s body from neck to toes, his chin pressed to Kiyoomi’s chest, their legs intertwined. Kiyoomi unconsciously toyed with his fingers as they commented on the plays. They were even sharing one blanket with Maru nestled beside them. One match led to another, and Atsumu’s stomach began to growl for lunch.

Rather than remind him that, Hey, dickhead, you’re definitely intruding at this point, Kiyoomi asked, “Do you want pasta for lunch?”

He pulled back to look into dark eyes, his eyebrows furrowing. “Er… Omi?”

“Yeah?”

He fiddled with the dangling bits of twisted yarn at the edge of the blanket; it was clearly crocheted for Kiyoomi, and he’d cherished it for a long time. There were some spots where the yarn had worn out, forming tiny holes. Atsumu poked a finger through one and said, “I think I gotta head out. We’ve got practice later and…”

A warm hand brushed over his cheek, startling him into looking up. Kiyoomi was staring at him, filling his entire line of vision. He inhaled deeply and got a head full of peppermint.

“Do you want to leave?” Kiyoomi asked.

He swallowed the ball in his throat. “I mean, I ought to… don’t I?”

“You don’t sound very sure about that,” Kiyoomi pointed out.

Frustration won over and he ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m doin’ if I’m entirely honest, Omi.”

He felt a tug at the strings of his (freshly laundered) hoodie. He looked up to find Kiyoomi smiling at him. “Then why not just stay, have lunch, then see how you feel after?”

His stomach growled again. (What a fucking traitor of a body organ his guts were turning out to be!) “I guess I could do that, yeah,” he mumbled. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too hard.

Kiyoomi caught him entirely off guard by leaning in and giving him a smooch on the mouth. He reacted too late; Kiyoomi was already standing up to stride into the kitchen. He gave Maru a baffled look to match how he felt.

“Is that guy for real?”

Maru huffed.

“Did you just judge me?” Raising his voice, he told on him to his owner. “Maru just judged me.”

Kiyoomi’s head poked out of the side of the partition, his curly hair flopping into his eyes. “Dogs are infinitely wiser than humans, so he’s probably right to judge you.”

The bastard dipped right back into the kitchen after that insult; he didn’t even stay long enough to see Atsumu’s jaw drop. He turned his offense onto Maru instead.

“You,” he poked the German Shepherd’s fluffy head, “aren’t allowed to be wiser than me.” Maru’s eyes crinkled in a smile, so Atsumu folded and began to give him an insane number of kisses and rubs. This led to him getting all over the dog, kissing and cuddling him on the floor. He was in bliss.

So much so that he didn’t even notice Kiyoomi coming back from the kitchen until there was a foot prodding his cheek and a voice telling him to get up. “We’re eating.”

He gave Maru one last kiss. “What about my best friend Maru here?”

“He’s eating too. But not in here,” Kiyoomi said. He turned his attention to Maru. “Come on, Maru, lunch is served.”

Maru instantly perked up and abandoned Atsumu on the floor.

He huffed. “Hey, how come he gets the nice voice, and I get toes in my face?”

“Because you like my toes in your face.” Kiyoomi nudged his cheek again and was too swift in pulling his leg back, Atsumu didn’t get the chance to turn his head to bite said toes. “See,” he pointed out, “I knew you’d like it.”

He rose to his full height and fixed that broad shoulder with a curious stare. He wanted to poke at it. “If you get me all riled up me, Omi, I swear I’ll—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish because Kiyoomi whirled on him and wrapped an arm around his waist. He kicked the back of Atsumu’s leg, and Atsumu lost his balance, flopping uselessly backwards. Thankfully, Kiyoomi had a hold on him, and he simply lowered him until he was laid on his back on the couch—his infuriating, handsome face looming over him.

“Or what?” Kiyoomi asked. His voice had lowered into that delicious cadence again. “Tell me, darling, what will you do if I rile you up?”

While his instinct made him want to melt for that voice, Atsumu had a little more pride than to lay there simpering. He reached out and wrapped an arm behind Kiyoomi’s neck and yanked. He fell on top of Atsumu with a light oof, his weight delicious for those fleeting moments but of course the bastard had excellent reflexes. He quickly rose on his elbows and gave Atsumu a hard look. A look that should imply disapproval, but not really. In the depths of his brown eyes, Kiyoomi was amused by his temerity. He couldn’t entirely fool Atsumu. He liked him and that included his bratty behavior.

Fueled by roaring daring, Atsumu whispered in the scant space between them, “First of all, Sakusa-sama, I’ll happily remind you who gladly signed up to fulfill all of my kinks.” He dragged his fingers across Kiyoomi’s nape. “No matter what.”

Obsidian eyes widening, Kiyoomi’s mouth opened, but he settled for collapsing forward and nosing at Atsumu’s neck with a yummy groan that vibrated through Atsumu’s throat. “Why are you such a pain in the ass?”

“You’re literally hard!” he teased, cackling.

Kiyoomi turned his face, so his cheek was flush against Atsumu’s chest, eyes boring into his even at the awkward angle. “What’ll you do about it?”

He smiled, a broad, lecherous smile that promised anything Kiyoomi wanted. Then, in a voice he hoped sounded as sultry as he imagined it did, he purred, “Whatever you want me to, goshujin-sama.”

A groan filled his ears, Kiyoomi’s weight pressing into him harder—fuck, it felt so good, Atsumu had half a mind to hug him tighter. “You shouldn’t have done that, darling.”

“Why not? It’s fun teasin’ you,” he murmured, not entirely honest. It wasn’t just fun to tease Kiyoomi, it was liberating. That was the part that had Atsumu’s brain misfiring. Kiyoomi made submission fun and good. He could be both simpering and demanding, and Kiyoomi liked both. At least, his dick hardening against Atsumu’s stomach showed he did.

Maybe in time the rest of Kiyoomi would, too?

“Lunch first,” Kiyoomi grumbled, shifting to move off of Atsumu. But Atsumu had other ideas. Ideas he hoped Kiyoomi would agree to.

“Can your pasta be reheated without turnin’ into a soggy mess?” he asked, fingers threading through the back of Kiyoomi’s hair. It was so soft, the curls looping around his fingers like tiny snakes.

Kiyoomi didn’t look amused at Atsumu’s implying that anything he cooked would be degraded by a microwave. “Absolutely not.”

“Then why rush?” he hummed. “Let me take care of you.” He lifted one knee and pressed it against Kiyoomi’s side. “We can keep havin’ fun here and have lunch after.” He ran a fingertip down the back of Kiyoomi’s neck. “I dared to tease my master,” he pointed out. He batted his lashes at Kiyoomi’s look of and what and added, “I think I deserve to be punished.”

Dark eyes bore into him for a few breathless moments, then they brightened. “For once, darling,” he drawled, “you’re right.”

I’m always right, he wanted to retort, but he was suddenly being pulled up into a sitting position. “Get on your knees.”

He gladly slid to the floor in front of the couch, occupying the space between Kiyoomi’s legs. He looked up at him expectantly.

Except Kiyoomi didn’t stay sitting long enough to appreciate his smile. He was standing up, shushing him with a finger pressed to his bottom lip. “Wait here, darling.” Then, head tilted to the side, considering Atsumu. “Wait for me.”

His body shook with shivers at those words. Oh, if only Kiyoomi knew; he’d been waiting for him his whole adult life. He took deep breaths, eyes following Kiyoomi’s retreating back into the bedroom. When he came back, he had a long coil of rope. Atsumu’s body lit up.

“I promised you, didn’t I, darling?” Kiyoomi said. “Though this time, I won’t be the one pleasuring my cock.”

His head bobbing in three hard nods. “Yes, please, Sakusa-sama,” he crooned. “Tie me up. Use my mouth as you want.”

With a light head-shake, Kiyoomi noted, “That mouth of yours will be the undoing of me someday, darling.”

God, he hoped so.

“Hoodie off.”

Twice in two days, Atsumu found himself peeling his hoodie off in Kiyoomi’s house. He could get used to it… actually, if the next time—a next time, what a thrilling concept—he found himself in Kiyoomi’s apartment, he might automatically take off his hoodie. He folded it neatly, smiling at the déjà vu of receiving Kiyoomi’s contented smile. He liked doing these small yet meaningful gestures. He knew Kiyoomi appreciated tidiness, it was the least he could do to please his dominant.

The apartment was nicely warmed, but Atsumu shivered anyway, his nipples tightening. That had nothing to do with the temperature of his surrounding and everything to do with the way Kiyoomi’s dark eyes perused his bare chest.

“This is pure cotton, darling,” Kiyoomi explained, his tone soft, “it’ll be gentle against your skin.”

He hummed in appreciation. Aloud, he crooned, “Thank you, Sakusa-sama.”

Kiyoomi dazzled him with a smile. “Only the best for you, darling.”

Atsumu didn’t even have time to properly digest the butterflies roaming his stomach before it was his turn to watch Kiyoomi, his efficient movements mesmerizing. He looked familiar with the steps of unspooling the binding rope, and the faint thought of Kiyoomi using it on another submissive tossed Atsumu’s heart into a whirlwind. The first brush of the rope against his wrists helped him forget the agitation.

“Since this is our first time, darling, I think I’ll suffice for tying your wrists behind your back,” Kiyoomi murmured, his voice steadying Atsumu’s nerves.

“Understood, Sakusa-sama,” he murmured, his head lowering as his breaths picked up speed, this time due to excitement.

The rope circled his wrists a few times, he was too busy trying to regulate his breathing to count. But he didn’t need to fear.

“Is this comfortable, darling?” Kiyoomi asked, pulling the tails which made them cinch down on the strands of rope around his wrists.

He didn’t want to remember the last time he’d had his hands tied—the helplessness he felt when nothing was explained to him, when he ended up with painful welts on his skin because the knots were too tight, but he’d been reprimanded for criticizing his scene partner at the time, so he’d bitten back the complaint.

Brushing aside that horrible experience, he shifted his wrists. There was enough space for him to move them, that at least wiped away any hint of concern that he might end up with lesions like last time. Fuck. Do not think of that dipshit. He raised his face to Kiyoomi, beseeching the sight of that glorious face with its inky eyes and soft mouth to center him in the now.

