Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I just don’t think it’s sustainable.”

“What?”

“Like, I get it, I get that he’s only responsible for authors who somehow always miss their deadlines, ask for an extension, miss the extended deadline, throw him the final draft on a Saturday night, which has his feet on fire as he dashes to the printing offices and gets into yet another argument with them that he is not at fault for, resulting in an extremely devastating outcome where he isn’t able to come back home for weekend-long sex –“

“Oh my god, Bokuto, there are children in this bus!” Yells Inuaki, slapping his hands over Hinata’s ears.

“Wan-san, I’m literally like, twenty-three.”

“You don’t understand, Akaashi gives the best head –“

“Okay, didn’t really need to hear that even if I’m twenty-three.”

“I still don’t get the point of this rant, where are ya goin’?”

“My point is,” Bokuto grumbles, “that life without Akaashi is life without sex, and sexless life is unsustainable, at least from my standpoint. I know there are people who get by without sex and that’s cool, but I’m not one of those people.”

“On a side note, I’m surprised you even know how to use ‘unsustainable’ in context.”

“I give you a ten-minute rundown of my crisis and all you got was my unexpectedly broad range of vocab?”

“I don’t know, man,” Barnes pats him comfortingly on the shoulder, “just your luck.”

“Who’s Akaashi, anyway?”

“The one with spectacles.”

“You’re kidding, half of the Japanese population has terrible eyesight.”

“The pretty one. Knitted sweaters.”

“Aha.”

No way, he actually got it from that shitty description? Atsumu shakes his head and gazes out the window. Far away, he sees the red Tokyo Sky Tree greet them, practically glowing under the sun.

They’re in Tokyo.

“… So, in conclusion, you guys have the weekend to relax. We aren’t going to do much training other than the typical two-hour routines we run through on Saturdays. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to have a team meeting about how we’re going to deal with the Rockets. Any questions?”

Everyone murmurs in general ‘no’s. Foster claps his hands and dismisses them, and they divide into groups. “Tsumu-Tsumu, wanna go out for a walk?”

“Nah, I’m gonna stay in my room.”

“Alright, d’ya want anything?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.”

It’s half-past four. Too early for supper, but also too late for lunch. Atsumu yawns and takes the lift to the twelfth floor, where his room is – along with Meian and Sakusa. The moment he heard the room arrangements, he knew there was no chance of his weekend passing in peace, and a part of him desperately hoped that the hotel invested in soundproof walls. Tomas would be the kind of person you’d want to share a floor with; he was a heavy sleeper. The world might be ending outside his window, and he’d sleep through it.

He unlocks the door with his card and steps into the suite room. It’s enormous (at least seven times the size of an average university dorm), and there is the largest bed he’s ever seen at the center of its greatness. The glass window takes up one entire wall just like Sakusa’s apartment, and there are thick, Persian blue curtains draping from the sides. Overall, it’s a blue-white schemed suite, the kind of style you’d imagine existing in European beach towns, though he’s never been to one.

His luggage is lying in the corner beside the wardrobe. He changes into a comfy pair of sweatpants and tee, proceeding to unpack his belongings. In the mini-pocket of his suitcase, there is a bottle of gel and extra condoms he had in his drawer. Because, I mean, we’re gonna do it, right? It’s been around two weeks since their most recent one. They’ve both been occupied with training and practice games to do anything else, but now they had two days of nothing scheduled.

And Sakusa Kiyoomi always has a plan.

Grabbing his toothbrush and hairspray, he rises and goes to the bathroom. “Holy,” he has no idea whether to feel excited or dreadful about – everything.

The bathtub is made out of glass and spacious enough for two people.

Which, you know, is acceptable.

There’s a huge body-sized mirror in front of it.

Which, you know, is not-so-acceptable. Especially if you are sex friends with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

(He’s not about to ask why there are candles labeled ‘Romantic Honeymoon’ stashed in the towel cabinet.)

