Work Text:
“Oi, ya wanna cut out early an’ pick up a movie on tha way home?” Atsumu carefully maintains an appropriate distance in his shouty whisper over the loud music thrumming hard and deep enough that the leather bench beneath him is vibrating.
Kiyoomi cuts a side glance at him in the dim light, a strobe of red flashing across his cheek. “Sure.”
They’re both hyper aware of the space they’re pointedly not sharing and Atsumu knows that it bothers him more than Kiyoomi, but the taller man will still be ready for his fill by the time they’re back at Kiyoomi’s place and curled up on the couch.
“Tsum-Tsum!” Hinata bounces up to their mostly abandoned table, drinks still half empty and covered in condensation scattered about. “Come dance with us!”
Us is a cluster of Hinata and Bokuto’s friends swaying, rubbing, and jumping against each other in the dark club, the technicolor strobe light the only relief from the shadows. Atsumu eyes them all, his focus landing on one particular person that he and Kiyoomi have been explicitly avoiding, but he knows that if he denies Hinata, the team will notice. General depravity of any kind with Hinata and Bokuto is very in-character for Atsumu and refusing to do so will throw up a giant red flag that their nosey friends will demand to investigate.
Atsumu and Kiyoomi can’t afford for them to investigate.
“Let’s do it, Sho!” He stretches a grin across his cheeks to match his cheery voice and forces himself to keep his face set on the dance floor without turning to check on Kiyoomi. Luckily the whole team isn’t here or one of the two of them would have likely come up with an excuse not to come at all.
Still, Bokuto is here.
Hinata grabs Atsumu by the wrist the moment they cross out of the seating area and onto the dancefloor, dragging him over to their tightly bound group. Bokuto and his friend Kuroo are the tallest and most noticeable, all broad shoulders and hair meticulously styled to look accidental and sex-mussed. Kuroo pulls it off better than Bokuto, but Bokuto always manages the accidental part a little better, saving his appeal.
Once they’re close enough, a completely blitzed Kageyama whips around on Hinata and smacks him straight in the forehead, sending him stuttering back a step into Atsumu. He raises a brow at the sight of a drunken Kageyama, both wary and amused, before the other setter breaks into a rueful grin and tugs Hinata closer, freeing Atsumu from the hold on his wrist.
Kuroo notices him first, though he’s not bothered to try and talk over the pounding pulse of the music. He reaches out for Atsumu’s shirt, reeling him into their small circle of grinding and swaying bodies. Atsumu lets him, still fully aware of the chill on his shoulders that reminds him Kiyoomi is close by, watching. Still, he lets himself fall into the warm fuzz his own drinks have left in his blood. The alcohol frees him to dance, bending in time with Kuroo close by. Vaguely, he recognizes another couple dancing particularly close to one another within the group, but they’ve never been friends.
Must’ve come with Bokuto and Kuroo.
The song changes, melding into a low, trap beat Atsumu recognizes by feel more than name. He works himself in slow steps, turning a breath or two at a time until he can sneak a glance across the room.
Kiyoomi is still sitting in their booth, his eyes already lasered onto Atsumu’s moving body with a heated focus that curls Atsumu’s insides. He bites the edge of his lip to fight the nagging twitch of his cock buried in his too tight jeans.
Then suddenly there’s someone behind him.
Atsumu nearly freezes, feeling caught in a surprisingly intimate moment spread across the length of the club, but the liquor in his system manages to keep rhythm with the thumping bass. The person behind him rocks with him, rolling his body along with Atsumu’s, and he idly notes that the firm, muscled chest is too thin to be Bokuto and he’s grateful for the small mercy. He lets the music take them, reminding himself that there’s nothing to be paranoid about. Both he and Kiyoomi have been clubbing with this group before, himself more than once.
Hot breath on his neck has him leaning back on an instinct, curving his head toward the stranger, fully prepared with a spicy remark to earn him a little space.
But the remark dies on his tongue at the sight of the definitively not stranger.
Not only does Atsumu’s breath catch at just how pretty Akaashi Keiji is this close, but his brain completely stalls when he realizes that Bokuto’s boyfriend isn’t even looking at him. Akaashi’s lips hover just above the thin skin of Atsumu’s throat, but his heavy, low-lidded eyes are looking straight ahead.
At Kiyoomi.