Kiyoomi’s eyes locked with his, and like the magical portals they were, his eyes rooted him. This was Kiyoomi. His caring dominant who, in the span of twenty-four hours, had wriggled under his skin, he’d need surgical intervention to remove him.

“It feels good,” he said, honesty dripping from his lips. It was so sweet, whispering, “Thank you, goshujin-sama.”

Kiyoomi’s expression brightened, and he gave Atsumu’s cheek a careful stroke with his thumb. “I like you honest, darling.” Then, closer, his warm breath fanning over Atsumu’s face. “Tell me if it gets uncomfortable.”

Whispering yes, master, Atsumu let his lashes flutter while he watched that lethal body slide into the seat in front of him, powerfully muscled thighs spreading for him. He sat all the way back, and beckoned Atsumu closer.

He shuffled on his knees, sliding until his chest was flush against Kiyoomi’s knees, his chin resting on his left thigh.

“You wanted to take care of me, hm?”

He nodded. “Please let me,” he panted, staring up at Kiyoomi.

Running his tongue over his bottom lip, Kiyoomi nodded. “All right. I’m giving this to you as a reward for staying.”

The words startled him. “R-really?”

Kiyoomi nodded. His fingers were so gentle as they stroked Atsumu’s cheek. “It made me happy to have you here.”

I want to be here, he thought. I want to stay here for as long as you want me to. He couldn’t quite push the words out of his mouth. He was filling up with an emotion that turned him dizzy. He closed his eyes and nodded. “Thank you, Sakusa-sama.”

────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────

The rush of hearing Atsumu thank him would never fail to fill Kiyoomi’s chest. He felt ready to float, pride rushing through him. It was a heady sight, Atsumu on his knees for him, his wrists tied behind his back by Kiyoomi’s own hands, his face flushed so pink, Kiyoomi was half-concerned Atsumu might faint before he even got his cock in his mouth.

“I want to make you feel good, Sakusa-sama,” he whispered, his voice breathless. “Will you let me?”

I’ll let you tear me apart with your teeth if that was what you wished for, the voice of unreasonable libido shouted. Kiyoomi rightfully ignored it because saying such a thing would A) make Atsumu run for the door and B)… Fine, there was no B, Kiyoomi really didn’t want to scare Atsumu off. But he couldn’t deny that the voice in his head was starting to make some serious points.

When was the last time he’d had such a good morning? Wrapped up in Atsumu’s warmth, he’d found it difficult to look into the future and not superimpose Atsumu into every second of his life. He wanted him in his bed, in his living room, on his couch, playing with his beloved Maru on the floor, eating every meal Kiyoomi made him, and relishing it in that distinct Atsumu way, cheeks red and full of content, his eyes sparkling.

“I will, darling,” he said, undoing the tie for his drawstrings. Atsumu watched him, his eyes growing hazier by each pull, and when he lowered his waistband to nestle under his balls, Atsumu’s tongue dragged slowly over his lips, his eyes fixed on Kiyoomi’s cock.

He reached for those lips and let their moisture seep into his fingertips, then he gently commanded, “Open for me, darling.”

Jaw dropping, Atsumu blinked expectantly.

Kiyoomi curbed the urge to bury his face in his hands and let out an unlike-him scream. Atsumu was simply that perfect. Even the sight of his simple submission was enough to send Kiyoomi into a spiral.

He pressed two fingers into Atsumu’s mouth. “Suck on them.”

As he’d already experienced this once, he thought he wouldn’t be as ruined by the feel of Atsumu’s mouth around his fingers. He thought wrong. Atsumu’s mouth was so warm, his fingers nearly melted down to the bones from the way he sucked on them.

His voice was on the verge of shaking but he forced it to submit to him. “Roll your tongue around them—” Atsumu followed instructions beautifully, which made the rest of Kiyoomi’s command difficult to get out without him collapsing into a heap “—very good, darling, now run it all over the length—yeah, hmm, just like that.”

It was difficult to focus on the task of instructing Atsumu when the sensation of his tongue scraping over his fingers made his body tighten like a bow string. His ribcage felt too small for his heart. It hurt to breathe.

Something like electricity but better, that was Atsumu’s obedience. His submission was a gift, and every time he followed Kiyoomi’s command, adrenaline rushed through him.

He allowed Atsumu free rein with his fingers, praising him in a quiet voice, and in return, Atsumu rewarded him with fluttering lashes and vibrating hums around his fingers. The cherry on top was when Kiyoomi growled deeper, Atsumu took his fingers from tip to base in 0.02 seconds, his eyes shiny but fixed on Kiyoomi, like he was asking, Is this deep enough?

“So good,” he groaned, but he had to do something about his aching cock. With a regretful silent growl that echoed in his chest, he pulled his fingers out of Atsumu’s mouth.

To which Atsumu pouted.

It startled a chuckle out of Kiyoomi. “Have you forgotten, darling, what your mouth will be filled with?”

Instantly, the pout was replaced by a grin. His cheek rubbed against Kiyoomi’s thigh, his honeyed eyes fixed on Kiyoomi’s cock. The gaze was so forceful it made Kiyoomi’s cock twitch, a pearl of precum tipping over to run in a rivulet down to his shirt.

He sighed and pulled it off, and rather than put any effort into folding it, he chucked it into the small distance. He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes.

Atsumu was watching him, his jaw loose, his eyes wide.

“Like what you saw?” he asked, eyebrow arched.

Head bobbing, Atsumu nodded against his thigh. “You’re hot enough to melt my face off, Sakusa-sama.”

Funny he should say that when it was Kiyoomi who was in danger of utterly disintegrating from a simple compliment from Atsumu’s sub-drunk voice.

Warmth filled his chest as Atsumu turned his gaze down the planes of his bare chest, his heart pounding where he’d rested his torso against Kiyoomi’s knee.

He wanted to reach for the pulsing vein in Atsumu’s neck and count every thump, memorize its rhythm.

Instead, he started to voice what he wanted from Atsumu. Began with a quiet murmur of, “I want to see my cock framed by your pretty lips, darling. Would you let me see?”

Atsumu nodded, moaning, “Yes, please, Sakusa-sama,” and the complete submission in his tone loosened one of the screws keeping Kiyoomi in one piece.

He sighed in relief as he directed his cock, placing it on Atsumu’s heavy bottom lip. The tip of his cock nearly melted from the contact, and his head swam with unashamed desire to fuck Atsumu’s mouth. He wanted to see Atsumu’s lips stretched around his cock. He needed to know what he’d look like; honeyed eyes filled with tears from how much his cock was stuffing his throat. Sliding down its wet, cushy sheath.

For now, he simply rocked his hips and instructed Atsumu, “Give me a kiss, darling.”

Humming, Atsumu pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Kiyoomi’s cockhead, his eyes closing as if he were kissing his mouth. The sight of him alone did serious damage to Kiyoomi’s sanity.

“Do you want more of me in your mouth, darling?” he asked, barely able to suppress the shake in his voice.

He’d never any problem initiating in the past and, had it been any of his past subs, his cock would already be fucking their throat. But this was different. The very way his skin prickled with anticipation corrected him: Atsumu was different.

“Yes, please, I want all of you, Sakusa-sama,” Atsumu whined sweetly.

That’s why he’s different. Because when he confided his desires in Kiyoomi, the trust given to him honored him. It made him feel worthy to be Atsumu’s partner.

They led such intense lives where their bodies were honed to be in a perpetual state of preparedness, their focus split between a ball, the opposing team, and their own teammate’s every movement.

Atsumu especially, as a setter, never rested. He was hypervigilant, attentive, exhaustively shrewd.

But now, the sole recipient of his focus was Kiyoomi.

And not only was he pouring his attention into Kiyoomi, but he was also giving him control over his body. The body he worked so hard to maintain, his instrument to success, was given freely to Kiyoomi in exchange of a promise that it’d be taken care of.

Right then, Kiyoomi wanted to accept that privilege and vow to never take it for granted.

How many people would ever experience this?

He fed Atsumu’s mouth more of his cock, watched the length disappear between his lips, inch by inch, until Atsumu’s lashes fluttered and a deep moan vibrated all around Kiyoomi’s cock. He let his head fall back, pleasure slamming into him. He shivered; fingers splayed on his own body lest he allowed them what they truly wanted.

Grab Atsumu’s head and fuck into his mouth. Make sure he’ll forever remember the feeling of getting his mouth plundered by your cock.

He shut that thought down. No. He didn’t want to be hasty, no matter how much his dominant demanded it. He wanted to break Atsumu apart with gentleness.

But Atsumu must have read his mind, because he was whining around him, panting through his nose, beseeching Kiyoomi to do something.

“Your mouth is full of my cock, darling, and you still want more?”

Around him, Atsumu’s throat tightened in a swallow. He blinked twice. Was that a yes? He’d need to push Atsumu’s head away if he wanted a verbal confirmation, but when he hinted at it, Atsumu grunted and sucked him.

His whole body turned into a throb, captured by Atsumu’s mouth. He would not let go. He kept suckling at him, his tongue rolling around his length, drool gathering at the corners of his mouth, then sliding helplessly down his chin and dripping onto his chest. He groaned, the sound kicking up in pitch. Fuck. Not even a full minute and he was moaning for Atsumu. The trail of Atsumu’s spit glistened in a curving line, missing his hard nipple by a centimeter.

“You’re being greedy,” he said, reprimand weakened by the naked pleasure in his voice.

Still, Atsumu looked like he was enjoying himself. Like he’d been plotting to have Kiyoomi in this very same position—at his mouth’s mercy—all along. Heat warmed his cheeks. “You’re getting punished for this, darling.”

Atsumu finally let him move his head back, the tip of his cock popped with a wet sound that had Kiyoomi’s balls tightening at how lewd it was.

“Do you promise?” Atsumu whispered, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Why are you so eager to be punished, darling?”

Dark eyebrows furrowed. “Because it means you care about my training, Sakusa-sama.”

He blinked. “You need that to convince you?”

Atsumu swallowed harshly. “Not exactly.” He sounded unsure. “It’s just that… punishment takes commitment.”

Implying he wanted him committed to him.

Right?

This was clearly not the time to think very deeply, not when his cock was rock hard, demanding he did something about it. For now, he said, “After I come in your mouth, I’ll punish you for being greedy.”

Atsumu perked up. Fucking brat. He was misbehaving on purpose.

“Come closer.” He spread his thighs open.

