Chapter Text
Kiyoomi needed to find a way to steal Bukoto’s phone and delete all his playlists. He’d had to endure a whole hour of the same angsty rock song under the guise of letting his teammates celebrate his birthday. That was a thoughtful gesture, he supposed. The idea of buying cupcakes was especially considerate. This way, Kiyoomi could have his own without the brain parasites telling him that sharing cake was nasty.
He’d had two carrot cake cupcakes (Were they called carrot cupcakes since carrot cake cupcakes was inaccurate?) and was eying the red velvet. The last red velvet.
As he was reaching for it, a tanned hand beat him to it and snagged it.
“Ah! Did I take your cupcake, Omi?” crooned Atsumu, hurrying to lick some of the frosting.
Kiyoomi ignored what seeing Atsumu’s tongue glide smoothly over the icing did to his body. The guy always picked on him, and Kiyoomi gave as good as he got—his mother didn’t raise him to be silent.
Rather than words, he switched the directory of his hand and tipped the cupcake in Atsumu’s hand, sending the remainder of the icing all up his nose. Surprised, Atsumu yelped, giving Kiyoomi a glare as he grabbed some tissues. Unfortunately for Kiyoomi, Atsumu had the gall to look good with icing on his face. Fucker.
“You can have it,” he said, wiping his hand with a napkin.
Bokuto guffawed as he watched them. “Aw, come on, Tsum-Tsum, be nice to Omi, it’s his birthday!” He clapped a hard smack to Atsumu’s shoulder.
“Sakusa-san, do you want the vanilla?”
He nearly scoffed at Hinata’s sincere offer. No, he did not want the vanilla. And that applied to tastes that went beyond cupcakes.
“Whatever, I was just teasin’,” Atsumu muttered, getting up. “Gonna use your bathroom, Bokkun.”
“Be my guest!” Bokuto said, then when Atsumu disappeared down the hall, his face lit up with horror. “Oh no.”
“What’s wrong?” Hinata asked, happily finishing off the last vanilla cupcake.
“He’s totally gonna snoop,” Bokuto moaned.
“Is it snooping if you leave whatever you’re terrified of Atsumu finding lying out for your guests to see?” Kiyoomi asked quietly. He’d been to Bokuto’s bathroom (just to wash his hands; he’d never use another person’s toilet) and he’d seen a pair of lacy underwear carelessly left on the floor.
At least Kiyoomi had actually kicked the panties behind the toilet so no one going after him would see them. He wondered if Atsumu would have had the same grace if he'd been in his position.
He was proven right twenty seconds later when Atsumu came sauntering down the hallway to the living room, waving his wrist around. Hanging off of the end of his index finger was a pair of…fluffy cuffs. Kiyoomi shut his eyes and shook his head lightly.
“Look what we got ’ere,” Atsumu sang.
Bokuto was reasonably embarrassed, his cheeks glowing pink as he lunged at Atsumu. But Atsumu was wily, having a twin brother must have prepared him for evading someone trying to take something from him.
With a whine, Bokuto said, “Give that back, Tsum-Tsum! Come on.”
Atsumu cackled, starting to climb up the couch, specifically, behind Kiyoomi. He leaned away from Atsumu’s legs and ignored the pitter of his heartbeat. He was in close proximity to Atsumu most days due to the nature of their jobs. He shouldn’t get this affected just because he felt those solid thighs frame his shoulders.
It was the possibility of what those thighs could look like in an entirely different scenario that made him nervous.
The embarrassment in Bokuto’s voice was evident, though he didn’t usually care what people thought of his dominant side. Kiyoomi had begrudgingly admired that about him.
“Come on,” he was saying, his voice sharp on a, “Stawwppp.” But Atsumu was relentless, now dancing, still occupying the space behind Kiyoomi. He had half a mind to elbow him in the groin, but he didn’t have to.
Bokuto’s voice took on a different tone when he said, low and deep, “Atsumu, stop.”
First of all, he rarely called Atsumu by his full name, going by the horrible nickname most of the time.
Second of all, that was a command. Softly spoken, but still.