Something white hot and visceral ignites directly in his groin and Atsumu finally falters a beat, but then Akaashi’s hands are on his hips, moving him again. Atsumu flashes his eyes across the club, darting straight through the crowd to land on Kiyoomi.
Kiyoomi, whose fingers are tight on the edge of his mask, and Atsumu instantly knows the man’s lips are parted, attention entirely rapt on the scene playing out before him.
Atsumu’s heart pounds in his chest, louder than the dance music pulsing through his veins, he’s sure. He rolls his head back, not even completely sure why he’s doing it, and Akaashi’s lips are there, eyes still glued to Kiyoomi’s across the room.
A shaky breath falls out of Atusmu’s mouth, sweat starting to gather across his brow, beneath his shirt. The heat of the club is startling, more so now that he can feel all his blood rushing to his dick and a part of him wonders if this is even real. Akaashi drags his lips over Atsumu’s skin, ghosting his long, drawn out breaths over his pulse. The man is stunning, ethereal even. The strobe lights glide over his high cheekbones and long lashes and Atsumu finds himself wondering if he’s ever noticed the perfection of Bokuto’s boyfriend.
Then he finds himself wondering if Kiyoomi’s ever noticed either.
Akaashi’s fingers crawl over the hem of Atsumu’s shirt, winding barely there touches up his hips and sides until they trace over his ribs. They dance together, riding out the beat with each other, bodies pressed and flush against one another. The thought of Kiyoomi’s watching eyes never leaves Atsumu’s mind and the pure eroticism of the moment swells until the room is nearly spinning and his pants are now uncomfortably tight.
And then the song ends and Akaashi pulls away wordlessly, the lack of his presence leaving Atsumu bizarrely cold.
When he turns back toward their group, they’re gone. He can see Bokuto’s white tips over the crowd near the bar, but Kuroo and his friends are nowhere to be seen. Even Hinata and Kageyama seem to have slipped away in the span of a single song.
Or was it just one song?
Atsumu still can’t think very clearly.
He moves without thinking, steps dragging him back over to the table they started the night in, back to Kiyoomi. A few of the drinks are missing when he slides back into the booth, though Kiyoomi’s is still neatly set aside on a bar coaster, its condensation sweating down the glass much more sensually than it was before Atsumu left to dance.
If his face looks anything like Kiyoomi’s, they’re going to be skipping that movie tonight.
“What…” he finally says, staring into Kiyoomi’s wide eyes, “the hell was that ?”
Kiyoomi’s jaw twitches, like he might have opened his mouth to say something, but he apparently shuts it again, dipping his chin down to the table so he can rub a tense hand over his forehead beneath his dark, sweaty curls.
“Did ya, uh,” Atsumu tries again, still flustered and a little shocked. “Did ya like that, Omi?”
Kiyoomi snaps his gaze to Atsumu, eyes blazing.
Atsumu swallows.
“ That ,” Kiyoomi says, pausing to let out a weighted sigh, “was sexy as hell.”
“Has he always looked like that?” he blurts out, suddenly unable to stop himself now that he has Kiyoomi’s approval. “That man’s a fuckin’ angel or somthin’.”
“A siren,” Kiyoomi agrees with a hum, his focus suddenly slipping away to the edge of the table. Atsumu tries to decide whether that’s a blush on the peaks of Kiyoomi’s cheekbones for a breath before realizing Kiyoomi is looking away for a reason.
“Haven’t heard that one before.”
And then Akaashi Keiji is capturing both of their attention again.
He hovers over them for a moment longer, long enough for Atsumu’s heart rate to spike and his dick to remind him that it’s still quite uncomfortable beneath its zipper prison. Akaashi’s eyes flicker to the side somewhere before returning back to the two of them. He raises a brow, but doesn’t wait for any sort of reaction before he sits in the booth beside Kiyoomi.
Atsumu is well aware of his own mystified expression, but seeing Kiyoomi at a loss is a sweet, sweet sight that he never knew he needed. His sweat has tightened his curls and his hands are awkwardly held together in his lap, leading Atsumu’s thoughts straight to what Kiyoomi’s dick might be doing down there and if its reaction is as strong as his own.
Akaashi rests an elbow on the table, cupping his cheek in his palm looking at them with a bored expression that twists his sleepy lids into bedroom eyes at the single flash of the strobe lights.
