Work Text:
It’s funny, really, that Kiyoomi doesn’t remember when it started.
It was definitely after Shouyou entered the MSBY— made such a splash at the audition that the audience and members all stood there, agape and drowning in Shouyou.
Kiyoomi thinks it started somewhere around there. Not really, but at least for him that moment felt important somehow, when he saw Shouyou’s innocent smile full of pure unabashed love for volleyball— then he saw the boy turn around and he didn’t stop looking like the other guys, and his eyes met the curve of a sharper grin, something mischievous, some sort of I know I dazzled you, right? I know I got this in the bag.
He did. Obviously. Furiously pried open the gates into that little commune that was the MSBY locker rooms and changed the air and mood every time he walked in.
It started at the audition for Kiyoomi, but he doesn’t know when it started for Shouyou.
Probably around the time he started glancing at Kiyoomi in the locker room. Maybe somewhere around when Shouyou started crowding him against the metal doors when the room was empty of anything else but sweat, musk, and them.
Perhaps it only started when Shouyou lifted Kiyoomi by the thighs in the showers and fucked him raw against the cold tile as he moaned out sounds and words he didn’t even know his throat could muster. Even after he refused, It’s disgusting, I don’t have my gloves, I don’t have protection, all dying on his lips as Shouyou carved him open and whispered in his ear— “I knew you liked it dirty.”
He didn’t. Kiyoomi despised the filth. He despised it with every ounce of his being, even when the moans were fucked out of him in an echoing staccato.
Even then, there was some deep wise part of him that knew this is where it would end.
Shouyou tugged at the leash impatiently, prongs digging into Kiyoomi’s neck as he uselessly resisted— there was no point, not really, not when his cock drooled painfully between his legs to proudly announce the honesty his lips refused.
“You’re always so shy about walks,” Shouyou tuts, like he’s talking to a real, proper dog, like Kiyoomi’s refusal is nothing but a tantrum. “You need to go potty somehow, don’t you?”
There’s a part of him that wants to fight, Yes, in the bathroom, like a normal fucking human. But it dies in the muzzle squeezing at his cheeks and it rots in the heat of his gut as the vibrator marches on deep inside him, buzzing like a hive against his soft walls.
So Kiyoomi just whimpers, claws at the wooden floor and feels tears well up in his eyes while his knees shake beneath him.
Shouyou pauses.
“Are we good to go, Omi-chan?”
It takes long enough for Shouyou to even kneel down and move to unfasten the muzzle, but Kiyoomi finally pulls away, jostled by the prospect of not seeing this through.
Shouyou purses his lips, worry in his sunset eyes. “Are we good to go, or not?”
Kiyoomi lifts up a paw in a gesture he hopes is a little cute, even in his overgrown body full of muscle and no fur. And he barks softly.
The smile that grows on Shouyou’s face is worth it all. It grows, all sunrise and Summer breeze, and it keeps growing until the corners are sharp like knives and his eyes crinkle.
“Good boy.”
The words make every inch of Kiyoomi shiver almost painfully. He’s suddenly keenly aware of how it must feel to eat a full course meal on an emaciated stomach.
They do this at night and only when they’re visiting Shouyou’s little hometown. It’s quiet in the country, Kiyoomi notices, most of the population is too old or too young to be out at 2 or 3 in the morning, when the Sun doesn’t exist and the Moon barely so. The stars are pretty, and every time Shouyou opens the door to the smallish apartment he owns for both family-visiting and filthy-sex purposes, Kiyoomi takes a few long seconds to appreciate how bright the sky is when there are no buildings to cover it— before immediately feeling the shame envelop him like the clothes his brain aches for.
It’s never cold when they do this, but tonight it’s especially warm. The crickets and cicadas sing their opera as Kiyoomi feels the relief of the air conditioner die with the click of the doorknob, and the heat overtakes every inch of him in a wave.
Shouyou is always kind enough to allow him knee pads and gloves, both of which are black and bland, but provide enough padding for a short walk to the lamppost down the street. The problem is that the padding is hot, and Kiyoomi can feel sweat beading on his skin even now, mere minutes after he left the cool safety of their apartment.
