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thunder in a bottle

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The new year sneaks up on Kiyoomi. 

One moment the V-league season has only just begun, the next it’s the holiday break and he’s eating New Year's Day lunch at a long, mahogany table. He sits across from six familiar faces, some even more impassive than his own. Forks and knives clink against plates as they eat a French dish that Kiyoomi doesn’t particularly care for in relative silence. 

“Kiyoomi-kun, I hear that you graduated from university this year,” Yua, his older brother Kinsuke’s wife, says as they make it to the second course. “What did you end up getting your degree in?”

“International Business,” Kiyoomi answers. 

The choice in degree was made on the basis that his father would approve, but also allowed Kiyoomi to take some language classes, which seemed like it could be helpful towards his actual imminent career goals. Honestly, Kiyoomi hadn’t really wanted to go to university at all. He even had some scouts reach out in his final year of high school.

Unfortunately, his father had made it very clear, in one of his rare direct communications, that failing to acquire an approved university degree would result in being cut off. 

It wasn’t his first choice but it was fine, in all honesty. Kiyoomi attended a school with one of the top volleyball clubs in the country. He received multiple MVP awards. It wasn’t terrible for his development and it wasn’t like he hated school. It hadn’t been the hill to die on, though it left some of his high school teammates confused at the time. He hadn’t really wanted to explain why he was applying to colleges while the rest of the most elite players in the country were signing on to V-league teams. Only Komori knew the real reason, and that volleyball was still his priority. 

“Do you have any job prospects yet?” 

Kiyoomi snaps out of his reverie and looks up to see his father, Sakusa Kenchiro, staring down at a bowl of french onion soup. Even though he doesn’t bother looking up, Kiyoomi knows they have the same eyes, though more and more grey in his hair each year is making them look more different with each passing year. Kiyoomi’s hand tightens imperceptibly around his spoon. 

“I already have a job, Otou-sama,” Kiyoomi says with as little emotion as he can. 

“I meant a position with potential for growth,” Kenchiro quickly corrects. 

It’s not even aggressive, or pointed. Somehow that makes it worse. His father fully believes that stupid, young Kiyoomi simply doesn’t understand what he meant. 

“Division 1 teams are a full-time commitment,” Kiyoomi explains. “In addition, my agent says I’m getting international attention and am likely to receive more lucrative contract offers from clubs overseas soon, which I can take or leverage here when my entry contract expires after next season.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t even mention that his agent has also brought up the fact that he’s almost certainly getting an invite to the Team Japan camp taking place during the upcoming summer, with decent prospects of making the actual Olympic roster.

“It seems like a poor plan to choose a job in which you will have to retire in your thirties at the latest. Then what will you do? Who will hire a man with no experience then?” Kenchiro says.

He said that last year, too. Kiyoomi wonders if he remembers. He is turning sixty-eight this year. Maybe his memory is starting to go. 

No, he’s always been this way. The fact is that Kiyoomi was born late and unexpectedly; he was never part of his father’s plan. As long as he doesn’t cause active problems, Sakusa Kenchiro only cares what Kiyoomi does for the 72 hours he visits over New Years. 

“I’ll figure it out, Otou-sama. I work hard now at volleyball and I’ll work hard at my next job when I retire,” Kiyoomi lies.

He has no idea what he’s going to do after volleyball, but he’s not an idiot. He’s been putting a decent amount of his allowance into private investments since he turned eighteen. He doesn’t have much interest in matching the lifestyle of his parents, so it’s not like he needs a massive salary for the rest of his life. If his career goes well and he plays long enough, he actually shouldn’t have to work much at all after he retires. Maybe he’ll work as a scout or coach, or look at other front-office positions. He has no interest in climbing the corporate ladder or purchasing tables that cost more than cars and will only be used twice a year.

He isn’t going to tell his father that, though. 

“You should think about coming to Hong Kong soon. I may be able to get you a junior position at my office. Better to start at your age than when you’re thirty-five,” Kenchiro says. 

Kiyoomi grits his teeth. 

“I’ll think about it, Otou-sama.”

He won’t. 

“Masumi,” Kenchiro says, blessedly turning his attention away from Kiyoomi and to his older sister. “Have you found out if the baby is a boy yet?”

Kiyoomi’s sister is expecting, to the family’s delight. The first grandbaby, though Kinsuke and his young wife Yua are apparently trying as well, or so Kiyoomi’s mother told him when he arrived at the home yesterday and sat with her for tea. 

“You look pale,” his mother, Fukiko, said as they spoke in the sitting room. “Have you been to the doctor for that mole on your forearm? I don’t recall that being there before.”

“It’s always been there, Okaa-sama,” Kiyoomi said.  

“I’ll just have Toya-sensei come take a look at it,” she said, referencing the doctor who used to make house calls for their family. 

“Okay, Okaa-sama.”

At the dinner table, Masumi, her hair in an immaculate updo, sits up straighter and puts her hand over her stomach.

“Not yet, Otou-sama. But we’ll know soon,” she says.

Kenchiro nods but Fukiko hums with discontent. “I wish you had tried for the baby earlier. Thirty-two is too old—too risky to be carrying a child.” 

“We wanted to wait until I secured my next promotion. I couldn’t have taken leave before then,” Masumi says placatingly. “But don’t worry, Okaa-sama, the doctor says the pregnancy is very healthy. Besides, you had Kiyoomi when you were thirty-seven, and you both were okay.”

Fukiko hums again, “That pregnancy was much harder than when I carried you or Kinsuke, and Kiyoomi was always sickly.”

I wasn’t , Kiyoomi wants to say. He wasn’t, but now isn’t the time to talk about how his father left his wife with a newborn to take a promotion in Hong Kong just one month after Kiyoomi’s delivery. It’s not the time to talk about how the two older children were sent to boarding school just a year later, and how Kiyoomi was left alone in the house with a mother whose untreated anxiety went haywire with no-one to keep up appearances for, to the point that every sniffle was a death sentence and the world outside was a minefield of disease—every scrape of the knee was worth a house call and Kiyoomi got so used to wearing a mask that going outside without one now leaves him feeling naked and vulnerable. 

Kiyoomi takes a deep, steadying breath. 

He thanks the staff for the third course placed in front of him and thinks about spiking—about open, floating sets, and volleyballs smashing through court boards, over and over, until he can start the drive back to Osaka. 


Atsumu’s phone buzzes as he’s driving back into the city. He glances up to see who it’s from and almost swerves off the road.

From: Omi-Omi
>> Heading back to Osaka now. Just finished up a meal with my family and need to hit something. Are you free?

His foot itches to slam down on the gas pedal but Atsumu forces himself not to speed until he finally reaches his parking spot and nearly rips his phone out of the holder. 

To: Omi-Omi
>> Jesus, Omi, warn a guy

To: Omi-Omi
>> But yeah I’m just getting home. My family did New Years stuff this morning so I’m free. 

He clicks the button on his key fob to lock the door as he shoulders his duffle bag, multitasking poorly as he has to retype his message a couple times and nearly drops his sunglasses.

From: Omi-Omi
>> Great. I’ll be at yours around 7.

Atsumu’s eyebrows raise. That’s only about three hours from now. He kind of wants to tease Sakusa about inviting himself over, but considering Sakusa’s first message he can’t really bring himself to do it. 

It’s not like Atsumu minds.

He shrugs and fires off a confirmation, heading upstairs to give his apartment an extra clean-up before Sakusa arrives. 


Atsumu is shocked when a glowering Sakusa comes through his front door wheeling a small suitcase behind him. 

“Did you come straight here?”

“Yes. Is your shower clean?”

“Yeah, go for it,” Atsumu says, still towelling off his own hair and once again actively deciding not to comment on Sakusa’s rather unusual behavior.

Sakusa’s mentioned that he doesn’t have a great relationship with his family, and Atsumu supposes there are even family gatherings of his own where he ends up wanting to flip a table—and he, Osamu and his Ma are close. So, who’s Atsumu to judge? In fact, he’s happy to help, especially considering the way Sakusa’s eyes looked like they could start a fire when he walked in the door definitely did things to Atsumu. 

Maybe for a saner person, Sakusa’s whole vibe right now could be cause for concern. But Atsumu knows how seriously he takes his role as a dom. Even if he needs to blow off some steam, Sakusa would never do so beyond what Atsumu can take. If there’s one thing that Atsumu feels—perhaps strangely—confident about, it’s that Sakusa is an asshole, but he’s not a bastard. 

Atsumu metaphorically twiddles his thumbs, sitting on the edge of the bed and scrolling through his phone, until Sakusa comes out of the bathroom. He’s wearing black skinny jeans and a henley.

“What’s with the get-up?” Atsumu asks, then feels preemptively stupid when Sakusa raises a brow at him. 

“All the formal clothes I brought with me to Tokyo are dirty,” Sakusa says, leaving his suitcase by the kitchen counter, which is when Atsumu realizes he isn’t wearing gloves or a mask either. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to look at my clothes. Stand up and put your hands on the bed.”

It’s like whiplash, how fast Atsumu’s body floods with heat. He complies immediately, taking the towel off his waist and spreading it out on the bed before bending over it. Sakusa came here wanting to wreck something and Atsumu knows it’s going to be him.

“Where are your condoms and lube?” Sakusa asks as Atsumu hears him approach.

“Bedside drawer,” Atsumu says, voice embarrassingly breathless as some instinct keeps his eyes trained on the bed. 

He hears the drawer open and close. A bottle of lube and a handful of condoms bounce onto the bed to Atsumu’s right and he flinches. Dear god, this is hot. He’s not sure he’s ever gotten into the mood this fast. 

Sakusa walks back to the bottom of the bed, a bare hand trailing over Atsumu’s shoulder, down his side, over his ass. 

“I’m going to hit you, Atsumu,” he says simply. “Then, if you take it well enough, I’m going to fuck you. Understood?”

Shit. Yes, Omi, yes,” Atsumu says without hesitation. 

They’ve fucked a couple of times since the first time, but it still sends a wild thrill through Atsumu’s body. The burn of the stretch when Sakusa first pushes inside, how deep he gets… Atsumu wants it. God, he wants it.

“Good,” Sakusa murmurs. “Color?”


“Good,” he repeats, his palms now kneading at Atsumu’s asscheeks, a familiar preamble to the pain. 

There’s always a moment where time seems to stop, hanging from a piece of silk, before the first strike falls. In that moment Atsumu’s head spins; he notices his fingers curling into terrycloth, feels the heat of Sakusa’s left hand searing into his hip. A horn blares on some distant street. 


Relentless from the first impact, Sakusa hits him, over and over again. He doesn’t hold back, merciless and swift, raining down agony on Atsumu's ass and thighs until his elbows and knees are shaking. Then Atsumu hears a foil packet ripping open; Sakusa must roll the condom over his fingers, because next thing Atsumu knows he’s slipping one inside, stretching him with almost clinical efficiency as he continues to strike Atsumu until he can’t tell where one stinging handprint begins and another ends. 

At the end of it all, Sakusa fucks him, dick pushing smoothly into Atsumu’s body until he’s seated to the hilt and Atsumu’s groaning with every exhale. At first, Sakusa just spanks Atsumu with his hips pressed flush to his ass. It’s as if Sakusa’s doing it just to feel Atsumu involuntarily tighten around his length, like he’s messing with the settings on a new sex toy. 

Atsumu’s face flames at the thought and he bites his lip, feeling his cock twitch.

Sakusa pulls Atsumu upward until his back is pressed to his chest, captured by one arm barred across his pecs, then grinds his dick against Atsumu’s prostate and teases just the tip of his cock with his free hand. Atsumu wobbles on his feet and latches onto Sakusa’s hips with both hands behind him for balance.

Atsumu makes a mournful noise and tries to rock forward into Sakusa’s grip, but his light touch dances away every time Atsumu tries to get more of it. It doesn’t matter, though, because even without much stimulation to his dick Atsumu is hurtling toward the edge fast.

“I gave you my cock, Atsumu, do you think you really deserve any more than that?” Sakusa rasps into his ear, sounding feral as he rolls his hips. “I think asking for more than that is pretty greedy, don’t you?”

Fuck. That tone of voice always does it for him. Atsumu’s breath quickens, somewhere between arousal and panic. 

“Please— please, Omi—”

“You really need it that badly?” Sakusa questions, something like disappointment in his voice that’s making something hot and sick and a bit new curl in Atsumu’s stomach. Atsumu makes a guttural noise and rocks back on his toes, mindless. “Fine, if you really can’t help it. You can come, Atsumu.”

Sakusa doesn’t give him more than fingertips around his crown and the barely there press and pull of his length inside him, but Atsumu’s going to come anyway. He’s that worked up and Sakusa feels that good inside him.

