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Berlin, Germany
Practice ends two hours later, and somehow, Kiyoomi looks even sexier.
Honestly, Kiyoomi is already plenty hot, at least that’s what the whole world thinks, including himself. It gets Atsumu going; the moles above furrowed eyebrows, a nasty scowl on pink lips, a deep but clear voice, a demeanor that says "Get the fuck away from me." Yeah, he’s all for it.
Yet somehow, he’s outdoing himself this time. Atsumu is ready to get to the new apartment and fuck himself to sleep fantasizing about ripping Kiyoomi’s clothes off with his teeth and waking up next to him, except this time, the whole team hasn’t made it to the suite yet, and since no one knows the location of the hotel, they’re stuck in the training center. In a foreign country.
He’s horny off his mind, so he continues jogging while everyone else is cooling down, waiting for their manager to locate the hotel, while humming a dumb song under his breath, when Shoyo appears to jog beside him and says, “Atsumu-san, are you comin’ out tonight? Me and Bokuto-san are so ready to hit the bars!”
No, thanks, kid, I need to pounce on his dick or my bed, not the streets. He thinks, and, right—so, as one might think, or rather, as a few do—that's also not quite true, Atsumu doesn’t just go out with anyone.
Sure, he might boast about some questionable flings, but he is, in fact, of the romantic kind. Blame him, he’s loyal to this guy who doesn’t even look his way unless Atsumu does a really bad set just for the sake of annoying him.
Atsumu is about to answer Shoyo when his eyes drift momentarily to Kiyoomi, stretching his long, pale legs across the mat, and stumbles over his own feet but quickly manages to balance himself.
He keeps running with Shoyo, brushing it off like nothing happened, even as a Bokuto —laying flat on the ground— throws him a puzzled look. “Thanks, Shou-kun, but I’m headin’ straight to bed. Might join ya next time, though.”
He makes a mental note to kill myself later, because he’s not even seventeen anymore tripping over a freakin’ crush. That's humiliating. In front of everyone, too. Fuck.
Suna tells on him. Of course, it’s no secret he has an infatuation with a teammate. He doesn’t want to say it out loud because then that makes it too real, the whole falling-in-love-with-an-asshole, no-I-don’t-have-a-chance situation, but it's a quiet truth everyone seems to know.
Even when Atsumu was trying to figure out his own feelings, Suna had already run his mouth about it to Osamu, so it’s really no surprise when Osamu calls him out of nowhere, on the way to the hotel.
It’s clear the sole mission is to make fun of him, barely getting a loud remark out before Atsumu hangs up as fast as he can and silences the phone.
Atsumu knows he is acting suspicious; he's not sitting beside Aran, he’s not cracking jokes with Shouyou and Bokuto, he’s not making a noise, acting like he’s a quiet little mouse and it’s unnerving not just for the others, but also for himself.
That’s what he’s thinking about when they get to the hotel. Bokuto runs to his side, quite literally, and asks him, “Tsum-tsum, you’re sharing rooms with Sakusa-san, right?” as casual as he can, and Atsumu merely smiles at him.
Wouldn’t that be so cruel for him? Except it’s true. It all happens right as everyone gets their keycards, and turns out Japan's whole national team is stuck with an assigned roommate because the hotel has an issue of overbooking.
Whatever. It’s fine. Atsumu will not crash out about this. He hasn’t shared rooms with Kiyoomi before, so he doesn’t know what his routine is like when he’s at home, comfortable, with pajamas on. Maybe he leaves his dirty dishes in the sink for the whole week, somehow drools all over the cushions on the couch like a dog, farts every ten minutes, who knows? Maybe he’ll get over Kiyoomi faster than he thinks.
He decides to be brave and ignore Suna —who’s admittedly being very quiet, but observing, because that’s what he does best— and heads to his hotel room, opening the door without making a single noise. It looks like the coast is clear. Thankfully.
Kiyoomi must already be hidden away in his room, so he’s free to do pretty much anything he wants to. It doesn't feel as exciting as Atsumu thought, honestly, sometimes you just want to steal a few more glances to your crush from afar for a little longer.
He's a man with a mission, though; he needs to get fucked within an inch of his life then sleep away the restlessness.
Hotel Hilton Berlin
It's not easy being Kiyoomi's roommate. Not because he blasts music at six in the morning, forgets to dry the dishes or leaves the floor slippery wet after super long showers, but rather because he is Atsumu's crush.
