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Atsumu, at most times, doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. Some people would say it’s a curse; others find it irresistible. Atsumu has always been fond of his ability to say exactly what comes to his mind the moment it does. It saves him from a lot of awkward beating around the bush — it’s what got him Kiyoomi, after all.
Blurted out confessions are one thing; constantly keeping his boyfriend updated on his stream of consciousness is another, but this — this is out of his comfort zone.
“Hey, uhh, Omi,” he begins, and then promptly shuts his mouth. He can’t begin his proposition with something so casual. There has to be more meaning behind it. He should set up some kind of elaborate, candle-light dinner to phrase his question. “Baby, I was thinkin’ — no, that’s dumb.”
“Are you talking to the mirror?”
Atsumu yelps at a frequency probably not audible to humans. Kiyoomi is in the doorway, smirking. If Atsumu wasn’t in love, that smirk would be the most annoying thing in the world, but unfortunately, it’s adorable and flusters him even further. “No, what the fuck, that would be so dumb.” He clears his throat so violently that he nearly chokes. “You’re home way earlier than I thought you would be.”
“You know I can only handle Motoya in small increments,” Kiyoomi says. “Do you always practice your public speaking when I’m gone?”
“Don’t need to practice it,” Atsumu grumbles. His face heats up and he knows based on Kiyoomi’s continuous grin that he’s about as red as a tomato. Kiyoomi lives to embarrass Atsumu. He does a miniature walk of shame from the mirror to their bed, dropping down on it with a thump of defeat. “I was tryin’ to — ah, hell, this is so humiliating. Let’s pretend it didn’t happen. So, how was your trip?”
“When has changing the subject ever once worked on me?” Kiyoomi sits next to him on the bed. “And this isn’t exactly any more embarrassing than anything else you do on a regular basis.”
“You’re the absolute worst at comfortin’ people, ya know that?”
Kiyoomi hums, but doesn’t speak, which is a signal for Atsumu to fess up. He sighs. This is purgatory. He’s regretting every action that led him here.
“I was thinkin’ about some stuff, and, like, how to ask ya about it,” he mutters. “Stuff like — bedroom stuff.”
“Your inability to say the word ‘sex’ out loud when you spend the majority of every week begging for my dick has always been endearing to me.”
“Omi, I’m gonna leave.”
“And go where?”
Atsumu curses under his breath. Kiyoomi has him there — where’s he going to go? To Osamu? He’ll kick his ass right back to Osaka, laughing the entire way.
“Tell me what you want, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says, and it wasn’t necessarily Atsumu’s intention to get turned on by this very serious conversation, but Kiyoomi says things like that and he’s just — what is he supposed to do?
Well, here goes nothing.
“Have ya ever considered … ” he trails off. “Would ya want to, maybe, like, tie me up?” He closes his eyes, and then when Kiyoomi doesn’t immediately burst out into laughter, or dial a relationship therapist, he opens them again. Okay, that’s encouraging, enough for Atsumu to confidently blurt out, “Put a collar on me? Maybe hit me a little? Ya know, kinky stuff.”
Well, once the dam breaks, it’s always easier. They don’t call Atsumu the Champion of Word Vomit online for nothing — he has plenty of interviews that vouch for his inability to hold back. He still stares at the ceiling, refusing to look at Kiyoomi’s face.
It lasts for all of three seconds. When Atsumu meets his eyes, Kiyoomi is smirking. Again .
“What put this idea in your head?”
“Uh, just came up with it on my own?”
Kiyoomi continues to look at him. Atsumu frowns, defeated.
“I was readin’ some erotic books that Bo recommended — don’t ya dare clown me.”
“Ah, smut recommendations from Bokuto,” Kiyoomi muses. “I can only imagine how fascinating they are.”
“They are!” Atsumu insists. “And this one in particular — yeah. There’s a lot of, like, bondage stuff. I dunno, we’ve never talked about it, but ya seem like the type to be into it.”
“Everybody thinks that,” Kiyoomi mutters. “Why?”
“Because ya just have the whole dominant vibe goin’ on — wait, who’s said that? An ex?” Atsumu pouts.