“Uhn—Omi, fuck…! M’gonna—”

Atsumu’s cock twitches hard, the point of no return, and then Sakusa lets go of his dick . He stops grinding into Atsumu and clamps a hand around his hip to hold him still. No no no—

Atsumu’s eyes fly open and he watches in horror as he spills with no stimulation at all, squeezing around the thick unmoving length of Sakusa inside him. Atsumu’s hands twitch on Sakusa’s hips, itching to wrap around himself and finish what Sakusa started, but he knows better. All he can do is let it happen as the cresting pleasure falls off a cliff and stutters into a short, pathetic orgasm that brings an outright sob to Atsumu’s lips from how unsatisfying it is. 

“Omii… ” Atsumu whines.

He feels a chuckle against his neck, “Mm. You should have been more specific if you wanted a good orgasm…”

The teasing words are some of the last things Atsumu remembers before Sakusa folds him back over the bed and fucks into his overstimulated body until Atsumu doesn’t much care about his ruined orgasm or his stinging ass at all. 


Atsumu sighs as Sakusa lays a large gel ice pack across his freshly-lotioned ass. Sakusa fished the pack out of Atsumu’s freezer and wrapped it in a dish towel before gently placing it over the reddened skin. Starfished on his own bed, Atsumu turns his head to the side and looks up at Sakusa, who’s cleaning up the condom wrappers and dirty towels. 

“So, d’you wanna talk about it?” Atsumu asks with a teasing half-smile. 

“No,” Sakusa says immediately. He doesn’t seem that serious or torn up about it, though, because then he smirks and asks, “Do you think I’d be a good businessman?”

Atsumu laughs, “Absolutely not. Too many handshakes.”

“Disgusting,” Sakusa confirms. 

Finished with the simple clean up, Sakusa sits down on the edge of the bed and leans up against the headboard. They sit like that for a minute, quiet and content, until Atsumu’s stomach rumbles loudly. Sakusa raises a brow at him. 

“I didn’t have time ta go to the store after I got back from Hyogo, so I didn’t eat before ya came,” Atsumu defends himself.

“You really shouldn’t do a scene hungry.”

“I know…! ” Atsumu drags the word out, long and petulant. “I usually have a snack. Who are ya, my mother?”

Sakusa’s eyes glint with humor, “That’s a hard no on my list.”

Atsumu snorts, laughing into the duvet. He realizes his head has cleared up a lot faster than usual, maybe because he is hungry, so he slowly pushes himself onto all fours. He stands up on his knees and stretches, groaning as he does so. 

“I’m gonna head down to the ramen shop around the corner. Do you wanna come on yer way out?”

Sakusa picks his own phone up off the bedside table and glances down at it for a second, as if to check his notifications or the time.

“Sure,” he says, and Atsumu knee walks to the end of the bed, still avoiding any motion that would have him actually put pressure on his ass. 

“Cool. Ya want the shower first?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

An hour later finds Sakusa offering Atsumu an arm for balance as he gingerly sits down on one of the barstools at the local ramen shop. A couple traditional paper lanterns cast a golden glow over the two athletes. Big electric heaters keep the winter chill from overwhelming the tiny, mostly open-fronted shop. Sakusa has his chin tucked into his scarf and Atsumu holds his hands over the steaming bowl to warm his fingers while they wait for the noodles to drop to a consumable temperature. 

They do talk about Sakusa’s trip to Tokyo. Atsumu finally hears the reason Sakusa didn’t head directly to the pro league and about the fact that his father wants to get him a job in Hong Kong. It would make Atsumu anxious, but the thought is so ridiculous to Sakusa that he literally chuckles into his broth spoon when he says it. 

Atsumu tells him about his own visit home. He details the traditional recipes their small family always makes on the holiday as well as the mochitsuki he and Osamu do with the neighborhood kids on New Year’s Eve. That reminds Atsumu of something, as they walk home through a thin layer of new snow. He turns as they get back to the door to Atsumu’s building, where he’ll head upstairs and Sakusa will head down to the parking garage. 

“Oh, Omi-kun…” he says with a tired smile, the day catching up with him. 

Sakusa tilts his head to the side, a few snowflakes stark against his dark hair.


Eyes still holding Sakusa’s, Atsumu replies genuinely as he opens the door, “Happy New Year.”


Sand sprays through the air in the wake of Atsumu’s skidding heels as he touches down from a less than stellar set. He’s laughing as he hears Sakusa make a discontented noise as he’s forced to make a sloppy spike. Atsumu is kind of surprised he even deigned to hit it. 

Unsurprisingly, Hinata is right there on the other side of the net to perform a perfect bump towards Bokuto, who manages to at least get over the net to spike even if he does crash right into it on the way down. Atsumu doesn’t even try to make the receive. 

“Alright!” a voice calls. “Lets try that one more time to get the natural sand shots and then we’ll put the boards down for the aerial shots. Miya-senshu, Bokuto-senshu, this time try to resist laughing, if possible. Smiles are great, but the laughter is hard to catch right on film.”

The camera crew for Men’s Non-no resets on the shifting ground of the brand new Kinuura Beach Volleyball facility. Four walls in Tokyo surround a small sea of sand. Atsumu and his teammates have the unique privilege of visiting it earlier than the public to feature in a fashion shoot shoot for the popular magazine. It kind of surprised Atsumu when they got the request out of nowhere, for all four of the “monster generation” Jackals players to participate in a shoot that would feature in the June edition of Men’s Non-no

It all made a lot more sense when Atsumu found out that Hinata personally knows the designer of the summer athleticwear line that they’re showcasing.

Atsumu didn’t really place the face until they walked through the door and saw a tall man with a kind expression and brown hair tied up into a bun: Azumane Asahi, who had apparently become a fully-fledged fashion designer in the time since that fateful match between Karasuno and Inarizaki in Atsumu’s second year of high school. If Atsumu wasn’t literally achieving his dream of being a professional volleyball player, he’d be jealous. 

Bokuto seemed fairly familiar with the man as well, from Karasuno’s participation in the Fukurodani Group’s training camps. Only Sakusa was a complete stranger, and showed it by standing at least four feet back from the group with a mild glower on his face at all times. Atsumu hates that he found it kind of endearing and couldn’t even bring himself to make fun of Sakusa for it at the time. 

After introductions, they got all dressed up for the shoot—or, honestly, dressed down. Once again, Sakusa was the most out of place in Atsumu’s eyes. He doesn’t usually give off a summer fun vibe. 

However, he does look good in Asahi’s clothes, even though Atsumu doubts he’d find anything similar in Sakusa’s closet. He’s currently showing off a pair of purple, floral running shorts and a loose, black tank top that lets Atsumu get a peek at his nipples on occasion through the scooping armholes. Ten out of ten, two thumbs up, in Atsumu’s opinion. 

They have some big space heaters pointed at the court, but Atsumu is still a little chilly in his own unseasonable get-up: a simple white t-shirt with a loud, pink rendition of the fashion brand’s logo, and a pair of dangerously short athletic shorts. They’re so short that, when Atsumu first put them on in the makeshift changing room, he had to pull Sakusa over to desperately ask if the bruises on his ass and thighs were visible. 

Sakusa just stared down at Atsumu’s rear for a beat too long and then gave him a firm pat on the ass. 

“No, you’re good,” he said, voice dripping with smugness as Atsumu tried to stifle a yelp. 

“You okay, Miya-senshu?” one of the aids asked when the noise caught his attention.

“Fine,” Atsumu said, voice only cracking over the word a little as he shoots daggers at Sakusa with his eyes.   

So now here he and Sakusa are, across from Bokuto, who’s clad in a tight long sleeved top that makes Atsumu feel like he needs to spend more time in the gym, and beach volleyball’s Ninja Shouyou— who is currently making all of them look like idiots while wearing a thin turquoise hoodie with the outline of a leaping dog on the chest. 

Atsumu is definitely going to buy a bunch of this stuff as soon as it’s released to the public. Or maybe Azumane can hook him up. 

They get to the end of another set of sloppy plays marked by constant shutter clicking, and then some coordinators run out to place plywood down on each of the spiker’s sides of the net. Atsumu watches with a barely suppressed fond smile as Sakusa walks up and down the plywood runway and tests the piece where he’ll be jumping three or four times.

“Afraid of splinters?” Atsumu can’t help but ask when Sakusa kneels down to inspect a part of the board. 

Sakusa levels a glare in his direction, “You won’t be so full of jokes when I roll my ankle and we play the Adlers tomorrow night. You’ll be tossing to Barnes instead of trying that combo we practiced that you’re so sure will ‘make Tobio-kun cry’.

The last words are deeply mocking. Atsumu holds his hands up in surrender. 

A few moments later they’re taking turns flying. It’s fun, sprinting down the short runway and leaping above the netline and then slamming the ball down into the sand—or more commonly, the arms of a waiting Hinata. Atsumu would be lying if he didn’t exaggerate his movements for the benefit of the camera, bend his back farther for the load-up, hang in his post spike follow through longer than normal. 

Sakusa doesn’t seem to bother, and yet Atsumu is sure he looks better in the air than all of them. His movements are just so fluid and graceful; even on his worst day he looks like a floating viper striking when he spikes.

Hinata is probably killing it on film as well, Atsumu thinks, aware of the fact that nobody looks happier flying than Hinata Shouyou. Still, his usual spiking-joy face is completely wiped away by shock and excitement when he hears someone yell Shouyouuuuu across the gym as they’re taking a break before individual shoots. 

They’re talking to Azumane when Hinata’s head whips around. 


He’s off like a jack-rabbit across the sand. 





Sakusa blinks at the spectacle with narrowed eyes, “What… is going on?”

Bokuto is bouncing up and down a little bit in the sand, too.

“Ah! That’s your libero!” he says to Azumane, who chuckles and nods. Atsumu turns to Sakusa to elaborate. “He’s Nishinoya Yuu!”

“Oh, that’s right,” Sakusa murmurs, clearly less enthused than Atsumu who remembers the livewire libero clearly and fondly. 

“He was crazy good. I was actually surprised that he didn’t go pro,” Atsumu says, turning back to Azumane. 

“He’s actually been playing in a couple lower level pro-leagues around Europe and South America, ones with shorter seasons,” Azumane explains. “He says he’s going to play in the V-league in a couple years, once he’s ready to take a break from travelling.”

The slight blush on Azumane’s cheeks and the way he scratches the back of his neck tells Atsumu that he’s fully aware of how batshit that sounds. Who does volleyball on the side and then goes pro later in life?

Still, as Atsumu looks at the pair hopping in their direction as they shout incoherently at each other, he does remind Atsumu of Hinata in a weird way, some indefinable quality. Plus, Atsumu will never forget the unique intensity and energy he had on the court. And if that’s still the case, who knows what he’s capable of?

When they finally get over to the group, Nishinoya pops Azumane twice in the side, making him gasp in surprise and clutch at his ribs. 

“Asahi-san! Am I early?” 

“You knew he was coming?” Hinata asks, which is already pretty obvious to Atsumu.

“I thought it would be a fun surprise,” Azumane says with a warm smile. “Noya is staying with me for a few days until this promotion run is complete, then we’re going to Peru for a couple weeks.”

Hinata’s eyes absolutely sparkle. 

Everyone gives the former teammates a bit of room; Sakusa and Atsumu get funneled over to one of the sets the photographers have prepared for some individual shoots. They hand Atsumu a pair of white high-tops and Sakusa a pair of casual sneakers with purple accents. 

They do a couple photos with the both of them, which Atsumu badgers the photographer into showing him afterward. His favorite is the one where Sakusa is sitting at the picnic table they set up, facing the camera but looking up at Atsumu, who’s leaning against a fake streetlight, volleyball under his arm, holding a fake popsicle that made Sakusa’s face curl with disgust each time Atsumu licked the plastic. 

“That is absolutely revolting,” Sakusa says, looking at the picture over Atsumu’s shoulder.

“You just can’t handle my raw sex appeal,” Atsumu says while the photographers go through the same process with Bokuto and Hinata on a different set. “Don’t worry, I stole one of the alcohol wipes from your bag so it’s completely clean, Omi-Omi.”

“Don’t touch my bag,” Sakusa says. 

They entertain themselves with bickering until they’re needed for more photos, and more photos after that. By the time the camera crews are packing up it’s mid afternoon. Nishinoya Yuu wanders back over from talking to one of the facility coordinators. 

“They say we can use the court until four!”

If he were a sane man, Atsumu might gratefully duck out and go take a nap before his evening plans, but they’re all volleyball idiots at heart, even Sakusa. So all six of them kick their shoes back off and begin an extremely casual rendition of beach volleyball. They rotate teams at random until their competitive natures get the best of them and they ban Hinata from spiking after his teams win three straight.