And they all knew Atsumu was a sub.
He folded, dropping the handcuffs in Bokuto’s open palm and—he hid behind Kiyoomi’s back. It shouldn’t be even possible, since he was so big, but he managed it. And Kiyoomi had the misfortune of feeling every shiver that raked through Atsumu’s body.
“Shit,” Bokuto said quietly, “Sorry ’bout that.”
Weakly, Atsumu mumbled, “’s OK, I went too far.”
Hinata cleared his throat, but when Kiyoomi looked at him, he saw him giving him some signal. A pointed nod toward the man huddled behind him. Kiyoomi couldn’t act on it, though. He was incapable of even taking a deep breath. He was horribly filled with this ugly feeling in his chest. His limbs demanded he do something damaging to Bokuto’s face. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Except…
Atsumu’s reaction had been…a reminder.
He didn’t look or behave like any of the submissives who Kiyoomi had encountered. He was a whirlwind of a man, always mouthing off and goofing off. To feel him tremble as he got himself under control, Kiyoomi felt personally piqued to assist.
“Come on,” he sighed. He gently wrapped a hand around Atsumu’s elbow and helped him off the couch. “We’ll be using your guest room.”
“Uh, sure,” Bokuto said, running a hand through his hair. “Tsum-Tsum, I’m really sorry—”
“It’s OK! Really!” Atsumu didn’t sound okay, though. He sounded…
Kiyoomi hurried him toward the guest room. Once the door closed, Atsumu lowered himself to the floor and hugged his knees. Kiyoomi followed suit, but he put some distance between them. He couldn’t know how Atsumu was reacting precisely, though he’d dealt with subs before.
Atsumu would likely not cling to him and ask to be comforted.
Lo and behold, he was wrong. What unfolded next left Kiyoomi feeling a mixture of bewildered and…pleased. It began with Atsumu letting out a sound too soft to belong to him at all and ended up with him crawling into Kiyoomi’s personal space.
His eyes were rimmed with tears, his breaths shallow. “Omi,” he said, his voice wan, “please.”
Nothing more. Just that word. In that voice. A voice that tugged at all of Kiyoomi’s instinct, a voice that told him to protect.
He couldn’t make a move, though. He stayed rooted where he was, legs folded in a loose position, waiting for Atsumu.
Atsumu did not disappoint. He took in Kiyoomi’s expression—he was smiling lightly, trying to look welcoming—and began to crawl on his hands and knees to him. He stopped just short of climbing Kiyoomi’s lap.
“C-can I?”
The tone of dominance slid far too easily into Kiyoomi’s voice. “Come here, Miya.”
A soft sigh exhaled from Atsumu’s trembling lips. He was so alluring, tugging at Kiyoomi’s heartstrings with every gesture. He climbed into Kiyoomi’s lap but wouldn’t rest his weight on Kiyoomi’s thighs until Kiyoomi said, “Sit.”
The gentle command punched a breathless moan out of Atsumu, and he settled down.
All this muscle, in Kiyoomi’s reach. In his lap. If he wasn’t hard from hearing Atsumu beg him, he was hard now.
“Can I touch you, Miya?” he asked, tilting his head back to get a look at Atsumu.
Blond hair fluttered as Atsumu nodded.
“Use your words,” Kiyoomi commanded.
“Touch me, Omi,” he said, entreating as if he wanted Kiyoomi to do more than touch him.
His hands began a slow and meandering path from the small of Atsumu’s back, and, upon Atsumu’s little breathless, “Yes,” they slid to his shoulders, kneading the hard muscle there. Kiyoomi wondered what they looked like that moment, a submissive receiving comforting caresses from a dominant like him.
He’d never felt like this before, a surge of protectiveness that sat in his throat. He wanted then to be the sole source of Atsumu’s security. He wanted to keep touching Atsumu’s back, against the soft cotton of his t-shirt or against the smooth skin of his back. Either way, he’d be well and truly content.