“No, Yachi, once, after several drinks. She told me I looked like men would pay to be stepped on by me and I would enjoy it.”
Atsumu swallows. “Yup, she’s right there.”
“I don’t see it.” Kiyoomi shrugs. “You want me to hit you?”
“Possibly,” Atsumu says. He and Kiyoomi have a very healthy and very active sex life, but it leans towards the vanilla side. Atsumu has no issue with this — he’d be content to stare into Kiyoomi’s eyes in missionary for the rest of his life, truly, but once his curiosity is piqued, he has a hard time letting a thought go until he’s thoroughly explored it.
And Kiyoomi tying him up, manhandling him, being a little less tender and a little more rough — well, isn’t that a visual.
Kiyoomi hums while he considers it. “I don’t particularly want to hurt you, but if it’s something you wanted, then I’m sure I could channel all of my anger over you forgetting your socks all around the house.”
“Oh my God, Omi, let it go. It’s not my fault they fall out of my arms when I’m bringin’ laundry into the room!”
“If you would just use the laundry basket — ”
“Okay, okay, not the foreplay I’m lookin’ for,” Atsumu interrupts. “But ya don’t have to, like, hit me that hard. Just maybe, lay me over your lap, spank me, pull my hair or yank me back by a collar.”
“It’s a nice idea,” Kiyoomi admits. “You talk a lot in bed, and it would shut you up.”
“Hey, ya like my voice!”
“I would probably like it even more if you were begging.”
That silences Atsumu immediately — actually, it may have killed him. Dead on impact from Kiyoomi’s words alone. He tries not to trip over his tongue when he asks, “So, are ya down then? To try it?”
“Give me a week,” Kiyoomi tells him. Then he kisses Atsumu on the top of the head and disappears from the room, leaving Atsumu half-hard from the promise alone.
“Omi, wait! Don’t leave me like this. Let me sit on your dick!”
-x-
Kiyoomi likes to do extensive research before committing to anything — not just, like, buying a car or other big life decisions, but everything. He picks restaurants for date nights out two weeks in advance so he can memorize the menu. He reads the synopsis of every show they watch (and spoils deaths for himself! Willingly!) Sex is no different. When he and Atsumu first got together, Kiyoomi was meticulous in preparing himself for their sex life, demanding Atsumu tell him in detail everything that he was into so Kiyoomi could make sure he was adequately ready.
It’s adorable, in that odd sort of way that Kiyoomi is.
Kiyoomi sits on the couch, now, with Atsumu’s head in his lap, absent-mindedly carding his fingers through Atsumu’s hair with one hand, and reading something on his phone with another.
“Whatcha readin’, baby?” Atsumu asks. He would rather they were watching TV, or TikTok, but he’s plenty stimulated by just Kiyoomi’s touch. “Anythin’ I’d like?”
“Yes, I think so,” Kiyoomi answers. “I’m shopping for you.”
“A present!” Atsumu gasps, and then the panic sets in. “Oh shit, it’s not our anniversary any time soon, and my birthday just passed — what am I forgettin’?”
“Nothing.” Kiyoomi’s gentle touches turn reassuring. “This is just something I know you’ll enjoy.”
Love swirls in Atsumu’s stomach. Kiyoomi is always doing that — buying Atsumu things whenever he’s reminded of him. “Aw, ya spoil me. My Omi-Omi.”
Kiyoomi hums in response, and Atsumu, nearly asleep from the movement of Kiyoomi’s fingers, closes his eyes and forgets about it.
Approximately three days later, he brings a box into the apartment and remembers. “Is this my gift?”
“Hmm?” Kiyoomi is in the kitchen. He’s wearing an apron — a bright yellow one that Atsumu swiped from Osamu and presented to Kiyoomi because he likes ugly, neon colors. It clashes violently with everything he owns. Atsumu loves it. “Oh, it arrived quicker than I thought. You shouldn’t open it right now. We’re about to eat.”
“So?” Atsumu crinkles his nose.
“It’s going to distract you, and I don’t want the food to get cold.”
“Distract me?”
“Eat first, present later.”
“You’re always so pushy on your nights to cook,” Atsumu grumbles.
“Because if I’m not, you won’t eat it and will order take out because you ‘forgot I was cooking’.”