Even without him spiking, the team he’s on still wins two more sets. Beach volleyball is really hard and Hinata is really good at it, Atsumu will admit. 

Finally, Azumane has to leave the court to try and catch his breath, unable to keep up with a quintet of professional athletes, even if Nishinoya is apparently only part time. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come have dinner with us?” Hinata asks, standing over Atsumu where he’s plopped down in the sand, catching his own breath. 

“Nah, it’s okay. I want to watch some tape and turn in early tonight,” Atsumu lies.

He feels Sakusa’s eyes burning into the side of his head as Hinata turns to him.

“You too, Omi-san?”

A wordless nod.

See, he and Sakusa knew that Hinata and Bokuto would be staying with their respective Tokyo partners, leaving the other pair with a free night in the city before the rest of the Jackals arrive to play the Adlers tomorrow. 

Sakusa brought up that fact over a week ago, just after New Years. He told Atsumu that there’s something he’s been wanting to try, something that needed a bit more equipment than he could set up at home. Atsumu was baffled at first, but luckily Sakusa was never one to beat around the bush.

“A BDSM club, Atsumu. I’d like to take you to one in particular that’s in Tokyo.”

So that’s pretty much all Atsumu’s thought about since then, heart thrumming in nervous anticipation all week. 

“Well,” Hinata says, snapping Atsumu back into the present. “Have a good night then. Maybe you guys can hang out together. It seems like a waste not to do anything in Tokyo…”

Atsumu swallows around a lump in his throat. “We are sharing a room so we could! That’s a good point, Shouyou-kun.”

He catches Sakusa’s eye for just a moment and desperately hopes the red flush on his face can be mistaken for exertion alone.  


Atsumu is having a minor freak-out. Kiyoomi knows his tells well enough at this point to pick up on that easily.  He’s pacing back and forth, fiddling with various hotel pamphlets and gadgets, in their unusually nice hotel room, courtesy of Men’s Non-no.  

“We don’t have to do this if it’s not something you’re comfortable with,” Kiyoomi says. 

“So, is it gonna be, like... a sex dungeon?” Atsumu says instead of a direct answer. “Like a kinky renaissance fair?”

“Can you really picture me somewhere like that?” Kiyoomi counters. “It’s an extremely exclusive club and the only reason we’re even going is to use their private rooms and equipment.”

“I know. You said,” Atsumu mutters, and then goes back into the bathroom. “And people really will leave me alone if I’m wearin’ this?”

Kiyoomi straightens his waistcoat in the mirror and then crosses over to lean into the bathroom door to look at what Atsumu is gesturing towards. He’s staring down at a large, open clamshell box. Inside, on a pillow of velvet, sits a leather collar.

It’s black, about two inches wide, with silver fastenings: a buckle and three d-rings, one on the front and two on the sides, with an o-ring hanging from the middle d-ring.

The soft, padded inner lining is a rich golden color. 

“They wouldn’t at every BDSM club, but that’s the way this club’s dress code works,” Kiyoomi reiterates. “If you’re accompanied and wearing a collar, nobody will solicit either of us.” 

Atsumu takes a deep breath and looks at Kiyoomi in the mirror, “And this place is like, really big on confidentiality and stuff? Nobody’ll know we went there.”

Kiyoomi gives him what he attempts to be a reassuring smile but probably comes off closer to a smug grin. 

“Not to give you further opening to make fun of me and my family's wealth, but the entry fee and reservation of this private room likely cost more than your last two month’s rent,” Kiyoomi assures him. “The type of people looking to drop that kind of money aren’t in the business of parading this kind of personal hobby around.” 

Atsumu chuckles. “And they keep everything clean, I assume?”

“Absolutely spotless. That’s why I’m willing to pay their prices,” Kiyoomi laughs lowly as well. 

Atsumu’s shoulders have finally relaxed. He adjusts his own trim fit suit and messes with his hair one last time. Then he turns to Kiyoomi.

“Alright, Omi-Omi. Collar me up.”

Kiyoomi smirks and does as he’s asked. 


Atsumu looks good in his collar.

It’s not like Kiyoomi expected anything less—Atsumu is one of those people who, annoyingly, looks good in just about anything—but it still hits him like a punch to the gut as soon as he buckles the soft, padded leather around Atsumu’s throat. The scarf he put on over it to leave the hotel is a welcome reprieve, but it doesn’t erase the knowledge of what’s underneath, seared into Kiyoomi’s brain as the valet pulls up with his car in front of their hotel.

Atsumu is quiet on the drive to the club. His eyes went hazy as soon as Kiyoomi tightened the leather around his neck. Having Atsumu possibly on the way to subspace in a semi-public environment isn’t anything close to ideal, but it’s better than the alternative, which is someone as attractive as him walking around unclaimed, for lack of a better word, in a high-end sex club—especially when Atsumu is a little nervous about the whole thing. 

Kiyoomi’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. This is definitely the lesser of two evils.

The parking for the club is completely underground with an elevator that connects to the club itself, meaning that anyone who enters and exits by car can avoid the outside world completely. This eliminates the risk of being seen coming and going by anyone who might become suspicious, even though it’s labeled on GPS systems as a private event space.

Once Kiyoomi shows his ID and they’re allowed into the parking garage, he finds a secluded space and turns the car off, then turns to Atsumu as he pulls off his driving gloves.

“How are you feeling?”

Atsumu swallows. His hands come up to fiddle with the scarf.

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says, turning fully to face him. “Look at me.”

Golden eyes slide over to meet Kiyoomi’s. Atsumu’s cheeks are pink, lips already bitten red from nerves.

“Remember this is just a means to an end. I just need some equipment they have,” Kiyoomi murmurs. Atsumu shivers. “We’re not going to spend any more time around people than we absolutely have to.”

The corner of Atsumu’s mouth quirks up. “S’like yer life motto, Omi-Omi.”

The fact that he can still be so annoying is actually encouraging. Still, Kiyoomi has to ask, “Do you still want to do this? We can always do something else back at the hotel.”

“Let’s…” Atsumu pauses, fingers tightening on his scarf. “Let’s do it.”

His eyes flick back up to meet Kiyoomi’s—a little less cloudy now, full of nerves but determined. 

“You can take the scarf off now,” Kiyoomi tells him. “The elevator goes right up to the club, and everyone who works here has signed nondisclosure agreements.”

“O-oh. Okay,” Atsumu says and does as he’s told with unsure fingers. 

The fabric falls to a puddle in his lap, exposing the oiled leather around his neck. 

Kiyoomi is suddenly overcome by the urge to kiss him, so he leans across the console and joins their lips together, looping a finger through the collar’s o-ring to keep Atsumu still. He’s not quite sure what compels him to do it—perhaps a desire to stake claim, or maybe reassure Atsumu, probably a mix of both—but he’s thankful he does, especially when Atsumu seizes the front of his waistcoat and moans, relaxing immediately under his touch.

When Kiyoomi pulls back, Atsumu is panting, pupils dilated. Fuck, Kiyoomi’s glad he collared him, because he’s pretty sure he’d be beating back other doms with a stick otherwise.

“Where we’re going, this means you’re mine until we leave, understood?” Kiyoomi says, tugging on the ring just a little before letting his hand drop. 

He smirks as he leaves Atsumu looking shell-shocked and calmly puts his mask on.

Kiyoomi reaches into the backseat to grab their bags of supplies. The first is structured like a briefcase, because Kiyoomi doesn’t think the occasion or the venue exactly calls for a backpack or athletic duffle. He hands Atsumu the other bag, a black leather weekender. Once everything is set, Kiyoomi glances directly at Atsumu, whose collar is practically gleaming at the base of his neck.

“Ready?” Atsumu nods. “Let’s go.”

Atsumu takes his coat off before they get out of the car, leaving him in his silky black button-down and dress pants.

“There’s a coat check upstairs,” Kiyoomi tells him, adjusting his own jacket after he locks the car.

“Yeah, but ya said we’re not goin’ outside.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, even though Atsumu’s not wrong. Some part of him inexplicably needs the security staff to know that he at least arrived in a complete three-piece suit. He blames his upbringing. 

One sleek elevator ride later, the two of them exit into a small, immaculate lobby. Kiyoomi steps up to the front desk and hands his ID to the host, who scans her list before smiling politely at him.

“Welcome, Sakusa-sama. May I see your guest’s ID as well?”

After a quick glance at Atsumu’s, she hands both cards back to them as well as a key with a number attached that Kiyoomi knows will let them into their private room. She takes Kiyoomi’s coat and hangs it on the rack behind her desk.

“Ami will take you to security,” she says, gesturing at her assistant, a petite woman who nods blandly at them. “Enjoy your night.”

“Thank you very much,” Kiyoomi says on behalf of him and Atsumu, who seems to have been struck mute by the whole experience.

Ami leads them through two double doors, her heels clacking on the polished stone floor. Kiyoomi can hear the pulsing baseline of the club now that they’re merely a room away. 

They have to check in with security first, though. It’s pretty informal here: two men in suits seated behind a long desk. One of them stands up as they approach.

“Right this way,” Ami says, then bows her head before standing off to the side so they can approach the security station. 

Kiyoomi places his bag on the table without prompting and takes the one Atsumu is carrying as well, allowing one of the guards to search through them with a small flashlight, face remaining completely impassive. 

The other guard bows at them before asking, “May I have all phones and other communication devices, please?”

Kiyoomi hands over his phone, then glances over at Atsumu, who looks mildly panicked as he does the same.

“This should be reassuring,” he tells Atsumu as the guard places both phones in a small box. “No one inside has any way of recording anything.”

The security guard with the box looks up at Atsumu. “Don’t worry, sir. If you need to access your phone for any reason, you can collect your phone here and make any calls or send any messages you need to in the lobby.”

“R-right,” Atsumu stammers, nodding as the guard turns a small key to lock the box, then hands it to Kiyoomi. 

Both the key and the box are numbered, which will allow Kiyoomi to retrieve everything on their way out. He tucks the key into the empty pocket of his waistcoat and nods his thanks.

The other pocket, which Kiyoomi is trying not to think too hard about, contains two peach-flavored condoms. Atsumu gave them to him several weeks ago in an unsubtle move to put oral sex back on the table after the subject came up and Kiyoomi told him that he’d never had it without a condom and never planned to.

“Wait, what? So you’ve let people do it, they’ve just sucked you off through…”

“Why are you making that face?”

“‘Cause that’s gross, Omi-kun! Lube tastes horrible and latex tastes worse!”

“I guess you’re out of luck, then.”

Several days later found Atsumu proudly placing a box of flavored condoms on Kiyoomi’s kitchen table, a smug grin on his face like he was a genius for solving his own problem. Kiyoomi had sneered at him and ignored the box at the time, but he couldn’t resist bringing some to Tokyo with him just in case. They’re tacky and disgusting and the wrappers are bright orange and, in spite of everything, their existence has been driving Kiyoomi out of his mind these past few weeks knowing how Atsumu wants him to use them.

As the guard who took their phones unlocks the large safe behind the desk and places the small box inside, joining many others, the other guard finishes searching their bags and hands them back, jolting Kiyoomi out of his mental spiral.

“Enjoy your night,” the man says, eyes darting to Atsumu’s throat before returning to the briefcase now safely back in Kiyoomi’s hands. His demeanor is nothing but professional, but there’s no mistaking the desire simmering just underneath the surface. He saw everything in the bags, specifically the briefcase; he knows exactly what they’re going to get up to tonight.

Kiyoomi can’t help but feel smug. “Thank you. We will.”

When they turn around, Ami is waiting a professional distance away. “If you’ll follow me.”

She leads them down another short hallway and through a sliding door; suddenly the music is significantly louder, though quieter than any dance club. It’s still not difficult to hear Ami when she turns to them once more. 

“Would you like any refreshments while you wait for us to complete the service you requested in your private room?” she asks.

Kiyoomi glances back to check on Atsumu, who is understandably wide-eyed, taking in the spectacle before him. It’s not quite as intense as a regular BDSM dungeon like Atsumu feared, in that there’s no red lighting or ostentatiously displayed torture implements. It’s actually rather swanky, with a small bar along the back—though no actual alcohol is served on the premises. There are also a number of small, high-top tables where a handful of people are sipping drinks and chatting.

It does get more unique on the other side of the room, where there are three zones where public play is occurring. Sakusa knows they rotate through gear as requested, so the spectacle has never been the same any of the times Kiyoomi has visited in the past. Currently there’s one man bent over a cushioned bench being vigorously paddled by a domme with a fiery red updo. On the right side of the room, there’s a woman in leather cat ears and nothing else down on all fours in a cage. 