Especially now, when his bladder is sloshing underneath a relentless vibrator, and his cock is hard and painful between his legs, and he’s still walking down the stairs of the small apartment complex, where Kiyoomi knows there’s a family that lives beside Shouyou (they just had a baby), and there’s a single man who lives underneath them, and there’s an older couple who lives right in front of the bottom of the staircase— among others Kiyoomi can’t remember beneath the fog clouding his brain.
“Is your bladder full, Omi-chan?” Shouyou asks kindly, sunshine smile plastered onto his face even if it doesn’t match his dark honeycomb eyes.
Kiyoomi nods exasperatedly and lets out a pathetic whimper. It’s true, it’s full, but more than that he will do anything to get Shouyou to walk faster. His embarrassment and fear hold tighter than the prong collar digging into his neck, eyes darting around as they’re slowly, painfully so, walking away from the view of the apartment windows— many of which are left open during the Summer, to his panic.
Shouyou whistles and hums to himself during the walk, keeping the leash curt so Kiyoomi crawls along right beside him. It’s about discipline, Omi-chan, he had said one day, when Kiyoomi tried to tug away to walk ahead, to get it done and over with faster. I have to show you who owns you, that’s how dogs should be trained.
And it melted the bark right out of him.
So Kiyoomi listens, walks next to Shouyou, distractions tempting him like sin— the sweat leaking down his thighs, the vibrator torturing his insides, the piss sloshing in his bladder with every step. Yet he’s able to keep up the same pace, careful and diligently. And he’s yearning full-body for the praise that will come as consequence of his unwavering discipline.
And then there’s a noise.
Kiyoomi is a creature of habit, of military routine, it’s easy to fall into a numb habit of box-checking within two, maybe three days of the same tasks. He prides himself in it— he doesn’t pride himself in the panic that fills him when Shouyou’s cell phone rings. At 3 in the morning.
Shouyou stops their walk and picks it up.
Kiyoomi wants to wail. The sudden destruction of his momentum obliterates any distraction from the pain in his bladder, the pleasure in his prostate, the ache around his neck, the heat enveloping his skin, and Kiyoomi whines loudly.
“Ah, Miya-san!”
Miya? Miya? Kiyoomi grits his teeth in the hot confines of his muzzle. Why in the hell is Miya calling Shouyou in the middle of the night? Why couldn’t he have called 10 minutes earlier or 10 minutes later?
“Yeah, I’m visiting Japan, actually… no, not yet… just walking my dog… hahah! It’s okay! I understand, I didn’t tell anyone I’d be back!” Then there’s a quick moment of silence as Shouyou chuckles and hums in assent. Kiyoomi head-bumps his thigh. “Down, boy. I’m on the phone. Sorry, my dog is still trying me a little, you know how puppies can be.” It comes as a threat, and Kiyoomi lowers his head in defeat. “Right, boy?”
There’s a pause too long and silent for it to have been a rhetorical question or acknowledgement. When Kiyoomi raises his head, he realises with a panic that Shouyou is waiting for him to answer.
“...Woof.”
Shouyou smiles once again, warm and loving, and gently combs Kiyoomi’s hair with calloused fingers as he continues his untimely call.
“Maybe you should meet him sometimes, Miya-san,” he grins widely. “He’s such a good boy. You’d love him.”
Kiyoomi freezes again, unsure if this is a threat, a promise, or a cheeky way to grind his gears. With Shouyou, there’s no way to know— his current situation being a perfect example of that. So he waits in the pain, ache, restlessness, and near tear-shedding anxiety for the two minutes that feel like two hours until Shouyou finally hangs up. He looks up expectantly at his owner.
Shouyou grins. “You’re leaking.”
Kiyoomi looks down, peers at his flushed cock leaking precome in a small puddle between his thighs. It doesn’t process in his brain as something worthy of acknowledgement, not with everything else hurling in a tornado in his poor puppy brain. He looks back up.
“Does that mean you’d want to meet Miya-san, Omi?” Shouyou continues, cocking his head. “Want him to see me walk you on a pretty leash so you can go potty down the street? Would you like that, Omi-chan?”
His eyes widen in terror, but Shouyou doesn’t grace him enough time for the words to dawn on him, let alone for a response. He tugs at the short leash, and his dog obediently picks up the pace Shouyou sets once again.