He's still getting used to the idea of sharing a place with Kiyoomi, much less, seeing him in the kitchen first thing in the morning, so when he hears a voice, and sees Kiyoomi in all his morning glory—soft and mussed curls, shorts riding up his thighs while half-sitting in a stool, low, sleepy voice, he jumps.
"I dreamt of you." He says, monotonously. The blood rushes to his ears, and, without thinking, he says: "Did I look too sexy fer ya to handle?"
Fuck, that's so embarassing.
Atsumu needs to change roommates, immediately. He thinks Bokuto might be amenable to be with him, but Atsumu's not particularly good at dealing with constant noise. Not Suna, either, he's no longer a safe option 'cause he always snitches.
Kiyoomi stares a hole into his face, "I made breakfast. We were on a date at the beach and a whale walked onto the shore and swallowed you up." And Atsumu just stares back. He's so weird. Atsumu might just be completely in love. He needs to die. Change roommates. Beat Germany in two days and then move teams, countries, oceans away. He should move, actually. Madagascar sounds far away enough.
That's good. He's already making plans in his mind, probably should look into it sooner than later. "...then you came back, but different. Huge teeth, and your ears were gone, but I still watched you sleep so you wouldn't disappear again." Kiyoomi continues, as Atsumu reaches for a plate from the counters.
Atsumu’s trying hard to keep it cool, nonchalant. Like this isn’t a domestic couple’s morning routine for anyone who might look into their kitchen. Like this isn’t goosebumping, earth-shattering. Like he isn’t Kiyoomi’s husband who wakes up late, catches him cooking, hugs him from behind and kisses his cheek while waiting for breakfast.
He needs to call Osamu. A wake-up call is probably overdue. He's always sort-of right, Atsumu shouldn't have ignored him. Shit. Shit. He's in deep shit. Kiyoomi gets up to wash his dishes and Atsumu takes his previous seat. He's perfectly capable of being normal. That's right, this is nothing. "So ya wanna sleep with me?"
He nearly smashes his own head into the counter when his words come out impulsively. Kiyoomi quietly snorts, and Atsumu feels a bit hopeful. "What? What even makes you say that, Miya?"
Atsumu doesn't react, though, still sleepy and feeling like a wired nerve turned inside out, thoughts racing but merely blinking when Kiyoomi asks, "Would you?"
Max-Schmeling-Halle Arena
This new-found dynamic with his longtime-crush turned coworker-with-benefits, or, friend-with-benefits (though he isn't really sure of that at all), doesn't affect his performance on the court.
In fact, Atsumu feels even more in tune with the spiker's needs, which Kiyoomi, being a prickly and picky kind of a bastard, thinks is good enough to say, at the end of the match, "Nice set, Miya!"
The speakers declares Japan's win against Germany and he gets a boner. So what. It's as if Kiyoomi knows, though, so they slip away to the restroom for a moment and gives Atsumu a handjob before the interviewers come down at the court.
"I'm indulging you too much already," Kiyoomi says, apropos of nothing except the wet slide of his hand, while Atsumu muffles a moan on the spiker's shoulder.
He looks down and feels the half-chub on Kiyoomi's shorts, Atsumu can't do nothing to help himself but kiss his neck. Trapped against Kiyoomi's chest and the wall, he feels like a cottonball, cloudy, calm. He cums with a sick twist of Kiyoomi's wrist, and pants against his mouth.
Kiyoomi kisses him softly, wetly, sucks on his tongue and lets him come down. Atsumu is a bit out of it, so he helps him clean up. They're already out of the restroom when he feels sharper, snapping out of it, "Ya didn't..?"
"When we get back to the hotel." Kiyoomi throws him a look over the shoulder, as Atsumu walks behind, and he can't quite tell what it means. "They're looking for us. Do you feel okay?"
Atsumu nods and they walk onto the court. He knows they're not being subtle, at all, with eyes all over them, but he isn't exactly worried about what people might think, either.
Suna clocks them and smirks. Slyly. Atsumu knows there's no getting out of Osamu's next call. Maybe he left his phone on Do Not Disturb for far too long.
As soon as they get back to the hotel, Kiyoomi slips into the shower and Atsumu receives the call. He steps out to his balcony and answers, phone on speaker, as he watches the sun come down slowly, casting golden light over the place. "Hang up right now and I’m tellin’ Ma. She’ll kick yer ass so hard at the airport you’ll go right back to Germany."