He should’ve known, to be fair. There is way too much glass everywhere. They say transparency is crucial, but he doesn’t think this is the kind of transparency the media talks about. There are goddamned rose petals “artistically” strewn over the floor, which is covered in white pebbles – there is a flat slab of cream marble that leads to both the tub and the shower stall, very convenient.

They probably gave him the wrong room.

At least it’s big. He’s not about to complain, although the excessive amount of roses in the bathroom does bother him. He can request to have it all cleaned tomorrow.

First, shower. Second, nap. Third, dinner.

He nods in satisfaction. That sounds solid.

Twisting the faucet of the tub, he checks the temperature and ensures that the drain is shut. He waits around with his shirt off, until the doorbell buzzes. “Yes?” He shouts, but nobody responds.

And of course, given the flow and genre of this story, there are no surprises.

“Ya really couldn’t hold back till nighttime?”

Sakusa stands at the entrance. “Meian’s out with Bokuto and Barnes right now. I’d say now’s more preferable to nighttime, not for my sake but for yours.” Well, what am I s’posed to say if ya spit facts like that? There goes my perfect three-point plan of the day. This is why I never make plans. “You have condoms, right?”

“Don’t ask that as someone would pose the question, ‘Ya ate dinner, right?’”

“How else can I phrase it? Did you bring blankets for your penis?”

“That’s the most horrifyin’ thing I’ve heard this week, please don’t ever put those words together again.”

Sakusa studied the suite, “Your room is at least twice the size of mine. Are you fucking one of our sponsors?” Atsumu rolls his eyes at the idea.

“They gave me the honeymoon suite, ‘s probably a mistake in reservations or somethin’. There are candles and roses in the bathroom, it’s pretty traumatic.” Sakusa snorts and steps into the bathroom.

“They killed a lot of roses for this bathroom. Also, you have the water running.”

“I know, I was gonna be clean for once.”

Sakusa stares at the half-filled tub. Steam from the hot water is causing the glass surface to condense. Atsumu thinks he knows where this is going. “Well, we can just do it here.” The setter matches his stare with folded arms and a scowl.

“… Omi-kun, do ya like bathrooms?”

“There’s a difference between public bathrooms and hotel bathrooms, don’t be disrespectful.”

Does he have a choice? No, he doesn’t. “When is Meian comin’ back?”

“I don’t think he’ll be able to hear you, with how gigantic your suite is. But, well – it would be odd if we exit your room together.”

“Both wet.”

“Don’t mention it. He said he’d be eating dinner with them too, so we have a lot of time. Not that we’re going to last until dinner, that’s like two to three hours.” Two to three hours. Yeah, he’s not willing to do that much. Sakusa is relentless, after all. Atsumu might actually die if they fuck so long. “Also, I brought my own clothes.”

“Yer so prepared, it’s sexy.”

“Thank you.”

“I was bein’ sarcastic.” He huffs and pulls down both his boxers and sweatpants. “Can’t believe yer gonna start out naked this time too, for once. I always felt like I was puttin’ up a free show for ya.” Sakusa hums, removing his own shirt and unbuckling his belt. Atsumu dips his foot into the tub; it’s a pleasant warmth, the heat a bit ticklish on his skin the first few seconds. And once again, this is a hella large tub. The mirror, too. It’s demanding for attention.

A sigh is drawn from his mouth as he takes a seat, stretching his legs. He hasn’t taken a bath in ages; showers were quick and efficient. This is good, though. Really good.

“Don’t hog the tub, come on.”

He glares at Sakusa. “This fuckin’ tub can fit five of us, don’t fuss.”

“Five is an exaggeration. Maybe three.”

“Three and a half.”

“Don’t mutilate Bokuto, Miya.”

“Why Bokkun?”

“He’s the type to be mutilated in these kinds of situations.”

Atsumu gives that a thought. “Fair.” Rest in peace, Bokuto.

Sakusa relaxes beside him, resting his head on the edge. They sit in silence for a couple of minutes – it’s nice. The ceiling blurs as he blinks languidly.

And then, he flinches when a hand strokes him in the water. He glimpses at Sakusa, who is gazing at him sideways, conveying a message that Atsumu understands too well.