It hurts more now, and the anxiety and fear seem to be making Kiyoomi shake even under the Summer heat, even when his whole body feels like a furnace. He’s shivering head to toe, expertly squeezing his cock between his thighs as he trots down the street so the piss doesn’t leak, so the precome doesn’t leak further, and levels his breathing with the rhythm of the tireless vibrator, now definitely also pressing against his bladder.
When they finally reach the lamppost, Kiyoomi feels like crying.
He forgets about the phone call, forgets about the eerie question. All his brain can focus on is the seconds it takes to raise his leg and let his bladder loose, feel the relief and reward he deserves after all his diligence, all his obedience—
“Hold on.”
Kiyoomi’s inside seize in a panic as his legs slam shut again and he looks up pleadingly. Shouyou smiles warmly at him and pets his hair with gentle fingers.
“You were quite pushy back there, weren’t you?”
He lowers his head in regret and what can be best described as self hatred. Kiyoomi’s head swirls with despise for himself, his inability to just listen and do as he’s told.
Shouyou’s hand slides down to cup his chin— his snout, and he lifts up Kiyoomi’s face, honeycomb eyes trained on his emerald ones. It’s enthralling, even with the aching pressure in his gut, building up to searing pain as his whole body burns with the need to relieve himself.
“You’re a good dog for me,” Shouyou continues, gentle but with a firmness that makes every word sound like a testament. “And you always listen, right? No more whining when I have to take phone calls like that. Promise?”
Kiyoomi nods almost violently before looking back up with pleading eyes.
Shouyou slowly stands up to full height again, with a smile so kind and innocent it’s impossible to parse that he’s walking a grown man like a dog and making him piss on a lamppost in a residential street.
“Alright, go potty, then.”
It’s all Kiyoomi needs to whip his body back around and raise his leg. He takes a couple deep breaths to relax, to centre himself, to control his erection so the urine can finally make its way out.
It’s not an unfamiliar feeling when Kiyoomi feels his gut bloom in a full-body orgasm at the same time he hears and feels the trickle hit the concrete with a splash. Before long it’s a full on jet— he doesn’t even hold his dick, lets it twitch in the air as the piss hoses all around the lamppost and the sidewalk, splashing against his thighs and side, obnoxiously loud. Kiyoomi doesn’t even have a mind to think of how foul it all is, all the piss that’s slowly covering him, that’s trickling down his legs, mostly clear but still bright yellow under the light shining down on this disturbing version of himself. He’s too busy feeling the orgasm rock his body and wash over him in the rivulets of his veins, the vibrator pressing tight against his prostate as he wails and shakes and claws at the concrete with gloved fingernails, eyes rolling back and mouth slack with drool and pathetic moaning.
Shouyou pets him the whole time, praises him, Good boy and There you go, like he’s doing a fantastic job at pissing himself in public, like this is an amazing task he’s completing. Kiyoomi drinks it all in until his vision has spots and his whole body shivers with after-shakes. He comes down light as a feather and just as pliant as the jet of his urine slows into a trickle and then dies just as quickly as it began.
“Such a good job, Omi-chan,” Shouyou hums. He’s moving Kiyoomi somewhere, but he couldn’t give a fuck. He’s on cloud nine even when Shouyou gently sits him against the piss-soaked lamppost, even when Shouyou gently undoes the buckles of the muzzle to pull it off Kiyoomi’s face and shove it in his pocket, even when Shouyou undoes his own zipper and button and pulls out a fully hard cock inches from Kiyoomi’s drooling lips. “Now keep being a good dog for me, okay?”
He is. He’s such a good dog. Kiyoomi wants to cry when he feels the cockhead slide between his lips and down his throat without preamble, pressing his tongue down in a claustrophobic grip as Shouyou immediately began fucking into his mouth. Kiyoomi lets him, he’s a good dog, lets his owner fuck him hoarse in the middle of the street with a grip on his hair to keep him nice and still.
“Do you need to go potty some more, Omi-chan?” Shouyou coos at him, like the grip of his puppy’s throat doesn’t do much for his cock but provide a comfortable sleeve to park inside.