Slightly wobbly on his knees, Atsumu complied, slotting himself between Kiyoomi’s legs, his breath fanning over his cock. In this position, Atsumu was closer, and Kiyoomi had no problem reaching for his hard nipple. He pinched it at the same time he curled a hand over Atsumu’s head and fed him all of his cock, from tip to root, in one push. His fingers fisted a handful of that blond hair, and he held Atsumu’s head in place. He watched Atsumu for any sign of distress, but instead he was moaning, throat closing and releasing the tip of his cock.

He gritted his teeth. “You love this, don’t you, darling? You love being full of my cock. I bet you wish it was your hungry ass I was fucking right now, don’t you?”

Atsumu’s eyes flicked up to him, and they blazed with undeniable plea. His eyebrows were scowling fiercely, however, so he pinched Atsumu’s nipple harder, twisting it, then soothing it with the pad of his thumb. Atsumu began to pant. The rhythm with which Kiyoomi started to fuck his mouth, hand clutching his head to move it back and forth over his cock, nearly decimated him.

The whole world narrowed to Atsumu’s mouth and the wet in and out glide of his cock, the rough, spongy tongue scraping over his sensitive shaft.

Atsumu was joyfully taking him.

Leaving him covered in his spit.

It glistened, and when he pulled away, he groaned at Atsumu’s stuttered whine of, “M-more, please, I’m beggin’ y-you.”

Who was he to deny such a sweet request?

With a grunt, he warned, “I’m close, darling,” his words slurring, but Atsumu merely groaned around his length, sending vibrations to Kiyoomi’s balls. His whole body ached with the need to spend inside Atsumu’s mouth.

He recalled last night. Atsumu’s eagerness to have his face covered in him.

“Do you want it, darling?” he asked, voice half-growl, half-moan. “Do you want my cum on your face?”

Atsumu’s throat squeezed the tip of his cock, his saliva drooling in an endless stream down his face. Kiyoomi pulled his face away, just so he could hear the sweet words from Atsumu’s gorgeous mouth.

“Please, Sakusa-sama, come on my face,” sighed Atsumu, “please.”

He nodded and began to jerk himself off. Three or four pumps later, his body tightened as he came, spurts of cum landing on Atsumu’s cheek, his lips, sliding down to his jaw. He looked happy enough, his eyes shut tight and tongue lolling out to lick at the jizz on his lips.

“What should your reward be, hmm?” Kiyoomi asked once he thought he could speak. His mind was nowhere near clear, it felt like a big bowl of mush.

Atsumu’s throat moved, swallowing, and he said, “I want more,” then, belatedly, “please?”

He shook his head, chuckling ruefully. “I’m afraid I’ll need time to recover and,” he threw a glance down at Atsumu, “you look like you’re about to come in your pants, darling.”

Shrugging, he murmured, “Then I want you to make me come.” He nuzzled his cheek against Kiyoomi’s soft cock. “With just your words.”

────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────

What Atsumu really wanted was to be attached to Kiyoomi like an octopus, but he’d take Kiyoomi guiding him through an orgasm.

“C’mere,” he commanded softly, his voice hoarse.

It took some maneuvering, and a lot of focus on his part not to topple backwards, but Atsumu did it anyway. With his hands tied snugly behind his back, he climbed onto Kiyoomi’s lap, face lowered to him.

A tongue began to lick at his face, a hand brushed over his stomach, fingertips stopping a few inches from his dick. “Just my words?”

He nodded, closing his eyes. He was already close, and truth to be told, this was new to him. He’d never felt this great a pleasure just from having his mouth used—though the word used was a bit inaccurate. Perhaps adored was better. Kiyoomi had adored his mouth…with his dick. And it had brought Atsumu so close to orgasm, it was a wonder he hadn't already come in his pants.

He chuckled at his own stupid thoughts.

“What’s funny?” Kiyoomi asked, his voice quiet yet potent—his mouth was so close to Atsumu’s neck, he felt warm bursts of breaths against his skin.

His voice vibrated through him, and his heat enclosed around him. He opened his eyes. Met obsidian with his brown. “I don’t think anyone’s liked my mouth the way you like it.”

For a second, Kiyoomi’s eyes shuttered, expression foreign to Atsumu, but it cleared into cool disdain.

“Anyone not appreciating every inch of you was a fool, darling,” he said, his voice low. “Now, show me how pretty you look, coming all over yourself because I told you so.”

Body shaking, Atsumu’s breath caught in his throat, his eyelashes fluttering shut. He rocked his hips forward, the abrasive fabric of his clothes the perfect friction as Kiyoomi gently murmured, “Right, darling, just like that, come for me.” And he came. Spectacularly. The front of his jeans grew sticky and quickly cold with his cum pooling in his underwear. Head swimming, he looked at Kiyoomi, who was licking his lips, looking like next time, he should like to command Atsumu to come in his mouth instead.

Excited for whatever plans Kiyoomi was constructing for him, but happier to live in the moment, Atsumu smiled loopily. “Thank you, Sakusa-sama.”

────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────

The boundary between teammates and submissive and dominant began to blur beyond Kiyoomi’s control. And he didn’t even want to try to restore it.

He liked being snapped at by an especially irritated Atsumu—something or the other always got on his nerves—then he enjoyed it even more when he got to dominate him in his home, wrest all those anxieties from him.

One week turned into two, then three, then they were meeting up every other day, for three whole months. The busy schedule kept them apart, but once or twice, or eight times, they’d end up in Kiyoomi’s car, Atsumu’s face between his legs, sucking him off to Kiyoomi’s specifications, Kiyoomi’s fingers pinching at Atsumu’s nipples, his mouth parted on words of praise.

Atsumu always looked so much happier afterwards. Loose-limbed and spent, he’d rest his cheek against Kiyoomi’s chest, catching his breath, running his fingers through Kiyoomi’s sparse chest hair.

Then they’d go out for dinner. Or pick up Maru and go to a park and go through endless rounds of fetch until the energetic canine collapsed between them, happy and worn. Then they’d go home together to Kiyoomi’s, where one drawer had all of Atsumu’s favorite sweatpants and another was stuffed with neatly folded rows of tees. Tees Kiyoomi gladly tore off him to suckle at his collarbones as Atsumu sat in his lap and grinded on him.

The end result would vary from Atsumu’s face covered in come, or Kiyoomi between his legs, edging him one lick at a time until he was dripping precum like a leaking faucet.

But Atsumu never came without Kiyoomi’s explicit order.

And not once did Atsumu disobey a command.

Not once did he push Kiyoomi away. Told him he was too much. Even when he tied him up and edged him for hours, made him sit there and watch him as he went on about his day.

When he finally got spanked for a minor misdemeanor of forgetting his clothes on the bathroom floor after a shower, Kiyoomi bent Atsumu at the waist so he would be facing the mirror in his bathroom, only his face visible. Behind and above was him, shoulders taut, his face terrifying even to his own eyes.

But even as he panted out the count from one to twenty, Atsumu’s expression merely grew more blissed out. Later, he grinned as he inspected the imprint of Kiyoomi’s hand on his ass, while Kiyoomi rubbed his skin with ointment.

“Next time, could you gag me?” Atsumu asked excitedly, sliding into bed, sliding into Kiyoomi’s arms.

He sighed. “Seems like I’ve got myself a demanding darling.”

Atsumu chuckled. “You like me when I’m demanding.”

I like you. Period.

In those moments, when nothing but the moon lit the inside of his bedroom, throwing shafts of light across Atsumu’s serene face, Kiyoomi would lay there and watch the rise and fall of his chest.

And wonder, How soon was too soon to give Atsumu a collar? It was a big commitment. But it was either that or a key to his apartment.

He wanted more than a few hours after practice or a stolen kiss after game nights, when they went separate ways, Atsumu too engrossed in his thoughts to slide into Kiyoomi’s car.

Every time he came home by himself, Kiyoomi felt this rush of disrepair. Something was wrong, the alarm in him explained. This time, his chest tightened until every breath felt like agony.

He was either going through Atsumu withdrawals or losing his mind. Both could be true, as well.

Chapter Text

“Say, Omi, wanna come over to mine this weekend?”

The question had been tossing and turning in Atsumu’s mind all week. They always ended up at Kiyoomi’s place after practice or even on their days off, because Atsumu would already be there the night before. He’d had Kiyoomi over before, there wasn’t anything special about his apartment, but in those times, Kiyoomi had visited under the capacity of teammate, along with Bokuto and Shoyo. This time, he’d be coming as Atsumu’s… dominant.

Kiyoomi shook his head. “I can’t. I’m spending the weekend at my parents’ house.”

He froze. “You’re visitin’ family?”

Kiyoomi nodded, tucking Atsumu’s hair behind his ear. “My sister’s having a party for her son, and she demands that I show my face.”

He deflated. The sweat hadn’t even cooled on Atsumu’s body and already he was shivering.

Sensing this, Kiyoomi wrapped the blanket tighter around him. They were both naked, but Atsumu was now too busy thinking of how Kiyoomi would be gone for a weekend to consider putting on some clothes; besides, he liked sleeping naked. It meant Kiyoomi had free access to his— no, wait, that wasn’t important now. A whole weekend. That was longer than they’d ever been apart since March. Would it be greedy of him to admit he didn’t like the sound of that?

Would it be considered bad behavior or just plain desperation if he whined and told Kiyoomi not to go?

Fuck, he couldn’t even get excited over the prospect of his misbehaving leading to getting spanked, and he always got excited over being spanked. Kiyoomi was good at it, and looked hot as fuck the first time he did it, bending Atsumu over his bathroom sink, making him watch his face contort in pleasure. Then after, he wiped Atsumu’s tears and kissed his face and told him how good he’d been for him, holding his shivering body. A few times after spanking him purple and blue, Kiyoomi used ointment if he sensed Atsumu needed it, though the sting made Atsumu feel good. Every slap was well-deserved, after all.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Kiyoomi asked, bringing Atsumu back to the present.

“Nothin’,” he lied. Then shrugged. He felt his mouth twist. He might as well speak the truth. Keeping his thoughts to himself was never his style, why begin now?

Besides, he didn’t like keeping things from Kiyoomi. It’d been trained into him to speak the truth, which was the whole purpose of what they did, he supposed. “I’ve just…never been away from you that long before,” he admitted after a heartbeat from determining that he didn’t like lying to Kiyoomi any more than losing a point to an opposing team during a game.

