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Kiyoomi’s always described himself as methodical, focused guy. Thorough in all things and careful about his actions. He never leaves things unfinished.
It’s how he finds it incredibly easy to map out every part of your body, every twitch, every moan, every soft pant of his name that comes from your lips. He knows your tells better than the back of his hand, knows what makes your back arch, what makes you tighten around his cock, what makes you an even wetter, writhing mess beneath him.
He has your hands pinned down to the bed, fingers intertwined with yours as he keeps up his hard, steady rhythm. Neither of you were in a hurry; you’d encouraged him to take his time tonight. Earlier when he came home he found you rubbing your eyes and petting your cat, a stressed frown on your lips instead of the content smile he’s so used to seeing. A tedious day, it seems.
That night, after the two of you finished your self-care routines, you clung to his arm and batted your lashes as you asked sweetly, “Can ya help me de-stress? Make me forget?”
Of course he could. Because he knows how to tease you, how to get you worked up, how to knead your senses like clay beneath his careful touch until your mind is as pliant as your body.
Your hand squeezes around his after a particularly deep thrust. You pull your legs up a bit more, surrendering yourself as much as you can, and moan softly in his ear. “ Fuck ...right there, Omi. Again, please, please. ”
Your pussy flutters around him and he groans into your ear. He latches his mouth over yours, leaning over you a bit more, rolling his hips against you harder as he presses deeper into you. You arch your chest into him with a high-pitched moan and he whines a bit as you briefly suck on his tongue before he pulls away to mouth at your neck.
Your voice is breathy as you pant, “Ya feel so good , baby. I love...I love ya- ah, fuck me, yes. ”
His hips jerk out of his rhythm at your voice. He’s not sure how or when you figured out how much he loves how thick your Kansai drawl gets when he’s inside of you, or how much he loves hearing you speak so filthily to him. A part of him knows that, like him, you also have every part of him mapped out: what makes his cock twitch, how quickly you can get him hard, what causes his hips to stutter forward.
(Another part of him wants to somehow blame Atsumu, but then he has to reconcile that with Atsumu possibly knowing about his sex life, and that’s...unappealing.)
“O-Omi,” you breathe out. He kisses his way back up to your mouth, slides his tongue in first before he seals his mouth around yours, then pulls back a few seconds later, resting his forehead against yours. He feels you squeeze around his cock, your hips weakly buck up against his and he grits his teeth.
Fucking hell, you feel amazing.
“Gimme some more,” you whisper sweetly. “I’m close- gonna cum soon. Gimme more, please baby?”
It takes him several more thrusts before he’s of a mind to weakly ask, “M-More…?” And any other time he’d feel like an idiot, barely able to form single-word sentences, but that’s the thing. He’s laser-focused anywhere else, but whenever he’s this deep inside you his mind goes completely blank.
“More of you .” You bat your lashes at him again. “More of your cock. I want all of it. Please?”
That flips a switch in him.
Soon afterwards, he has you almost bent in half, your knees going back as far to your chest as they’re able. Looking at you, he could get addicted to the blissful look on your face, the way you gaze at him with lust and adoration in your eyes. All of his weight balances on his arms (the strong arms he knows you love so much) as Kiyoomi fucks you in earnest, knowing that whatever stress that stuck to your mind is gone, replaced with thoughts of how diligently he’s splitting you in half on his fat cock.
“I-I’m- fuck .” You’re having a hard time forming sentences yourself, it seems, where normally you allow filthy words to flow from your lips so easily. He fucks you harder, relishing how much of an unintelligible mess you are, just like him. Your fingers find their way to your clit and you start rubbing quick circles into it. “Omi, Omi , fuck, it’s- it’s-”
He leans his head down to yours again, puts his weight on one forearm as the other gently bats your hand away from your clit and he starts rubbing firm circles on it himself. He knows what you’re trying to say - what you’re too fucked out to say, so with the last bit of coherence he has left before he gets completely lost in you, Kiyoomi growls in your ear.
“Whose is it?”
“It’s yours .”
You’re cumming before you can even finish your thought, holding Omi close as you cream around his cock, sucking him in further, further, until he’s barely able to keep himself together and he’s spilling himself inside of you. His hips move on their own, gentle little thrusts as he works his cum deeper inside of you.
Kiyoomi rests his head on your shoulder, allowing both of you a moment to come down from your shared high and back into the sticky mess you have to clean up. You practically soaked him, as he pulls away from you with remnants of your slick all over his lower abdomen and both of your thighs.
“It feels like I’m in the sky,” you mutter dreamily. “I can’t move yet.”
The sound of a cat pawing at your door, followed by a loud mrrreow spurs you on anyway. You blow a raspberry and take a deep breath. “Right. I’ve gotta feed Mochi, I missed his dinnertime.” You reach an arm towards him. “Help me get clean?”
Kiyoomi doesn’t hide the skeptical rise of his brow. “We’re just getting clean? You’re not planning anything else in the shower?”
You put on an obviously fake pout. “Omi, what do ya mean? I just want some help in the shower, it’s hard for me to walk with wobbly legs.”
He sighs, but he’s not really disappointed, because he knows you. He knows your tells, he knows when you’re deliberately trying to be coy, he knows when you’re trying to goad him on again.
He’s always been thorough. He’s thorough when he inevitably fucks you again in the shower with his hand around your throat, and again when he bends you over the back of the couch, firmly asserting to you that it’s the “last time” before finally heading to bed.
When you’re sleeping with one leg thrown over both of his, clinging tightly to him, he feels exhaustion settle into his body, but he’s satisfied. He never leaves things unfinished, after all.