(Well, here goes.)

He tries to sit up, but Sakusa moves over and smoothly adjusts the position of his legs so that Atsumu is squeezed between Sakusa’s thighs. He leans on Sakusa, water sloshing in the space between them. Sakusa slaps the faucet and the bathroom falls completely silent, only the sound of shallow waves colliding into the glass tub audible. The water is at level with the middle of his chest, leaving his upper half slightly trembling – Atsumu wishes to believe that it’s because of the cold. Not anticipation – definitely not anticipation.

Fingers glide over his stomach, venturing his abdomen. Atsumu sucks in a breath as he feels Sakusa lower his head; a moist ‘pop’ by his neck echoes as Sakusa licks and nibbles on the skin. There’s something incredibly arousing about doing this in water, as it’s more difficult to maintain his balance and regain mobility, his hips twitching. “Down,” Sakusa mumbles before outlining the curve of Atsumu’s ear with his tongue. Atsumu curls his toes, his ears flushing red as he realizes how quickly he listened to Sakusa. “Good.”

Suddenly, Sakusa unwraps the bar of soap singlehandedly and dunks it in the water once. “Are ya actually washin’ yer hands in the tub,” deadpans Atsumu, but Sakusa simply rubs it until there are bubbles on his palm. With those palms, he gropes Atsumu’s chest, which has the latter twisting back and forth, helpless. The slippery sensation on his pecs is weird – weird, but in a, “Mm,” he shudders when Sakusa pinches them. He pinches them hard, twists, and then pinches some more. Atsumu cranes his neck backward on Sakusa’s collarbone and moans at the assault.

“You like that, don’t you?” It’s just a gravelly whisper – a whisper, but it turns him on. “Miya, say you like it.”

“I,” the tips are rubbed between Sakusa’s index finger and thumb, stiff and brown. The tingling pleasure runs straight to his dick. Atsumu swallows. “I like-un, it…”

Sakusa massages his left breast, kneading the firm muscle. Atsumu protests in clutters of nonsensical blabber. “Be more specific.”

God, he never gets better. “I like it when ya touch my,” he yelps when Sakusa squeezes his breast, enough to hurt just a little. “My… tits,” ah, fuck, “and my nipples.”

“Yeah,” Sakusa releases him and gently spreads his palms over his chest, “I know.” He somewhat hoped it would be more bearable, with just palms on his nipples, but it’s not – he clamps his lips as Sakusa rotates his flat palms in circles, dragging his pecs along the circular path. Although he isn’t aware, his body is angled so that he’s almost lying on Sakusa, quaking under Sakusa’s mercy, a whole meal to be devoured. The corner of Sakusa’s mouth quirks upon witnessing Atsumu’s delicious reaction.

If anyone can rival the devil, it’s Sakusa Kiyoomi.

“Don’t come, Miya. We’re only starting.”

His areolas physically throb and tauten at the warning. “But Omi –“ Sakusa resorts to holding his nipples between his knuckles and gives them a swift, strong tug. “Ah!”

“Don’t come.”

You’re kidding.

But Atsumu does as told because the consequences of disobeying are far more terrifying. “Stop, pullin’, at least- hahh,” Sakusa gives them one final squeeze and frees Atsumu of his torture. God, I really thought I was just gonna come, that was fuckin’ dangerous. He wasn’t this sensitive in the past; he didn’t even budge when his other casual partners played with his chest whenever they felt like it. Sakusa seemed to know how to rattle him, however.

(Who did Sakusa fuck, then?)

“I’ll make you come with your chest in the future. Don’t be so disappointed.”

Atsumu glares at him. “I’m not.”

Arms slide under his thighs, slightly above the crease of his knees. He can’t really resist when pressure is applied underwater, spreading his legs apart – his ass is lifted temporarily and Atsumu attempts to hold onto something. I knew it, I knew, I knew he’d fuckin’ love this arrangement.

There he is, in a bathtub, totally spread by Sakusa’s arms, his promiscuous reflection in the mirror in front of them.