And front and center, with a number of heated eyes observing, there hangs a pair of slight bodies, one man and one woman, suspended from the ceiling and clad in intricate knots. 

Atsumu blinks a few times and Kiyoomi turns back to address Ami’s question.

“Yes, two waters and… a cup of jasmine tea,” Kiyoomi says. 

“I’ll get those for you right away, Sakusa-sama,” she says with a bow. “And I’ll let you know as soon as the room is ready.”

Kiyoomi leads Atsumu over to a small, unoccupied table in the corner, a guiding hand on his back. Once there, Atsumu positions himself with his back to the wall, a little closer than directly across the table from Kiyoomi. 

“A service?” Atsumu asks nervously, clearly wondering what foul plot Kiyoomi has prepared. 

“Don’t worry,” Kiyoomi chuckles. “I just requested that they do one final round of sanitizing in the room when we arrived.”

“Oh,” Atsumu chirps, a small smirk teasing at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t order one of those neat people cages for me?”

“Why? Do you want me to?” Kiyoomi fires back.

“Jesus, Omi.”

The thought of it isn’t unappealing, actually. Atsumu on his hands and knees, blinking up at Kiyoomi through the bars of the cage, golden eyes huge and pleading, lips parted…

Kiyoomi flushes and straightens his waistcoat.

Just a few moments later, they receive their beverages. Kiyoomi keeps a careful eye on Atsumu, whose gaze has been darting around the room, his shoulders relaxing and tensing at random. His hand is clenched a bit too tight around his teacup, and Kiyoom is a little worried he’s going to burn himself. 

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says, drawing his attention. “Are you alright? Color? That still applies here.”

“Green, definitely. It’s just new… and a lot,” Atsumu says, fingers drumming on the table top. “The atmosphere and seein’ everyone doin’ this and feeling the c-collar… s’like my head keeps wantin’ ta fade out, but then I remember I’m like, in public? So m’sorta… snapping back and forth.”

Kiyoomi hums. 

“It’s like I gotta fight off goin’ under, which is weird since we haven’t really done anything,” Atsumu continues, letting out a strained giggle. “It’s just… uncomfortable yo-yoin’ up and down, ya know?”

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath, having to steady himself at the confirmation that Atsumu has been fighting off subspace just from wearing a collar in public. He takes a step closer. 

“Well... don’t fight it, then,” Kiyoomi suggests, testing a theory but ready to pull back if needed. Atsumu cocks his head. “I didn’t expect the collar to affect you this much, so I could try to really put you under, at least a little, right now.”

Atsumu’s face flushes and he averts his eyes, suddenly shy. Kiyoomi reaches out and boxes him in against the wall, his back between Atsumu and the rest of the club. He reaches up to draw a finger over the side of Atsumu’s neck, along the line where the collar meets skin. Atsumu shivers; Kiyoomi can see it clear as day as his pupils blow out and then refocus. 

“You could just let go, Atsumu. I’ll take care of everything and you don’t have to worry about anything at all… not where we are, or any other human being,” Kiyoomi says in a low voice. “I’ll take care of you. All you have to do is exactly what I say. How does that sound?”

He hears Atsumu swallow.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Yes.”

“What was that?” Kiyoomi presses, needling deeper. 

“Yes. Please, Omi,” Atsumu breathes.

Kiyoomi smiles, murmuring good , and then loops his finger into Atsumu’s collar and pulls him forward. He brings his other hand up to the back of Atsumu’s head and twists his fingers into his hair, just enough to sting. Using the two points of control, he presses Atsumu’s forehead into the crook of his own neck and holds him there. He hears Atsumu whimper .

Kiyoomi’s stomach floods with hot excitement.

He tilts his head down so that Atsumu can feel the mask against his ear and whispers, “I’m going to take you apart, Atsumu. Just you wait.”

Atsumu’s head lolls against his shoulder and he shivers. Kiyoomi takes a deep breath, skin prickling as he quickly glances behind him, surveying the room. Several pairs of eyes look away as he makes contact, and Kiyoomi is again struck by gratitude that he had Atsumu collared before they even entered the building. 

It’s not long before Ami returns to let them know the room is ready. They abandon their empty water glasses and Atsumu’s half-drunk tea; Kiyoomi’s hand once again finds its way to the small of Atsumu’s back as they follow her away from the main room down a hallway with high ceilings and marble floors. 

Ami stops at room number twelve and unlocks the door. “These doors lock automatically. If you need to leave the room at any point, you can use your key to get back inside.”

Kiyoomi nods, holding up the key he was given at the front desk.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Ami says. “Do you require anything else at this time?”

“No, thank you.”

Ami nods. “It was a pleasure assisting you, Sakusa-sama. I hope you and your guest have a lovely evening.”

Kiyoomi smirks and digs his fingertips into the small of Atsumu’s back, pulling a gasp from the other man’s lips. “Thank you very much.”

Atsumu squeaks out his thanks as well, just before Ami starts to walk back down the long hallway. Kiyoomi eyes the open door and thinks about what lies just beyond it, shivering in anticipation as he herds Atsumu inside.

Once Kiyoomi switches the lights on, his stomach twists with delight.

A sturdy metal suspension rig sits in the middle of the room, two vertical poles at least a foot taller than either of them connected at the top by a horizontal pole of equal length. There are numerous notches in all three poles where ropes or cuffs can settle to avoid sliding once the suspension tie is secured, but Kiyoomi isn’t exactly going to use this equipment in its most traditional manner. 

“Whoa,” Atsumu breathes beside him. “I thought ya said this wasn’t a dungeon, Omi-kun!”

Instead of rising to his teasing, Kiyoomi smirks. “Careful, there. You bring that up often enough and I might think you want to go to one.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kiyoomi sees Atsumu duck his head, a fierce blush coloring his cheeks. Kiyoomi’s smirk deepens. 

Atsumu’s face is still red as he starts to explore the room, walking up to the suspension rig and testing the sturdiness of the metal. Kiyoomi just watches him for a few moments, then walks over to the large, leather couch to set down his briefcase. Once again, Kiyoomi is impressed at the care the establishment actually takes in choosing their furnishings. It doesn’t look clinical, but the modern couch doesn’t have any cushions nor crevasses—nowhere that can’t be meticulously wiped down.  

Kiyoomi checks over his shoulder to confirm that Atsumu is still inspecting the rig before opening the briefcase to pull out handcuffs and long chain links, quickly shutting it before Atsumu has the chance to walk over and see what else is inside.

“So this was the equipment ya needed, huh?” 

Kiyoomi removes his mask and extracts a pair of nitrile gloves from the pocket of his waistcoat, then turns around to see Atsumu glancing appraisingly around the room, hands on his hips.

“Yes. I want access to whichever parts of your body I choose,” he confirms, pulling on each glove with a satisfying snap that makes Atsumu flinch and flush. “Plus, you’re strong, and I need something that can keep you completely still without running the risk of breaking anything in my apartment.”

Atsumu looks delighted at this objective statement of fact. “Knew ya couldn’t resist these guns, Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi resists the urge to put his head in his hands when he sees Atsumu start to flex. He’s definitely not anywhere close to under anymore; Kiyoomi will have to start from scratch. That’s okay, though. He doesn’t mind the work.


Atsumu stops in the middle of posing. “Mm?”

“Take off your clothes and wait by the the rig,” Kiyoomi says. He pauses as Atsumu’s eyes widen. “Leave the collar on.”

He watches with dark satisfaction as the fading blush on Atsumu’s face roars back full-force, spreading down beneath the collar of his shirt as he starts to fumble with the buttons. Kiyoomi’s not sure he’ll ever be able to reconcile the way Atsumu acts in public with the way he gets in the bedroom after just a few well-placed commands and gentle touches. It really doesn’t take much; it almost makes Kiyoomi wonder if half the reason Atsumu’s such a brat all the time is because he wants someone to put him in his place.

Kiyoomi shivers, blinking several times and refocusing on the hard lines of Atsumu’s chest and abs as the shirt slides off his shoulders, pooling on the floor.

“I’ll fold it,” Atsumu says quickly, before Kiyoomi can open his mouth.

Kiyoomi huffs out a laugh despite himself and watches the corner of Atsumu’s mouth quirk up as he makes quick work of shedding his dress pants and socks and, finally, his underwear. When he’s done, true to his word, he folds all garments and places them in a neat pile on top of a dresser that Kiyoomi knows is full of complimentary lube, condoms, and various impact implements.

For just a moment Kiyoomi is completely distracted by the idea of pulling those drawers out and forcing Atsumu to pick his own weapon of punishment. But no, that’s not what he has planned today. 

Before he brings the cuffs over, Kiyoomi casually walks over to the wardrobe on the other side of the room, which contains other supplies, and pulls out a padded folding mat similar to the ones they used to use in gym class.

Not everything has to be fancy.

Atsumu is waiting, shifting his weight and seeming to avoid looking at Kiyoomi, all polite and obedient, when he approaches with the mat and lays it on the floor underneath the rig. Kiyoomi smirks as he notices Atsumu’s facade crack, eyes darting towards the set-up with open curiosity. 

Kiyoomi backs up and turns towards Atsumu and the rig, giving him just a few extra seconds to sweat. Then he locks eyes with him. 

“Kneel,” he says, simple and clear.

Atsumu’s eyes widen and then the blush crawls down his cheeks as Kiyoomi watches him step onto the mat and lower himself to his knees between two vertical iron poles. The docile movements are almost reverent and they send a heavy energy through the air—Atsumu is kneeling in nothing but a collar, obediently sitting on his heels and looking up at Kiyoomi expectantly for his next instruction. His cock is already half-hard, bobbing between his legs deliciously, and Kiyoomi hasn’t even lifted a finger to restrain him yet.

“Comfortable?” Kiyoomi asks.


“Use your words.”

Atsumu swallows and his fingers twitch where they’re resting on his knees, “Y-yes.”

“Good. Now,” Kiyoomi walks over, every tap of his shoes echoing on the polished floor, “I’m going to handcuff you to the rig so you can’t move at all, Atsumu. Then you’re going to come for me, over and over, until I’m finished with you.”

Normally Atsumu would swear or make some comment, but he just stares up at Kiyoomi dumbstruck and nods. Kiyoomi smirks as he takes one of the familiar, fur lined cuffs in hand.

“Give me your wrists, Atsumu,” he instructs and Atsumu complies without hesitation, holding them up before him. Kiyoomi slides a cuff around one wrist and continues to speak, “I know you’re assuming we’re doing overstim again, but that’s not exactly it, Atsumu. You weren’t aware of it, but all that edging has been training you for something new.”

Kiyoomi carefully cuffs Atsumu’s other wrist and then takes the steel chains into his palms. They each have a y-shaped spacer on one end that Kiyoomi can clip into the d-rings on opposite sides of the cuffs, so Atsumu’s wrists will stay at a safe angle no matter how hard he pulls. 

Kiyoomi intends for him to pull hard.

He draws gloved fingers over the collar and up to Atsumu’s chin.

“Up,” he commands and Atsumu complies obediently, eyelashes fluttering as he raises himself up so he’s standing on his knees. “Today we’re going to see if you can come dry, Atsumu.”

“Omi,” Atsumu rasps quietly, voice strained. His chin twitches like it wants to press into Kiyoomi’s palm. 

Kiyoomi moves his hand away instead and Atsumu’s head drops. 

He uses the toe of his shoe to encourage Atsumu to spread his knees a few inches wider, a position that he knows will give him all the access he needs. Then he then pulls Atsumu’s arms up, one at a time, into a y-shape of their own, locking the ends chains into place on the suspension rack, binding them in place. Kiyoomi backs up to observe his work. 

Atsumu’s head is hung, breathing a little heavy, as he seems to try and get a hold of himself. 

Kiyoomi turns away and goes to the briefcase, retrieving a few items before returning to the mat, this time behind Atsumu. He kneels and sets his items down. Then he reaches around and runs gloved hands up the outside of Atsumu’s thighs, skating up into the dip of his waist and over his ribcage, which inflates as Atsumu takes a deep breath under the attention. The chains clink, just a little. Kiyoomi savors it.

“If you get fully hard already, this next part is going to be difficult,” Kiyoomi muses as he picks up a small silicone object.

He presses a button on it and a low buzz spreads through the room. Kiyoomi presses forward, chest to Atsumu’s back, to hook his chin over his shoulder. He squirms a little as Kiyoomi cups him and then deftly stretches the vibrating cockring over his cock and balls. Kiyoomi situates the toy so it’s humming away just under Atsumu’s sack. He presses upward, increasing the pressure on the sensitive area between Atsumu’s legs, for just a moment—just to hear him gasp. 