Kiyoomi was quiet for a few thoughtful minutes, his fingers brushing over Atsumu’s neck, shoulder, then back to his face. His caress was so soothing, the whining part of Atsumu that already mourned this touch calmed down. Until Kiyoomi asked, “Do you want to come with me?”

He looked up from where his eyes were fixed on a mole on Kiyoomi’s clavicle to his face. His serene yet expectant face. Panic retched up in his chest.

Eyes wide, he asked, “You… You’d want that? I’d be meetin’ your family, Omi.”

Kiyoomi’s smile was small, his hand warm where it cupped Atsumu’s cheek. “I know. That’s what I implied by asking you if you wanted to come home with me.”

Home. The word bounced inside Atsumu’s chest and finally settled like a comforting weight. “But—” He groaned in memory. “I’m bad at meetin’ the parents.” He chewed on his bottom lip.

Kiyoomi’s serenity shifted to a mixture of blatant curiosity and… was that jealousy? “You’ve done it before?” he asked. Yep, that was definitely a hint of jealousy in Kiyoomi’s voice.

He shook his head quickly, his stomach twisting at the mere thought of making Kiyoomi feel like he had to compete with some fictional ex. There was one but that guy was an idiot he didn’t even like thinking about.

“Nah. But, I’ve met classmates’ parents before and I always get super awkward and like…” He raked his brain for a good word and continued hesitantly, “needy? I wanted everyone to like me. Which I know sounds like a lie because, well,” he shrugged helplessly, ”I can come off as a huge dickhead.”

Kiyoomi’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “It’d be a good thing if you wanted to impress my parents. But you should know, they’ll like you.”

He frowned. “How can you say that so confidently? I give off huge jerk face vibes.”

Kiyoomi laughed, a brief puff of ha in the end. “That’s true.”

“Aw, come on, Omi, you’re supposed to lie and say I don’t,” he complained, pushing his face into Kiyoomi’s chest, wriggling in his arms, as if he wasn’t already wrapped up in him.

He couldn’t explain his behavior besides needing to be consumed by Kiyoomi. That was the only solution to the gnawing in his stomach. Asking for more, more, more.

And Osamu thought he was greedy. Fucker didn’t know half of it.

He raised his head and asked tentatively. “How long will you be stayin’ there?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?” He was shrieking.

Kiyoomi winced. “Inside voice, please.”

He groaned. “That’s too many days for me to put on my peopling mask!”

Kiyoomi rolled his lips inwards then sighed amusedly, “Do I even need to ask?”

He waved a hand in the air, like Please don’t.

With a thoughtful hm, Kiyoomi offered a solution: “You could come later. I’ll be there Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. That way you won’t have to wear your peopling mask all weekend long.”

He ignored Kiyoomi’s air quotes. The offer appealed to him. “Like, show up on Sunday mornin’?”

Kiyoomi nodded, kissing the soft “Yeah,” into his cheek. “I’m heading back here at 8 so I’d love to have you around even if it’s just for an afternoon.”

The hand on his back circled and stroked until he could feel a semblance of calm. “All right. I can do that.”

────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────

Idiot. He was a real idiot. Did he really think he could survive two whole days without Kiyoomi? Saying goodbye to him alone was agonizing. On Friday evening, he’d been unable to let go before peppering Kiyoomi’s face with nearly a thousand kisses, each making Kiyoomi smile wider.

By Saturday afternoon, Atsumu was living in a state of constant agitation, about to crawl out of his skin. He didn’t just miss Kiyoomi, the word ‘miss’ wasn’t strong enough for what Atsumu felt. He needed Kiyoomi. He was miserable without Kiyoomi. And pent up, too. Kiyoomi had trained him well in these three months, and now his body was craving the smoothness of Kiyoomi’s voice, even for one minute.

Hence why he flopped onto his belly, scrolling his gallery for photos of Kiyoomi. There was one they’d recently snapped together, faces pressed side by side, Atsumu grinning, Kiyoomi glancing sideways at him. The look in Kiyoomi’s eyes, a mixture of fondness and barely-suppressed amusement, had Atsumu whining and kicking his legs, misery turning his mood sour as hell.

By five o’clock, he had enough. He dragged himself from his bed and headed out. Osamu didn’t even ask him to come in, but out of the kindness of his heart, and because he’d been bored and miserable out of his wits, Atsumu sauntered into the Tokyo branch of Onigiri Miya and took up his customary seat in the kitchen after saying a quick hey to the familiar part-timer working the register.

“What’s up, bro?” he drawled. “How’s business without my handsome face drawin’ in ninety-percent of your clientele?”

Osamu lifted his head from the gigantic bowl in which he was mixing rice with whatever ingredient he needed to make a shit-ton of onigiri. He spared Atsumu only a few moments of his attention.

“Come on, would it killya to say hi to your favorite brother?” Atsumu groaned.

“You’re my only brother,” Osamu retorted behind the visor he wore while preparing food, giving Atsumu a deadpanned look.

He grunted, “Whatever,” and ran his hands through his hair. His knee wouldn’t stop shaking, and no matter how many times Osamu would shoot him a warning look, he couldn’t stop it. He was going through Omi-withdrawals and they were hitting him especially hard.

His fingers joined in ten minutes later, tapping incessantly on the countertop, a soft click-click-click reverberating from his blunt nails hitting the lacquered counter.

Finally, after a solid minute of that, Osamu barked, “Either you quit that, or you get out of my fuckin’ kitchen.”

“Rude.” He stilled his fingers, but there was no stopping his knee.

With the small difference of Osamu shooting him scathing glares, he spent the next hour doing nothing but alternating between checking his phone every two seconds, as if he didn’t have every notification turned on, and scrolling Kiyoomi’s social media accounts, but neither yielded a thing. Kiyoomi was well and truly out of reach, and he never bothered to update his Instagram, no matter how many times Atsumu begged him to.

“If you miss him that badly, go to him,” Osamu muttered.

Atsumu sighed, dropping his head to rest on his folded arms. “I can’t. I told him I’d come on Sunday. That’s at least twenty hours from now.”

He’d already briefed Osamu on his situation, and this wasn’t the first time Osamu told him to just go.

“So what? You think he’ll hate it if you showed up a day early?” Osamu was holding a rather large knife. He looked menacing. “The same person who’d already been puttin’ up with you for a quarter of a year?”

Atsumu pursed his lips and said, “He hasn’t been puttin’ up with me.”

Osamu rolled his eyes. “Fine. Judgin’ by the way he spent the entire hour you guys came in here last week givin’ you moony eyes and touchin’ you under the table, thinkin’ I can’t see that shit, I bet he’s missin’ you as disgustingly as you’re missin’ him.”

That whole spiel made Atsumu’s chest tighten. Holy shit. Osamu was perceptive.

He eyed his twin brother in a new light painted in equal turns by disbelief and appreciation.

“Just go, Sumu,” Osamu said with a sigh and a small smile. “Find out how he might actually feel instead of makin’ up shit in your head.”

“Okay!” He stood. “Fine! You’ve worn me down, you naggin’ asshole.”

On his way out, he gave Osamu a noisy peck on his cheek and trilled, “Thank you,” to which Osamu flicked up a middle finger but wore a small smile, too.

────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────

Back in his apartment, Atsumu took care to pack everything he might need for an overnight stay at… Wait, he stood in his bedroom, eying his underwear drawer. Where was he staying? After mulling it over and coming up with no concrete answer, he texted Kiyoomi

Atsumu: Say…are you stayin’ at your parents’ or…

Kiyoomi: I have my own house here.

His jaw dropped. Didn’t Kiyoomi already own the apartment here in Osaka? They were paid well, but… not enough to afford two homes, and one in Tokyo. His fingers flew over his keyboard.

Atsumu: Hold on. Do you own a house in Tokyo?

Kiyoomi: Yes?

Atsumu: How come?! I get paid the same and I’m still rentin’!

Kiyoomi: Must be all the sweatpants you buy. They’re siphoning your income.

That made him snort. Then melt into a puddle on the floor because wow, he’d really missed Kiyoomi. To think that he could’ve texted him earlier and had this wobbly feeling in his knees. What a fuckin’ idiot. His phone buzzed with a follow-up from Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi: Why are you asking?

He bit on his bottom lip, excitement tearing through him.

Atsumu: I’m kind of on the way?

His phone buzzed in his hands. He picked up with a smile. “Hey.” He sounded so fuckin’ bashful. Ugh. Ew. He was having so many feelings right now; he would need a century to parse through them.

Kiyoomi sounded breathless as he asked, “You’re on your way? To where?”

“To the address you shared with me on Friday evening before you left?” He cleared his throat, tried to wipe the smile from his face, failed, and continued in a quiet voice, “Turns out I’m the clingy type, Omi. I’ve been missin’ you like mad.”

Atsumu didn’t know how he managed it, but he heard the smile in Kiyoomi’s voice when he said, “I’m the clingy type, too.”

“So, we’re just two assholes who can’t be apart, huh?” he asked.

“Yep,” Kiyoomi said succinctly. “Now get your ass here.”

The hint of desperation in his voice pleased Atsumu, helped him get off the floor and make his way down to the sidewalk, where a car was taking him to the train station.

Once he was in the station then on the right train, he got comfortable in his seat and called Kiyoomi. Leaning against the window, he said with a grin, “I’m on my way, Sakusa-sama.” He hoped whoever sat in front of him didn’t glance back at him; he probably looked terrifyingly smitten.

“I’ve bought you a present, but you have to show me you deserve it, darling,” Kiyoomi said, his voice velvety smooth.

“Aw, you didn’t have to buy me anythin’,” he murmured. Then, perking up. “What is it?”

Kiyoomi chuckled. “Just get here safely. Maru misses you.”

“Maru, huh? Didn’t know you were a liar, Omi.” In the window, his expression was bright with excitement.

The silence stretched.

“You’re right.” Kiyoomi cleared his throat and whispered heatedly, “I missed you like hell, Atsumu.”

Atsumu had already gleaned that much, but it didn’t hurt to hear the words. He stifled a giggle, not wanting to scare the person sitting in the seat in front of him, who had to be glancing at him warily through the space between the seats.