Slowly, with the help of Kiyoomi’s silent yet constant care, Atsumu calmed down. His breathing evened and his limbs grew lax around Kiyoomi. He lamented the loss of Atsumu’s thighs tightly clutching his waist, but when Atsumu leaned back, arms loosely hanging off of Kiyoomi’s shoulders, he was smiling.
Brilliant. Luminous. He was like the sun, but far more dangerous to be looked at directly.
“Are you feeling better?”
Atsumu nodded. “Omi’s great at this. I’m slightly disappointed that I recovered so soon.”
The words made blood rush south. He was lightheaded.
“You are?”
Atsumu bit at his bottom lip. “I am. I think the way I’m still wrapped around you like an octopus is obvious enough.”
“I don’t mind,” he said quickly. Shit. “I mean. It’s fine.”
A hearty chuckle filled Atsumu’s chest, and in effect, warmed Kiyoomi’s.
“You’re honest. I like that in a dominant,” he said. His fingers were leaving tantalizing trails up and down Kiyoomi’s nape. He could hardly focus. “Do you think if I, uh, asked you for help again, you’d say yes?”
A question like this needed proper consideration. He needed to weigh the pros and cons of entering a contract with his teammate.
“Yes,” he replied, not even 0.02 seconds after Atsumu asked.
His honeyed brown eyes widened, and his stupidly wet mouth—the aftermath of him chewing on his lips—beamed. “Really?”
“We would need a contract.”
Atsumu nodded. Then he sighed, collapsing forward so his face was tucked under Kiyoomi’s chin. “I will literally be indebted to you until the end of time. I will steal the sun, the moon and the stars for you and gift them to you on a silver platter,” Atsumu said.
Not once was Kiyoomi so thoroughly charmed by a submissive’s words before. Matter of fact, he’d never been made to feel this vital to someone. When it was all he wanted.
But he needed to know Atsumu was being his usual self, not reacting to an ill-timed drop. He gave him a serious look.
“Come over tomorrow. We’ll talk more,” Kiyoomi said. Some part of him detested the delay, it wanted Atsumu as his now. Not tomorrow. Not even ten minutes from now.
Then again, that was the raving of a mad dominant who hadn’t had a taste of such sweet submission.
Especially not one in the form of Miya Atsumu, grinning at him.
“Guess we got our first date covered.” He lightly grazed Kiyoomi’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Who’d have known you’d be so perfect for me, Omi?”
Who, indeed.
It definitely wasn’t him.
A knock sounded on the door next, and if Kiyoomi hadn’t been raptly watching Atsumu’s face, he would have thought he’d been roughly woken up from a comfy dream. Atsumu sprang out of his arms, straight up like an arrow, just in time for Bokuto to open the door and peek his head in.
Kiyoomi was still watching Atsumu so he could only guess at how Bokuto looked as he asked, “You OK, Tsum-Tsum?”
Atsumu, smiling far too bright to be anything but fake, said, “Perfectly fine.” He didn’t say anything about how he turned out fine.
Did he want to keep what had transpired between him and Kiyoomi a secret?
“Why’re you on the floor, Omi?”
He rose without answering Bokuto’s question. That one thought bothered him. He quickly bid Hinata goodbye and left, not caring if he seemed stand-offish. Then again, it was a comfort to know he wasn’t one for lengthy goodbyes as neither Hinata nor Bokuto looked particularly bothered by his attitude. But as he was putting on his shoes, his eyes betrayed him and glanced at the face hovering a few inches behind Bokuto’s left shoulder.
The dark eyebrows framing Atsumu’s watchful eyes were slightly furrowed. Was he worried Kiyoomi would go back on his word that they’d talk tomorrow? Lightly, he gave Atsumu a nod, not daring to mouth Tomorrow, but he thought of nothing else all the way home.
────── ⊹₊‧₊˚⊹︰꒷ ──────
The morning passed too slowly for Kiyoomi’s liking. Not having the occupation of morning practice (It was their day off. One was supposed to rest.) didn’t mean Kiyoomi would spend his time lazing on the couch.
