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“I think we should kiss.”
The quiet apartment goes completely soundless, the silence heavy and ringing in Atsumu’s ears. He swallows down the explanation at the tip of his tongue. Words fail him in an instant.
It’s probably for the best. If he starts rambling now, then he’ll just appear desperate and stupid. Which he’s not. He’s opportunistic.
If Osamu knew about this plan, he’d definitely add it to the ongoing list he keeps on his phone, lovingly titled Atsumu’s Stupidest Ideas . This is the reason Atsumu stopped telling him everything. He already hears his twin’s voice berating him in his head, he doesn’t need to hear it over the phone too.
Besides, this isn’t a stupid idea. It’s a great idea. Probably one of the best Atsumu has ever had.
“Whatever happened to ‘good morning Sakusa-san’ ?” Kiyoomi croaks out, shattering the unbearable silence.
The apartment buzzes back to life; the constant, subtle hum of the fridge, the deep purr of the heater, and the distant rumbling of cars polluting the air once more. It calms the brief panic that seized Atsumu’s heart, making it easier to release the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“When have I ever called ya Sakusa? And it’s a little late for good mornings, Omi.”
It’s half past noon and the takeout Atsumu brought for breakfast has long gone cold. He should’ve known better. Kiyoomi always sleeps in whenever he’s allowed.
“Can you stop letting yourself into my apartment? One day I’ll get you arrested for breaking and entering,” Kiyoomi complains further, taking his time to shuffle closer.
There’s still sleep clinging to his voice, husky and soothing even through his threats. He closely resembles a grumpy cat when he first wakes up. His curls are frizzy and wild on top of his head, eyes only open enough to see where he’s going. It makes Atsumu want to pet his fingers through his hair, but he’s sure he’d get bitten in the process.
“I don’t think it’s breaking and entering when ya gave me yer door code,” Atsumu argues. “Now, stop changin’ the subject.”
“I gave it to you to use once . I never permitted you to use it whenever you please,” Kiyoomi continues, reminding Atsumu that he can be one stubborn bastard.
“ Omi ,” Atsumu says, aiming for chastising, but settling more into pleading.
Kiyoomi crosses his arms over his chest, pouty and bleary eyed. Atsumu waits for the inevitable “no,” or maybe a more interesting rejection of “are you stupid?” There’s also the possibility of Kiyoomi ignoring the suggestion completely.
“Is this about last night?” He asks instead.
Of course it’s about last night.
It’s about Kiyoomi, drinking three beers instead of his usual one, pink cheeked and more loose lipped than Atsumu has ever seen him before. It’s about Kiyoomi, all five fingers still raised even halfway through their stupid game of Never Have I Ever, admitting to a room full of friends that he hasn’t had his first kiss yet. It’s always about Kiyoomi, dark haired and dark eyed, one of the most attractive assholes Atsumu has ever met.
As it turns out, Atsumu also happens to be an objectively attractive asshole, who maybe could use a little more experience.
“I just think I could help ya out is all,” Atsumu says casually, as though he hasn’t spent the past twelve hours agonizing over this. As though Kiyoomi’s tipsy admission didn’t consume Atsumu’s every thought and kept him up all through the night. As though he doesn’t want this—want Kiyoomi —with every fiber of his being.
“How very kind of you,” Kiyoomi deadpans.
“I know, I’m a saint.”
Kiyoomi gives a half hearted roll of his eyes, not as dramatic as Atsumu is used to. Two years of college life, of playing on the same team together, has helped Atsumu perfect the art of reading the elusive Sakusa Kiyoomi. Now, he sees through the sarcasm and mild irritation, and a seed of hope sprouts in his chest.
Atsumu hops up from his comfortable seat on the couch and closes the distance between them. Kiyoomi stands his ground, heels anchored to the floor, watching Atsumu with a bored expression.
“C’mon Omi, I know yer curious,” Atsumu grins. “And ya can’t find a better first time than me.”
“I can’t tell if you’re insulting me or just complimenting yourself.”