“See ya in a couple of hours, sweetie pie,” he said quickly and hung up, giggling over the egregious nickname and how Kiyoomi definitely hated it.

────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────

When Kiyoomi opened the door, he was wearing a smirk and low-hanging sweatpants.

“You’re here,” he said, which did not at all register to Atsumu because he was so busy dropping everything he had in his hands and jumping into his arms.

“Omi!” he squealed, “I missed you like a fuckin’ limb, you fuckin’ bastard!” He was likely shrieking in Kiyoomi’s ear but as long as he wasn’t being dropped, he didn’t care.

Kiyoomi chuckled. “Wow, you’re not holding back at all, hm?”

He shook his head, rubbing his face all over Kiyoomi’s neck, wrapping his legs tightly around that perfect waist. “Nope!”

Kiyoomi carried him inside, and Atsumu wasn’t even curious enough to see what the inside of his house looked like, he was too busy breathing him in. That familiar scent of peppermint was paired by something savory.

“Were you cooking?” he asked, pulling back to look at Kiyoomi. “And you’re wearing sweatpants.” He squinted down. “Are those mine?”

Kiyoomi’s cheeks turned pink. “What’s yours is mine.”

He laughed, a hearty, loud laugh, yet it was nowhere near expressing how much joy he got out of finding out Kiyoomi had stolen (read: borrowed) a pair of his sweatpants for the two days he’d be away from him.

Moving smoothly, Kiyoomi pushed Atsumu’s back against the closed door, his mouth still smiling as he ensnared his mouth, kissing Atsumu squarely. His mouth was so warm and perfect, his tongue licking at Atsumu’s lips, which opened instantly for him. He hummed as Kiyoomi licked into his mouth. His hands wove through Kiyoomi’s curls, sighing in relief.

He moaned as Kiyoomi kissed down his neck, his fingers sneaking under his shirt. Heat built inside him, his cock stiffening instantly. He rocked his hips against Kiyoomi’s stomach, whispering, “Sakusa-sama,” under his breath.

“You smell amazing,” Kiyoomi moaned against his neck, biting gently.

Atsumu whimpered and tilted his head back, giving him more room to kiss and nip at his skin. He loved the tiny pinpricks of pain he felt blooming along his neck, the hard suck at the base of his throat. Kiyoomi’s moan vibrated against him.

“About that present…”

Kiyoomi’s eyes were dark and playful. “Yes?”

He gulped noisily. “Can I see it now?”

“Sure,” he murmured, “but first… give me another kiss.”

Giggling, he kissed Kiyoomi, hard and messy, their teeth clicking because they were smiling into each other. It just felt so incredibly fun to hear Kiyoomi ask for a kiss, as if they hadn’t already been doing just that.

“Where’s Maru?” he asked as Kiyoomi pulled him into the house.

Kiyoomi threw him a look over one shoulder. “He’s staying at my sister’s. Her kids love him.”

“Does your whole family like dogs?” he asked, craning his neck to take in some of the décor. Hm. It looked like Kiyoomi did as little decorating as possible. The place was neat, with a wide, sparse living room to the left of the staircase leading up to the second floor.

“We have a couple of cats, too.” He raised an eyebrow, seeing Atsumu glance around. “Are you nervous?”

He admitted, “A bit, yeah.” He tried for a smile, but it came out all wobbly. “I don’t know why but it feels all tingly in my belly.”

Kiyoomi’s eyebrow arched. “Oh?”

He laughed. “I know!”

“Surely I can help with that,” Kiyoomi said, sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him in.

Batting his lashes, Atsumu whispered, “You gonna fuck the tingles away, Sakusa-sama?”

Kiyoomi paused, his eyes dark and hungry. “Do you want that, darling?” His hand slid down from the small of Atsumu’s back to his ass, squeezing lightly. “Do you want me inside you?”

He nodded. “I do,” he sighed. “I have been thinking about it a lot, actually.”

He’d never brought it up, mostly because it felt so good to have Kiyoomi’s mouth and hands on him and vice versa. But a deeper need to be connected to Kiyoomi had been building up inside him. He wanted to feel Kiyoomi’s fingers sliding into him, prepping him for his big cock.

“Tell me,” Kiyoomi said, which felt like a trap.

Could Atsumu just…

Fuck it.

He hid his face, which burned with embarrassment, in Kiyoomi’s neck, and told him precisely what he wanted: “I want your fingers and tongue to fuck my hole until it’s twitching, loose and soft, then for your cock to thrust inside me. I wanna be one with you, Sakusa-sama.”

Kiyoomi went still against him, then he was in motion. He pulled Atsumu up the stairs and down a hallway, then practically threw him onto a bed, climbing to cage him—all in less than five seconds.

Atsumu was whiplashed and turned on, but he still managed to arch against the hard chest over him. He curled one leg over Kiyoomi’s hip and threaded his fingers through Kiyoomi’s curls.

Kiyoomi stroked the back of his neck, tilting his chin up. “Do you have any idea how perfect you look right now?” He lowered himself so they were chest to chest.

He squirmed for more. “You’re the pretty one, Sakusa-sama.”

“Lean back, darling. Let me taste you.”

A moan built in his chest, spilling weakly from his lips as Kiyoomi took off his clothes. His mouth devoured every inch of skin his hands bared, leaving tiny bites and wet kisses in a potent pattern.

He spread his legs, leaning back to rest on his elbows, watching the way Kiyoomi began smirking down at him.

“Do you want my tongue first or your present, darling?”

How could he choose?

Curiosity got the best of him. “My present, please.”

Kiyoomi nodded, his lips grazing over Atsumu’s chest. “As my darling wishes.”

Melting like an ice-cream cone left out in the middle of summer, Atsumu simmered while Kiyoomi moved away. He followed him with his eyes, his heart longing and cursing him for choosing an option that made Kiyoomi walk even those few steps toward a large chest at the other side of the room. He came back to bed, holding an orange box in his hand.

“I did not choose this specifically.”

He chuckled. “Worried I’ll think you’re bad at pickin’ colors?”

Kiyoomi’s mouth twisted. “Behave, darling, or you won’t get your present.”

He bit on his bottom lip. “Sorry, Sakusa-sama. It’s just…” He grinned. “You’re cute when you’re defendin’ yourself.”

Kiyoomi’s chin rose, like I’m never cute.

On the contrary, Atsumu thought, you’re so cute it’s sickenin’.

He waited for Kiyoomi to open the box, but instead, he offered it to him. “It’s your gift,” he explained with an eye-roll.

Sitting up, he plucked one end of the bow and pulled it. He pushed off the lid and stared. On a bed of black velvet were three items, each making Atsumu’s heartbeat quicken: a long string of anal beads, an adorable set of nipple clamps, and a flare-ended anal plug in the color of rosy pink. A color that probably painted him from cheek to chest as he ogled the sex toys Kiyoomi bought him.

“You… you got these for me?” he asked, choked up.

Kiyoomi nodded, sporting his own dots of pink on the high points of his cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to ask…” He cleared his throat and asked, “Do you like them?”

He nodded. His fingers brushed over the smooth silicone of the anal plug especially, his heart kicking up a wild beat in his throat. “Do I have to choose one or…”

Kiyoomi’s tongue licked at his bottom lip. “You can have them all, darling.” He leaned and kissed Atsumu’s cheek. Against it, he whispered, “They’re yours, after all. I want to see you enjoying them to your heart’s content.”

What Atsumu really wanted to hear in addition was: As I am yours. But he had to curb the greed pulsing in his veins. He nodded. “All right,” he murmured. He met Kiyoomi’s eyes. “Which one do you want to start with, Sakusa-sama?”

Long, elegant fingers moved over the sex toys and ended up on the anal beads. His eyebrow rose. “These.”

Atsumu nodded. “Okay.”

“Lie down.”

He hugged a pillow to his chest, momentarily feeling acutely embarrassed, but the calming way Kiyoomi brushed his hands over his thighs, kneading the muscles, helped him relax. His legs spread, and he shivered as he felt the first bead, which was smooth and not bigger than a small marble, breach his hole.

“More?” Kiyoomi asked, his breath hot against his inner thigh. Atsumu felt his eyes on him.

He nodded. “Please,” he moaned, squeezing around the first bead, already adjusted to it.

The rest were only marginally wider, and he didn’t really start feeling that itch inside him until the sixth one, which Kiyoomi gently coaxed inside him. The addition made him gasp and squirm. Combined, all beads fit snugly inside him, clutched within his heat. Sweat broke along his hairline, dripped down his face as Kiyoomi held onto the last one in one hand and kept his hole open with another.

“One more, darling,” Kiyoomi murmured. He dropped a kiss on Atsumu’s knee. “You ready?”

He nodded, hugging the pillow tighter to his chest. As he exhaled, Kiyoomi pushed the last bead—which felt like the perfect addition. Once it was inside him, everything else clicked, and he shivered. His insides burned with how perfect it felt. Full but not to the point of discomfort, he squeezed tentatively. There. The smooth beads pressed against that spot inside him, making his thighs tremble.

He struggled to breathe, but Kiyoomi was beside him, pushing his hair back and kissing his forehead, murmuring how beautiful and sweet he was. The praise made Atsumu happy, and the way Kiyoomi looked at him, eyes half-lidded and hazy, filled him with satisfaction.

“Can you tell me how they feel, darling?” Kiyoomi asked, his voice a dark rumble in his ear.

He moaned. “They feel…good,” he said, “but also kind of shivery,” he added with a furrow between his eyebrows. His hips moved. “Not enough,” he complained softly. He reached for Kiyoomi’s cheek. “I want more, please.”

Kiyoomi nodded. “I thought you would.” He slid down Atsumu’s body and reached for the anal plug.

“Does it…” His eyes widened as, reading his mind, Kiyoomi pressed a button at the bottom of the plug, making it buzz lightly. “Fuck,” he groaned, throwing his head back.

His reaction had been premature, because he should’ve saved that for when Kiyoomi gently began to cajole the plug inside him, the pressure building up inside him, his cock leaking precum all over his belly, sliding down in thick rivulets.

Kiyoomi’s eyes, however, were the deadliest thing—they watched every twitch, every shiver, eating up the way Atsumu squirmed and squeezed his hole around the plug, silently begging him to turn it on.

“You have to say the words, darling.”

He groaned, his voice half-muffled by the pillow, “Please, Sakusa-sama, ruin me.”