Kiyoomi whimpers in what he hopes is a yes, because he can feel his bladder is not done, can feel his kidney seemingly working full time the moment it realised there was more empty space to fill. Shouyou doesn’t stop, though— which means he doesn’t allow Kiyoomi to piss either, so he just squeezes his urethra shut with a grip around his dick and lets Shouyou have his fill of throat and drool.
“Don’t go yet,” Shouyou murmurs, uselessly. “I want to fuck it out of you.”
There’s a small panic that bubbles up in Kiyoomi’s gut, because what this means is that Shouyou did not intend for this walk to be short.
He obediently stays still, giving up on looking up into Shouyou’s eyes as his tears are now streaming uncontrollably, and just focusing on not throwing up.
It’s a focus that almost breaks when Shouyou stops abruptly and holds his cock in place, in the back of Kiyoomi’s tongue, head resting gently on twitching muscle— and with a heavy sigh, starts pissing down his throat.
This isn’t the first time, and won’t be the last.
The first time was embarrassing. Kiyoomi couldn’t hold back the vomit when it came hurling up his oesophagus. But with time he got used to it. Shouyou doesn’t do it always, only when he’s feeling particularly perverse, to test Kiyoomi. Can you handle it? Can you hold down your meal while your belly fills with precome and piss in a stew of your own acid? Can you swallow it down patiently, obediently, and without complaining?
It’s a test of many things, but especially a test of how much is Kiyoomi willing to let go of his own basic sense of humanity for Shouyou.
Sunshine Shouyou, made of beaming sunrise and innocent bravado— pissing down a man’s throat in the middle of the street for shits and giggles.
Kiyoomi doesn’t waste a drop, even if it tastes like battery acid and burns his throat like straight whiskey.
“Good boy,” Shouyou sighs out. He’s exasperated, even a little shocked in a bit of a hysterical way, when Kiyoomi blinks the tears away to look up. “Such a good boy for me, Omi-chan.”
He almost whimpers at the words, the taste in the back of his throat nearly forgotten. Worth it, all worth it.
“Do you still want to go potty again?” Shouyou asks, pulling his soft cock out gently so Kiyoomi can gulp down the last drops.
He forgot. Right. Kiyoomi nods.
Shouyou doesn’t need to ask, he’s already back on all fours with his back arched within a couple seconds. Kiyoomi feels the vibrator finally turn off, and his knees buckle under the sudden relief on his prostate. Shouyou doesn’t allow him much rest, though, immediately pulling his ass back up and then hooking fingers around the plug keeping him loose and wet.
“Deep breath, relax,” he warns Kiyoomi, who complies.
He breathes in, he breathes out, and the plug is pulled taut, then off entirely. Kiyoomi almost feels like his guts went out with it, bile building in his throat at the pain, but there’s a hand soothing him with gentle circles on his ass and he takes another deep breath, and it’s okay.
It’s okay, Shouyou is taking care of him. His boyfriend, his owner.
Kiyoomi can feel his hole squeezing around nothing, the stretched out walls loose and flaccid around each other almost uncomfortably so. And then there’s a finger, then two, then three, then four— no prep, his whole body unfurls for Shouyou like a task to be checked off a daily schedule, it’s just natural. He fits almost a whole fist inside him, knuckle grazing the rim like a threat or a tease, before Shouyou pulls his hand out and fills Kiyomi with a thick, hard, leaking cock.
There’s no preamble, no waiting, no slow pushes and pulls. Every inch of Kiyoomi is eager for every inch of Shouyou— he whimpers, his head drops between his shoulders and his mouth goes slack with a moan and drool as Shouyou fucks him violently.
Kiyoomi barks. He thinks he does, at least. He hears barking somewhere in the back of his melting brain and it seems wise to assume it’s his own, some animalistic instinct to announce to the world he’s having the piss fucked out of him by a man known best for being kind and innocent to everyone else.
“There you go, Omi-chan, so good for me, fuck…” Shouyou groans under his breath.
The calluses of his fingertips dig into the muscle of Kiyoomi’s hips, grabbing the layers beneath his waist like a handle so he can fuck his dog deeper, harder, ram his cock so deep into Kiyoomi’s insides he might be able to taste the skin and sweat in the back of his throat.