Atsumu chooses to ignore the jab. He fights the urge to reach out and touch, to push away the haywire strand of hair curling over Kiyoomi’s eye. He’s not confident enough that he won’t get pushed away right now, and he doesn’t want to act hastily and kill any chance he may have.
“Yer not saying no,” Atsumu observes, leaning further into Kiyoomi’s space, carefully keeping his hands to himself.
Silence stretches on between them once more. It’s moments like this that Atsumu wishes he could read all the thoughts rolling around in Kiyoom’s head. His cold expression hardly ever betrays him, eyes roaming over Atsumu’s face like he’s searching for an answer.
“If I say yes, then you’ll drop it after?” Kiyoomi asks, sounding uninterested. “I don't want to keep hearing about this.”
“‘Course,” Atsumu smiles.
Relief washes over him, immediately followed by a wave of excitement. Having prepared to do a lot more convincing, he’s surprised at how quickly Kiyoomi concedes.
Atsumu has thought about kissing Kiyoomi nearly a hundred times in the approximately twelve hours that have passed since last night. He’s ran through various scenes, considering all the different ways this could play out; hands that have never been allowed to touch before, gripping Kiyoomi’s trimmed waist. Lips that have never tasted another, now Atsumu’s to devour.
If Atsumu is going to be Kiyoomi’s first, then he’s going to make it memorable.
At least, that’s what he had planned.
What happens instead is not something he had considered. Atsumu is completely unprepared when Kiyoomi takes the few necessary steps to completely close the distance between them.
Lack of experience, it turns out, doesn’t always affect confidence. Atsumu learns that lesson when Kiyoomi’s fingers glide against his neck, cradling Atsumu in the palms of his hands. He’s left standing there, hands at his sides, eyes wide open as Kiyoomi leans in. Their lips graze, then firmly press together in a singular, undeniable kiss.
It may not be Atsumu’s first, but it’s the only one that means anything to him. It opens up the floodgates to the emotions he’s halfheartedly sealed away for months. He’s drowning in feelings he’s completely unequipped to deal with, dragged down by a sense of yearning he’s never experienced before.
Kiyoomi, completely unaware of the way Atsumu sinks to deeper depths, doesn’t bother lingering there. He steps back the second their lips part, hands slipping away, as if he never even touched Atsumu at all.
“Satisfied?”
“Yah,” Atsumu choked out, unsure if he’s even heard.
Atsumu is not satisfied.
He feels cheated, honestly. How dare Kiyoomi take the initiative and kiss him like that. Atsumu was supposed to be the one showing him how it’s done. That was hardly a kiss, anyways.
So, no, he’s really not satisfied at all.
It takes two days for him to bubble over.
“Let’s do it again.”
This time, he’s hardly through the front door when the words come tumbling out of him.
“Do I want to ask what you’re talking about now?”
Kiyoomi’s not the grumpy, sleep ruffled cat he was on Sunday afternoon. He’s being a productive student, his laptop resting on his thighs, textbook and notes propped open on the table in front of him. If Atsumu remembers correctly, he has an exam at the end of the week, but that doesn’t matter to him. Kiyoomi’s studies can be put on pause for the sake of Atsumu’s sanity.
“That kiss didn’t count. Let’s do it again.”
Kiyoomi’s face contorts in an incredulous glare.
“What do you mean it didn’t count? A kiss is a kiss,” he argues, voice steady.
Atsumu wastes no time wedging himself between the coffee table and the couch, standing directly in front of Kiyoomi. He looks down at the man before him, the face that’s been plaguing every thought for the past two days, the lips he’s been longing to feel once more, and pure desire burns up inside his chest.
“Ya dunno anything, Omi. You’ll understand after I show ya.”
Kiyoomi buries his head in his hands, rubbing at his face like he can wipe away all the frustration Atsumu causes.
“You promised you’d drop it,” he grumbles, voice muffled by his palms.