After his shower, he hit the gym in his building, and he might have gone a bit too hard on the weights. Even three hours in the gym didn’t feel like much. Back in his apartment, he went over the carpets with his hoover three times. Mopped twice. Took Maru for a long, meandering walk. Maru was a rescue German Shepherd Kiyoomi had at first fostered then adopted six months ago, when Maru turned two.
When they came back, Kiyoomi threw his clock a look and nearly growled.
Eleven.
He put on an apron, gloves, and a face mask, and locked Maru in the bedroom—Maru immediately went to his dog bed and began to snooze.
Kiyoomi got out the cleaners and made his favorite peppermint mixture. He got on his knees and began to wipe the baseboards. After that, he took care to shine the top of every surface until they all gleamed. He took another shower. Changed three times.
He made a quick snack of yogurt parfait and cringed because the blueberries were too sour. He made coffee and gulped down three cups, which left him wired and grouchy.
Still, it was only twelve thirty. He and Atsumu had agreed on one o’clock, not quite lunch and definitely not breakfast. Time ticked by at glacial speed.
He then became a menace to Maru who, when Kiyoomi woke him up to play, lifted his head and gave him an unimpressed look. Just as he decided to spontaneously redecorate his living room, his soul nearly departed from his body when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. He lunged for it. (Maru’s sigh of disappointment was duly ignored.)
Miya Atsumu: I’m here ପ(๑•̀ᴗ•̀)*
Kiyoomi sprang to the intercom by the door and unlocked the front door. He was about to let Atsumu know, but he beat him by sending him a thumbs up. And sparkles. So many sparkles.
He stood by the door and listened. When he heard footsteps, he unlocked the door and cracked it open. Atsumu waved. He wore a green hoodie and grey sweatpants. Kiyoomi felt overdressed in his black button-up shirt and black slacks. But the second his eyes landed on Atsumu’s face, specifically his smiling mouth, he couldn’t care less about what he was wearing. He was too busy fighting a thousand butterflies, rioting in his stomach.
Was this what he was supposed to expect? A tingle in his midriff every time he saw Atsumu’s face?
“You’re not anxious at all,” Atsumu said in lieu of a proper greeting.
“Good afternoon to you too,” he muttered under his breath, standing aside to let Atsumu in.
He walked in and took off his shoes, then began to sniff the air. “Did a peppermint tree explode in here?”
“I was… cleaning.”
“Ah,” Atsumu remarked. “That checks out.” He dropped his satchel to the couch, and Kiyoomi resisted the urge to take it and hang it in the closet at the entryway.
Instead, he mirrored Atsumu and sat down on the armchair at a forty-degree angle from where Atsumu was now sprawled on the couch, a gray cushion hugged to his chest.
“So.”
Kiyoomi twined his fingers together. “I—“
Maru interrupted by walking out of the bedroom (the floors had dried now, so Kiyoomi had left the door open) and startling Atsumu into a delighted yelp of, “A dog!”
The German Shepherd’s ears perked up, and he stared at Atsumu, who stared back, his smile large.
“He’s not very friendly. He’d been bred to be a working dog but was put up for adoption. I… transported him to Japan.”
Atsumu’s eyes remained on Maru. “What’s his name? How old is he?”
“His name's Maru—“
“He’s hardly a Maru. More like… Champion.”
Maru’s ears perked.
“That’d been the name on his form,” Kiyoomi explained. Were they going to spend the whole day talking about his dog?
“What do you mean by transportin' him to Japan?” Atsumu asked, his attention only partially directed at Kiyoomi. He was holding a hand under Maru’s nose. Maru sniffed it.
“I found his application online and just did it.” He tried to explain the process as succinctly as possible, but Atsumu asked more and more questions until the whole story came out.
Insomnia was one of Kiyoomi’s blights. He’d suffered from them since forever. One night, he forgot to take his sleeping pills—they were a mild dosage—and he was up scrolling. And he found Maru. As he’d said, Maru was supposed to be a guard dog but was released into the care of a kennel which was facing financial troubles. On a whim, or perhaps it’d been the tiredness of being up until 4 o’clock in the morning, Kiyoomi applied to foster him. The process had been long and tedious, but every time Kiyoomi saw that precious face, he knew he wanted him. It hadn’t mattered that he needed to pay for vaccinations, blood tests, and a six-month quarantine. He wanted Maru. And he got him.