“Bokuto-san told me about the other day.”
There it is.
He says it, just like that-- completely yanks the rug out from under both Atsumu and Kiyoomi in the blink of an eye. The very thing the two of them have been avoiding from Bokuto for the last three days has fallen into their semi-erect laps.
The emotional whiplash Akaashi has provided is merciless on Atsumu’s already labored breathing.
“I haven’t told anyone,” Akaashi continues, as if he is well aware of how uncomfortable, and on exactly how many levels, the two of them are. “And neither has Koutarou.”
Then why are we talking about it?
That’s what Atsumu wants to say, but the words seem to have been sucked right out of his chest by the penetrating stare Akaashi is sharing with them both.
“You don’t have to worry about the team learning your secret,” he goes on, unflinching. “But I have to admit I found myself a little curious.”
“Curious?” Kiyoomi parrots, his voice so vacant that Atsumu wonders if he even spoke on purpose.
Akaashi hums. “Yes, you see, from what I was told it seems the two of you share interests with myself and Koutarou.”
Atsumu wants to laugh. He wants to laugh and say, obviously you two like to fuck . He wants to joke about the hickies he’s seen, both on Bokuto’s neck and peeking out in the slim blank space between the man’s shorts and knee pads. He wants to make light of whatever thick, heavy tension is palpable between the three of them at the table.
But he can’t.
He can’t because he’s curious himself, intrigued , even.
“I wanted to see you together myself,” Akaashi says, finally leaning away from his hand. He reclines back on the fine leather and, if Atsumu is free to think so, Akaashi Keiji reclining against leather in a dim-lit room is one of the most passively sexual things he’s ever seen. “And then I wanted to see if you’d be interested in spending a night with us.”
Atsumu’s brain stops, starts, then stops again.
Slowly, he drags his eyes over to Kiyoomi, only to find his secret lover practically gaping at the man in the booth with them. Kiyoomi is never so expressive, never so stricken and wide eyed and looking so hungry -- at least not at anyone other than Atsumu, dick hard and on his knees waiting.
“Tell us more,” Atsumu speaks up-- finally.
“I want to offer a night of play,” Akaashi answers easily, way too easily for the words actually coming out of his mouth. “We can come to the two of you, for your comfort. Whether it ends positively or negatively, Bokuto-san and I will keep your secret, and he is completely capable of continuing a professional relationship with you on the team.”
Kiyoomi, still somewhat off-kilter, does manage to arch a brow at that, but Akaashi shakes his head.
“Koutarou is different when we play,” he says slowly, voice like syrup pouring out over Atsumu and Kiyoomi as it drops lower. “You’ll see.”
Three days ago their teammate, Bokuto Koutarou, walked in on Atsumu and Kiyoomi when they thought they were the last ones in the locker room. Careless of them, truly, but their shared night the day prior had left them both on edge, still craving. They’re magnetized to each other, whether that be on the court or buried beneath Kiyoomi’s sheets. The locker room is really no different, though they were bound to slip up with the constant opportunity to bare skin on skin, even in public.
Their bad luck came into play when, apparently, Bokuto overheard the last dregs of a casual, impromptu scene play. Nothing too serious, but even if Atsumu weren’t sleeping with the man, he’d understand Kiyoomi’s dom voice for what it was before he’d even heard the firm commands passing through his lips like lethal silk.
They haven’t spoken to him since the three of them froze, Atsumu on his knees, Kiyoomi’s cock down his throat while Bokuto tried and failed to slip out of the locker room quietly wearing only a towel. The shock had burned almost as much as the new kind of fire currently lighting up Atsumu’s chest as he shows Bokuto and Akaashi into Kiyoomi’s spacious apartment.
Both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, Bokuto is the first one to break into the building tension.
“Thanks,” he says quickly, following Atsumu into the sitting room comfortably at Akaashi’s side. “I’m glad you guys are cool with this and I’m sorry about the other day, but I think this will be fun.”
Akaashi nods his head sagely and Kiyoomi moves away from where he’s been lingering at the kitchen threshold. They hover around the couch for a moment before Akaashi gestures toward the far chair with a dip of his chin. “Should we discuss some terms?”
Becoming accustomed to losing his voice in Akaashi’s presence, Atsumu is glad when Kiyoomi answers for them both.