“Did I? I don’t think I said that.” Atsumu pushes the laptop shut, doing Kiyoomi the favor of moving it to the table. “But I can promise ya now that ya won’t regret one more.”
“Why are you so insistent about this?” Kiyoomi questions, raising his head from his hands. His eyes meet Atsumu, flicking back and forth between each honey brown iris, searching for the answers Atsumu is so reluctant to give outright.
“I dunno, take a wild guess, Omi.”
It turns out Kiyoomi is more oblivious than anyone gives him credit for. Atsumu doesn’t think he should have to spell it out for him.
Atsumu has spent months showing up at Kiyoomi’s apartment, spending more time here than his own home, despite it being just a floor below. He signed up for the same gen ed courses as Kiyoomi despite usually doing his best to avoid evening lectures. He cooks them dinner, or brings them takeout, and even learned how to wash the dishes exactly how Kiyoomi does, because he hadn’t trusted him with doing it properly before. Most importantly, he flirts like his life depends on it, just to see the response it elicits from Kiyoomi.
Atsumu’s cheeks burn, the admission right there on the tip of his tongue, and yet he’s still hiding behind cheeky retorts.
Kiyoomi stares right back. Neither one of them shy away from the prolonged eye contact, even as the moment grows heated. Atsumu has laid himself out on the table, there for Kiyoomi to take if he pleases. He doesn’t want to think about the possibility of being turned away.
“You never make things easy for me,” Kiyoomi finally complains, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection.
“What, am I making something hard?” Atsumu teases, as natural as breathing.
“Don’t flatter yourself, I’m not that simple.”
“Ya sure? I know yer inexperienced and all. Promise ya don’t gotta be embarrassed if I get ya all hot and bothered.”
“Atsumu.” Kiyoomi’s voice turns stern as he glares at the blond. Some sick part of himself finds it far more intoxicating than intimidating.
“Yes?” He smiles.
“If you’re going to do something, then do it already,” Kiyoomi demands impatiently.
It’s the most consent he will give Atsumu outright, and it makes his nerves come back full force. He can’t think about what it means to be given permission now; if Kiyoomi has realized his confession, if he’s accepted those feelings, let alone if he returns them. It’ll make his mind a bigger mess, and he came here with an objective.
This time, they’re doing things on Atsumu’s terms.
Except, the problem still stands: he doesn’t really know what the hell he’s doing. Leaning down to meet Kiyoomi’s lips feels too awkward. He needs to be on the same level, so he only sees one option.
Knees settling on the sides of hips and ass settling on toned thighs, Atsumu can’t help but think Kiyoomi’s lap is more comfortable than expected. His arms wrap around broad shoulders, allowing more of them to touch than ever before.
To Kiyoomi’s credit, he doesn’t look surprised, nor disgusted, which is definitely a good sign. Still, he keeps his hands to himself, and Atsumu is tempted to whine about needing to be touched. He wants Kiyoomi’s hands on him again. He wants to be held like he’s something precious; like he’s someone that matters.
“Comfy?” Atsumu asks, nearly a whisper.
“Mm,” Kiyoomi hums simply.
Atsumu is surprised Kiyoomi doesn’t bitch about him being too heavy, or urge him to hurry up. How unfair of Kiyoomi to be so agreeable when Atsumu is being careful about getting his hopes up.
He finds himself wanting to drag this out, maybe so he has an excuse to stay here all night. Still, something draws him in, making it impossible to say away.
Their noses brush, eyelashes fluttering shut, warm breath on nervously licked lips. The first press of their mouths is much like the other day; a short, sweet pressure. It’s a kiss that could easily end there and allow nothing to change.
Atsumu doesn’t want to go back to the way things were. He’s taken the first step, whether it’s for better or worse. If this ends up messing up whatever relationship they have, then he better make it worth it.
He pulls back a fraction, just to lean right back in. This time, their lips overlap, Kiyoomi’s bottom lip cushioned snugly in the seam of Atsumu’s mouth. Atsumu tentatively swipes his tongue over Kiyoomi’s lip for a small taste, getting into territory that he’s unfamiliar with.