As Kiyoomi spoke, Atsumu’s face was finally beginning to turn to him, and with every piece of difficult information Kiyoomi wrenched out of him, Atsumu’s eyes widening, growing shinier by the passing minute.
“That’s…” Kiyoomi waited for the verdict, assuming he’d be called stubborn, “amazin’,” came out instead, a breathy word. “You’re amazin’, Omi,” Atsumu amended.
By then, Maru had accepted that Atsumu was staying for the time being and climbed up the couch beside him, resting his head on his crossed forelegs
Kiyoomi shrugged, uncomfortable with the undeserved praise. “Dogs are… fun,” he finally said. “I’ll go get us something to drink.”
He expected Atsumu to sit there and wait. He did not. He followed Kiyoomi to the kitchen, marveled aloud at the sparkling granite top, and how shiny his refrigerator door was. “Mine's so grimy with fingerprints but I can’t be bothered to clean it.”
“That’s disgusting. Go wash your hands.”
Atsumu cackled but he complied. Huh. Kiyoomi hadn’t even used his dominant voice for that. Either he didn’t remember the last time he washed his hands, or he was just that susceptible. Neither fit Atsumu.
Coffee poured, Kiyoomi asked, “Sugar and milk?”
“Just milk, thanks. I like my coffee bitter.”
He shrugged. He made himself his fourth cup of the day.
“Just sugar, huh. Is it dark like your soul?”
“Like your future.”
“Ow, Omi, that genuinely bums me out,” Atsumu said, clutching at the front of his t-shirt aligned with his heart. By fisting the fabric, the very hem rose. Kiyoomi’s eyes flew directly to the sliver of skin.
His mouth watered at the sight of a dark trail of hair ending at the waistband of Atsumu’s sweatpants.
He’d seen Atsumu in a towel after showers. Why was he slobbering over an inch of skin at the bottom of his torso?
Because you want to bite a mark right there.
He shook off that thought and handed Atsumu his mug.
There was no point delaying the purpose of why they were together. Kiyoomi nodded to the living room. “Shall we?”
Atsumu followed. They settled back in the same seat, this time with a slight change: Maru began nosing at Atsumu’s lap, found it satisfactory, and laid his head there. Safe to say Atsumu glowed with joy. He moved to put his mug down, but first asked, “Do I need a coaster?”
“No,” Kiyoomi said, pleased Atsumu bothered to even think about coasters. “It’s steel.”
Atsumu gave him a look like, And?
“It’s nonporous.”
Atsumu remained confused.
“Never mind,” he sighed.
Looking more than happy to forget the past ten seconds, Atsumu put down his mug and began to stroke Maru’s head slowly and carefully. Each time his hand passed over the dark fur, Kiyoomi’s chest grew tighter. The knowledge that he was jealous of his own dog settled like a heavy rock in his stomach.
He turned his thoughts to more important matters. His abhorrent jealousy could wait.
“Have you ever had a contract before?”
Atsumu shook his head. “Only platonic ones but they were mostly when I was in high school.”
Kiyoomi nodded.
“Your brother.”
“Yep.”
There were so many types of contracts between dominants and submissives. It didn’t surprise him that Atsumu and his twin had shared a platonic dynamic in their teens.
“Miya Osamu kept you from being a total asshole,” he surmised. Then, thoughtfully, “I cannot imagine a version of you that’s untamed.”
Atsumu’s head shot up, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Who says I’m the one who needed tamin’?” he said, incredulous.
Kiyoomi paused, mug half-way raised to his mouth. He lowered it. “I assumed—“
“Osamu’s the bad one. He needed me as his tether to decency,” Atsumu explained, shrugging.
Kiyoomi felt a rush of shame burn his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“It’s fine. A lot of people assume Osamu had me on a leash just because he gave off that kind of vibe when it was the other way around. Always been. And,” Atsumu paused to take a sip of his coffee, “no one really believes me when I tell them I’m a sub.”