“This will feel good, but it will also make it easier for you,” Kiyoomi explains. 

“Make what easier?” Atsumu gasps, back arching a little.

Kiyoomi slicks up a few fingers. 

“Like I said, coming dry,” Kiyoomi explains as he slides a single finger inside Atsumu without much preamble. “I didn’t mean forced orgasms until you’ve got nothing left to give… though we might try that some other time…”

He says the last right in Atsumu’s ear and watches his whole body shudder. 

“No,” Kiyoomi continues. “A dry orgasm is different. We’re going to teach you how to separate orgasming and ejaculating .”

“I don’ understand— nnh, ” Atsumu says, breaking off as Kiyoomi inserts a second finger and begins petting at his inner walls.

He jerks and gasps. The attention to his prostate isn’t really necessary, but Kiyoomi can’t really get over just how sensitive he is. It’s one of the reasons Kiyoomi thought he’d take so well to what they’re going to try today. 

“I mean you’re going to climax but you’re not going to spill,” Kiyoomi reiterates. He runs his free hand between Atsumu’s legs, over his perineum. “There are muscles, here and elsewhere, that you’ve already been exercising every time we’ve edged you. When you’re close and trying not to go over, you clench them.”

Over Atsumu’s shoulder he sees his dick bob, up and down. Kiyoomi smiles. 

“Yes, those muscles,” he chuckles, twisting his fingers inside, making Atsumu moan. “Like when I edge you, you’re going to get as close to the tipping point as possible, but this time, Atsumu, you’re going to let yourself go past the point of no return. Then you’re going to flex, hold yourself back.”

“Wh-what?” Atsumu pants. 

“If you do it right, you’ll come, but you’ll come dry. And you’ll stay hard.”

There’s more, but Kiyoomi keeps that to himself for now. Instead of elaborating, he pulls his fingers out of Atsumu’s hole, which tries to cling to him. He picks up the other item and coats it in lube. It’s a wickedly curved plug, smooth and jet black. It slides in easily, Atsumu moaning but barely resisting at all as it settles firmly against his prostate. 

Kiyoomi stands up and walks around the bondage frame, and plucks two more items from the case, a black remote and a grey one. Then he turns and sits down on the couch, arm stretching out along the back. 

“Wh-what are you...?” Atsumu asks when he realizes Kiyoomi has made himself comfortable. 

“You won’t need much from me the first time through. In fact, I think my participation might be detrimental. You need to focus on how you’re feeling,” Kiyoomi explains and then clicks the button on the black remote.

Atsumu lurches forward and gasps as a second buzz joins the first. The mild buzzing of the cock ring won’t actually do much for Atsumu besides make the sensations a bit more all-encompassing, but the fancy, high quality vibrator in his ass definitely will. Kiyoomi did a lot of research on it before purchasing, making sure it would have the kind of rumbly vibrations that would be stimulating without ever making Atsumu feel numb. 

It already seems to be doing its job, sweat breaking out on Atsumu’s brow. 

As usual, the set-up is enough to get Atsumu pretty worked up, so it only takes a minute or two for him to get rock hard, perhaps even harder than usual with the help of the cock ring. At that point, Kiyoomi clicks a button on the black remote to turn the plug up a level. 

Atsumu inhales sharply and his biceps flex. He looks amazing, strong and flushed, collar gleaming at the base of his throat. Kiyoomi knew he’d enjoy watching this, but seeing Atsumu on display like this is doing it for him even more than expected. There’s something primal about the position Kiyoomi has put him in. Normally, he wouldn’t admit it, but behind closed doors—alone—it’s different.

“You look good like this, Atsumu.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu says with a breathy chuckle, shifting on his knees. “I work out.”

Kiyoomi is glad he seems to be keeping a clearer head than usual, likely since he knows he’ll need it to pull off what Kiyoomi has requested of him. Still…

Kiyoomi clicks the vibrator up to the next setting and Atsumu flinches and swears as he throws his head back. His breath takes on a thicker quality and Kiyoomi’s eyes rake hungrily down his throat and over his heaving chest. 

“Shit… keep up like this and m’not gonna last long,” Atsumu says, biting his lip. 

“That’s fine. You don’t have to hold back,” Kiyoomi says. When he’s sure Atsumu isn’t looking, he adjusts himself in his slacks. 

It’s not like Atsumu doesn’t know that this turns Kiyoomi on, but Kiyoomi would still prefer to avoid constantly feeding his ego. 

Atsumu’s hips have started shifting, little rolling motions making his heavy cock wave lewdly in the air. It’s flushed even darker now; Kiyoomi gets the surprising urge to touch it himself, like it so clearly is desperate to be touched. Kiyoomi isn’t sure how much time passes like that, his eyes trained sharply on every twitch and flex of Atsumu’s restrained body as the inescapable vibrations push him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Omi, I—”

“Are you close?”

Atsumu grits his teeth and nods. Kiyoomi’s thumb digs into the padding of the sofa as he watches with laser focus as Atsumu gulps for breath and shifts on the padded mat. He’s used to holding back orgasm, but he seems to be searching desperately for the line Kiyoomi described. 

“Let yourself go over, Atsumu. Feel for the tipping point,” Kiyoomi says, feeling himself lean forward against his will. 

Atsumu draws another breath, hips hitching, faint buzzing almost tangible on Kiyoomi’s own skin. What it must feel like against Atsumu, deep inside where he’s so sensitive...

Kiyoomi is almost taken by surprise when Atsumu’s eyes fly open and he gasps. His hips buck once and then his abdominals ripple like the ocean, his entire lower body clenching up as a broken whimper slips out of his throat. His cock bobs sharply and his hips hitch forward—once, twice, five times.

Through it all, he doesn’t spill a drop. 

Then Atsumu’s hips stop moving and he sags in the grip of the restraints. Kiyoomi’s mouth feels bone dry; almost automatically, he clicks the plug down a level to let him rest. 

“Good, Atsumu. You did it,” Kiyoomi praises him. “I wasn’t sure you’d get it on the first try, but you do often surprise me.” 

“Oh my god,” Atsumu says as he gets his breath back. 

“How was it?” Kiyoomi asks.

“I came...” Atsumu mumbles, blinking in surprise. “It was only a little, but it… s’different. M’not...”

Kiyoomi can guess what he’s trying to articulate. There isn’t the same cooldown period after a dry orgasm; he isn’t going to get soft and his body won’t be fully satisfied yet. That’s the entire point, and Kiyoomi can’t keep the smirk off his face.

“Good. Then why don’t we try again,” Kyoomi says, locking eyes with Atsumu as he clicks up the plug two notches in a row. 

Atsumu moans loudly, chains making their presence clearly known as he rocks back and forth. It’s not the same pained sound that Atsumu makes when he’s overstimulated. This is a groan of pleasure, a sound that Kiyoomi knows well, reinforced by the way he can just barely see Atsumu’s ass bearing down around the plug. 

“Omi, what—”

“You came, but you didn’t really come . There’s not really anything stopping you from going right back over again, and now that you know what it feels like, you can do it again, Atsumu. And it’s going to be more intense.”

Atsumu’s eyes widen as his breathing rate skyrockets once more. He’s moaning again; without a gag, the sounds are beginning to echo obscenely around the sound-proofed room. Kiyoomi soaks them up like some kind of addict.

Atsumu leans forward as much as he can, shoulders tensed like he’s trying to brace against the vibrations. When he looks down to close his eyes, though, Kiyoomi speaks up again.

“Look at me, Atsumu. I want to see it when you go over.”

Atsumu gasps and bites his lip, eyes looking a little watery, but he follows instructions, meeting Kiyoomi's gaze. 

It just seems to drive him back up even quicker. It’s not like he has a real refractory period after coming dry, and Kiyoomi didn’t give him a break. Instead he tried to keep him right in that sweet spot where the pleasure starts to climb towards its peak. 

It looks difficult for Atsumu to hold eye contact, but Kiyoomi hopes it will keep him focused enough to avoid spilling again. Their eyes are burning into each other, Kiyoomi’s face sharp but heated, Atsumu nearly falling apart with his flaming cheeks, heavy lids, and bitten-red lips. 


“Remember, just over the edge and then stop.”

Atsumu nods as his body starts rocking again and more sounds begin falling from his lips, little whimpers escalating into keens as his eyelids flutter. 

“Uhn-ah! Uhn—nnn-uuuuuhhhgn!”

His eyes finally can’t fight the overwhelming instinct to close as his body arches and his head drops back, moaning loudly through his second dry climax. Kiyoomi doesn’t back off the vibrations immediately this time, instead letting them burn through Atsumu’s body, watching his stomach and hips roll over and over and over.

He’s a vision. Kiyoomi feels like he can barely breathe. He finally turns the vibrations down when Atsumu lets out something like a sob and goes momentarily limp; as Atsumu comes down, shivering and shaking and blinking in hazy disbelief, Kiyoomi finds that he can no longer sit still. 

Atsumu’s chin is shiny with spit where he drooled a little, mouth lolling open as he tries to recover his breath. The sight is dirty, and Kiyoomi should be repulsed, and yet…

Yet now, in the wake of Atsumu once again exceeding expectations to come dry twice in a row, strung up pretty and obedient in his collar... those goddamn peach-flavored condoms are burning a hole in Kiyoomi’s pocket.

Kiyoomi curses under his breath and stands up, fabric shifting over the painfully hard length of his cock. Atsumu doesn’t even seem to notice, still blinking the stars from his eyes as the vibrators hum away at their lowest settings, but he does look up at the tap of Kiyoomi’s shoes on the floor as he makes his way over.


“Look at you,” Kiyoomi murmurs, now close enough to reach out and run a hand through Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu leans into the touch and moans, gazing up at Kiyoomi with devotion and hunger bleeding into each other on every plane of his face. “You did so well. I knew you could do it.”

Atsumu makes a happy noise, eyelids fluttering as the corners of his mouth tick up. 

Then, because he knows Atsumu will understand exactly what it means without any explanation, Kiyoomi reaches into his waistcoat and pulls out one of the horrifyingly orange wrappers. 

Atsumu’s eyes go comically wide at the sight, then slide down to where Kiyoomi is tenting the seam of his slacks. “Yes…!”

Kiyoomi smirks. “That answers my question, then.”

“Fuck yes, Omi, please let me, I’ll—” Atsumu hisses out a breath and squirms, vibrators still buzzing lowly, cock still completely hard— “I’ll make it so good for ya, please…”

Fuck. Kiyoomi swallows hard as his dick twitches. “I want you to stay still for me, though, Atsumu. I want to use your mouth.”

Atsumu shivers, chains clinking as a tiny bit of precome beads from the head of his dick, turned on enough to leak a little even through the cock ring. He licks his lips and mumbles, “Still gonna make it good’f’r ya.”

“I know you will,” Kiyoomi murmurs, scratching over his scalp with the hand he still has buried in his hair. Fuck, he’s excited . “My good boy.”

Atsumu shuts his eyes tight and bites his lip, groaning lowly at the praise. Kiyoomi tugs a little at his hair and watches his teeth sink deeper into the plush softness. Then he takes his hand away, reaches into his pocket, and cranks a random remote up two settings.

From the muted buzzing and the way Atsumu shouts, arching his back and furrowing his brows the way he does when Kiyoomi curls his fingers inside him just right, Kiyoomi guesses it was the remote for the plug. He’s grateful, considering he needs a moment without Atsumu’s attention to steady himself, a little overwhelmed by how intimate this all feels. 

So while Atsumu is reeling from the renewed stimulation, Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and undoes his dress pants, heart pounding against his ribcage when he thinks about where he’s about to put his cock. It’s slick and stiff as he pulls it out of the slit at the front of his briefs, throbbing as he rolls the condom down over it. Kiyoomi’s nose wrinkles at the smell of artificial peaches, but it’s nowhere near enough to ruin the arousal coursing through him. 

He steps closer, breathing hard. He’s overwhelmed and Atsumu’s lips haven’t even touched him yet. 

Atsumu’s eyes are open again, locked on his dick. Kiyoomi flushes from the attention as he closes the small remaining space between them; when he takes himself in hand and thumbs over the tip, Atsumu’s mouth falls open and he sticks his tongue out, expectant. Kiyoomi swallows hard, the sight hitting like a punch to the gut.

Kiyoomi told him to stay still, but he doesn’t scold Atsumu when he gets impatient and cranes his neck forward to close his lips around the head of Kiyoomi’s cock. He doesn’t scold him because he can’t, because he doesn’t have the breath for it, because his lungs are frozen and his brain is short-circuiting. Atsumu’s mouth is wet, and soft, and hot. He blinks up at Kiyoomi, begging with his eyes as his lips slide over Kiyoomi’s cock, trying to take more. 