Atsumu can’t deny that. His Omi, his sweet, wonderful Omi is perfect in so many ways — but cooking is not one of them. He’s getting there, though. After workshopping with Osamu several weekends in a row, they’ve crossed the threshold into ‘edible’.
“Alright, alright, let’s eat.”
Atsumu wolfs down his food (it’s a personal best for Kiyoomi — enough that he gets seconds, and not just because he wants to see the proud look on Kiyoomi’s face) and then shoots into the living room to get the package. Atsumu loves gifts and he loves surprises even more, so he’s ready to tear into the box. Kiyoomi stops him.
“Let’s open it in the bedroom.”
Atsumu’s eyes widen. “A kinky gift!”
He hasn’t forgotten their conversation, but Kiyoomi didn’t specify what types of things he was thinking about. Atsumu told him he didn’t have any preferences — he just wanted to try it all out, and Kiyoomi nodded and went to work with that. It could be anything, a whole variety of dirty, debauched toys, and Atsumu can’t wait.
Kiyoomi doesn’t beat around the bush. “Yes.”
“Okay!” Atsumu hauls the box to his chest and races to the bedroom like a child about to open Christmas presents. Kiyoomi pads behind him, though much slower, and when he sits down on the bed, Atsumu tears into it. It’s quick work, and he marvels when he gets all of the packaging out of the way. “Sheesh, ya really went all out.”
“You know I don’t know how to half-ass things.”
Atsumu snorts, but his heart skips a few beats as he takes in the collar — the collar that Kiyoomi bought for him to wear . Around his neck. During sex. It’s gorgeous, and probably more expensive than Kiyoomi will admit because he’s way too casual with that credit card of his. It’s leather, covered in shiny little jewels.
“Are you short-circuiting?”
“A lil’ bit,” Atsumu admits. “Oh, this is why ya measured my neck last week.”
Kiyoomi shrugs. “I wanted to keep it a surprise but didn’t think you’d actually believe me that I was comparing our neck sizes for our Olympic bios.”
Atsumu flushes. “Well, seemed par for the course with me,” he mutters. “This is real pretty, Omi. I wanna wear it. Right now.”
“I’ll put it on for you,” Kiyoomi says, and his voice has turned low and soft, a delicious tone that often stars in Atsumu’s wet dreams. He nods, a little too eager, and scoots forward on his knees so he’s planted right in front of Kiyoomi. Atsumu hands over the collar, trying to steady his frantically beating heart.
Atsumu wouldn’t say he’s submissive by nature — actually, not even close. He’s stubborn and thick-headed and never knows when to walk away from a fight, but sometimes, in bed with Kiyoomi, he gets pretty close to docile. It’s something about Kiyoomi looming over him, corded muscles flexing, hips moving, that just gets Atsumu to shut up for once in his life. It’s the only way they’ve ever done it, and this would take it to a new level.
Kiyoomi is careful when fastening the collar around Atsumu’s neck. His fingers brush over the exposed skin, lighting Atsumu up like a firework. He takes a hefty gulp, eyes never leaving Kiyoomi’s face, taking in his concentrated, nervous expression.
“Ya good, Omi? Thought I’d be the one freaking out about this.”
Truly, Atsumu is relatively calm for the subject matter. Having sex with Kiyoomi has nearly driven him to panic several times — especially in the beginning — but now, he’s subdued as Kiyoomi locks the collar in, testing to make sure it isn’t choking Atsumu too much.
Kiyoomi, on the other hand, seems to be sweating. He glares at Atsumu for daring to suggest so, though, because Kiyoomi is nothing if not adamant on his constantly collected persona. “Obviously I’m good ,” he grumbles. “It’s just — tight. Can you breathe? Your color is …?”
Atsumu inhales deeply. “Green. And sure can. Gettin’ great oxygen.”
Kiyoomi frowns. He seems unconvinced, and he pulls at the collar as if to test it. Atsumu stumbles forward, just a bit, right into Kiyoomi’s personal bubble. His lips are right there, and his fingers are still curled around the collar, so Atsumu goes for it. He surges forward to kiss him, and Kiyoomi lets go of the collar instantly.