Atsumu panicky-laughs, shoulders shaking, then lets out a small sigh. "I know. Suna's been starin’ at me like he knows somethin’ I don’t, and it’s freakin’ me out. Say what ya gotta say. "
Osamu takes a second to answer, hearing an ambiguity in his words. Atsumu hears some shuffling, like a sheet being tossed aside. It's probably pretty early in Japan. "Just wanted to know if yer okay. He’s worried too, not that he’ll say anythin’. Ya know better than to carry it all yerself. What’re ya hidin’ for?"
"We ain't doin' nothing. Just messing around. The fact that I'm—" He stops himself, feeling his chest tighten with an ache, and grinds his teeth. He doesn't crumble under pressure, he doesn't say it out loud. "I'm fine. I'll be back by sunday, dunno what time."
Then Osamu merely exhales, tired, and mutters, “‘Kay, don’t tell me nothin’ then, but ya ain’t foolin’ me, Tsumu. Ya need to get yer shit together. Also, answer your phone.” Before Atsumu can respond, he adds, "and Rin ain't snitchin'. The game was on. He eats you up with just his eyes, that fucker."
Atsumu laughs a little loudler this time, tension slipping off his shoulders. He hears Kiyoomi creak open the door just slightly, as if to check if he's there, and their eyes meet. He looks somewhat constipated, like he wants to say something, so Atsumu beats him to it. "Whatever. Go to sleep, Samu, if I need ya, I'll call ya."
The call ends quickly, not bothering to wait for Osamu's response. Kiyoomi walks towards him, drying his hair with the towel, "You could tell him. If want to."
Atsumu laughs awkwardly, a bit forced, unsure if Kiyoomi might've heard the call, since when, if he heard everything. Maybe he only heard the part about Suna being a snitch, that would be for the better. They might've just messing around recently, just yester-freaking-day, and he already scared him out of it.
Somehow, Kiyoomi seems to read his mind, brushing Atsumu's knee with his own intentionally and looking down at him in a way that makes Atsumu's stomach twist. "He's right. I'm not hiding anything, either."
It gets hot suddenly, the sunlight flickering, and Atsumu feels his mouth go dry as he looks up at Kiyoomi. There's still a debt between the two of them, and he isn't feeling too keen on talking about what Kiyoomi might've heard.
They stumble back into Atsumu's room, as Kiyoomi's room feels too far, between kisses. Kiyoomi drops the phone on the nearest surface he finds without looking, and Atsumu wraps his arms around his neck.
He kisses his ear and spreads Atsumu's ass apart over the shorts. Atsumu moans breathlessly, kissing down his chin, and pushes him off. "C'mon, Omi, take it off. It's my turn. I wanna blow ya."
Kiyoomi sits on the edge of the bed and props himself up on his arms, looking at Atsumu with a heated look on his eyes meanwhile the blond gets on his knees, nicking down the moles on his legs. He leaves a wet trail of saliva as he comes closer to his crotch, and kisses Kiyoomi's cock sweetly through the boxer.
The smell of soap is still lingering, as are the drops of water on Kiyoomi's curls. He must have come straight out of the shower to Atsumu's room, he thinks, without even doing his hair routine, so it's safe to say Kiyoomi desperately does need his dick sucked, even if he tries to act like he doesn't mind.
Fortunately for him, Atsumu feels pretty good about his blowjob skills, so he slides Kiyoomi's briefs off and smiles dumbly when he sees the great love of his life–Kiyoomi's cock, hard and leaking precome, and sits on his knees so he can kiss the tip, swirling his tongue around it. The spiker groans under his breath, hearing a pleased hum from Atsumu, and says, with a restrained voice, "Fuck, Atsumu..."
Atsumu wraps his hand around the base, keeping eye contact with Kiyoomi, as he adjusts his jaw to suck down further, taking him on his throat until there's nothing left to fit, on the first try. Kiyoomi groans, hot and bothered, furrowing his brows, and says with a bit difficulty, "Who trained you, slut?"
He moans, sucking harder, and coming up only to kiss along the length, enamoured with it, ignoring Kiyoomi's words. The spiker grabs his hair and lifts Atsumu's face from his dick, making him whine, and breathes out, sweet, rosy cheeked, "Just… The internet, I have a dildo."
Kiyoomi leans down to his face, sitting, and takes Atsumu's face on both his hands, to kiss him. They explore each other's mouth like it's still the first time, though with less delicacy, and Atsumu lets himself get guided towards his lap, meeting again with the tip of Kiyoomi's weeping cock.