Dark instinct seizes Kiyoomi’s body and his hands fly unbidden to grip fistfuls of Atsumu’s soft hair just before his hips jump forward, thrusting inside for the first time.

The slick warmth that had been bathing the tip of his cock now surrounds him completely. Kiyoomi grunts and pulls back, feeling Atsumu’s tongue slip along the underside of his shaft as he does; he shifts half a step forward so Atsumu doesn’t have to crane his neck, then pushes back in.

Oh fuck. Oh, fuck.

Every thrust feels better than the last. Again. And again. Kiyoomi falls into a rhythm without even trying.

Atsumu takes it like a dream. Kiyoomi knew he would.

Schlick, schlick, schlick...

Atsumu gags when he goes too deep, a wet noise that sends goosebumps prickling over Kiyoomi’s shoulders as Atsumu’s throat spasms around him. Kiyoomi pulls out slightly in apology, doesn’t go as deep the next time, but also doesn’t let up on the relentless pace. 

“Fuck, you feel good.”

Atsumu moans at the praise, wet heat vibrating all around Kiyoomi’s cock. Kiyoomi tightens his grip on Atsumu’s hair, gut clenching as Atsumu works him over with that sinful tongue.

“Yeah, you like that?” Atsumu moans again. “I know you do. You were made for this.”

That gets an even noisier reaction, a guttural sound from deep in Atsumu’s throat that gets cut off every time Kiyoomi buries himself inside. It’s dirty talk, but Kiyoomi means it. His stomach flips whenever he thinks about how naturally submissive Atsumu is. He remembers that time at the bar when they talked about first crushes, how Atsumu got starry-eyed talking about how good his high school captain was at keeping him in line . Atsumu probably wanted something like this for years before Kiyoomi finally gave it to him.

“Fucking made to be on your knees,” Kiyoomi spits, mouth running uncharacteristically away from him. “Isn’t that right? You’ve needed this for a long time. I bet you wanted your captain, the one from high school... Kita, was it? Bet you wanted him to put you in your place and didn’t even know it. You probably caused trouble for him, deep down hoping he’d bend you over his knee.”

Atsumu tenses and Kiyoomi spends about half a second wondering if he just crossed a line before Atsumu wails, tugging on the chains so hard his leather cuffs creak. His eyebrows furrow and more tears slip between his lashes as he pushes forward again, trying to take Kiyoomi even deeper. 

Shit. Shit. 

“I fucking knew it.”

He feels even more unhinged when Atsumu’s eyes blink open, watery golden gaze unsteady as he looks up at Kiyoomi pleadingly with his mouth stuffed full and his throat wrapped in leather. He’s shameless.

Another lewd gag as Kiyoomi’s control slips and he shoves too deep. Kiyoomi can’t take his eyes off Atsumu’s face, off the place where his cock keeps disappearing into Atsumu’s mouth, off his eyes spilling tears freely down his cheeks. God, he’s so good

Kiyoomi takes a hand away to fumble in his pocket for the other remote, intent on rewarding him. He presses the button the second he finds it—once, twice— and looks down to see the outline of the vibrating ring blur where it’s nestled at the base of Atsumu’s cock as Atsumu yelps, the sound muffled by Kiyoomi’s dick. His noises are more urgent after that; the vibrations from his moans feel so good that Kiyoomi finds the other remote and turns the plug up one more setting before burying his hand back in Atsumu’s hair.

He has to close his eyes for a second as Atsumu screams, a shiver running through him when he imagines what Atsumu must be feeling. 

Kiyoomi pulls out after another minute or so, giving Atsumu a chance to breathe freely. A long line of spit stretches from the tip of his cock to Atsumu’s swollen lips. It’s disgusting, and mesmerizing, and it takes Kiyoomi a beat too long to bat it away. Atsumu’s head lolls forward and he groans, cock twitching as Kiyoomi watches. He’s starting to tense up all over.

“Breathe,” Kiyoomi reminds him, cupping his jaw, tilting his face back with a thumb pressed into his cheekbone.

“Mmmnnngh,” Atsumu gasps. His knuckles have gone white where they’re gripping at the chains. “Omi, m’... it feels…”

He can’t even finish a sentence. “Are you close again?”

Atsumu closes his eyes and nods, nearly sobbing as more precome pearls at the head of his dick and drips down the shaft, forced out of him by the relentless vibrations against his prostate. 

“Good,” Kiyoomi purrs, stroking a fingertip over his heated skin and wiping away a few tears. “That’s good. Let it happen, Atsumu. I want you to come dry again. Can you do that for me?”

Another almost-sob. Kiyoomi slides his finger down to Atsumu’s chin and tips his head where he wants it, meeting his eyes once more.

“Answer me, Atsumu.” 

“Y-yes,” Atsumu stammers. “Yes, yeah—I c’n do it, I promise— Omi…”

Kiyoomi smiles and pats him on the cheek. “There you go.”

Then he takes himself in hand and pushes right back into Atsumu’s slack mouth. The surprised noise Atsumu lets out mirrors the tiny sound of pleasure that breaks past Kiyoomi’s lips, the tight grip on his control slipping with every hot slide over his cock. 

Atsumu’s noises start to become more panicked, wide eyes frantic as he chokes on Kiyoomi’s cock and the vibrators build him closer and closer to the edge. Kiyoomi is sure he’ll have no problem getting hard again for a second round if he chooses to end this one buried in the warmth of Atsumu’s throat, so he lets himself hurtle toward his own peak, grunting as he fucks Atsumu’s mouth.

Atsumu just can’t seem to stop making noise.


Oh, shit. He’s trying to say Kiyoomi’s name, just like he does whenever he’s got something in his mouth—except this time, instead of a ball gag, it’s—

“Fuck,” Kiyoomi snarls, pulling Atsumu further and further onto him every time his hips jump forward, “fucking—do it, come for me—come right now— Atsumu—

They lock eyes for one excruciating second and Kiyoomi feels flames lick up his body as he takes in the panic and vulnerability swimming in the depths of Atsumu’s gaze—then Atsumu’s eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a muffled scream as he starts to shake. Kiyoomi glances down and sees thick dribbles of clear precome sliding down the shaft of his cock as it jerks and bounces. 

Atsumu’s coming dry again, just like Kiyoomi told him to. On his fucking command.

Kiyoomi has to shut his eyes, gasping as sharp pleasure seizes him by the throat, choking the breath right out of him as he spills into the condom and buries himself as deep as he can go. 

His quiet groan as he starts to come down from his peak seems to send Atsumu into a frenzy, whining around his dick and making the chains creak again. It makes Kiyoomi realize that Atsumu is still coming. 

He’d read that coming dry could allow multiple, extended releases, but Kiyoomi hadn’t realized just how true that would be as he blinks through his own post-orgasmic haze and registers Atsumu’s hips kicking over and over . It takes him another few seconds to realize that Atsumu is sucking in air frantically through his nose in between every moan as he comes and comes and struggles to breathe around Kiyoomi’s cock.

“Shit,” Kiyoomi breathes, pulling out of Atsumu’s mouth with a lewd squelch.


Atsumu’s voice is ragged, trailing off into a coarse whine as he falls into another round of tremors and pulls at his bonds, muscles bulging underneath his skin. Kiyoomi turns the plug down, worried that if he doesn’t, Atsumu will end up too exhausted to continue. 

And Kiyoomi’s not done. 

Atsumu goes slack, third orgasm finally coming to a close as Kiyoomi briefly soothes him, fingers in his hair, gently across his throat, over the leather of the collar encircling his neck. Then he turns away, tying off the condom and tucking himself back into his pants. He chucks the sticky latex into the small trash can by the door and wipes his hands off with a wet wipe from his pocket. 

When he turns back around, Atsumu is squirming, a small grimace on his face from the continued vibrations. He’s rubbing his thighs together, cock bobbing between his legs, as his biceps flex and struggle against the sturdy chains holding him to the even sturdier rig. 

“Stay still,” Kiyoomi tells him.

Atsumu doesn’t give any indication that he’s heard him. He’s still twisting in his bonds, whimpering intermittently and now pulling so hard on the chains that his body leaves the floor, his entire weight supported by the rig. It’s a delicious sight, but Kiyoomi needs him to stay still for what he has planned next.

He could attach a rope or chain to the o-ring at the base of Atsumu’s throat, threatening his airway if he moves the wrong way, but that seems a little intense for Atsumu’s first time in a collar, plus it wouldn’t solve the problem of his lower body moving erratically. Luckily, Kiyoomi brought extra equipment.

“Do you want help staying still?” he asks.

After a few seconds’ pause, Atsumu nods, staring at the floor as his legs tremble and a flush paints his cheeks.

Kiyoomi’s spreader bar has lain dormant in his closet since their very first scene together, but he brought it along tonight because he suspected it might come in handy. He retrieves it from the weekender bag he had Atsumu carry in, along with two sturdy thigh cuffs and another set of chains. Atsumu squirms again when he sees what Kiyoomi’s brought for him, but he bites his lip and moans again like the masochist he is, letting Kiyoomi put the cuffs on with no resistance.

Once the spreader bar is in place and the chains have been firmly attached to the rig, the only part of his body Atsumu’s able to move is his hips. His legs are pinned apart, secured in place by the chains so he can’t lift himself up anymore, spread-eagled like some sort of obscene sculpture. He looks so strong like this, defined muscle groups shining with sweat, all that power submitted willingly to Kiyoomi’s hands.

He’s as hard as ever, too, more so since Kiyoomi immobilized his legs. The cock ring and plug are still vibrating at low settings. Three dry orgasms seem to have only barely taken the edge off.

Kiyoomi wants to see how far they can go with this, and he hasn’t even brought out the crown jewel. He walks back towards the sofa and his case. From inside he retrieves a larger object, with a round ball at one end, a magic wand . It’s the same luxury brand as the plug, black with silver accents, which Kiyoomi would be lying if he said he didn’t find satisfying. It’s a classic, and Kiyoomi’s always wanted to try using one on a sub. 

He smirks as he turns back towards Atsumu, eyes trained on his face to catch the moment he catches sight of the new toy. Sure enough, his eyes widen deliciously and he, seemingly subconsciously, leans away from Kiyoomi’s approaching figure. Kiyoomi takes a detour to grab a stool from another corner of the room and sets it down in front of Atsumu.

He takes a seat.

“Do you know what this is, Atsumu?”

Atsumu’s head, slack on his neck, face a mess, nods. Kiyoomi smiles, warmer then normal.

“Good,” he purrs. “You’re going to come dry for me one more time. Let’s see how long you can last against the wand, and how long you can keep coming. If you can hold out long enough, maybe I’ll have time to get hard enough to fuck you…”

Atsumu is nodding again, almost deliriously as the first two vibrators keep buzzing away, eyes trained on the third. He really is such a good boy like this. 

Kiyoomi cards a soothing hand through his hair as he clicks on the wand. Its buzz is louder than the other two, making itself known. Atsumu whimpers but his dick bobs, betraying him. 

However, that’s not where Kiyoomi goes first, instead he slides a hand down Atsumu’s thigh and puts the head of the wand between them and presses it up against Atsumu’s perineum, just behind the buzzing base of the cock ring.

The effect is instant. Atsumu shouts and squirms, prostate assaulted from both sides.

“Ah-hnn! Ah-hnn! Ah-hnn!” he cries, voice breaking over each moan as he struggles and fails to get away from the overwhelming pleasure. The chains clipped to his thigh cuffs don’t even let him rise up more than an inch. Kiyoomi just presses up a little more firmly and reaches out to pluck at one of Atsumu’s nipples.

That makes him straight up thrash, as far as he’s able. His eyes are open and he’s staring down at what’s happening to his body like he can barely believe it. 

After only thirty seconds or so, Kiyoomi pulls away to watch Atsumu collapse into his bonds, sucking in air. On a whim, he raises the wand up to Atsumu’s free nipple and presses it there. It makes Atsumu’s brow furrow and forces a groan from his throat as he pulls away but then presses into the sensation. 

Kiyoomi smirks, feeling his own cock stirring in his pants again. Atsumu is just so sensitive there and he always lets Kiyoomi do whatever he wants to his nipples, fiddle and play to his heart’s content. He flicks the wand up a notch and Atsumu pants as Kiyoomi grinds it into the sensitive nubs on his chest, alternating between attention from the vibrator and sharp plucks of his fingers. 

Eventually he brings his free hand up to fist in Atsumu’s hair and forces his head back, pressing his chest out so he can up the vibrations again. Atsumu groans, mouth slack as he’s held in place for Kiyoomi’s teasing. 