“Don’t gotta worry like that, baby,” Atsumu mumbles. “The point is for it to be tight. I like it.”
“You do?” Kiyoomi already sounds weak. It’s never difficult, to get him to this level. Kiyoomi is sensitive, all high-pitched moans and desperate pleas. God, it’s a sight to see him in bed. Atsumu will never stop thanking his lucky stars for scoring someone as beautiful as Kiyoomi. His hands scramble now, fumbling for a grip around Atsumu’s neck, and Atsumu kisses him harder, fully focused on giving into the sensations.
It’s so easy to get lost in kissing. Atsumu feels like a teenager when he and Kiyoomi make out — like he’d be content to do nothing else for hours, just lazy hands wandering and breathing in each other. Normally, Atsumu would let things run their course, and if they spent more time than strictly necessary kissing, then so be it, but there’s a goal to be accomplished today. Atsumu is far too antsy to linger in the familiarity — he wants to plow forward into the unknown.
The collar is nice, but it’s also sort of easy to forget with Kiyoomi not doing much with it. Atsumu’s worn enough chokers to be used to the sensation of having something around his neck, so it’s more of just an accessory than anything.
Atsumu takes it upon himself to take things up a notch. He detaches himself from Kiyoomi’s lips and curls his fingers under his shirt. “Let’s get this out of the way.”
Kiyoomi undresses easily and willingly, letting Atsumu strip him down to nothing, but he lingers on Atsumu’s clothing — namely, on the collar.
“It’ll stay on even if ya take everythin’ else off,” Atsumu simpers. “Ain’t that a pretty sight?”
Kiyoomi nods, slow and careful. He doesn’t say anything, which is weird — Kiyoomi, for all he acts haughty and aloof, never misses an opportunity to tell Atsumu he looks good. He does, however, yank his shirt over his head, so Atsumu can’t be too put off by it. His pants follow after, and then Kiyoomi’s attention is on his cock, so he doesn’t really think about anything else at all.
This would be the perfect part to get really into it — the collar feels heavy and hot around his neck, and Atsumu drags himself into Kiyoomi’s lap, maneuvering his hands so they’re gripping his ass. Kiyoomi gropes him, and Atsumu grinds against him, but he makes no other moves — and Atsumu is getting a bit frustrated.
“Omi,” he says against Kiyoomi’s lips. “Remember how we were tryin’ somethin’ new today?”
“Yes,” Kiyoomi answers.
“I’m real eager to get to the actually tryin’ it part,” he insists. “Didn’t ya say ya had some pent up aggression to get out?”
Kiyoomi frowns, but he grips Atsumu’s ass harder, enough to sting, and that’s what he was looking for — maybe Kiyoomi is just shy. He comes across as aggressively confident and he is, verbally, in situations where he’s comfortable, but he’s really more of a softie than anything. He has anxiety when new things come up, so Atsumu should be patient — he can be. He would be, if Kiyoomi would just show any interest.
Atsumu can take on a lot of burden, but he needs to feel desired, and right now, it seems like Kiyoomi is just going through the motions.
And it sends a spike of nerves through Atsumu that he hasn’t experienced since he and Kiyoomi first started doing this together — the fear of not being adequate, of not being enough for Kiyoomi, and it triggers something nasty inside of him.
“Are ya even into this at all?” It comes out as a snap, a whip cracked against the room. Atsumu actually raised his voice. He never raises his voice at Kiyoomi, never has any reason to. They have an infuriatingly calm way of arguing that involves hefty communications and periods for cooling down. He hasn’t yelled at Kiyoomi in — well, probably ever.
He immediately senses his mistake, because Kiyoomi’s eyes widen into saucers.
And then Kiyoomi blushes, all pink and pretty and his eyes turn misty.
“What was that?” Atsumu demands. “Why did ya just look at me like that?”
“I didn’t look at you like anything,” Kiyoomi says, all in a rush. “We can keep going. I am into it.”
“No, ya aren’t,” Atsumu grouses. But there was something else in Kiyoomi’s eyes then — something Atsumu has seen many, many times. Kiyoomi is quiet and particular with his words, but his facial expressions reveal anything he tries to hide. Atsumu knows that look. “You’re into somethin’, though. Was it — was it me yellin’ at ya?”