“It’s amazing, how the mirror doesn’t condense. Do you think it’s coated in some kind of layer?” He wants to punch Sakusa in the face. Who the hell cares about what mirror’s made of? “I really do like watching you in the mirror, by the way.”

“I know ya do, I swear ya have a kink for it.” Atsumu looks away. Or he makes an effort to.

“Watch yourself, Miya.” Sakusa smiles – it’s the most evil thing Atsumu has seen, “And you’ll see what I mean.”

That’s the thing, I don’t wanna see myself.

He does anyway. Losers are losers.

His eyes are a bit lidded, and his skin is tinted pinkish, especially his nipples and face. His gelled blond strands are damp and hood his forehead, and Sakusa is holding up his legs so that they form a perfect ‘M’. It’s a hell ton more embarrassing than he’s imagined, which has his cock bobbing and hard. The water droplets that have splattered over his cheekbones and shoulders make him appear as if he’s sweating buckets – from pleasure. Atsumu shields himself from the sight. “What’s so fun about this, god…”

(Not to mention, he can feel Sakusa’s erection by his tailbone.)

Sakusa chuckles, “It’s sad that we aren’t on the same page. Well,” he kisses Atsumu’s jawline, “can you finger yourself?”

“Like,” he glances at Sakusa in doubt, “this?”

“I’m holding your legs apart for you, I feel like I’m doing at least half your labor.”

Atsumu has no choice but to open his eyes and face reality. He’s posturing like a porn star in a honeymoon suite with Sakusa Kiyoomi, out of all people. He’s had worse. At least this is a private space.

Right.

Okay.

A steadying inhale – and a finger.

He’s never had to see someone finger him so openly like this, not even himself. Sakusa’s hyena-like keenness doesn’t allow him to look away, as his fingertip prods at his puckered entrance, clenching and unclenching. When the finger slides in, the warm water seeps into the hole, not too deep but enough to have him quaver. “Move it,” orders Sakusa, and Atsumu obliges, moving his finger in and out until the tight hole becomes loose for another digit. “Second finger.”

“Hmmm…” it’s harder to push in a second but it joins the first soon – liquids swishing in and out in the shallower depths of his hole. “Omi, this- this feels weird, the water –“

“Scissor.”

“No, I’ll –“

“Miya,” Sakusa grunts, “what did I tell you to do?”

Like he said, the devil.

Hesitantly, he spreads his fingers, stretching as far as he can. It’s quite a scene on the mirror, his entrance stretched horizontally for Sakusa to view as much he pleases. Atsumu darkens by several beetroot shades as Sakusa watches him intently. The man hums, contented, and it’s beyond humiliating. “Well done. Do you think you can find your prostate?”

Not that he has the option to answer with a negative, of course. He nods and maneuvers his right hand towards the place he knows by heart – a little more to the right, then deeper, and curl.

A sultry moan bounces off the tiles of the bathroom. Bingo.

“Press it each time you move your fingers. You miss, and you add another finger. Understand?” Sakusa smirks, “And don’t worry about running out of fingers, because I might as well use mine if we have to.”

Dear God, if you love me, don’t make my next friend with benefits Sakusa Kiyoomi.

“Miya, response?”

“I get it, I fuckin’ get it.”

He starts slow, shoving his fingers inside and aligning them so that they hit the sweet, cursed knot of nerves. Each snap drives him insane as uncontrollable tremors of pleasure jitter through his muscles, his whole body bumping into Sakusa’s as he jerks and jumps. He whimpers and fights to keep his attention on the mirror, the vulnerable display of himself and the consequent humiliation multiplying the sensation tenfold. Just a centimeter- no, millimeter, he stalls, would he notice? There’s no possibility of him lasting at this point, despite his achingly slow and careful pace.

He misses by a few millimeters, barely.

“Three fingers.”

Sakusa isn’t deceived.

Just – what is he?

“Hurry up, Miya. Three fingers.”