It’s soon enough that Kiyoomi feels Shouyou fuck him at an angle that rams at his bladder like a roaming missile. It’s brutal, he feels distantly that in a freak scenario Shouyou would’ve popped it like a balloon, but all it does is push the piss out of him as promised.
The relief was longed for. Kiyoomi sobs at it, whimpers and then collapses on the piss covered concrete from the second orgasm that ruptures through him. Shouyou keeps his ass up and continues to fuck the piss out of him relentlessly, and Kiyoomi forgets how to be a person.
There’s urine splashing directly against his chest, running down his thighs in rivulets, hosing on the concrete beneath him, and Kiyoomi is overtaken by the heat of the evening not offset even by the breeze that occasionally graces his poor body, and the smell and taste of piss all around him.
This must be what urinals feel like, he ponders to himself for a moment, inexplicably attracted to the notion.
It’s foul, all of it. Kiyoomi’s normal brain would’ve been physically repulsed by the mere thought, but Shouyou has a way (with words, touches, lips and cock) that makes it all just seem so desirable.
“You’re lifting your leg like a dog again,” Shouyou chuckles. And he’s right. Kiyoomi hadn’t even noticed he was doing so. Instinctively, maybe. Perhaps animalistic.
There’s very little person left in him and he’s terrifyingly fine with that.
“You want other people seeing you like this?” His owner starts again, still fucking him wet with piss and precum and leftover lube, still almost drowned by the force of the jet against the concrete as it still slowly waned into a trickle. “You seem to like it a lot. Every time I take you out for potty you get so excited.”
Other people? Others? Kiyoomi barely understands the concept. He lowers his leg as the piss drips down his spent dick and looks back at the man thrusting raw into him. His vision is blurry and his lips feel dry.
There’s a tug on the leash he forgot was there, on the collar that keeps him obedient, disciplined. The prongs dig into his neck painfully and make his lips drop open almost instinctively.
“Yes!” He howls, hoarse, like it’s his first word as a human being, like his throat isn’t used for elaboration further than that of a bark or a whimper. “Yes, I want it— god, god, Shouyou, please— I want it so, so bad, please, show me off— ahh, ahnn, ah-ah, I want, fuck, I want to be your dog, let them— oh, oh, ahh— let them see me being your bitch—”
Shouyou is dexterous at this, at making Kiyoomi humiliate himself more than Shouyou ever could humiliate him. There’s a sob in the back of his throat at the sound of his own words and it tastes of bile, piss, and broken shards of whatever he passed off as pride before this.
“Good boy, Omi-chan,” He sing-songs. “Such a good boy…”
When Shouyou slams his hips forward with a force that nearly knocks Kiyoomi over completely, he knows he’s almost done. A couple more strong thrusts into his used, raw insides and Shouyou finally spills inside him, holding his cock deep and flush in Kiyoomi’s ass so that his come snakes up the pup’s innards.
And when he doesn’t pull out immediately, Kiyoomi shivers at the knowledge of what’s coming.
Shouyou takes quite a few seconds of deep breaths and soothing shushes, rubbing gentle circles on Kiyoomi’s ass as he relaxes slowly, before the sizzling heat of piss fills Kiyoomi’s insides. It’s not as much as he drank— not nearly, but it’s still enough to feel sickening, to make his belly hurt and soften with the liquid filling him up the wrong-way.
He takes it all obediently, all the while Shouyou coos at him. “So good for me, puppy… just a little longer… so, so good…”
Kiyoomi feels less human than he’s ever been. There’s bile and acid in his throat and he swallows it all down, mixing everything up in a foul stew that feels and sounds repulsive— but it’s all Shouyou, all of it, even if it reeks, even if it stings, even if it invades every crevice and fold of his body, Kiyoomi takes it all in.
“There you go,” Shouyou sighs, content plastered all over his tone. “Now clench for me, yeah?”
He does, tightly, doesn’t let a drop spill out of him.
Kiyoomi isn’t surprised when the vibrator is shoved right back in without a preamble. Though turned off this time, blissfully.
It takes everything in him to not collapse on the concrete like a ragdoll. His knees already buckle wildly in the soaked pads, his elbows already feel numb from the weight and everything else. But when Shouyou whistles in a curt, soft command, Kiyoomi struggled back on his hands and knees.