Kiyoomi’s smirk was all sin as, with a press, pushed the button and settled the plug deeper inside Atsumu, so the shock of the final inch of penetration and the low-hum vibration sent wave after wave of pleasure through him. He had not been prepared, and with a jolt and a whimper, came all over himself, his cock pulsing out thick ropes of cum, making a whole mess.

He shivered, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, but he bravely met Kiyoomi’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to…”

Kiyoomi soothed him with a kiss, each growing hungrier. “You looked stunning, darling, coming from the first setting when we’ve got four more.”

His eyes widened. “F-four?”

Kiyoomi nodded. “Would you like to try them out?”

The lowest hum turned into a slightly raised speed when he nodded. Kiyoomi’s arm curled around his waist, his other hand settling between his cheeks, grabbing the anal beads by their handle and twisting them. Atsumu whined with a whimper, loving the way the beads bumped and pressed lovingly against his prostate, the vibration making them shiver against it. The pressure intensified again, and he covered his face with Kiyoomi’s pillow. “I’m c-close again.”

Kiyoomi’s approval was a sweet hum, “Mmm, let me see…” He slid down so his face was inches away from Atsumu’s ass, his arm underneath alleviating it. Atsumu didn’t know if he wanted to grab a shovel and start digging himself a grave from embarrassment or simply enjoy the look of adoration on Kiyoomi’s face.

He opted for the latter, because why be buried alive when he could be gazed at like he was the most precious thing on earth?

“More?” Kiyoomi asked.

“Kiss me,” he said, adding, “please,” even though Kiyoomi’s chest was gliding along his, his tee soft and the friction making his nipples ache. His mouth was hot, his tongue sliding between Atsumu’s panting lips like it belonged there. The way Kiyoomi kissed him was straight up going to kill him. How was he fucking his mouth with this tongue like he was licking into his hole? It didn’t help that Kiyoomi clicked the plug into a higher setting, the vibration making Atsumu’s balls ache and sending a third orgasm through him. He was so shocked by that one that he burst into tears.

“Shhhh,” Kiyoomi murmured, kissing the stream sliding down his cheeks. “It’s OK, darling.”

“B-but,” he blubbered, “I’m not listenin’ to you!” He was honestly distraught. Why couldn’t he control himself? He was a disgrace of a submissive.

“Sweetheart,” Kiyoomi crooned, voice amused, “I never said you couldn’t come.” His eyes were sober. “Matter of fact, I wanted you precisely like this.” His fingers slid down Atsumu’s neck, closing lightly—nowhere near choking him, but the hint made Atsumu’s pulse jump—then stroking to a nipple. He flicked it with a fingertip, eyes hungrily watching Atsumu’s face screw up into agony.

“A-are you sure?” he asked.

Kiyoomi nodded. “It pleases me, darling. I like seeing you come.”

A memory rose to the forefront of Atsumu’s mind, of the cruel jackass who’d sneered when he came without being given permission, though that dickhead of a dominant hadn’t told him not to. He never laid out the rules as tidily as Kiyoomi did. Then again, all Kiyoomi said at the start was that he’d wanted to see Atsumu enjoy the toys.

“Atsumu, look at me, please.”

He raised his eyes from where they’d settled on Kiyoomi’s neck.

Instant calm filled the holes panic had punched through him. “Witnessing your pleasure is my greatest honor, darling,” Kiyoomi said.

A whimper filled his throat, but he didn’t get the chance to let it out, because Kiyoomi kissed him, deep and full of care, his tongue stroking his, lingering on his bottom lip. He gave it a tiny bite.

“Does that ease your mind, darling?”

He nodded. “Thank you, Sakusa-sama.”

“Mmm, you’re welcome,” he whispered. “Now, would you like to try on the last of your presents?”

The nipple clamps. He found himself nodding eagerly, excitement replacing any hint of worry he had lingering in his mind. As his body was raked with shivers, the anal plug still teasing his insides, he watched Kiyoomi pick up the thin chain ending in two, smooth, glittery clamps.

“This is in the way,” Kiyoomi pointed out, eying the pillow Atsumu was clutching to his chest, hugging it like it was his lifejacket.

He gladly tossed it aside and accepted the gentle bite of the clamps. The two points of pleasure were intensified by Kiyoomi pushing the button for the final setting. A near-violent quake that had Atsumu gasping, his hands fisting by his sides. “F-fuck—Sakusa-sama—” His whole body was lit up by pleasure, like fireworks exploding within and without.

“Sit in my lap, darling. I want to watch you have fun with your toys.”

He blinked, sending a fresh stream of tears down his cheeks. Kiyoomi helped him, since his knees were weak. It took all of him to move, and the shift did make him a bit woozy.

“Whoa,” he breathed, leaning to rest his forehead on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, a soft whimper humming in his throat. “Feels… even better.”

“Good. Now move. Slowly,” Kiyoomi commanded.

He nodded. He began to rock his hips, grinding down in a tight circle, his ass squeezing around the toys in the same rhythm whilst Kiyoomi watched.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown out, and his cheeks flushed with every hitched moan escaping Atsumu’s lips.

“Don’t come yet, sweetheart,” Kiyoomi said with some difficulty. “Tease yourself with it.”

He nodded, the movement shaky on account of how difficult it was to put an actual effort into withholding himself. He wanted to come, badly, but he wanted to follow Kiyoomi’s command even more.

His release felt so close, pleasure clawing its way to every inch of his body, his pelvis aching with the need. But he took steadying breaths and slowed his movements until he was barely moving except for a few back and forth rocks against Kiyoomi’s thighs.

The rigidness of Kiyoomi’s own body pleased him, letting him know how much the dominant liked seeing him like this. Sweaty and flushed, he met Kiyoomi’s gaze and held it as he pushed himself down harder and harder, grinding low and dirty. His dick was leaking again, an endless stream that got all over Kiyoomi’s sweatpants, matching the wet spot from Kiyoomi’s own dick.

Just one layer of clothes separated them, and it had Atsumu gritting his teeth, his rib cage too small for how big his heart got.

A hand swept over his back in tight circles. “So, darling, have you had your fill?” Kiyoomi asked. The gravity of his words made Atsumu blink away the haze of longing filling his vision. What he found was a mien filled with longing to match his own.

Tentatively, Atsumu squeezed his muscles around the plug, the vibration pulsing through him. He shook his head. “N-not yet,” he sighed. “I still want you, Sakusa-sama.”

Pleasure shuddered through Kiyoomi’s chest under Atsumu’s hands. “Good.” Without preamble, Kiyoomi pulled at the chain connecting the clamps. The tug sent little shock-waves all over Atsumu’s body. “I have a challenge for you, darling. But you may decline if you wish so.”

“What is it?” he asked, his voice a delicate whine he couldn’t believe had come out of his own mouth. His head felt light, body trembling with need for everything Kiyoomi offered him.

“I want your next release, but only when my cock is inside you,” Kiyoomi explained, his voice so smooth and yet torturous.

Atsumu glanced helplessly down at his dick, at the pearl of precum that no sooner had he spotted it that it began to trickle down the shaft. He licked his bottom lip.

“I understand,” he murmured. With a peck to Kiyoomi’s cheek, he promised, “I’ll do my best for you, Sakusa-sama.”

Kiyoomi slowly withdrew the plug from his ass. A drawer was pulled open, but Atsumu was too busy frowning hard, eyes closed shut, fighting against the urge to whine against the sudden emptiness. It disarmed him, how lost he felt without the plug. But when he heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper, he lit up with hope. And disappointment.

“D-do we have to, um, use that?” he asked quietly.

Kiyoomi stilled under him. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

He did look at Kiyoomi, just not his face. With a start, he realized belatedly that Kiyoomi had merely pushed down the waistband of his sweatpants, and the contrast of how naked he was in comparison made him blush furiously.

He fixed his gaze on Kiyoomi’s dick, its veiny, stiff length an inch away from his own slick dick. His mouth watered.

A finger tilted his chin up, and with a start, he met Kiyoomi’s gaze. “Hi!” he chirped.

Kiyoomi’s smile was slow, eyebrows rising. “Hello, darling.”

“You called me sweetheart,” he pointed out, arms wrapping loosely behind Kiyoomi’s neck. “Can you do that again?”

“Only if you tell me what you meant by your question,” Kiyoomi retorted gently.

Atsumu rolled his lips in, bit on them, and released them with a soft smack. “Well,” he paused to clear his throat, “I’ve never had…raw sex before and I, uh,” he paused again, this time to inhale sharply through his nose—only to be turned lightheaded by Kiyoomi’s scent.

“Sweetheart, finish what you were saying,” Kiyoomi commanded.

Too drunk on that sound to fight his instinct, Atsumu said quickly, “I want you to be the first man to fuck me raw, Sakusa-sama.”

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows lowered, his eyes crinkling at the corners, though his mouth remained pressed in a serene line. Finally, he asked, “Why?”

Eyes wide, Atsumu parroted, “Why?!”

“Why do you want me to fuck you without protection?”

The words flowed out of him. “Because I want to know you trust me.”

It was right then. With Kiyoomi’s scent filling his head, and his voice running like fingertips along his nerves, saying, “I trust you, darling,” that Atsumu fell in love.

Simple and undeniable. Kiyoomi had given him all he’d ever wanted: an attentive dominant who’d learned not how to tame him, but to free him from binds Atsumu had been fighting against his whole life. He’d thought himself untamed, but it hadn’t been true. Through Kiyoomi’s gentleness and commands, he’d found a side of himself he could be proud of. A side that shone bright.

He fought the urge to cry, climbing up his throat and making his eyes hot. Kiyoomi slid the anal beads out of him, one by one, until he was truly empty.

Only the nipple clamps remained.

“Shall I keep these on?” Kiyoomi asked, flicking one clamp.

He shivered. “Y-yes, please.”

Curls filled his vision as Kiyoomi leaned into him, wrapping him in a one-armed hug. He was momentarily surprised by it, then gladly returned it, smiling at the poise he could only find in Kiyoomi’s embrace.

A warm chest brushed against his side; a cool breath huffed against his ear. “So pretty,” Kiyoomi whispered.

Atsumu giggled. “You’re way cuter.”

Kiyoomi’s face was scowling when he pulled away. “Take that back.”