Panic surges in him at Sakusa’s unforgiving voice. “But Omi, at this rate I’m gonna,”

“I don’t care.” Atsumu bites his bottom lip. He wouldn’t care, yeah. Another finger is reluctantly jammed in, and the agonizing tightness of the combined digits has Atsumu panting heavily. After a brief moment of leisure, he resumes the act – moans and incoherent cries of bliss spill from his lips, one by one. The Atsumu in the mirror is thrashing, his face painted in pure delight, despite how much he wishes to reject it.

“Ungh, ahn, oh-Omi, Omiiii…”

“Watching yourself being fucked by your own fingers turns you on, doesn’t it, Miya?” Sakusa mocks, and Atsumu shakes his head in between. “You do.”

“I- I don’t,”

“I won’t let you come if you’re not honest.” That brings out a desperate buck of Atsumu’s hips; Sakusa locks him in place with his sturdy arms. He cannot escape. “So, Miya, you were saying?”

Candor must be a theme today. If Sakusa thought this would arouse Atsumu, then well – he was correct, fuck.

“Turns, it turns me on,” he admits with flushed cheeks, his fingers drilling in and out in madness – he needs, wants, “can I- Omi, can I- mmn, can I come?” With his free hand, he grips Sakusa’s wrist imploringly. “Please, Omi, can I come? I need to, I really need to, pleasepleaseplease…” He feels Sakusa twitch underneath, muttering ‘shit.’

Sakusa’s voice is raspy as he grunts back – “Yes. Come. Fucking come.”

Atsumu lolls his head back on Sakusa’s shoulder and lets out a breathy moan that is shamefully high, the stuttered movements of his hand causing the water to slap and waver in currents, the white streaks of his cum mixing into the bathwater. The release is lengthier than usual, and he spasms and shakes in Sakusa’s grip for more than thirty seconds, the aftershocks of the orgasm sending his brain into a high. He goes slack in the water, exhausted and spent –

But also, craving for more.

Sakusa seems to be able to read his mind, because he grins.

“Round two?”

Sakusa almost hauls him to the shower as Atsumu’s joints are still wobbly. He clings to Sakusa’s neck, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him closer, sucking the protruding tendons of Sakusa’s muscles, half-consumed by his underlying eagerness. “Miya, Jesus Christ,” Sakusa kicks the door and drags them both inside. “If you could learn how to stay still for a minute,” he takes no notice and captures Sakusa’s lips. The latter doesn’t resist and returns the kiss, tilting his head for easier access. It tastes bland and bitter, with the faint fragrance of rose-scented soap. The damned honeymoon roses.

When they detach, Sakusa instantaneously grasps Atsumu and turns him around and growls:

“Bend over.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a patient human being.

As a matter of fact, ‘patient’ doesn’t even cut it. He might as well be a saint.

Because, hell – who would be able to repress their urges while watching Miya Atsumu scissor himself so lewdly, basically begging to be wrecked? He can’t list many names with the exception of Miya Osamu, for obvious reasons. Atsumu is irresistible – sin’s impersonation, tricking Sakusa with his ecstatic pleas.

“Bend over.”

Atsumu folds his body, his fists glued to the ceramic tiles of the walls. He’s shivering from the abrupt chill of the air. Sakusa considers flipping on the shower, but he doesn’t think Atsumu will need it – it might overheat him, to be frank. “I don’t want you to buckle your knees when I fuck you, got it?” Atsumu chokes out a blubbered ‘yes.’ Sakusa smiles. “Good.”

It’s a wonder how he’s wound up winning that drinking game.

He’s so thankful.

Not a second is squandered as he drives into Atsumu. The blond pulsates around Sakusa’s cock, a mewling mess just by having his length inside him. Sakusa’s mouth waters when he sees how hard Atsumu is trying to stand, his knuckles pale and the back of his neck a tantalizing shade of red. Fuck, Sakusa grits his teeth, how is he still so tight, he has to forcefully reign in his immediate desire to continue, just continue, because he’ll come faster than Atsumu if he does –

“Y’know, Omi,” Atsumu mumbles, “it’s the first time we’ve- fucked without a condom.”

Oh.

That’s what he was missing.