For all of Atsumu’s teasing, he’s practically in the same boat as Kiyoomi. He gave his first kiss away in middle school, to a cute, confident girl who asked to meet him behind the gym before practice. It was nothing magical or world stopping. There were no sparks, no fireworks, no sudden realization of feelings.
Somehow, that made it easier to give away his second and third kiss to similar girls in high school. Atsumu still doesn’t know why they approached him. Maybe they thought kissing would make him fall for them, or maybe they just wanted to brag about stealing a kiss from the hot, popular volleyball player who doesn’t date.
Those kisses were nothing special, just a firm peck on the lips followed by a swift goodbye. They were nothing like this moment with Kiyoomi now; no parting of mouths, no nervous excitement swelling in his chest.
This may not be Atsumu’s very first kiss, but it’s the first one that means anything to him.
All the bravado he walked in with slips away the moment Kiyoomi’s lips part. There’s no arrogance or confidence to fall back on now. It’s pure instinct, mouth opening to meet Kiyoomi halfway.
Atsumu tenses at the first touch of Kiyoomi’s tongue. He licks into Atsumu’s mouth, nice and slow, taking his time to explore what feels good. Atsumu completely forgets about taking initiative, happy to let Kiyoomi do as he likes.
The gentle, almost shy roll of Kiyoomi’s tongue quickly turns more insistent. He moves his mouth against Atsumu’s, hands finally settling on Atsumu’s waist, holding him steady in his lap. The feeling is exactly what Atsumu has been itching for. He releases a deep, pleased sigh from his nose. It feels like permission to touch even more, so Atsumu buries his antsy fingers in the curls at the back of Kiyoomi’s head.
Kiyoomi pulls back enough to speak, and Atsumu immediately misses the sensation.
“Does that one count as a real kiss?” He asks, just on the edge of breathless.
“Not yet,” Atsumu answers swiftly, already leaning back in.
Kiyoomi doesn’t pull back or push him away, easily accepting Atsumu’s mouth once more. When they meet this time, it’s not tentative, no ounce of hesitation lingering between them. Kiyoomi kisses him like he has years of experience, licking Atsumu’s tongue, nibbling on his bottom lip.
Atsumu has never been kissed like this. He quickly grows addicted to the way Kiyoomi tastes on his tongue, to the way his lips tingle every time they meet, to the way he can feel each one of Kiyoomi’s warm, deep breaths.
It’s hard to sit still when it feels like Kiyoomi’s devouring him. Atsumu shifts in Kiyoomi’s lap, pulling him impossibly closer, fingers tighten in his hair. He reciprocates the kiss as much as he can, but he’s growing distracted by the feeling tightening in his gut.
Desperation slams into him full force. Kissing is suddenly not enough. He wants more of Kiyoomi, all of him, and to give all of himself in return.
Atsumu shifts his hips down, and it feels so good that he instantly chases after more. There’s no subtlety in the way he grinds down into Kiyoomi, but the way the fingers on his waist tighten makes him think he’s doing something right. This is quickly turning into more than just a kiss, but with the way he’s hardening in his pants, he can’t be mad about the escalation.
The next fluid roll of his hips makes him realize he’s not the only one turned on. It’s a little surreal to feel Kiyoomi hard beneath him, even more so when his hands encourage the way Atsumu moves on top of him.
“Omi,” he breathes out, even though it means detaching their lips.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Kiyoomi asks teasingly.
“Yah, havin’ the time of my life.”
Kiyoomi fingers tighten around him, almost bruising, and pull Atsumu down harshly against himself.
“Do you always throw yourself at people like this?” Kiyoomi’s voice has that mean little snarl to it, and it just makes Atsumu throb between his legs.
“’Course not,” Atsumu argues with a smile. “Yer special, Omi.”
“Mmm, sure,” he hums disbelievingly.