“Is that an order, goshujin-sama?” he teased.

The dick nestled between his cheeks jumped. “No.”

“Then I rest my case. You’re cuter than I could ever be,” he reiterated, pecking Kiyoomi’s red cheek.

A low grumble later, Kiyoomi bit out, “I’ll show you cute.”

The laughter died in his throat when Kiyoomi began to push him down. Sudden panic filled Atsumu, widening his eyes and stilling his heart for a painful second. He hugged Kiyoomi tighter, begging, “N-no, please! Don’t! D-don’t push me—” He choked as Kiyoomi shushed him.

Concern crammed into Kiyoomi’s eyes, he eyed him carefully. “I’m not pushing you away, darling.”

“Yes, you are!” he argued. His face screwed up in a sob. “I didn’t mean to tease you!”

“Darling, darling, come here,” Kiyoomi murmured, cupping his face in his hands.

He could do nothing about the tears that began to pour out of him, his chest heaving, stomach twisted as every instinct of his shouted he hates you because you can’t keep your mouth shut!

“No, please, no, I’ll do anything,” he cried, grappling to wrap his arms even tighter around Kiyoomi’s neck. “Please don’t h-hate me!”

Kiyoomi’s question was low. “Do you trust me, darling?”

“Yes!”

Kiyoomi hummed. “Good.” Then, “Lie down, please.”

It physically hurt to unwind his arms, but he did it. He had to. If he wasn’t Kiyoomi’s precious darling, he’d be nothing. He felt like he was about to fall apart, but he managed to roll off of Kiyoomi. He curled into himself, hugging his chest.

A pair of arms closed around him, warm and strong, holding him to a chest within which beat a fast and steady heart. “I could never hate you, darling.”

Kiyoomi’s words washed over him like tidal waves, each swipe erasing some of the fog filling his head.

His body ceased its tremble.

“Twenty-four hours away from you nearly turned me inside out, darling. I needed to know what my sweetheart was doing at all hours of the day. I wanted to come home to you so badly.”

His teeth stopped chattering.

Heat began to seep into him, unlocking his muscles.

He turned and cuddled into Kiyoomi’s awaiting arms, his cheek resting on that broad chest. The cotton tee was soft, but he wished Kiyoomi would take it off.

As if hearing his thoughts, which he probably could because Kiyoomi was clearly supernatural, he slid the tee off in record time, then was holding Atsumu again.

“Do you believe me, darling?”

Quietly, he said, “Yes, Sakusa-sama.”

A lull passed through them, and slowly, Atsumu stopped shaking all together, warmth thawed the limbs that his panic had turned icy. He breathed in and out, deep and steady, just like Kiyoomi’s own rhythm. Aligning himself with his dominant’s calm until the borrowed peace became his own.

“Tomorrow, will you go on a date with me?” Kiyoomi asked, his voice dripping with tenderness.

He raised his head to meet dark eyes. His heart jumped in his chest. “A date?”

The corners of Kiyoomi’s mouth curled. “We’ll go to the beach, all three of us.”

Tomorrow was Sunday, which meant it was the day of his family gathering. Did Kiyoomi not want him to meet his family anymore? Did he regret inviting him? “But…”

Kiyoomi’s smile grew tentatively. “After my nephew’s birthday party.” The stone of trepidation rolled inside Atsumu. But before it could take another tumble, Kiyoomi promised, “My family would love to meet you.”

If there ever was a person who would live up to their promises, it was Sakusa Kiyoomi. That was a fact Atsumu believed wholeheartedly. He nodded, wishing he’d never see the day Kiyoomi was proven wrong.

His eyes glanced down, and he traced the dark trail of hair leading from Kiyoomi’s belly button to the waistband of his sweatpants, tented with his hard dick.

“Uhm,” he mumbled, “did I ruin the mood?”

Kiyoomi’s chuckle was a gentle rumble. He shook his head. “Not at all, darling. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, Sakusa-sama,” he replied honestly. Tomorrow’s concerns were just that. All he needed now was to feel Kiyoomi inside him. He wriggled closer and boldly lifted one leg to curl over Kiyoomi’s hip. “I still want you inside me, Sakusa-sama.”

Kiyoomi curled one hand around his face, his thumb pressing lightly to the underside of his chin. “Do you want to take your sweatpants back, darling?” he asked, his eyes shining.

Mouth dry, he nodded.

Kiyoomi’s smirk slowly pulled at his mouth. “What are you waiting for?”

He rose to a sitting position, staring down at Kiyoomi, who quickly laid back, arms curled behind his head.

Atsumu found the audacity to ask, “Can I ride your dick, Sakusa-sama?”

Eyes boring into him, Kiyoomi spread his legs. “You can try, darling.”

Smiling, Atsumu promised, “I’ll fuckin’ excel.”

Chapter Text

Kiyoomi curled one hand around Atsumu’s hot face, his thumb pressing lightly to the underside of his chin. Sending tingles all over his skin. “Do you want to take your sweatpants back, darling?” he asked, his eyes shining, his voice a deep, promising rumble.

There was no misunderstanding what he meant. Mouth dry, Atsumu nodded.

That sinful smirk slowly pulled at Kiyoomi’s mouth, turning it into a lethal weapon.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, an eyebrow arching behind his curly fringe.

Shivering slightly, Atsumu rose to a sitting position, his thighs trembling where they straddled Kiyoomi’s waist. His whole body was still trembling from how many times he’d come. Yet he wanted more.

He let his eyes slowly look down the length of the dominant underneath him, who looked every bit like a predator, about to devour him.

Kiyoomi’s arms bunched with cords of muscle as they curled behind his head, a stray curl sticking to his smooth forehead. Fuck. That curl alone was about to undo Atsumu.

What more damage could getting fucked by Kiyoomi even inflict on him?

Their eyes met, the contact crackling with tension. Atsumu’s cock throbbed, hard again, oozing probably, all over them. Maybe he was falling even harder in love with Kiyoomi, ruining his heart for anyone else?

He loved how his voice sounded as he asked, “Can I ride your dick, Sakusa-sama?” Like he was dying for Kiyoomi’s dick, which technically he wasn’t, but he could be. Technicalities be damned. He wanted that dick in him.

Dark, molten eyes, flickering between amusement and desire, finally settled on Atsumu’s face with a flutter of thick lashes. Slowly, Kiyoomi spread his legs, jostling Atsumu a few inches higher.

Velvet and sex rolled off his tongue as he challenged him, “You can try, darling.”

Cheeks bunching up in a grin, as if he was about to embark on an adventure, not get fucked, Atsumu slowly lowered his torso, his sweaty hands pressed on either side of Kiyoomi’s head, and promised in a quiet yet determined voice, “I’ll fuckin’ excel.”

Up close, the way Kiyoomi’s smile widened was sensuous and so precious, and Atsumu could see tiny pricks of stubble on his cheeks and over his lip. The rest of him was pretty neat, too. Broad shoulders, smooth muscled arms dusted with dark hair ending in fine, long fingers he wanted to feel inside him, stretching his hole to take his dick. Kiyoomi’s next breath pushed up his torso, which had Atsumu stare down at the light dusting of fine, dark hair. He wanted to lick him. Swirl his tongue into meandering patterns.

Cautiously, Atsumu scooted back, careful not to grind his dick against Kiyoomi’s sweatpants. He let his head fall down, his mouth hanging open, panting lightly to create a dampness around him. His tongue was trembling as he let it roll out of his mouth, but once the underside made contact with Kiyoomi’s skin, it stiffened with keen interest. He gave Kiyoomi’s clavicles a hard, long lick, sliding all the way down to his stomach. Then went back up again, humming in his throat at the slight taste of sweat he detected. Kiyoomi shone like a pearl with a slimy path of his spit.

Hearing the low rumble in Kiyoomi’s throat, he asked, “Do you like havin’ your nipples licked, Sakusa-sama?”

Kiyoomi’s smirk wasn’t entirely confident. “Never had to find out.”

Surprise filled him and he instinctively jerked back, unable to hide his shock as he said, “Are you serious? That’s—that’s—that’s criminal!”

The rumble of a chuckle vibrated through Kiyoomi’s chest, his shoulder rising and falling in a careless shrug. “It’s true.” His cheeks were pink, as if he were embarrassed.

Atsumu inhaled sharply. Had he made Kiyoomi self-conscious?

He muttered, “Is it, like, not proper sub behavior? Pretty sure lickin’ your nips is the least I can do!”

Something in what he’d said made Kiyoomi’s expression shift entirely toward amusement. He even let out a huff through his nose.

“How about you don’t worry your pretty head over such a pesky issue?” he suggested.

But Atsumu could feel the words bubbling inside him. He. Could. Not. Stop.

“But it’s so ridiculously good to get my nipples licked. When you do it, I feel like I’m bein’ worshiped.”

He rolled his hips, so he was pressed from chest to groin to Kiyoomi, urgency making him ramble some more.

“An-and when you bite them? It fucks me up! Like, I could seriously come just from havin’ you tease and tweak my nipples!”

After that grand finale of a confession, Atsumu stopped, mainly due to the fact that he was red in the face (and everywhere else), and was staring down at Kiyoomi with wide, slightly panicked eyes.

Did I fuck this up? Oh, shit, I shouldn’t have said that!

Except Kiyoomi’s expression wasn’t shuttering, wasn’t rejecting him because he’d said too much or the wrong thing. It evolved swiftly from alarmed to gleeful—though on him, glee looked a lot like gloating. His eyebrows lifting. His mouth slightly ajar.

“Oh, quit that,” he grunted, raising one hand to cover his face; it felt too hot, like his skin was about to melt off. “You know you got a wicked tongue, goshujin-sama.”

Cool fingers wrapped around his wrist and gently wrested his hand away. Then arms were wrapping under him, making him let out a tiny eep as Kiyoomi unceremoniously began to rise and lift him.

“Oh, my god! What are you doin’? Put me down!” he yelped.

“Is that an order, darling?” Kiyoomi’s question throbbed through his ear where his mouth was currently pressed.

He shook his head adamantly. He wouldn’t dare — besides, he wouldn’t be as good as Kiyoomi, who was a natural dominant. He had a feeling that, whether or not Kiyoomi had been a dominant, a person like him would always have him dancing in the palm of his hand.