Kiyoomi frowned. “They don’t?”
Although Atsumu was shrugging, his words were tinged with a darker emotion. “They think I’m just a soft dom who likes pretendin’ to be a sub.” His eyes fixed on Kiyoomi, he said, “I am a sub.”
“I know.”
Honeyed brown eyes widened, then he let out a soft chuckle. “Right. Cuz you saw me almost go into sub-drop because of Bokkun,” Atsumu said.
“No,” Kiyoomi murmured. “I just knew.”
He couldn’t explain it, so he didn’t even try. Atsumu took his words at face value and shrugged. “Anyway, I never really cared that doms thought I was too bratty to tame.”
“Maybe they didn’t try hard enough,” Kiyoomi mumbled into his mug, which was almost empty.
Atsumu snorted. “Precisely.” His eyes were wide and clear. “I want to let go. I want what I felt when you took control in Bokkun’s guest room.”
Kiyoomi had to look away; he couldn’t look at Atsumu and not touch, and he’d prefer for them to have a contract before he touched. He had an inkling that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
He reached for the tablet tucked beside him and handed it to Atsumu. His eyes began to move over the screen, reading the contract Kiyoomi had painstakingly mapped out. It had all of his interests, hard limits, and soft limits, and in the next pages, it awaited Atsumu’s. He gave Atsumu a pen and the time to answer.
“Here, I’m done.”
Kiyoomi gave the list with the checks and crosses a thorough read. He paused when he saw the ? next to “humiliation.” Other items piqued him more, however, so he decided to put a pin in it for now. “You marked spanking with yes. What’s your number?”
Atsumu waved a hand. “Give or take thirty to forty.”
His eyebrows rose. “Impressive.”
“I like bein’ naughty,” he said, tongue poking out to press against the slight divot in his bottom lip.
Kiyoomi shifted in his seat and returned to Atsumu’s list of interests. Masturbation. Fellatio. Anal intercourse. His mouth twitched at the enthusiastic check beside double penetration. The hard limits aligned with Kiyoomi’s. No fire play, scat, needles—but, there was a check next to blood and piercing.
He glanced up at Atsumu. “Blood. Tell me more.”
“Nothin’ hardcore, but, yeah, I’d lick your blood and let you bite me to the point of breakin’ skin,” Atsumu said, far too nonchalant for what those two words— bite me — did to Kiyoomi’s head.
He nodded but he wasn’t truly reading the rest of the list. He was busy imagining Atsumu’s tanned skin marked with his teeth.
Since today was their first day, Kiyoomi had an introductory scene in mind. Nothing hardcore. Just a trial to test the waters. Once he was done reading, he asked, “Shall we set a Term?”
Atsumu nodded. “A year.”
“That long?” He couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice.
Another nod. “I mean, we’re busy with volleyball most of the time, so I figured…”
That actually made sense, and informed Kiyoomi that Atsumu thought of this very seriously. He nodded and scribbled one year into the empty spot for duration. He marked the date, March 21st.
He wondered, five or ten years in the future, if he’d be looking back at this day, this moment, and noting that on the first day of being thirty, Kiyoomi became Atsumu’s dominant for the whole year.
“This means it ends on your birthday,” Atsumu mused.
He nodded.
“We should plan a really good scene.”
Kiyoomi signed under The Dominant and marked the date. He handed the tablet to Atsumu, who did the same and returned it. Kiyoomi gave his signature a brief look. Funny. If only their avid fans knew.
With the contract completed, Kiyoomi could finally breathe. “Come with me.”
Atsumu sprang out of his seat.
“Maru, stay,” Kiyoomi said without turning. Maru slumped back into the couch.
“Whoa, he’s well trained.”
Kiyoomi closed the door behind him and looked Atsumu up and down. “Did you even doubt that I’d be good at taming?”
Atsumu’s chest rose and fell. “No,” he admitted.
“Kneel on the bed, Miya.”