His conscience chastises him, that he has to march out of this stall and snatch a damned condom from Atsumu’s bag, but seriously, that would be, “Feels,” he’s interrupted by Atsumu, who grinds his plump ass against Sakusa’s groin, resembling a dog hungry for its reward. “Good, so good, god…” He speaks in a hushed tone, but with how secluded the space is, everything echoes loud and clear.

And if Atsumu feels good, then Sakusa doesn’t have an ounce of regret.

You called for it.

He retracts, admiring how Atsumu’s ring of muscle follows as if it’s attached to Sakusa’s member. Shit, shit, shit, he feels the corner of his lips curve, he’s fantastic. With such poignant final thoughts results in an aggressive ram of Sakusa into Atsumu and Atsumu screams, his back arching prettily for Sakusa. He just can’t get enough of how Atsumu claws the tiles, remembering Sakusa’s command to stand properly as he took him like this, bent over and submissive, with no will to rebel even as he’s breathless and drenched in the nectar of inescapable satisfaction.

He grabs Atsumu’s waist. It’s not narrow or thin, nothing of the sort, but he fits snugly in Sakusa’s grip. He can sense Atsumu tense up with his touches, his abs caving and his breath hitching. It has Sakusa overcome with a primal instinct to just let go, let the hell go, the invisible restraints around his sanity coming loose with each ‘please’ and ‘more’ of the blond as he writhed.

“You almost wish these walls weren’t soundproof, yeah?” He pumps him at a set rhythm, eliciting a constant stream of whines from Atsumu’s mouth. “You want Meian to hear you because you’d get off on that kind of shit. You might as well want the whole team here watching you get wrecked, hm? We should’ve called them over, that might’ve excited you more.”

Atsumu’s shoulder blades close in as he takes another brutal thrust. “Hnngh-ahn! N-no, that’s not, that’s not –“

“No? You get turned on when you watch yourself, and I know you enjoyed what we did in the arena’s bathroom, and you have the audacity to deny it?” He doesn’t move at all – Atsumu seems devastated by the loss. Right then, his knees betray him and bend, and without further thought, Sakusa slaps Atsumu’s ass, the cheek rippling at the impact. Atsumu, who obviously wasn’t expecting that, sobs and crumples, melting to the floor. A burning scarlet handprint begins to appear on his peach skin, and Sakusa relishes in the sheer beauty of it all. He manages to regain his senses and stares at Atsumu scramble back to where he began, Sakusa still inside him. “Miya, do I have to remind you about your knees?”

Atsumu stammers, “No, no ya don’t Omi-kun,” he’s still shaky, saliva dripping from his gaping mouth, which is understandable – he came already, only a number of minutes ago. The orgasm was sufficient to weigh him down. But that’s not relevant, and Sakusa brings his hand down ruthlessly on the opposite cheek. A wet ‘smack’ follows suit. Tears spring from Atsumu’s eyes as a hoarse cry vibrates in Sakusa’s eardrums. Another pink bruise blossoms from the round, glistening surface, and Sakusa scratches it so that his nail marks decorate the dimming pink.

“You better make it quick unless you want me to make you count, Miya.”

He recalls how Atsumu told him to be nicer. Should I? He decides against it when Atsumu straightens his knees again, swiveling his face towards Sakusa and, “I’ll listen to wha’cha say, whatever it is, so,” Sakusa swallows dry, “fuck me, fuck me, do wha’cha wanna, Omi,” and that snips his last thread. “’M all yers to fuck.”

Atsumu has freed him.

He breathes in and penetrates Atsumu’s swollen entrance. The setter’s forehead knocks against the tiles, a feral, guttural moan leaking from his puffy lips. Sakusa isn’t able to suppress himself any longer, as what fills his blank mind is Atsumu’s string of, “Ahh, oh, fuck, Omi-fuuuuuck, ungh, hah, ah!” It’s fucking music, a tune only Atsumu can play. Through it all, Atsumu doesn’t lose his footing, flawlessly posed for Sakusa to wreck him over, bent forward in a perfect ninety-degree angle, only his spine arched in glee as he wails.