Gravity pulled him down, and panic made him wrap his legs around Kiyoomi’s trim waist. He was butt-naked and terrified, but also curious. Kiyoomi took him down the stairs. Easily. The strength of him making Atsumu flush. Until he walked into the kitchen and put him down. A hard surface pressed against his thighs, and he yelped as he felt cool granite under his bare ass.

He looked down in a panic and saw where Kiyoomi had placed him—on the dining table he’d only glimpsed upon coming in.

“Here?!” He stared at Kiyoomi.

“Just a pit-stop, darling,” he murmured, kissing a soft, calming peck to Atsumu’s warm cheek. “Hang on, OK?”

He felt ridiculous, sitting naked in Kiyoomi’s kitchen on his dining table where he ate his meals, so he crossed his legs—oof, bad move, now he was squishing his balls against the cold surface, and they did not like it. His hard-on flagged.

But he kept his cool—ha!—and watched Kiyoomi. Was he going to grab something from the cabinet? Oh. That wasn’t a cabinet, it was the hidden fridge door. How fucking cool and extravagant. Kiyoomi took out two bottles of water and a sealed container.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding at the container.

Kiyoomi popped it open and showed him. Inside were assorted fruits; kiwis, mangos, pineapples, and grapes. Their bright, appetizing colors made his stomach growl.

Ignoring the soft rumble in his belly, he asked, “You keep your fruit in the fridge?”

“I like them cool.” He picked up a grape. “Open up.”

Automatically, Atsumu’s mouth opened, and Kiyoomi fed it to him. He chewed with a nod.

“Yep, it's good. Gimme another,” he said.

Kiyoomi tilted his head to the side.

He chuckled. “Please?”

The magic word worked and Kiyoomi fed him a few more grapes, then a couple of slices of kiwis, and even some cubes of mangos and pineapples. Without him realizing it, Atsumu had been fed all of the fruits, all while Kiyoomi watched with a smile that could only be read as satisfied.

“This has to be another one of your domestic kinks,” he muttered under his breath, feeling his face warm up. “Got more of those?”

“Sure, but I thought you had other things in mind?” Kiyoomi leaned in, his breaths feathering over Atsumu’s cheek.

He looked up at him and, swallowing thickly, said honestly, “I’m kinda hungry though.”

Looking him up and down, Kiyoomi said, “Me too.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly petulant. “You ain’t gettin’ any unless you feed me, Omi.”

Not pointing out how he’d slipped out of submissive-mode, Kiyoomi dutifully nodded and said, “Do you wanna put something on while I make you a snack?”

He shrugged and hopped off of the table. He walked out to find his clothes, but his face fell when he realized he’d totally distracted Kiyoomi from fucking him because he got hungry. He snatched his jeans, groaned as he slid them on, and marched back into the kitchen.

Without preamble, he asked, “Did I just stop you from fucking me or do you simply not want to fuck me?”

Kiyoomi stopped what he was doing and turned to him. His eyebrows were raised, his mouth slightly ajar. “What?”

Breathing in deeply, Atsumu made sure to word the thoughts swirling in his mind just right. “Have you been avoiding fucking me the past three months?”

“No,” Kiyoomi replied. “What made you think that?”

He shrugged. “The very fact that you haven’t fucked me?”

The pan in Kiyoomi’s hand clanged softly as he picked put it on a burner. “I wasn’t avoiding penetrative sex,” he said, facing the oven.

Atsumu wasn’t a fan of talking to Kiyoomi’s back and he didn't like feeling dismissed. He strode all the way to the counter beside the oven and plopped himself in the little space he had.

“Careful, you might get burned,” Kiyoomi warned.

he ignored the nice gesture, crossing his arms over his chest and asking point-blank: “Why haven’t you fucked me then?”

Kiyoomi didn’t reply, but he did pick up an egg and crack it into a bowl, then another, and another, then he was whisking all seven eggs with fluid flicks of his wrist.

The way he moved the whisk was almost hypnotic enough for Atsumu to drop the topic. Almost. Not quite.

“Come on, Omi, you told me to be honest with you. Do you…” He chewed on his bottom lip. “Do you feel like you can’t be honest with me?”

He didn’t know how he ended up here, agitation growing in his chest like a ball in his throat that refused to pass no matter how many times he swallowed. He watched Kiyoomi’s face for a sign that he’d been anything less than the perfect submissive for him, scanning his memories of the past three months. The best quarter of his life, if he may call it such.

In his mind, they’d been having a good time. An excellent time. He’d been obedient in every scene Kiyoomi proposed. He’d curbed his asshole ways… not entirely, but to a noticeable degree. Last week, Bokuto had even worriedly asked if he was sick, he’d been that nice at practice. Was it something else? He looked down at himself. Was he not fuckable enough? He watched the way his abs rippled as he took a deep breath. Yeah, that couldn’t be it.

He was smoking hot, fuckable as fuck, and should be bent over right now.

Was it someone else? His heart ached at the thought of Kiyoomi having feelings for someone beside him. Why would he with him… Then again, they weren’t really together… Were they? The boundaries of their relationship blurred at times, but they never had that conversation. Although… Kiyoomi did invite him to Tokyo with the explicit desire to introduce him to his family. As what? His submissive? Nothing else?

He shot Kiyoomi an accusatory look. “Spill. Now.”

Kiyoomi sighed. “Fine. But can you eat first? Your growling stomach is terrifying.”

How about I eat you, he thought. Aloud, he grumbled, “Fine,” and walked to the dining table. On another thought… “Do you got any wet wipes?” He almost laughed at his own question. This was Kiyoomi he was talking to. Of course he did.

“Underneath the sink.”

He wiped the table twice, just in time for Kiyoomi to plop a plate with a ginormous omelet, six pieces of toast, and a few cherry tomatoes in front of him.

“Eat.” The command was gentle. 

“I can eat and listen,” he said, picking up the fork Kiyoomi put down next to his plate.

The omelet looked so appetizing, he had to physically stop himself from drooling. Kiyoomi was such a good cook, and since he’d had many chances to sample his food, his mouth automatically watered when presented with a meal.

Kiyoomi sat across from him, folding his arms over the table.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” he asked, peering at Kiyoomi.

He shrugged. “I had food before you came.”

“Which time?” Atsumu teased. “I came a lot.”

Kiyoomi’s cheeks bunched up as he chuckled. “Shut up and eat, darling.”

There. That tenderness in the word darling couldn’t be faked. There was no way Kiyoomi had been secretly putting up with him and just going with his flow if he didn’t want to.

But he had to hear the words from Kiyoomi’s mouth.

That didn’t stop him from eating, though; he was hungry, after all, and Kiyoomi had already gone through the trouble of preparing this ginormous omelet, which looked exquisite. He kept his eyes on Kiyoomi as he took the first bite, but the flavor on his tongue forced him to close his eyes, humming loudly.

“Fuck! That is so good,” he said with a groan, already on his second, third, and fourth bites.

Judging by the glint in his eyes, Kiyoomi looked content to watch him, but Atsumu had an agenda. If he wasn’t getting bent and fucked, he was getting some answers.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten, Omi,” he said after finishing half of his omelet. He dared to raise an eyebrow, his fork loaded with a cherry tomato. “You promise me an answer.”

“Ah, right,” Kiyoomi said slowly. “Your burning question.”

“Yep.” He popped the tomato into his mouth.

As he went back to eating, he watched Kiyoomi, whose eyes filled with an unreadable expression, a sort of faraway contemplation, and he imagined he was tidying up his thoughts.

“I only have penetrative sex with people for whom I have feelings,” Kiyoomi said finally.

The shock of hearing his answer sent Atsumu’s bite down the wrong pipe and he began to cough, his airway lodged by his greed and an errant cherry tomato.

It got so bad, Kiyoomi had to intervene by coming over to his side and gently pounding on his back until finally, Atsumu could breathe again. He grimaced.

“Ugh, I hope this doesn’t make me hate tomatoes,” he muttered. Then he shot a look up at Kiyoomi. “Did you just say you only fuck people you like?”

“I said—”

“Come on, Omi,” he cut off, standing up to meet Kiyoomi’s eye without the possibility of getting a crick in his neck. Their chests were an inch apart; Atsumu’s rising and falling quickly. And naked. He couldn't forget that fact. 

People for whom I have feelings… There was no way to interpret that besides: Kiyoomi needed feelings to fuck.

How deep of feelings were they?

Did it mean that, earlier on, when he’d agreed to fuck Atsumu, he had feelings for him?

“Take a deep, slow breath, darling,” Kiyoomi commanded gently, splaying a hand on Atsumu’s chest.

Eyes locked, Atsumu followed Kiyoomi’s own pattern. Long breath in. Held it for five counts. Then a slow exhale. Still, his heart was beating furiously in his chest as his mind drew a complex map.

If Kiyoomi wants to fuck me, then he likes me, but does that mean as a submissive or as… me?

A warm hand connected with his chin; thumb pressed lightly against his bottom lip. “I can hear you thinking, Atsumu. It doesn’t suit you to work so hard.”

He scoffed, but it came out all weak and disbelieving.

“Cut to the chase, then.” He peered closely into Kiyoomi’s eyes, and the sight of them softening, glistening, almost made him curl into a ball.

Kiyoomi closed the distance between them, wrapped an arm loosely around his waist, his warm hand burning against the small of his back. His breaths fanned over Atsumu’s cheek as his mouth pushed the words against his skin, “I have grown so very attached you to, Atsumu, to the point where my heart doesn’t settle unless you’re in my line of vision.”

A weak whimper floated out of him.

Kiyoomi continued, “And when you are near me, I find it most remarkable how much I want you.” His thumb caressed the divot under Atsumu’s bottom lip then playfully flicked his chin. “Holding back has made the past three months of my life very difficult.” His voice was rumbling, an earthquake that broke through Atsumu’s very foundation.

Kiyoomi’s hair brushing against his own, foreheads touching, he delivered the kill shot: “I’m in love with you, Miya Atsumu.”

Speechless and frozen in spot, Atsumu’s body trembled nonetheless, his limbs weakened by what had to be the height of pleasure. Love.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is in love with me.

He opened his mouth to return the favor of Kiyoomi possibly delivering the most romantic love confession in all of history, only for a stutter of, “D-ditto,” before he grabbed the back of Kiyoomi’s neck and slammed their lips together.