Kiyoomi watched his expression, which shifted elegantly from curious to compliant. He’d never known the true euphoria of being a sub’s sole caregiver. And now there was Atsumu, kneeling neatly on the foot of his bed, smiling at him and looking so happy to be under his care. Giving him all his trust.
He could admit that this sensation swimming in his chest, filling his veins with purpose, was new but in the same breath, he made a silent vow to do it right by Atsumu and likewise be his safe place.
He stepped closer.
“Breathe with me.” The command was softly spoken but still served its purpose. Atsumu took deep breaths, matching the cadence with which Kiyoomi inhaled and exhaled. “Do you feel that? We’re in sync.”
Atsumu smiled, a small, yet radiant curl in the corners of his lips. “I feel it.”
For so long, Kiyoomi had been denied this. Trust. Care. Permission to be as soft or hard as he needed to be. He wanted to shower Atsumu in softness, then, in his own words, he wanted Atsumu to beg for more. For harder commands.
“What do you need, Miya?”
Atsumu stared up at him, without any masks holding back the desire in his eyes, “I need you.”
“Let’s see if we’re compatible, then.”
Atsumu nodded. “I’m ready to let go.”
His back straightened. He cupped his right hand with his left. “Is that all you want with me? To let go?”
Atsumu shook his head. “Nope,” he said casually. Then didn’t elaborate.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said, letting a hint of his dominance leak into his voice.
A full body shiver engulfed Atsumu—Kiyoomi could see it. His eyelashes fluttered. “Whoa, you’re really good at this.”
He tried not to let the compliment get to his head.
“I need to know precisely what you need and want,” he said. If he needed to tighten his hold on his hands to keep them from shaking, then that was his cross to bear.
“Dare I say I want it all?” Atsumu said, eyes averted.
“Look at me.”
There was hesitance in those honeyed eyes. A hesitance Kiyoomi did not like. He reached out slowly and, before he touched Atsumu’s cheek with the palm of his hand, he asked, “May I?”
Atsumu shrugged. “I guess.”
He hardened his stare, raising one eyebrow.
The word took on a hint of defiance. Now that Kiyoomi was more familiar with. He knew Atsumu as a headstrong teammate who pushed everyone to their limits because he knew where that limit ended, not the spiker hitting his sets.
But Kiyoomi was stubborn. The word ‘difficult’ might have been thrown in his face. He waited until Atsumu said, “Yes,” before he let his hand make contact with Atsumu’s cheek. It was soft. Textured by an old scar near his ear, but Atsumu’s hair hid that. Kiyoomi explored the spot, let his fingertips brush over Atsumu’s earlobe, then back to his cheek, down to his chin, and, for a weak second, brushed a thumb over Atsumu’s bottom lip. It opened for him.
“Don’t.”
He didn’t want Atsumu to take part. This scene was for Kiyoomi to learn what he needed to know about Atsumu.
Atsumu’s lips met in a tight line, his eyes fierce. But he obediently said, “I understand.”
Kiyoomi resumed.
Stroked the philtrum, the defined spot between Atsumu’s nose and his top-lip that drove Kiyoomi mad.
Ran a fingertip over the bridge of Atsumu’s nose, ending in the space between his eyebrows.
“Why don’t you bleach your eyebrows?” he asked, feeling how soft they were. Thick. Defined. Emotive.
They frowned at him now. “Cos I’m not insane.”
“Miya.”
A sharp inhale. “Sorry, Omi.”
Speaking of. Before they could proceed, Kiyoomi wanted Atsumu to call him by a specific term. Not a nickname Atsumu had likely thought would piss Kiyoomi off the most.
“What would you like me to call you? As your chosen term,” he said, still mapping out the cartography of Atsumu’s face.
Atsumu closed his eyes and hummed, deep in thought. “Kitten?” Not deep in thought enough, clearly.
“Try again.”
“Uh… Good boy?”
He winced. “No.”
“Anata?”
It was what his mother called his father. “Veto.”
Atsumu’s eyes blinked open. “You’re hard to please.”
“Just try to be creative. Or original.”