Kiyoomi’s frown deepens. Atsumu smooths out the crease in between his eyebrows, an instinctual movement. His anger has abated entirely, replaced with a searing curiosity.
A sigh, and then, “I don’t think I’m cut out for being dominant.”
“But ya always top,” Atsumu says, bemused. Kiyoomi loves to take charge, loves to hold Atsumu down, and —
Well, actually, usually Atsumu is taking the reins when it comes to that. He maneuvers Kiyoomi’s hands; he bounces on his cock; he tears at Kiyoomi’s hair to pull him in closer, deeper …
“Oh,” he answers. “ Oh .”
“I’m trying,” Kiyoomi grumbles, “But I — it’s hard. I don’t want to hurt you, and it’s … it’s not like you, to be submissive. I don’t like it.”
It may be like pulling teeth to get Kiyoomi to say what he wants in bed, but similar to Atsumu, once the dam has been broken, it all flows out. He’s refusing to make eye contact, pouting like a big baby, and sudden clarity washes over Atsumu.
He unbuckles the collar from his neck.
“I can do it,” Kiyoomi insists, reaching out, but Atsumu smacks his hand away. He takes it off, rubbing his neck where it was, and realizes that — yeah, it wasn’t really doing much for him either.
“No, you’re not gonna do somethin’ ya don’t wanna do — but we can do somethin’ ya do wanna do, Omi. Ya think this would fit ya?”
Kiyoomi stares at him, realization dawning over his features, coloring his cheeks. “Probably … ”
“How d’ya feel about switchin’ things up for once?” Atsumu asks, all in a rush, and it makes so much fundamental sense as soon as he understands it. Kiyoomi loves to be taken care of, coddled. He has a praise kink for Christ’s sake — how could Atsumu be so naive? It’s obvious. “I think ya might like this more if I was the one takin’ charge, hmm?”
The blush, impossibly, darkens, and Kiyoomi looks like he’s torn between fleeing the scene and pushing Atsumu out of his lap so he can clamber in Atsumu’s instead. He eyes the collar, then Atsumu’s hands, then meets his gaze.
Kiyoomi swallows. “I think I want you to fuck me.”
That catches Atsumu off-guard — he thought he would ride Kiyoomi, take control that way, but he’s never — well, he’s topped before. Obviously, he has, but not with Kiyoomi. They fell into a dynamic right away and Atsumu never thought to question it. Atsumu enjoyed the way they were.
But to think he could be inside Kiyoomi; he could break him down, take him apart. It’s way too tempting to pass up.
“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll take real good care of ya, Omi. Ya wanna wear this?”
Kiyoomi nods, quicker than he ever has. The flush is a permanent fixture on his face now, painting him as a gorgeous, bashful painting. Kiyoomi is shy — but he’s always bold in the face of Atsumu. This is a novelty; it should be cherished.
Still in Kiyoomi’s lap, Atsumu clicks the collar into place around Kiyoomi’s neck. Something rushes through his veins at the sound of it connecting, at how pretty it looks against his skin — it’s a surge of power, a desperate want. Atsumu slips a finger under it and pulls Kiyoomi into a bruising, open-mouthed kiss.
This time, there’s no hesitation. Atsumu is driving, so it isn’t gentle. Kiyoomi’s hands go to Atsumu’s back immediately, nails digging in, but Atsumu doesn’t want to make it easy for Kiyoomi — if he wants to play this role, then Atsumu will make sure he falls into it perfectly. He yanks on the collar, startling Kiyoomi into dropping his hands, and pulls away.
“No touchin’, Omi. Think you can do that? I wanna touch ya for a while, uninterrupted.”
Kiyoomi pouts, and Atsumu mimics it, exaggerating the jut of his lips.
“Be good, baby. If ya touch me, I’ll have to punish ya for it.”
“How?” There’s a delicious tremble in Kiyoomi’s voice, and it goes straight to Atsumu’s groin. He didn’t think Kiyoomi would be so into this, so affected by it, but his cock is hard and his abs are tense, like he’s already working hard to keep his hands from flying back to Atsumu’s body.