His hips are twisting and Kiyoomi realizes that if he’s not careful, Atsumu, with the plug still buzzing lowly in his ass and the stimulation to his nipples, could absolutely come from this very quickly. He pulls away, ignoring Atsumu’s mournful groan. No, Kiyoomi has other plans. 

He wants to try and fry Atsumu’s brain, and he’s pretty sure he can do it. 

“Not yet, Atsumu. Focus. I want you to hold out a little longer,” Kiyoomi murmurs. 

He knows that he’s not exactly helping when he finally brings the wand to Atsumu’s dick, though he feels no remorse when Atsumu’s spine bends dramatically at the first contact. Kiyoomi simply touches it to the underside of Atsumu’s cockhead and it’s like the heat in the room skyrockets. 

Atsumu fights it for just a second before letting out a deep, wet breath and surrendering. He leans into the bindings and lets his mouth fall open as Kiyoomi traces the wand in a circle around the head of his dick, testing things out, revelling in how different it is from his usual edging or overstimulation play. Without having to stroke, Kiyoomi can instead hold the wand in place and take in every little twitch and flinch he’s drawing from Atsumu’s body.

Atsumu gasps when Kiyoomi touches the vibrator to his slit, “Omi, Omi, stop—”

Kiyoomi pulls the vibrator away immediately, realizing that Atsumu is trying to avoid coming already. He smirks at Atsumu slipping into the same patterns he follows when they’re edging him.

“Hmm, is it cheating to ask me to stop? That’s not really you holding out , Atsumu,” Kiyoomi muses, touching the vibrator to him again, lower on his shaft, away from the oversensitive head. 

Atsumu groans, “Please. I can hold out. I c’n—”

Kiyoomi draws the wand up higher and Atsumu tries to curl in on himself as his words are cut off by a moan that sounds like it was ripped from him. Kiyoomi backs off and then presses right on that spot again, trying to find where Atsumu’s limit is himself. 

Atsumu is getting less and less coherent, sinking into subspace more than he has all evening. They’re definitely going to have to try this again sometime with overstimulation so Kiyoomi can just put him completely under and have his way with him. 

The way Atsumu is reacting to the wand, Kiyoomi shudders thinking about how many times he could genuinely force Atsumu to come with it. His pants are tight again.

He takes a breath, telling himself to focus on the task at hand. Kiyoomi grips the vibrating ball at the tip of the wand then circles his fingers around Atsumu’s shaft, keeping the wand held tight to the base of his cockhead with just one hand. He’s ready for the final stretch.

Atsumu starts thrusting again, but Kiyoomi doesn’t stop him; he doesn’t need to. He’s got such a firm grip that his hand simply moves with Atsumu’s body, keeping the wand in place and the vibrations consistent. He knows they’re near the finish line when Atsumu’s breath begins to speed up. Kiyoomi leans closer, captivated.

“Remember Atsumu, one more dry. Don’t spill. If you can do that for me, I’ll reward you,” Kiyoomi says, dropping his voice. 

Atsumu doesn’t acknowledge that he’s heard Kiyoomi, but he knows that he’s listening from the subtle tightening of his hips, the way they stutter—like maybe he did forget for a moment and he’s readjusting. 

“Good. You can come now, Atsumu. Let me see how long you can take it.”

That seems to be the final straw as precome slides over his painfully red cockhead and the wand vibrates against the most sensitive part of his dick. Atsumu’s abs start clenching rhythmically and Kiyoomi knows he’s starting to come, once again completely dry.

“Mmmnn— uuughn! Omi…!”  

This time Kiyoomi doesn’t let up on the pressure; he keeps the vibrations the same, holding Atsumu at a crest that won’t be ended by ejaculation. Instead, Kiyoomi can keep him there.

He shifts, holding Atsumu’s cock in place with the press of the vibrator alone, and reaches around with his free hand and lays three hard smacks on Atsumu’s ass. Atsumu’s moans jump an octave, becoming even more feral as his mouth drops open and his head lolls back. Kiyoomi holds the wand firmly in place, hits him hard a few more times and watches as more precome drips sluggishly from his twitching cock. The subtle sting in his own palms in combination with the way the strikes rock Atsumu more firmly into the wand—Kiyoomi can only imagine the confused cross of pleasure and pain that Atsumu is experiencing. 

Atsumu may already be a masochist, but it never hurts to reinforce that little quirk which makes them so deeply compatible.

Kiyoomi just watches him after that, mouth dry as Atsumu’s hips kick rhythmically, for twenty seconds, thirty, a minute—and they just don’t stop, not even when Atsumu’s movements start to get weaker and his moans turn to something like screams as the pleasure continues to wash over him. 

Kiyoomi has no idea how long he comes before his body gives out on him, spasming muscles like cut strings as he drops hard against the chains. Feeling a little worried for his shoulders, Kiyoomi finally takes the wand away, then drops to his knees and slides his arms around him. He hooks Atsumu’s chin over his shoulder and slides his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, letting Atsumu rest against his chest until he can get his breath and strength back.

“Good,” Kiyoomi murmurs in a long string of praise. “That was amazing, Atsumu. Thought you might come forever.”

Kiyoomi feels a wet breath and a few tears against his neck as he leans back, slipping a finger through one of the d-rings on the side of his collar. Atsumu’s pupils are blown and he looks like an absolute mess. Kiyoomi tilts his head to the side and kisses him, licking into his mouth possessively. He revels in the pliance, the soft heat, so much so that he might admit to himself he doesn’t, in that moment, hate the residual taste of fake peach on Atsumu’s tongue. 

Atsumu hums and moans softly, and when Kiyoomi—like some perverse kiss of life—feels confident Atsumu can keep himself mostly upright without hanging from his chains, he backs away a few centimeters. Something stirs in his chest when Atsumu tries to follow his lips, panting.

“Are you ready for your reward?” Kiyoomi asks, thumb sliding across Atsumu’s slick, swollen bottom lip. 


Atsumu has never felt anything like this before. 

This isn’t the first time Sakusa has coaxed Atsumu’s body into doing things he didn’t know it was possible to do, but such thorough and unforgiving bondage combined with long, long releases that have still left him throbbing and desperate to come have Atsumu’s head feeling like it’s filled with cotton.

A thumb rubs over his lip. Atsumu can’t even muster the energy to suck on it.


Thoughts slip through his head, too faint to grasp. He feels stupid, unable to say anything but Sakusa’s name, his brain as weak as the rest of his body. He’s more than ready for Sakusa to fuck him, he’s been ready for it since Sakusa strung him up, but Atsumu can’t find the words to say it.

He feels gentle fingers stroke over his cheek and he whimpers, pushing into the touch. 

“Shh, Atsumu.” Sakusa’s voice, that kind tone he uses when Atsumu gets fucked up like this. Atsumu shivers. “I’ve got you. I’ll give you what you need.”

Need. Need. 

Sakusa is right: Atsumu needs this. The thought makes his insides squirm. He groans, finally letting his head drop forward when Sakusa takes his hand away.

Then the vibrations against his prostate that have been driving Atsumu out of his mind for god knows how long finally stop. He gasps—he’d gotten used to the feeling. He wiggles his hips, desperate for some kind of stimulation, feeling strangely empty even though the plug is still inside him.

He hears Sakusa chuckle from behind him. Atsumu’s face flames and his dick throbs but he can’t stop moving his hips.

“Look at you,” Sakusa murmurs. 

A hand at his throat, stroking over the collar and making Atsumu feel owned before squeezing briefly just above it, threatening his breath. It’s gone before Atsumu can do more than gasp, sliding down his side, rubbing over his hip in soothing motions before sliding back to squeeze one of his ass cheeks. Atsumu gasps again and clenches involuntarily around the plug. Is Sakusa going to spank him again? His ass still stings. Atsumu wants more of it.

He wants to drown in this feeling.

Atsumu groans when Sakusa grips the base of the plug, groans louder when he pulls it out in one slick motion. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me

“Shhh,” Sakusa shushes him again, sounding amused.

He can’t stay quiet. Atsumu bites his lip, shivering from the sweat coating his body as he hears the crinkle of a foil wrapper. His dick gives a pathetic twitch, the cock ring still humming away at the base, vibrating all the way to right behind his balls.

Atsumu arches his back; it’s all he can do. His head is swimming—he’ll die if he doesn’t get fucked—he doesn’t need to come, he just needs Sakusa inside him—

A thick press between his cheeks, up against his hole. Atsumu hisses out a breath and rocks his hips, reduced to base instinct by the presence of Sakusa’s dick so close to where he needs it.

“Stay still, Atsumu. Just like when I used your mouth, hm?”

Atsumu tries to do as he’s told, breathing hard. Sakusa’s going to… use him again. The words make his cock drip, hands clenching and unclenching uselessly as he tries not to push back onto Sakusa’s cock. It’s right there—it’s right there…


Sakusa chuckles again. “Oh, good boy.”

Then he pushes inside and any thoughts still in Atsumu’s head are completely obliterated. 

“Fuu uuuck

“Yeah, that’s it.” Sakusa sucks in a breath through his teeth, pressing in steady and slow until he bottoms out so deep inside Atsumu feels like he’s choking on it. “There you go. Is that what you needed?”

Atsumu feels himself clench around Sakusa’s cock, hole twitching as he tries to get used to the stretch. He feels drunk, mouth hanging open, struck completely stupid by the thick cock inside him. He groans, low and long and ragged.

He feels Sakusa’s hands settle on his hips. 

“Don’t come,” Sakusa says.

He starts moving before the words have even settled in Atsumu’s brain.

Sakusa pulls out and thrusts in again hard, hard enough that the slap of his hips against Atsumu’s ass echoes around the room, hard enough that Atsumu’s breath is forced out of him in a desperate gasp. He picks up a fast rhythm, keeping it rough, using his grip on Atsumu’s hips to pull him back into his thrusts.

“Mmngh ah haah

God, fuck, yes. Atsumu grits his teeth, noises still escaping as he tries to brace himself against the vicious fucking. Every thrust inside pushes against his prostate, the steady rhythm replacing the vibrations from earlier, making his cock jump and drool.

Atsumu rockets to the edge in record time, orgasm burning at the base of his dick as his aching balls try to draw up against the vibrating ring. 

He needs to come—but Sakusa said—


Sakusa doesn’t respond. 

Maybe he really does just want to use Atsumu like this. It’s an agonizing thought, a delicious thought, and Atsumu’s only able to hold onto it for a few seconds before it slips away like sand through his fingertips. He grunts, spasming around Sakusa’s dick as the slap slap slap of their bodies coming together consumes him.

But he needs to… Atsumu needs to…

“Omi— Omi

No response, just Sakusa’s harsh breathing. God, it feels so fucking good Atsumu can barely stammer out his name. But he has to ask—fuck, he’s so close —so he digs deep and tries to clear his head enough to string more than two words together.

“Omi—c’n I—can I—


Atsumu howls. 

“Don’t give me that,” Sakusa hisses. “You’ve held out for—longer than this—before—”

Yeah, but not after… never when…

Atsumu makes a guttural noise, thoughts slipping away again. There’s so much pressure between his legs he feels like he’s going to burst, like he can’t take another second of it, but he holds his orgasm at bay like he’s learned to, trying to be good through the satisfying haze of such a harsh fuck. That’s all Atsumu wants, he just wants to be good…

He loses himself, focusing all that’s left of his energy on not coming. It doesn’t matter how deep Sakusa’s fucking him, how badly Atsumu’s dick aches, how tightly Sakusa’s gripping his hips. All that matters is being good.

When Sakusa groans and presses his face against Atsumu’s neck, muttering that he’s close, it nearly doesn’t register with Atsumu at all. But Sakusa’s face is warm, his breaths fast and choppy against Atsumu’s skin right below the collar, and when Atsumu finally realizes what Sakusa’s saying, he bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut tight, whining as he tries to hold on.

Sakusa groans again, so low it’s nearly a growl, and digs his nails into Atsumu’s skin a second later, hips jumping out of rhythm. It’s all Atsumu can do to keep his own breathing steady, to keep his body under what little bit of control he has left. Sakusa’s coming… he made Sakusa come…

A confused noise bleeds from his throat when Sakusa pulls out. It’s easier to avoid going over the edge without Sakusa inside him, but in that moment the loss is devastating

The cloudy disappointment doesn’t last long, though, because suddenly there’s something at his hole again. The plug. 

“Ah!” Atsumu cries as it’s pushed mercilessly back inside. 

Through the fog he hears the sound of a zipper and the clicking of Sakusa’s shoes. He floats, feeling like he’s held permanently on the mountaintop of pleasure. He’s not sure he even remembers how to come down. 

Sakusa sits in front of him, and there’s a hand on his face, a thumb wiping at the spit on his chin. 