"Make it wetter, baby, I want to fuck you." The curly-haired says, intently looking at his every movement, and even though he still has a fist on his hair, Atsumu adjusts the distance and looks up at him with heart on his eyes, nodding. His own cock feels like exploding, and he lets his saliva drip down on his dick, before gulfing it all down, nose pressed to hips.
Would it be so bad, living as Kiyoomi's cock-sucking pet? He thinks he may become addicted to deepthroating Omi's dick, the feeling of being full, unable to speak, a treacly ache on his jaw. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, stroking his dick as he moans while moving up and down, he gets no warning when cum hits the base of his throat and chokes on it, pulling off as fast as he can.
Creamy strands land on his face, and, without thinking, Atsumu continues stroking his dick while keeping open his mouth. Kiyoomi feels lightheaded when he watches the scene in front of him, and moves Atsumu's bangs out of his face. For a moment his orgasm feels unending, a heady and thick heat as they breathe.
His first instinct is to bring Atsumu closer to him and make out with him, tasting himself on his tongue, and it feels very close to marriage. The blond's brain feels far away, mushy and clouded, and he doesn't know what to do with himself. He loves these kisses, deep and wet, unable to think.
10 out of 10 experience, would do it again, he catalogues it on a folder on his mind under Omi-Omi and gets on the bed near Kiyoomi, finally separating to take a break, "Let me grab a towel to clean you up, baby," still surprised the spiker didn't mind kissing him with come on his face.
It's a first time experience.
Haneda Airport
Atsumu is a brand new man when they land back in Tokyo. He's wringed dry, fucked seven ways into heaven, and, although he isn't sure what might happen later, he's been seduced into becoming a better person to balance out Kiyoomi's pettiness.
Life seems to be even more beautiful, he sighs dreamily as they step outside the airport, the members saying their goodbyes as they separate their own ways to go home and get rest. The winter is slowly setting in, and they have to get as much rest as they can before the season starts.
Atsumu doesn't really dread going home alone, mostly because he's used to it, but also because Kiyoomi promised to visit later, so he wants to get ahead and decide on what to do for dinner. He's currently living on cloud nine, even when he knows there's nothing else but a lot of orgasms for Kiyoomi.
As for himself, he tries not to think too much of it, because Atsumu knows that'll only ruin it, the frenziness, the secrecy, the fun of it all. He's in love, that much he will admit, so he will take whatever he can; a tight fist on his hair, the humming in the kitchen, a muffled yawn against his neck. That's fine.
His phone pings while he's on the train to Osaka, a message from Osamu, "i'll send you some food if you pay the delivery" which makes Atsumu laugh under his breath, not wanting to make a lot of noise. He replies back with an affirmative answer, and thinks nothing of it.
He texts Osamu as soon as he steps into his house, thanking him for the food. He changes into comfortable but cute clothes, because he's going to see his longtime crush, obviously, and feels giddy about it.
When Kiyoomi knocks on the door, Atsumu jumps on his feet to open it and smile at him, beautifully, and makes way for him. Truthfully, only Bokuto has been to his house, and that's because he had just bought a house but the move-in day was the next day, so it was either crashing a friend's house or a motel.
It's safe to say he's a bit nervous, but it's also very comforting.
They get along very easily, everyone knows about them, but there is no such thing as a label on their relationship. Kiyoomi holds his waist when they're at the bar, they go home and make out drunkenly then fall asleep cuddling. Atsumu knows what food Kiyoomi's allergic to, he has met Kiyoomi's mom, but they are not together-together.
Atsumu feels like going crazy, whining to Osamu about this and that, but his brothers huffs a laugh and tells him to be patient. Patient, his ass. If Kiyoomi does not want him, that's bullshit, it's been months since they started acting like a married couple. He'll confront him about it, and expect honest-to-god answers.
He gets in to Kiyoomi's apartment, with the spare key, and catches Kiyoomi with a facemask and a half-finished apple between his hands.
Atsumu laughs in front of his face but very quickly looks at him accusingly, closing the door and directing his finger towards him. "I'm in love with ya, I want to be with ya. Do ya wanna be with me?"
When Kiyoomi makes a move to finish chewing, Atsumu screams, "Now! Or I'm getting out and I'll play for France!" The black-haired nods while chewing quickly, feeling like a mouse in a trap, "Yes! What the fuck, Atsumu? Yes, I'm in love with you, I'm waiting for your brother's approval!"
They both fall into a silence. Kiyoomi looks apalled at his slip-up, meanwhile Atsumu is mortified. Yeah, that makes sense.