Kiyoomi may want to be submissive tonight, but that doesn’t take away from his defiant nature. As if testing the waters, he places a hand on Atsumu’s thigh — gentle, barely there. He rubs his palm over him, teasing the skin.
Atsumu smacks it away and Kiyoomi chokes on a gasp. Atsumu raises an eyebrow at him, a silent question, but Kiyoomi doesn’t answer. He just takes his hands away and places them behind his back.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Ya got it.” It’s easy for Atsumu to find the words to say, to fall into this position of power, and judging by the way Kiyoomi’s eyes dilate at the praise, he’s into it too. Why haven’t they done this earlier? It’s intoxicating. “Just let me do what I want with ya and I’ll give ya what ya need, sound good?”
Kiyoomi doesn’t answer, and Atsumu slides his hand down Kiyoomi’s back and lets it land on his ass. He gives no warning, just raises it and smacks it down hard. Kiyoomi moans, unabashed, and ruts against Atsumu’s thigh.
“I want ya to answer me when I talk to ya.”
“Yes,” Kiyoomi hisses. “Yes, do whatever you want — fuck.”
Atsumu intends to. He shifts them, pushes Kiyoomi further back onto the bed, making sure he’s propped up comfortably against the pillows. This may be Atsumu’s idea, but it’s Kiyoomi’s desire, and Atsumu wants to make it as memorable and mind-blowing as possible for him so they can do it again and again and again.
Atsumu hovers over Kiyoomi on all fours, caging him in under him. He reaches for the collar, lightly caressing it before using it to yank Kiyoomi up to him, capturing his mouth. The kiss is sloppy and Kiyoomi groans into it, keeping his fingers tightly gripping the bed sheets. Next time they do this, Atsumu will tie him up — he can already see Kiyoomi struggling against rope.
“You’re so much nicer than usual, Omi,” Atsumu teases. “I could get used to havin’ ya under me like this.”
“Don’t,” Kiyoomi responds through gritted teeth, but he chases Atsumu’s lips all the same and bucks his hips up into nothing, searching for some friction. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Oh, too late.” Atsumu tugs at the collar again, drawing a breath from Kiyoomi’s lips. “I like feelin’ like I own ya — usually it’s me sayin’ I’m yours, but you’re mine right now.”
Kiyoomi whimpers , and Atsumu breaks after that. With one finger still on the collar, Atsumu wraps a hand around Kiyoomi’s cock. It’s too dry, but Kiyoomi doesn’t seem to mind — he thrusts up into Atsumu’s grip, mumbling under his breath, an incoherent string of pleas.
“Ya beg so pretty,” Atsumu groans, losing his own composure. It’s hard to stay disciplined when Kiyoomi is — is like this: debauched, desperate, and they’ve barely done anything. Atsumu releases him and Kiyoomi lets out a horrified whine.
“I didn’t touch,” he says. “I didn’t — ”
“Oh, Omi,” Atsumu says, he strokes his thumb over the collar, fingering the corner of Kiyoomi’s pulse-point. “My sweet Omi — ya didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just lookin’ for the lube so I can open ya up. Stay quiet for just a minute.”
Kiyoomi doesn’t listen. Atsumu is half-convinced he’s doing it on purpose, because when his hand smacks down on his ass again, Kiyoomi closes his eyes and opens his mouth in a silent moan, a shiver wracking his body. Kiyoomi was made for this — he’s an enigma, a complete one-eighty from what Atsumu thought. What other things about Kiyoomi hasn’t Atsumu observed?
Well, he has all the time in the world to figure that out.
Right now, Atsumu needs to get his fingers in him.
He locates the lube, tossed haphazardly onto the bed and uncaps it, drizzling liquid over his fingers. Kiyoomi scoots back and spreads his legs automatically — open, inviting.
“You’re such a sight,” Atsumu sighs. “And you’re mine — all mine, Kiyoomi, got that?”
Kiyoomi watches him with pupils blown and his mouth half-open. Atsumu raises an eyebrow at him.
“Answer me, baby. Whose are ya?”
“Yours,” Kiyoomi breathes. “All yours. Always yours. Fuck, I love you.”