“You did so good, Atsumu,” Sakusa purrs, voice even lower than normal. 

Atsumu wants to press into his touch, but letting the full weight of his head give in to gravity is the best he’s got. 

Still, he gasps when the hand is removed, only to reappear with its partner to remove the cockring still buzzing behind Atsumu’s balls, the only thing that likely let him stave off orgasm when Sakusa was fucking him. 

The buzzing cuts out, and for the first time in what feels like hours, there’s silence. 

It lasts only seconds before there’s a click and vibrations return— the plug. Atsumu grits his teeth and then drops his jaw to let out a long, low groan. Warm fingers trace over his heavy balls and then cup them in what feels like searing heat. 

“So full, Atsumu,” Sakusa murmurs. “Let's take care of this.”

There’s another click, and louder this time; in spite of that, it still comes as a shock when the wand is pressed to the underside of his cockhead again. Atsumu doesn’t thrash, nor does he throw his head back. He doesn’t have the energy. He just moans with every exhale, leaking broken noises into the air. 

Another pair of clicks, and Atsumu’s hips jump. He tries and fails to widen his stance, stopped by the spreader bar. He surrenders to the feeling completely, though. The vibrations are so overwhelming, making his entire lower half feel like it’s filled with molten pleasure. 

“Remember, Atsumu, you don’t have to hold yourself back at all this time,” Sakusa reminds him. “I want to see how much you’ve built up for me.”


Atsumu’s close. He wants to tell Sakusa, but he can’t find the words through the ecstatic haze that’s been slowly filling him up from toes to crown. He’s sure Sakusa knows anyway, with the way his hips have begun to rock against Atsumu’s will, almost painful with the work they’ve already been put through tonight. 

He swallows dryly, feeling his throat bobbing against the collar, a constant reminder—reminder of everything this is. 

Sakusa is murmuring encouragement that Atsumu can barely process, his free hand rubbing up and down Atsumu’s sweat-slicked body, occasionally tweaking his nipple. The other presses the wand more firmly to his cock. 

In spite of already feeling like he’s at the peak, the pleasure in Atsumu begins to climb again, impossibly higher and higher, so high it begins to scare him. It reminds him of the first time he was edged, when the onset of a pleasure he’d been so desperately avoiding nearly scared him. It’s too much, and he’s not sure if he’ll make it through. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because Atsumu has no choice.

His breathing becomes labored, thick pulls of oxygen deep into his lungs as his eyes slit open to meet stark black irises. He looks down at his abused cock, nearly purple and weeping thick strings of precome. 

The buzzing against his prostate seems to vibrate straight up his shaft to the wand and back down. It’s too much. It’s too much—

Atsumu isn’t sure what finally tips him over the edge he’s sat on for so long. The pleasure is too intense at this point to tell—except then it skyrockets. It sends Atsumu flying towards the stars as the feeling of white hot ecstasy concentrates in his balls and then starts to spill over. 

He throws his head back and screams, his body finding strength he didn’t think he had left. 

Atsumu hears Sakusa curse, hears the sound of liquid splashing to the ground as he climaxes harder and more fully than he ever has in his entire life. He feels come sliding down his shaft, over his balls, down his thighs. There’s so much. He lets out one last strangled moan as his exhausted abs wring the last of the pleasure out of his spent body. 

Then it all goes very, very misty for a while. 

Atsumu floats, body tender and pliable. He doesn’t really remember Sakusa pulling him out of his bondage or taking the plug out. The next time he’s aware of anything, he’s slumped against Sakusa on the mat, only the collar still wrapped comfortingly around his neck. 

The comedown is strange for Atsumu, sitting on the ground in an unfamiliar room, unable to collapse into Sakusa’s familiar quilt or, now that they’ve started playing at Atsumu’s place on occasion, his own bed. Sakusa seems to be doing his best, though, pulling a familiar fleece blanket out of the weekender he had Atsumu carry in. The comforting warmth comes with the familiar smell of Sakusa’s detergent as it’s wrapped around his shoulders. Atsumu leans more heavily against Sakusa once he's bundled up, sighing happily.

Slowly, the fog in Atsumu’s head clears a bit. 

“Holy shit , Omi.”

Both of them laugh softly. 

“How are you feeling?” Sakusa asks.

“Like I wanna take a nap,” Atsumu says and then shivers. “And a little cold.”

“Well, you probably shouldn’t nap here,” Sakusa says, direct as ever. “But let's get you to the couch.”

“Sounds good,” Atsumu says as Sakusa helps him on to wobbly feet. 

His abs twinge. He’s definitely going to feel that tomorrow and isn’t quite sure how he’s going to explain to their trainer why he’s going to need some extra assisted stretching before the game. 

But Atsumu can’t bring himself to regret it as Sakusa helps him down onto the couch. He goes and grabs another blanket out of the cabinet where he got the mat and lays that over Atsumu as well. 

“Once you’re feeling up to it, you should drink some water,” Sakusa reminds him and Atsumu hums.

“Gotcha.” Atsumu finds that he’s missing the familiarity of Sakusa’s apartment in the afterglow and, more importantly, the option to lay down in bed. “I’d rather go sooner than later, if that’s alright. I can hear that hotel bed callin’ for me,” Atsumu says.

The faster they get back to the hotel, the faster Atsumu can crash. Sakusa nods in understanding.

“I’ll pack our things up,” Sakusa says and Atsumu doesn’t realise his eyes have closed until he feels a hand under his head—Sakusa sliding a folded blanket under his head to fix the awkward angle of his neck.

“Thanks, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, a feeling of warmth spreading through his chest. 

He lets his eyes rest for a while and just listens to the sounds of Sakusa cleaning up, familiar in spite of the unfamiliar location. Sakusa will let him know when they need to go, and then they’ll head back to the hotel, together. Atsumu will get to watch him go through his fastidious nighttime routine and they’ll crash in the pair of beds paid for by a magazine they modeled for. Atsumu will sleep well, like he always does after a good scene with Sakusa, and tomorrow the rest of their teammates will arrive in Tokyo and they’ll play professional volleyball in front of a screaming crowd. 

He makes a contented noise and pulls the blankets tighter around himself. Things are good. 


Atsumu awakes to the sound of someone moving around the hotel room. Light spills out of the bathroom and Atsumu squints until he can pick out the shape of Sakusa rummaging quietly through his bag. 


He glances back towards Atsumu, “Sorry, I’m looking for some melatonin…”

“Can’t sleep?”

Sakusa levels a glare at him that says obviously . Whatever, Atsumu is still only half awake. 

“Sometimes I have trouble winding down after a scene,” Sakusa says. “My head is a bit loud.”

Atsumu pushes himself up on an elbow and looks at the clock which reads 1:28am, in red, digital numbers. As the fog in his head clears he notices that the glare is a little off, and Sakusa seems stiff and uncomfortable as he digs through his bag which Atsumu knows for a fact is meticulously organized. He shouldn’t have to search for much of anything. 

“It’s too late ta take melatonin if ya don’ wanna be groggy as shit tomorrow,” Atsumu points out. Then a thought occurs to him, some instinct bringing up a memory from his early BDSM research. “Hey, Omi, are ya in—er, havin’?—dom drop?”

Sakusa stops searching through his bag and sighs, as if coming to a conclusion himself. 

“It’s… possible,” he says, like unsticking a jammed zipper. 

He stands up and goes to turn off the bathroom light, but Atsumu reaches out to flip on the lamp on the side table. 

“Anything I can do to help?” Atsumu asks as Sakusa slides back into the hotel bed, on the far side of the room. “Does this happen a lot?”

The thought occurs to Atsumu suddenly and sends a spike of anxiety through him. It’s clear that Sakusa enjoys their scenes, but it makes a feeling of nervous discomfort through Atsumu to think about the possibility of Sakusa wandering through his house, unable to sleep, after they play. 

“No,” Sakusa says without hesitation, and Atsumu feels better.

“What set this off then?” he asks.

“I think it was the new setting and it being your first time there. I was extra focused and now I’m just… second guessing myself, I suppose,” Sakusa explains. “I know I did what I thought would be best throughout the evening but I also know there were times that you were uncomfortable…” 

Atsumu slides out of bed, dragging his blanket with him to flop down on the free side of Sakusa’s bed. The man sends him a narrow-eyed glance but doesn’t expressly tell him to leave so Atsumu is content to burrito himself there. 

“Hey, first off, I had a great time. It was just a little nerve-wracking since it was new,” Atsumu makes clear. “Secondly, I kinda get it.”

Sakusa raises a brow from his spot leaning back against the headboard. Atsumu takes it as an invitation to continue.

“Yeah, it sounds like post-game anxiety,” Atsumu says. “Sometimes, even when we win, I get all caught up in my head thinkin’ about every little thing. Was that the right play to make there? Was there a better play I didn’t think of? If I had been better could we have won in three sets instead of four?”

Sakusa scoots a little lower into the pillows, his arms loosening from where they were folded over his chest. 

“I… suppose that does sound similar,” Sakusa says. “Anyway, it’s not horrible. I’m just having a little trouble falling to sleep.” 

Now, Atsumu hasn’t dealt with dom drop before, but he’s actually dealt with post-game anxiety his whole life. He has coping mechanisms for that. 

“Here,” he says, reaching behind him to grab his phone off the bedside table and flips the light off, leaving them illuminated by the sliver of Tokyo light filtering through the split in the hotel blinds. “When I get stuck in my head it helps me to watch or read somethin’ that’s just distracting enough to keep my mind off what I’m obsessing over, but not interestin’ enough to keep me awake.”

Atsumu pulls up a youtube playlist he has saved on his phone. Sakusa sinks even lower into the bed to get a look at Atsumu’s screen. There’s a moment of loaded, judgemental silence before he responds. 

“Cake decorating videos?”

Atsumu shrugs, “I also like wood turning. Anythin’ where they’re makin’ stuff and don’t usually talk in the videos.”

Atsumu clicks the first one on the playlist. He gets a bit more comfortable and stares at Sakusa until he does the same.

“Just give it a shot, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, propping his phone up against an extra pillow.

He hears Sakusa let out a deep, put upon sigh. Atsumu snorts. What a dick, acting like that while Atsumu is trying to help him. At this point it’s pretty easy to tell that it’s mostly a facade. If Sakusa wasn’t willing to try this or wanted Atsumu to fuck off he would one-hundred percent tell him.

He has. Probably will again. 

Sakusa lays fully down, head on his pillow. The zoomed in on hands of the cake decorator spread yellow frosting in a way that perfectly blends it with white, and then into pink. They pick up a piping bag and begin painstakingly drawing individual flowers along the top edge of the cake. Swirl, swirl, flourish, swirl, swirl, and flourish…

Atsumu looks over to Sakusa at the end of the third video to ask him if he’s doing alright and finds his eyes are drooping. He fights off a smirk and lets sleep creep up on him as well. It’s not long before Atsumu drops off into a deep slumber.


Atsumu wakes up naturally, light pouring into the room through the half drawn curtains. The first thing he notices, in his disoriented state, is his phone lying face down on the bed by his blanketed knee. Then he glances up and freezes at the sight of someone else on the other side of the bed.

It all comes rushing back to him, and Sakusa is still right there. 

He’s facing Atsumu, pale cheek and dark hair resting on the pristine white hotel pillowcase. His lips are gently parted and his eyelashes are dark brushstrokes against his cheeks. Atsumu is suddenly possessed with the urge to reach out and draw his thumb, featherlight, over the pair of moles above Sakusa’s right eyebrow. 

But he doesn’t. Instead Atsumu’s breath freezes like ice in his chest, rock solid and painful. He tries and fails to swallow as he’s absolutely choked with the desire to run his hand through Sakusa’s curls, to bring him a cup of jasmine tea, and maybe, if they have time next weekend, take him home to Hyogo to meet his mother. 

Atsumu’s heart races, terrifyingly quickly, and his eyes widen as he comes to a single, horrifically irrefutable conclusion. 

He has feelings for Sakusa. 

Atsumu has feelings for Sakusa Kiyoomi, outside hitter of the MSBY Black Jackals, his part time dom, and the person, without a doubt, least likely to be interested in a romantic relationship that Atsumu has ever met. It’s so obvious now that Atsumu should have realized ages ago, before it could dig its roots under his ribcage. But here he is and here it has; it’s already anchored deep, he realizes with blinding clarity. 

Atsumu gasps, nails digging into his own palms, a desperate attempt to wake up from this nightmare. He doesn’t wake up, nor does Sakusa, who sleeps so peacefully and beautifully just a foot away and completely out of reach. 

Oh, fuck, Atsumu thinks.

Oh, fuck