An uncomfortable weight settles in Atsumu’s chest. He loves the mutual teasing between them, the lighthearted jabs and ribbing. Yet, Kiyoomi not taking him seriously at this moment doesn’t sit right with him.
"Kiyoomi,” he calls, his full name feeling foreign on his lips.
Kiyoomi pulls back slightly more to look at Atsumu, eyes wide and expectant, offering his full attention. Atsumu bites into his bottom lip, pleased by the way Kiyoomi follows the movement before meeting Atsumu’s eyes again.
“I’m serious. I haven’t done this with anyone before,” Atsumu reiterates clearly. It makes him a little embarrassed, especially after acting like he’s some expert compared to Kiyoomi, but it feels important that he knows the truth.
Kiyoomi watches him closely, as if he’s waiting for Atsumu to brush it off as a joke. When he realizes the words will never come, he blinks thoughtfully, a small smile curling at the edges of his mouth.
“And here you were, making me think you’re some kind of disgusting playboy,” Kiyoomi huffs out incredulously. “Meanwhile, you’re just a desperate virgin.”
“Hey, you’re no better!” Atsumu argues.
“I didn’t barge into someone’s apartment making up excuses to kiss them again, then start writhing around in their lap not even five minutes in.”
Atsumu feels his whole body flush, the tips of his ears and back of his neck burning up.
"Yeah, well.” Atsumu lifts his hips up slightly, just to grind down harshly, Kiyoomi’s still hard cock dragging against himself. “It seems like I’m not the only one enjoying myself.”
Atsumu feels like he’s won an argument when Kiyoomi’s dark, full lashes flutter close, a shuddering breath exhaled through his reddening lips. When his eyes slide open again, there’s a clear sense of determination settled in them.
Big hands slide from his waist and down his body, reaching around to grab two handfuls of Atsumu’s ass. Kiyoom guides Atsumu to rock harder against him, and it’s Atsumu’s turn to screw his eyes shut in pleasure. He dips his face in the curve of Kiyoomi’s neck, panting as they build up a steady rhythm.
“Never said you weren’t making me feel good,” Kiyoomi whispers hotly in Atsumu’s ear. “You can pretend like you’re riding my cock all night, I won’t complain.”
Atsumu groans deep from his chest, the knot in his gut tightening almost painfully. He’s thankful he at least decided to skip jeans and went straight for sweats. He’s sure there’s a wet spot forming through the fabric, but he can’t care when in the middle of the hottest experience of his life.
“Didn’t expect ya to have such a filthy mouth,” Atsumu teases, defaulting to their usual banter to hide how far gone he already is.
"Really? Guess you don’t know me as well as you thought.”
Honestly, Atsumu has never allowed himself to think too much about it. Maybe it’s not that surprising. Considering the nature of their friendship, it makes sense for Kiyoomi to bring their taunting into the bedroom too.
“Then maybe we should spend more time getting to know each other.”
Atsumu presses open mouthed kisses at the base of Kiyoomi’s neck, sucking lightly. Would Kiyoomi be mad if he leaves a mark? The thought of it has possessiveness brewing inside him, so he indulges in the desire, nibbling and sucking at the thin, sensitive skin.
One hand leaves Atsumu’s ass and reaches for his hair, fingers pulling close to his scalp, forcing his mouth away.
“Don’t go doing whatever you please,” Kiyoomi chastises.
“Just wanted to make ya feel good,” Atsumu says, not apologetic in the slightest.
“Focus on this, then.”
Kiyoomi lifts his hips to meet Atsumu, pressing their bodies achingly close. Atsumu moans happily, eagerly picking up his pace.
“So fuckin’ hot, Omi.” The compliment slips from his lips easily, an admission he’s no longer too wary to reveal.
"Is that so?”
"Yah,” Atsumu nods as best as he can with Kiyoomi’s fingers still pulling at his hair. “Wanted ya for so long.”
“How long?”
"I dunno, since we joined the same team I guess.”
That was over two years ago. They’ve been playing volleyball together since freshman year of college. All it took was watching Kiyoomi’s thorough stretching routine for seeds of desire to burrow in his veins. He honestly commends himself for holding out for this long.