Atsumu smiles. His sweet, sweet Kiyoomi. “I love you too, baby.”
Then he spreads Kiyoomi open and inserts a finger.
And God, it’s been a while — it’s hot and tight and Kiyoomi sucks him in instantly, like his body wants this, like it has wanted this. Atsumu marvels at the light resistance as he starts to stretch Kiyoomi open, slow and gentle.
“Ya been holdin’ out on me?” he asks, not accusatory, but curious. “This what ya do when ya stay up so late without me?”
Kiyoomi makes a strangled sound in his throat before relaxing into Atsumu’s touch. He goes silent again and a revelation hits Atsumu like a meteor. Kiyoomi isn’t bad at following instructions. He heard Atsumu the first time when he requested that he answer him, but —
“Ya want me to hit ya,” Atsumu muses. “You’re keepin’ your mouth shut on purpose. Holy shit.” Atsumu curls his finger upward and Kiyoomi moans. “Yeah, that’s it. I know you’re gonna take my cock just like you were made for it — shit, you’re gonna want me to fuck ya all the time.”
“I do,” Kiyoomi rasps, and Atsumu smacks his ass again — not because he misbehaved, but just because Kiyoomi likes it, and Atsumu is getting a little too light headed to follow the rules. They’ll do this again, when Atsumu has more time to prepare himself for Kiyoomi’s reactions — right now, it’s disarming; assaulting. Atsumu adds another finger and Kiyoomi keens. He’s never been this expressive, this fucking loud. He’s an entirely different person, and God, Atsumu is already addicted.
“It’s so fuckin’ nice to see ya give up control — I thought I wanted ya to put me in my place, but fuck, Omi, it’s even better puttin’ ya in yours.” He presses his fingers up, exploring, searching, and Kiyoomi’s hips kick. “Oh, right there, yeah, baby?”
“Y-yeah — stop teasing. Enough already.” Kiyoomi is doing his best to sound authoritative, to slip back into that persona that Atsumu is used to, that he obeys, but Atsumu is way too far gone to stop now. He’s drunk on the power, and he’s relentless as he floods Kiyoomi’s body with as much pleasure as it can take.
His other hand wraps around Kiyoomi’s cock, giving him a lazy stroke that leaves him nearly panting.
“Enough already?” Atsumu echoes. “Ya sure? I guess I could just — ”
He stops touching Kiyoomi all at once, pulling both his hands away and holding them above his head, the picture of obedience. “Sure, Omi — I’ll stop touchin’ ya, if that’s what ya want. Looks like ya really wanna get off, though. How are ya gonna take care of that without me?” He caresses Kiyoomi’s thigh, just a ghost of his fingers. “I guess ya can, but it won’t feel as good as me fuckin’ ya.”
“No, don’t stop — fuck, this was a terrible idea,” Kiyoomi whines. “You’re a tyrant.”
“And ya love it, don’t ya, baby?” Atsumu grins, sharp and sincere. Kiyoomi so obviously does love it, and as much as Atsumu is enjoying dragging this out, he also loves Kiyoomi, so he wants to make this good for him. “Ya want it messy too?”
Kiyoomi and Atsumu haven’t used condoms since the first week of their relationship — for someone as clean as Kiyoomi, he loves to make a mess out of Atsumu, so it’s high-time he returns the favor.
Kiyoomi nods and Atsumu’s cock twitches. He takes himself in his hand, and strokes his dick, coating it with excess lube. Kiyoomi is waiting for him, open and ready, watching him through hazy, glossy eyes. His hands are still at his sides, and really, he’s such a natural at this — who knew that prickly, bossy Kiyoomi would be so eager to submit. Atsumu licks his lips.
“How ya wanna take it, baby? Ya wanna ride me — get some of that control back?” Atsumu drags a finger down Kiyoomi’s thigh; he trembles under the touch. “Or do ya wanna flip over for me and really give it all up?”
Kiyoomi groans. “Like this — I want to see you.”
Atsumu smiles, the haze clearing briefly. Kiyoomi really is lovely; Atsumu adores him.
“Anything for you, darlin’.” And then guides himself into Kiyoomi. “Oh fuck , you’re tight.”