“Lets.”
Bokuto plops into the single chair, Akaashi perching on his lap, while Atsumu and Kiyoomi take the couch. Akaashi, their unforeseen leader, is quick to move the conversation forward.
“I think it’s for the best if we keep any tools and toys off the table,” he says in his smooth baritone as Bokuto touches a hand to his knee. “No bodily kinks either.”
“Agreed,” Atsumu spits out, overlapping with Kiyoomi’s own approval.
Akaashi nods, lacing his fingers with Bokuto’s. “Are we open to the exchange of partners?”
There’s a pause and then Atsumu clears his throat. He and Kiyoomi discussed all of this on the drive back to his place. “Yes.”
Bokuto leans forward then, and Atsumu’s not sure if it’s the overall atmosphere of the room, but the way his thin white tee shirt stretches across his chest suddenly seems worth noting. The man’s arm flexes as he squeezes Akaashi’s fingers and Atsumu struggles to look away.
“Colors for safe words?” Akaashi asks and Atsumu catches his eyes the moment he looks away from Bokuto.
“Works for us,” Kiyoomi answers him. “Do you mind using my bedroom?”
“Not at all.” Then Akaashi is peeling himself off of Bokuto’s lap and when he stands at full height, he looks down at his boyfriend. “Koutarou.”
The name is obviously a command and the pressure of it sparks the tightly coiled anticipation under Atsumu’s skin. He shifts a little closer to Kiyoomi on the couch, spreading his knees as casually as he can to make room for his slowly growing dick.
Bokuto responds. He rises from the chair much more gracefully than he threw himself into it and Atsumu remembers Akaashi telling them that Bokuto is different like this .
And sure enough, he is. Without a word, he crosses the room and Atsumu’s heart pounds as he watches the most built man in the room approach Kiyoomi before drifting down to his knees. Bokuto tucks his chin to Kiyoomi, completely submissive, and Akaashi standing proud in Atsumu’s peripheral edges into something erotic.
“How would you like me to start, Sakusa-san?”
The words hardly even sound like they belong to Bokuto and, for whatever reason, Atsumu’s eyes flash over to Akaashi, only to find the man already staring at him with a warm steel capturing Atsumu’s complete attention.
Kiyoomi studies Bokuto’s bowed head for a moment, gaze raking over his hunched, sculpted shoulders, before he reaches up with his fingers and finally drags off the mask he wore out to the club that night.
“My bedroom is the last door to the left,” Kiyoomi says, authority dripping in his tone and Atsumu’s body responds naturally, out of familiarity. “Go there to undress and wait for us at the foot of the bed.”
The pause Bokuto gives is just enough to leave room for Kiyoomi to add something, but quick enough to show that Bokuto is responsive and attentive.
“Yes, sir.”
Diligently, Bokuto stands, eyes still down low as he turns toward the shadowed hallway on the other end of the room. He paces away quietly, not acknowledging Akaashi on his way past, and the other man ignores Bokuto as well.
Atsumu practically squirms in his seat, then a hand drops to his knee and squeezes. He turns on a reflex, his voice softer than he meant for it to be when he whispers, “Omi?”
Kiyoomi scans his face for a beat. “Color?”
“Green.” Atsumu feels the corners of his lips turning up, the surreality of the night still pushing and pulling inside his chest.
Kiyoomi, whether he senses it or not, soothes a bit of his restlessness by raising both hands to Atsumu’s cheeks, pulling him in for a gentle, searing kiss. Their mouths meet comfortably, always finding their way to a sweet spot earned through months of practice. When he pulls away, his eyes linger for a breath, and then two, before he completely retracts himself and turns to where Akaashi is watching them carefully.
Through some unspoken agreement, Kiyoomi nods to Akaashi and it’s all the cue the man needs.
“Do you prefer Miya or Atsumu?”
Atsumu straightens his spine at being addressed. “Atsumu,” he answers, belatedly adding, “sir.”
“Atsumu-san,” Akaashi says then, still looming over them at the center of the room. “Come here.”
A jolt pops off in Atsumu’s chest, but he obeys, intentionally not looking over at Kiyoomi. He finds himself remembering the easy submission Bokuto showed at the flip of a switch, almost like he was… trained. Stepping up to Akaashi, Kiyoomi’s eyes heavy on his back, Atsumu lets it sink in that this is the man that trained Bokuto Koutarou.