"Idiot,” Kiyoomi insults, but it lacks any heat. “You could’ve said something sooner.”
He pulls Atsumu close again, reconnecting their lips, licking into Atsumu’s mouth like he’s making up for lost time. Atsumu tries to keep his rhythm steady, tries his best to hold together his crumbling composure. It’s difficult when Kiyoomi is eating him alive, arching up to meet each roll of his hips.
Part of him wants to pull his cock out, to pull Kiyoomi’s out too and feel the weight of them both in his hands, pressed together, leaking and warm. It’s a mouthwatering thought, but he doesn’t think he’ll last long enough for that.
He’s nearly there, right on the edge, panting into Kiyoomi’s mouth more than he’s kissing him. Kiyoomi slips his hand out of Atsumu’s hair and dips it under his shirt instead. That warm, big hand slides up his bare torso, touching lightly as his fingers graze Atsumu’s nipple.
Atsumu, to make up for his lack of experience, has done quite a bit of self exploration. He has a somewhat solid grasp on what he likes, where he likes to be touched, and so he doesn’t find it entirely surprising when his body reacts completely on its own accord. He arches into Kiyoomi’s touch, an unrestrained moan climbing up his throat.
Kiyoomi grins against his mouth at his enthusiastic response. Immediately he circles the hardening bud, pinching and rolling it between his fingertips. Atsumu downright whimpers, losing any sense of composure as he bucks against Kiyoomi.
"Sensitive, hm?” Kiyoomi mocks, thumb toying with his nipple.
“Omi, please,” Atsumu pleads. It’s so easy to resort to begging, even when he doesn't know exactly what it is he’s asking for.
"Go ahead, cum in your pants for me, Atsumu.”
It’s filthy and humiliating, but that burning embarrassment is exactly what pushes Atsumu over the edge. He gasps sharply, hips stuttering as he frantically chases his orgasm. It has to be the most intense he’s ever experienced, and Kiyoomi’s warm, heavy hands guide him through the whole thing. Atsumu feels like he’s ascended to a higher plane of existence for a few world shattering seconds, just to come stumbling back down to earth a moment later.
He melts into the solid weight beneath him, feeling boneless and heavy. Kiyoomi’s still touching him, hands groping his ass, making Atsumu shift slightly in his lap. He whines lightly at the sensitive throb of his cock, feeling spent and tired.
"Atsumu,” he calls out.
“Hmm,” Atsumu hums in response, hardly moving a muscle.
“Don’t fall asleep when you’re the only one who finished,” Kiyoomi chastises.
Atsumu is too sensitive to keep going, but he has enough sense to feel bad about leaving Kiyoomi hanging. He musters up all the energy he has left to slide off of Kiyoomi’s lap, laying down comfortably on his back on the couch.
“Then, wanna give me a show?” He asks, grinning.
Kiyoomi looks at him warily, but there’s still desire simmering in his pupils. Atsumu traces a light finger down his torso to hook under his shirt, dragging it up to expose his chest.
"C’mon Omi, lemme see ya touch yourself. I’ll let ya finish on me.”
“You’re filthy,” he responds swiftly, always so quick to insult.
"Yah, but I think ya like it,” Atsumu retorts cheekily.
Kiyoomi gives a slow shake of his head, but there’s the slightest curl to his lips. He turns towards Atsumu, rising to his knees so he can yank his pants down. Atsumu props his head under his hand, getting comfortable as he watches Kiyoomi take himself into his fist.
Kiyoomi’s cock is perfectly proportioned to the rest of his body, long, and still pretty even while painfully hard. Atsumu watches his pink, shiney tip disappear in the tight circle Kiyoomi’s fist makes, precum beading at the slit when it’s visible again. Atsumu is tempted to lean forward and get a taste, but he’s also content with just watching for now.