Atsumu shrugged. “You pick, then.”
Now facing his own challenge, Kiyoomi thought of the one sub he had when he was twenty-five (that contract hadn’t lasted more than two weeks) who wanted to be called darling.
“Darling.” It was a breathy dárin, and as the syllables left his mouth, Kiyoomi felt his face light up.
Atsumu reared back, his eyes wide. “Whoa.”
“Forget it.”
“No, no,” he said, waving his hands in a manner Kiyoomi could only take as encouragement. “I like it.” Atsumu’s cheeks were definitely pink. “It’s… precious.”
“What about me?” Kiyoomi asked, wanting to change the subject. The word darling, however, rang in his head. And how true it felt. This was ridiculous. He’d never even thought of dominating Atsumu before. (Liar, shouted a voice in his head.)
Atsumu resumed the position of thinking deeply. But, with a frown, he admitted, “The only thing I wanna call you is Omi.”
He felt his face drop into mild disappointment. “Hn.”
“Or maybe,” Atsumu mused, then his face glowed. “Uh, actually, no.”
“Tell me.”
Eyes lowered, their focus on Kiyoomi’s lips, Atsumu whispered, “Sakusa-sama.”
Kiyoomi’s dick stirred in his pants. “Okay,” he said, not too quickly lest he expose just how much he liked it.
“But isn’t that too formal? Feels like I’m your maid, here to pick up after you, take your jacket when you walk in, kneel by your feet and help you take off your shoes, cook your meals and serve them, to—” Atsumu’s eyes widened, realizing he was rambling, and stopped.
Kiyoomi leaned back, smirking. “Does that appeal to you? Maid-play?” He lowered his voice. “Do you want to wait for me like a good darling, Atsumu?”
He hadn’t truly called him Atsumu before. In games or training, he was merely Miya. It was only in the privacy of his thoughts that the formality dropped into oddly pleasant familiarity.
Atsumu cleared his throat. “I, uh, I would be open to it, but only if you promise it won’t be the humiliatin’ kind.”
The question mark regarding humiliation play came to mind.
As difficult as it was, Kiyoomi released Atsumu’s chin and rested his arms by his sides. He said, “I will never push you beyond your comfort.”
The disquiet on Atsumu’s face cleared. Replaced by abject relief. “See, that’s why you’re different.”
He didn’t care to be compared to other dominants; he didn’t even want to think of other people speaking to Atsumu and telling him what to do or how to feel, so he simply shook his head.
“I’ve never truly been allowed to be someone’s…” He chose his words carefully, “safety.”
Atsumu’s jaw dropped. “Really? But you’re so good at it. You made me feel so protected.”
His smile was rueful. “I’m glad to know that.”
Sweetly, Atsumu leaned forward and rested his forehead on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “I trust you, Sakusa-sama.”
How could he resist the indelible yearning in him? It thrashed within him. “Kiss me, darling.”
His first intimate command slipped out of him, his voice strange to his own ears. But the way Atsumu lifted his head, his breaths hitched—still matching Kiyoomi’s—eased the embarrassment he couldn’t quite shake off. He held Atsumu by the back of his neck and closed his eyes.
A surge of warmth filled him at the first brush of Atsumu’s lips on his. Like the rest of him, Atsumu’s mouth was warm, his skin soft yet distinct. He moved his mouth, learning the shape of Kiyoomi’s lips, and Kiyoomi reciprocated. His hand tightened on Atsumu’s nape, tilting his head for a more comfortable angle. Their noses fit like puzzle pieces.
He could feel Atsumu smile against his mouth.
Too bad Kiyoomi was nearing his limit for chaste kisses; he leaned closer and licked the seam of Atsumu’s lips, parting them for his tongue to delve into that sweet mouth. A groan vibrated through his throat as Atsumu moaned breathlessly, his hands grasping Kiyoomi’s waist like a lifeline.
“Sakusa-sama, more,” Atsumu said when Kiyoomi pulled back.
He touched the sheen of spit on Atsumu’s lips. “Soon, darling.” I’ll give you everything you desire.