Akaashi’s gaze is hard and flat, leveling. “Take off your shirt.”
Pulse pounding, Atsumu does. The loose henley tugs over his head easily and without looking he knows there’s a single bruise right at the curve of his exposed hip bone where Kiyoomi left it earlier that week.
Akaashi sees it, but his face doesn’t change.
“Now your pants.”
Nerves aside, Atsumu is beyond grateful to rid himself of the tight jeans that have left him on a precipice of pain and pleasure throughout most of this dreamlike night. The button pops open easily, the zipper too loud in the quiet tension of the room, and then Atsumu is sliding them off and kicking them away.
There’s already a drip of precum staining his boxers, cool against the head of his cock now that much closer to freedom.
Akaashi continues to survey him and Atsumu wonders what he sees. Insecurity over his body has never really been an issue for Atsumu, but this man can see Bokuto completely naked at a whim. Atsumu’s physique will not be jaw dropping to Akaashi, the sharp bends and valleys of his muscles won’t come as a shock to his eyes, his hands, or his…
“Turn around.”
Atsumu blinks, but pivots, finding Kiyoomi fixedly watching him, legs spread wide on the couch. He feels his cock twitch at the sight and Kiyoomi notices. Kiyoomi always notices.
“Now, show Sakusa-san your pretty, pink cock.”
Another rush of adrenaline flows through him and he has to control himself to keep from ripping off his boxers. Channeling a submissive steadiness, Atsumu hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the tight spandex shorts and drags them down and away. His cock springs free and he fights a hiss through his teeth as the elastic waist drags over his ass before he drops the last of his clothes to the floor.
The look on Kiyoomi’s face…
Omi.
Then Akaashi is behind him again, the heat of his body stark against Atsumu’s naked skin, but Akaashi does not touch him. “Do you see that, Sakusa-san?” Akaashi purrs, tucking a hand gently beneath Atsumu’s chin to tilt his head back against Akaashi’s collarbone. “Do you see the way he listens to me? So responsive.”
Atsumu’s eyes fall shut, heavy, so heavy, but he forces them back open.
“He listens to me because you’re watching, Sakusa-san,” Akaashi says. “He obeys me, but he does it for you.”
A desperate sort of breath escapes through Atsumu’s nose, but he holds back the whine thrumming in his chest. He can hear a shifting on the couch and he wants to look down, to see how Kiyoomi is reacting to seeing him like this, but Akaashi is right.
Atsumu will listen to Akaashi all night just so Kiyoomi can watch.
“I think we’ve kept Bokuto waiting long enough,” is what Kiyoomi finally says, his voice rough with lust that Atsumu can practically reach out and touch.
“I agree,” Akaashi says just beside Atsumu’s ear and he shivers. “Let’s go, Atsumu-san. Stay between me and Sakusa-san.”
When Akaashi’s heat leaves Atsumu’s back, he allows himself a fleeting glance toward Kiyoomi before turning to follow.
Bokuto is waiting patiently, down on his knees at the foot of the bed, naked, just like Kiyoomi asked him to be and the sight of someone, of Bokuto , obeying Atsumu’s Omi to such a degree sends another wave of longing through his blood.
“Atsumu-san,” Akaashi says, not acknowledging Bokuto. “Lie down on the bed on your back.”
Swiftly, Atsumu listens. He crawls over Kiyoomi’s sheets, fresh from the laundry day they spent together yesterday, and though he’s spent countless nights sleeping and fucking in this bed it feels fresh and new and foreign as he settles down, resting his head just beneath the pillows.
There’s a pause that’s a little too long, and he can see Akaashi and Kiyoomi exchanging a look, but then Kiyoomi is standing over Bokuto, close enough that he’d be able to see the edges of Kiyoomi’s feet, even with his head bowed.
“Bokuto, look at me,” Kiyoomi says, voice naturally deeper than Akaashi’s, a low boom through the charged bedroom. Bokuto’s head snaps up to Kiyoomi’s and Kiyoomi raises his brows, just slightly. “You did well waiting.”
Atsumu can’t see Bokuto’s reaction, but there’s a flash of white hair flickering and Atsumu won’t be surprised if he learns Bokuto has a praise kink.