Kiyoomi wastes no time, looking like he was already on the verge of cumming when Atsumu did. His eyebrows furrow the way they do whenever he’s concentrating, a hard line between them that Atsumu wants to smooth out. His eyes aren’t focused on his own hand, or on Atsumu’s face, but on Atsumu’s exposed body.
Atsumu knows he looks good. He puts hours into maintaining his physique, but Kiyoomi’s attention only inflates his ego more. He flexes his stomach, making his abs more defined, and grins happily at the almost pained expression that crosses Kiyoomi’s features.
“Ya like my body that much?” He asks teasingly.
Kiyoomi meets Atsumu’s eyes only for a moment, gaze quickly falling back to his abdomen.
“What do you think?” Kiyoomi mumbles back.
“C’mon, Omi. Lemme hear ya say it.”
Atsumu doesn’t care that he knows he looks good. He wants to hear Kiyoomi’s thoughts. He hardly ever praises Atsumu, so when he does, it’s like a drug. Atsumu can’t get enough of it. He won’t miss a chance of more.
Kiyoomi doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reaches his free hand out, splaying it over Atsumu’s abs. He pets over the muscle, his other hand speeding up over his cock.
“You drive me crazy,” he confesses through gritted teeth. Kiyoomi’s fingers graze over the dips between his muscles, dancing lower to the curve of his hip bones. “Flaunting your body for everyone to see.”
A euphoric shiver runs up Atsumu’s spine.
"Does it make you jealous?” He asks, hopeful.
"No, not jealous,” Kiyoomi says matter of factly. “They can look all they want. I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”
Delight lights up every corner of Atsumu’s insides, his smile growing blinding in response.
"Possessive, then,” Atsumu says, happily putting a label on the feeling.
“Mmm,” Kiyoomi hums in agreement, though his attention is split between Atsumu’s words and his body.
“Ya can have me however, whenever ya want me.” Atsumu reaches a hand out to halt Kiyoomi’s incessant touching and tangles their fingers together. “I’m all yers, Omi.”
There’s no nervousness or fear of rejection anymore. Atsumu completely hands himself over, placing his feelings in the palm of Kiyoomi’s hands, right where they belong. With more gentleness Atsumu has ever seen Kiyoomi possess, he squeezes their entangled fingers together, a soft look of understanding washing over his features.
Maybe it’s the wrong place for such sincerity, with cum drying uncomfortably on his skin and Kiyoomi pumping himself on top of him. Atsumu doesn’t care, not with how good the view is, and how full his heart feels.
Kiyoomi’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, his breathing shaky, skin flushing the lightest shade of pink. His hips buck up into his fist, fingers tight around his leaking tip. Atsumu sees the moment Kiyoomi’s orgasm creeps up on him, the frantic way he moves, the way his face pinches in pleasure. He’s fascinated by Kiyoomi’s lashes fluttering shut, his jaw going slack as he finally comes undone.
It’s warm and wet on his lower stomach, painted over his abs. The sight of Kiyoomi so disheveled, with his cum on Atsumu’s skin, is so tantalizing that he feels himself stir a little in the confines of his already soiled underwear. Maybe if he asks nicely, they can go another round, and give each other some more first times.
Atsumu initially assumes it’s a long shot, but when he sees Kiyoomi staring at the mess with hazy eyes, he lets out a low chuckle. Atsumu tugs as hard as he can, forcing Kiyoomi to collapse on top of him, laughing even harder at the disgusted groan Kiyoomi lets out in response.
“We can get clean together later, just get a lil’ more dirty with me first,” Atsumu proposes, feeling giddy.
There’s no real fight left in Kiyoomi, Atsumu can see right through that fake put off expression.
"You’re insatiable,” Kiyoomi complains weakly, but still settles his weight more comfortably on top of Atsumu.
Atsumu takes his unoccupied hand and cups it behind Kiyoomi’s neck, pulling him in close.
"Only for you,” he promises.
Kiyoomi tries to hide his smile with a kiss, but Atsumu can feel it against his lips. He’s more than happy to give one right back.