“No, puppy,” he says, gently, so gently. Like cotton to his wounds. “Upsies. Let me take you home.”
Kiyoomi looks back almost shocked, like the thought never occurred to him no matter how many times this exact scenario happened. Shouyou walks to his front and kneels on the ground, pulls him up by the arms, and envelops Kiyoomi’s whole body around his.
It’s almost effortless for him to stand up, even with Kiyoomi's huge body as dead weight curled up against him. It shouldn’t be a surprise, he knows Shouyou deadlifts around twice his weight every other day, but it still makes him feel small, vulnerable.
The whole way back Shouyou praises him. Nearly ten whole minutes of, “You were so good” and, “You always do so amazing.” All the while Kiyoomi’s belly sloshes painfully and repulsively with urine, pressed right against Shouyou’s own hardened stomach almost as mockery.
As it always does, his self comes back little by little during the bath. Kiyoomi usually scrubs himself once, but does it thoroughly. Shouyou scrubs and rinses him twice over, every crevice and every fold, cleans up Kiyoomi like a sickly child after a day of playing in the mud.
“Feeling better?” That sunshine smile greets him after a curtain of warm water gently falls from Kiyoomi’s head with conditioner and foam.
He squints at Shouyou. “If you actually involve anyone else in this I will literally kill you.”
The guy laughs good-heartedly, like Kiyoomi regaining his conscience is a humorous scene he was bracing himself for.
“Of course, of course,” Shouyou nods in a mockery of seriousness.
“I’m not joking.”
He smiles at Kiyoomi with a raised eyebrow. “I know. I’d never do that to you… without talking to you, obviously.”
“I’m not letting you do it.”
“You should open yourself up to more possibilities.”
“Like the possibility of Miya Atsumu pissing in my mouth?” He sneers, the thought alone bubbling up the bile in his already volatile stomach. “No, thank you.”
Shouyou chuckles, gently taking cotton with soap to the crevices of Kiyoomi’s nails and cuticles, before doing the same to his toes. “You’re always cuter in puppy mode.”
“You’re always less of a clown then, too.”
He jokingly makes honking sounds with his mouth, and Kiyoomi finds himself smiling, maybe even holding back a chortle.
Shouyou lifts himself up on his knees to place a kiss on Kiyoomi’s lips. Even sitting on the shower bench, he finds he has to lean down to reciprocate it.
It’s funny when reality hits him, Shouyou’s stature always seems immense when he’s collared, like some heavenly entity whose only believer and servant is him. Now, their heights feel more real, tangible, and Kiyoomi finds fondness and some sick vulnerability in his chest for this dynamic, too.
Kiyoomi snarls at Shouyou when the guy jokingly suggests he should cook for them, but he’s already digging in the fridge for the takeout leftovers they were planning to dig into.
There’s a gentle domesticity to it all, even after the humiliatingly animal scene that preceded this. Kiyoomi was never a man to think of himself as someone who would cuddle with someone on the couch, who would allow someone to kiss him goodnight, who would reciprocate loving words with anything but disgust— yet here he is, watching Hinata Shouyou build the equivalent of a love nest on the couch that dents in the middle rather than the sides.
Kiyoomi doesn’t know for sure when it started, when Shouyou shoved his way into his life, all smiles and complete lack of personal space and room literacy, and carved a space for himself so deep into the ground that it blossomed into something terrifyingly real.
Shouyou likely doesn’t know either. Kiyoomi doubts he thinks about it at all.
“I’ll carry you to the bed if you fall asleep this time,” Shouyou says, so absentmindedly and he doesn’t even seem to realise what it means. “You tend to get real tired after these scenes.”
Obviously, you little shit.
When they settle on the couch with air conditioning blasting so they can cuddle up under the blankets, Shouyou’s head fits perfectly in the dip of his neck, warm and soft, red hairs tickling his cheek, and even if the film Shouyou picks is obnoxiously loud and Kiyoomi’s whole body screams with aches both dull and sharp, he finds it easy, so easy to fall into a dreamless, deep sleep.
But not so deep he can’t hear the murmur beside him before he does, “‘Night, pup.”