“You’re doing great, baby,” he uses the pet name like his second nature – it’s rather fitting for their circumstance, anyway – and Atsumu nods and nods again, bungled syllables pouring from his throat – ‘yesyesyes, Omi-yes.’ “Taking me so well.”

Atsumu buries his head into his forearms. Then, “Omi –“

Sakusa furrows his brows. There is a growing fire at the base of his groin, threatening to explode directly into Atsumu. “Yes, Miya?” He sweeps his curls aside so that they don’t obstruct his field of vision. This – all this is too marvelous to miss.

“One more time,” Atsumu looks at him longingly, “what ya did earlier, I wanna…”

Earlier?

Sakusa blinks, static.

He licks his teeth.

“You have to use words, Miya.” He shrugs, faking nonchalance. He’s anything but nonchalant beneath his fragile façade. “What do you want me to do?”

He sees Atsumu mouth something along the lines of a cuss. Nonetheless, he goes on, “Wan ’cha to… spank my ass, one more time.”

Sakusa processes his request.

And huffs.

Miya Atsumu likes to be treated like this. He was plenty aware, but he wasn’t actually thinking, “What’s the proper way of begging, Miya?” He swallows a groan when Atsumu clenches around him nervously.

“I want t’ come as ya spank me, Omi-kun,” Atsumu squirms, and he caresses his own butt cheeks in a desperate, beseeching manner, his slender fingers tracing over the marks Sakusa left previously. “Ahh…” Atsumu exhales, stimulated by his own touches. Sakusa can heed something crack in him. “Please?” The ‘please’ is so unbelievably soft and shy as if Atsumu is asking for permission. He’s pretty sure Atsumu’s lost it because there is no way he’d willingly do this with a rational mindset. It works in Sakusa’s favor.

“Since you asked so nicely.” He smiles crookedly when Atsumu does nothing but sigh in utter gratification. “You’ll come as soon as I spank you, alright?” ‘Yeah-yes I will, I promise, please, Omi, please,’ he yearns to laugh at how Atsumu rapidly corrects his ‘yeah’ to ‘yes,’ in fear that such a minor thing would tick him off and cause him to quit.

He has no idea how Atsumu is letting him do all this, even now.

The rocking of his hips becomes rampant and the wanton moans of Atsumu gradually peak and transform into fragmented sobs and screams. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, he groans, “Miya,” and basks in the glory of how the name rolls off his tongue. Atsumu responds by having ‘Omi, Omi, Omi’ reverberate throughout the bathroom – he wouldn’t be startled if their voices can be heard in the corridors of the hotel. “You’re everything,” he chants his veiled thoughts to Atsumu and ejaculates – a sticky warmth flows out and fills Atsumu. On beat, he delivers a hard, solid ‘slap’ to Atsumu’s ass, more powerful than the former two.

“God, Omi –“ and with that, Atsumu’s jaw drops but no sound projects, his pupils dilated, and toes digging into the marble as he trembles and comes again as Sakusa said he would. Sakusa has to shut his eyes as Atsumu encloses around him, unintentionally triggering him to opt for another round. Atsumu coughs a bit and droops, his cum cascading down his inner thighs in white, thin rivulets.

It’s true.

Atsumu is Sakusa’s everything.

(That’s the thing – even if Atsumu lies countlessly to Sakusa, Sakusa will never be capable of telling a single lie to Atsumu.)

All energy is drained from him as he drops to the floor, panting.

That is the most shameful ordeal he’s experienced, period.

When he relaxes, he can feel Sakusa’s semen trickle out. Even that makes him quiver, along with the sweltering soreness of his lower back and bum. It felt too good, that he couldn’t help but beg Sakusa for more. He wasn’t convinced that he’d enjoy spanking ever, but he is persuaded. A new person. Born again, really.