Atsumu nearly loses his breath as he sinks in, just barely, letting him take a moment to adjust. It’s heavenly; it’s debilitating. Atsumu doesn’t know how he’s going to survive it, especially not when Kiyoomi lets out a small, aborted gasp, his eyes never leaving Atsumu. There’s so much in those eyes — desperation and lust, but love, so much love, and Atsumu is going to burst. “Ya okay, baby? I’ve got ya. I’ll go slow, take real good care of ya.”
Kiyoomi bites his lip so hard it looks painful. “It’s not — ” he pauses, inhales. “I want to touch you.”
“You’re askin’ permission?” Atsumu raises an eyebrow, and there’s a small flash of defiance on Kiyoomi’s face. Atsumu slides in further and it disappears in a flash. “Yeah, baby. Touch me.”
Kiyoomi’s hands shoot out and wrap around Atsumu’s back, pulling him in closer, and Atsumu finally bottoms out with a low growl in the back of his throat. It’s actually unreal, being inside Kiyoomi — it’s suffocating, an overwhelming heat and pressure that threatens to end this before it even begins. But even more encompassing than Kiyoomi’s body around him is the look on Kiyoomi’s face — it’s pure bliss, but it’s not only that; it’s trust, and Atsumu lets out a whine of his own before he collapses on top of Kiyoomi, enveloping him in a sloppy, reckless kiss.
It takes him a moment to get his bearings enough to move, but when he does, he sets a steady pace, and Kiyoomi’s nails dig into his back. Pinpricks of pain bloom over Atsumu’s skin as he thrusts into Kiyoomi, but the pleasure drowns it all out. He reaches for the collar still resting pretty against Kiyoomi’s skin and controls Kiyoomi with it, dragging him into another kiss.
He trails his hand upward, curling it around the back of Kiyoomi’s neck possessively, holding him where he wants him. He tries with all his might to focus on something other than how good he feels, how euphoric this is, but it’s no use. How the hell does Kiyoomi do this regularly? Atsumu isn’t going to last, but he doesn’t think it’s going to be a problem, because he’ll go for round two, and round three —
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi cries. “Touch me, please, please, please — ”
“Oh God.” That’s it. He reaches for Kiyoomi’s cock with a raw desperation, trying to pull out his orgasm before Atsumu’s own crashes into him. Kiyoomi is so hot — in his hand, squeezing around him, everywhere, everywhere, and Atsumu can’t take it.
Atsumu lets go of the collar when he comes, and Kiyoomi collapses backward, boneless, eyes closed. Their breaths mingle and Atsumu tries to form a single coherent thought. He has absolutely nothing.
After a moment, though, Kiyoomi’s breathing starts to even out, and Atsumu wakes right up. “Omi! No, baby — no fallin’ asleep in your own cum. Christ, I’m still inside of ya. How d’ya do that?”
Atsumu blindly reaches for the rag Kiyoomi had the foresight to put at the end of the bed and uses it to wipe Kiyoomi down. He hums happily while Atsumu does it.
“You fucked me into exhaustion,” Kiyoomi mutters. “So good. We should do that all the time — maybe I’ll never top again.”
Atsumu huffs and glares down at him. “Just ‘cause my dick game is mind-blowin’ doesn’t give ya an excuse to be lazy, Omi. I like gettin’ obliterated too!”
“Then you shouldn’t have been so good at topping,” Kiyoomi grumbles. “Who’s fault is that? You’re so good at everything.”
Atsumu smiles, soft. Kiyoomi always turns him into a pile of goo, no matter the context. He goes to pull out, and Kiyoomi’s eyes snap open. He reaches for Atsumu’s wrist. “Not yet.”
“Thought I was callin’ the shots?” Atsumu asks.
“That ended when we came.” Kiyoomi’s hand wraps around his neck to remove the collar. He places it on the nightstand, and then pulls Atsumu down on top of him, still connected. Atsumu goes willingly, pressing a soft kiss to Kiyoomi’s now exposed throat.
“Ah, you’re in charge again, then?” he teases, and instead of answering, Kiyoomi brings a hand down lightly to slap Atsumu’s ass. He yelps, and then dissolves into giggles, burying himself in Kiyoomi’s shoulder.