“Now I want you to show me your favorite thing to do for Akaashi,” Kiyoomi orders. “I want you to show me with Atsumu.”
Chest rapidly rising and falling, Atsumu braces himself, all too aware of Kiyoomi and Akaashi standing over the bed as Bokuto rises, crawling onto the mattress. There’s an intensity in Bokuto’s eyes, a focus similar to what Atsumu’s seen from him in the midst of a set. The man’s lashes hang low and heavy and Atsumu wonders if Bokuto’s heart is beating as wildly as his is.
Bokuto hovers over Atsumu for a moment, golden eyes scanning his, and for the first time Atsumu sees his attractiveness more than just passingly. The outside hitter’s obviously jacked, but there’s a, sort of, grace, almost, to the strong lines of the man’s jaw and cheekbones. His eyes are molten and precious like the gem they’re colored. When Bokuto lowers himself, their cocks brush and Atsumu gasps, just as Bokuto nuzzles into the crook of Atsumu’s neck. He nips a path down his chest, letting his cock trail down Atsumu’s thigh, and when he reaches a pert nipple, Atsumu moans at the sharp bite Bokuto gives him.
His tongue quickly laps over the sting, but there’s another nibble shortly after, stronger, sharper this time. Atsumu groans, arching up into Bokuto’s chest, but he gets no relief. Bokuto cycles through, licking, nibbling, licking, biting, over and over until Atsumu’s panting, squirming beneath him.
“Atsumu-san.”
His name cuts through the pleasure, but Bokuto doesn’t stop, won’t stop, Atsumu realizes, not until Kiyoomi tells him to.
But Akaashi is talking to Atsumu.
“Now it’s your turn,” he says through Atsumu’s poorly muted gasps. “Show me your favorite thing to do to Sakusa-san.”
Somewhere, in the back of Atsumu’s mind, he’s sure that he was once a composed person, even sexually. However, that part of him has completely bowed down, full seiza, to the fully clothed presence of Kiyoomi and Akaashi, watching him and directing him.
He grabs Bokuto by his biceps, tugging him away from his nipples, rewarding him with a pointed nip that burns , but he manages to force Bokuto further up the bed with reluctant compliance. He shoves the man back by the shoulders, maneuvering him until he’s sitting upright, barely hovering over Atsumu just enough so that he can slide down the bed.
Bokuto’s dick is still hard, but not quite throbbing, not quite pulsing and bright like Atsumu’s and he suddenly sees it as a challenge. Atsumu slips down between Bokuto’s thighs, letting his lower half fall right off the foot of the bed. He nuzzles Bokuto’s cock as he passes by it, eliciting a quick gasp from the man.
Then Atsumu is beneath him, Bokuto’s ass in full view.
He grabs a cheek in both hands and squeezes, kneads the perfectly round flesh, earning him more erotic sounds falling out of Bokuto’s lips in chaos. He lets his thumb stretch out, curving around Bokuto’s ass until it skims right over his tight, little hole. In one motion, he spreads Bokuto’s cheeks and yanks him down onto his face, his mouth already wet and ready as he licks over the hole once, then twice, and again. Bokuto cries out, tensing, but Atsumu forces him open, arms tense and hands full.
He laps at Bokuto, hungry and greedy, until he almost forgets about Kiyoomi, about Akaashi, and all he can think about is his absolute, unflinching need to fuck.
His tongue finally enters him, twisting and retreating and going back for more. The sounds-- the sounds that Bokuto makes are fuel to the blaze lit all the way back in the club by Akaashi’s body against his, by the taut tension between Kiyoomi and Akaashi all the way across the room.
A weight presses into the bed, but Atsumu doesn’t stop. He strains to reach further, deeper into Bokuto-- to taste him.
Then he hears, “You handle my greedy Atsumu well, Bokuto.”
Omi .
And then Bokuto is mewling, leaning forward over Atsumu’s face and into Kiyoomi. A wet sound reaches his ears and he realizes they’re kissing.
Omi and Bokuto are kissing.
Atsumu moans into Bokuto’s ass, but then there’s a warm, wet presence streaking up Atsumu’s dick and before he can fully register that it’s Akaashi’s tongue , his entire cock is being swallowed to the brim, forced back into a waiting throat and Atsumu gasps, turning to bite directly into Bokuto’s asscheek. Bokuto groans into Kiyoomi’s mouth and the chain reaction continues as Akaashi hums in pleasure around Atsumu’s cock.