“Are you okay?” Sakusa queries apologetically, crouching next to him. He flits to the leaking pool of cum. “You need to remove that, or else your stomach will ache.” And while he technically knows that Sakusa is right, he can’t motivate his dreary self to take a shower – when he’s literally sprawled in a shower stall. At his adamant attitude, Sakusa heaves a sigh and flips on the shower. Cold water rains down on Atsumu and he squeaks; it’s ice after what he’s just been through. “Come on, scoot over.” Sakusa instructs, gesturing at him with a weary expression.

“Too tired.”

“I’ll remove it for you, so just, don’t fidget.”

Sakusa gently pushes him so that he’s reclining against the elevated shelf, where his scalp brushes an assortment of conditioners and shampoos. Sakusa pries at his legs for once seems like the trillionth time today. Unsolicited noises are produced by Atsumu as Sakusa grazes his overstimulated skin. “What are ya even,” he doesn’t finish his sentence, expecting Sakusa to get the general gist.

“Helping you.”

And with that blasé demeanor, Sakusa wriggles in a smooth finger. “Fuh-uuck, hm, ya- piece of,” he isn’t deterred by Atsumu’s profanities and cleans out Atsumu’s stuffed hole, a slimy mixture of semen and other fluids oozing out with the finger. Fresh tears well as Atsumu covers his mouth to stifle his throaty moans and pitiful hiccups, his nerves flaring up like an entire conflagration as Sakusa brushes his prostate again and again in the process. He knows he can’t release again – it’ll hurt like a bitch – but there’s something more erotic, more intimate about Sakusa taking care of him like this than sex. The tip of his cock weeps remnants of semen, the color lighter than white, almost clear. “Omi, Omi please,” he doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but Sakusa hums and tries to coax him with lukewarm water beating down on his chest, washing away the dried soap and cum spattered over it.

“Just a little more, I promise.”

“Huh-hurts, Omiii…” Sakusa puts the shower head down and kisses him, Atsumu’s pained snivels drowned in both of their mouths. His finger still does its work inside Atsumu, wiping out the last lumps of semen meticulously.

Sakusa strokes his cheek with a fond smile, “I know, you’re okay. I’m done. Can you move?”

“Everythin’ aches like a bitch.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Sit up, I’ll wash your hair.”

You will? And shocker, Sakusa does. He weaves and combs through Atsumu’s locks and massages his scalp, applying the shampoo and rinsing it away. When Atsumu doesn’t budge, he groans yet again and scrubs Atsumu with a sponge. What’s gotten into him – an archangel? The only plausible explanation is that he must be possessed because Sakusa washes him without further comment. He takes the sponge from Sakusa when he inches towards his bruised ass. “I’ll do the rest.” The area stings when it is lightly stroked with the sponge, and Atsumu flinches. Don’t think about it, he’s still in here with you, for Pete’s sake.

He exits the bathroom first and pulls on a gown from the closet, limping to the spotless bed. It’s heavenly when his face hits the mattress, the coolness of the sheets soothing him. He has to lie down on his stomach with how his butt is. I shouldn’t have asked for more, sniffs Atsumu, but I mean, it was kinda worth it. Kinda.

Sakusa steps out in an identical gown as well. “You’ll fall sick if you don’t dry your hair, Miya.”

(“You’re doing great, baby. Taking me so well.”)

Atsumu blushes at the memory and turns away. “Too lazy.” A towel is flung over his dripping hair.

“Are you going out for dinner?”

“In this state? Is that meant to be a joke or what?”

“Room service it is.” He peeks out from under the towel, scrutinizing Sakusa as he peruses the fancy menu. A random, absolutely random thought occurs, and Atsumu speaks aloud:

“Y’know, it’s like we’re really married.”

Matching gowns, honeymoon suite, sex in the hotel bathroom, affectionate aftercare. Atsumu finds it rather hilarious and therefore waits for Sakusa’s characteristic snort.

But Sakusa stares at him.

Atsumu stares back, his throat constricting.

“… Or somethin’.”

Silence.

And then Sakusa shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

There is an unfamiliar pounding that can be heard from a distance.

Atsumu belatedly realizes that it’s from him.

Wait, what the fuck?

(Five more to go.)