Hands touch down on Atsumu’s hips and then he’s being moved, slid up the bed from under Bokuto. Vaguely, he hears the pop of a cap before Kiyoomi’s exposed cock is right before his eyes. His mouth opens unbidden, spit already smeared across his lips, dribbling down his cheeks. Kiyoomi adjusts his hips, angling to slide into Atsumu’s mouth as much as he can and Atsumu pulls him in with a dripping desperation.
Then there’s a thickly wet finger teasing over Atsumu’s entrance. His entire body goes slack, overwrought with pleasure as Akaashi’s tongue wraps around his cock. An arching moan from Bokuto and Atsumu’s sure Kiyoomi is also prepping him as one of his hands wraps around the second cock lingering above Atsumu’s face. He sucks on Kiyoomi’s dick beneath, lavishing it with attention and all the lust filled energy he has, hollowing his cheeks and pulling him in for more, more, more.
Someone snaps, but Atsumu’s too lost in the haze to know who.
Kiyoomi’s cock pops on his lips as he pulls out before Akaashi swallows Atsumu down his throat one last time, tearing a groan out of him. The fingers swirling inside him slow and retreat, Bokuto a heavy, gasping presence above him. Then Bokuto’s pushed down, falling to Atsumu’s side, and he’s vaguely aware of Akaashi grabbing the man by the hips to resettle him off of Atsumu.
Then Kiyoomi’s hands are on him, strong and demanding, yanking him around by the thigh and twisting him on the bed. Atsumu blinks through the fog of lust, only half aware of the whispered begging slipping out of his lips. Kiyoomi grabs him by the ass, tugging him closer before a bruising grip raises up one of his thighs.
A loud cry breaks out of Bokuto beside them as Akaashi starts to move.
Then Kiyoomi is at his entrance, one hand snaking up Atsumu’s body to wrap around his neck. He leans forward and Atsumu responds, unashamedly longing for the closeness.
Kiyoomi’s voice is at his ear when he whispers, “You did well.”
Then Kiyoomi buries himself into Atsumu in a single thrust.
Atsumu gasps, a breathy, “ Omi ,” leaving him, like his soul being seized right from his body. Kiyoomi’s fast and rough, pounding into Atsumu with an electric eagerness that reminds him of the first time, and Atsumu accepts it all, gladly.
The wet, smacking sounds of sweat covered bodies slapping together swells in the quiet room and after all the tension built upon and toyed with between them all, it doesn’t take anyone long. Bokuto is the first. He begs, pleads, prays , to Akaashi in airy cries of “ Keiji ,” until he groans sharp and loud and the sound is so close, so tangible and real that Atsumu meets all of Kiyoomi’s thrusts until the prickling stars cross over his vision and he comes all over himself, daring Kiyoomi to follow him over the edge with his pathetic whimpers.
He does.
Kiyoomi crashes over him, unraveling, completely undignified with sweat drenched curls sticking to his forehead and Akaashi falls soon after, letting the room grow silent after a last declaration of love. Kiyoomi droops over Atsumu, letting his full weight press against him and Atsumu finds himself wrapping his arms around him instinctively, holding him there.
Bokuto and Akaashi mumble sweet nothings, curling into each other, and not for the first time Atsumu considers letting their arrangement leave closed doors. Before tonight, he was content with the way things were, the hiding and the hot, secretive sex. Before tonight, he was okay with ignoring the nights spent with Kiyoomi adding up, stealing him away from his own home, even if they never ended the day naked. Before tonight, he was content to overlook that Kiyoomi keeps creamer in his fridge now and that they haven’t been to the grocery store without each other in two months. Before tonight, he never would have thought things could stay as heated, as overwhelming, as all consuming as they have been if they decided to turn truly domestic, open to the world and open to themselves.
“Aghaaaashi, can we get brownies on the way home?”
“Mmm, sure, Bokuto-san.”
Atsumu shifts and Kiyoomi follows, nestling further into the crook of Atsumu’s neck in a rare show of neediness. He feels a kiss pressed so lightly against his throat and he tightens his hold before touching a kiss down to Omi’s temple.
After tonight, Atsumu might just believe that anything is possible.