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1. enter: hinata shouyou, spring nationals, 2013
(Atsumu will swear that the first time isn’t even about Hinata Shouyou. It isn’t even a good, stress-relieving wank, the way a wank should be. Metaphorically speaking: it’s a wank that begins with the anger swelling in low tides all over Atsumu’s body—not enough to send him crashing down onto the hard shore, but enough to make him feel like a floating sack of wet shit amidst a sea of shit. Literally speaking: losing sucks. Jerking off is a little better.)
It starts out a little like this:
When they finally made it back to the hotel, Atsumu ended up alone in the room because Osamu was taking a bajillion fucking years in the shower. Atsumu thought it was because Osamu was probably having himself a nice long cry about the humiliation of defeat and the loss of their beloved senpais and the way that you can throw 120% of yourself onto that court and still leave with the same bottomless hunger in your gut. Atsumu was two minutes into a game of Candy Crush that he wasn’t even paying attention to because he couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid, starved ache in himself, and also he sucked at Candy Crush so he didn’t even know why he’d opened the app to begin with. His skin itched. His fingertips were still tingly. He idly wondered if Shouyou felt like this, too, even as the victor who’d curb-stomped Atsumu, Osamu, and their beloved senpais. He had to be. Atsumu had only known the guy for an hour and a half, but sweating and bleeding on the same court enacted all sorts of intimate mind-fuckery on your brain, like how Atsumu already knew Shouyou was somewhere in the wilderness of Tokyo with That Look of singular, unabashed want. That Look was going to burn in Atsumu’s subconscious for a while because Shouyou was the kind of guy that got into someone’s head through threat of arson.
It was a very long way of explaining that Atsumu thought Hinata Shouyou was the hottest fucking thing he’d seen in a while, and it pissed both him and his dick off—which was why, while ignoring his worsening score on the Candy Crush scoreboards, Atsumu decided to stick a hand underneath his gym shorts and figure out things that way.
Bringing us to the present moment, which will later be dubbed as the First Instance: Atsumu closing his eyes and fisting his angry-confused-hate boner to Karasuno’s #10, AKA That Fucking Guy?, AKA Hinata Shouyou with the unbelievable hair and feral eyes. It helps that he’s already a little slick and sweaty from moving around all day—it’s gross, it works, whatever—and he bites down a sigh at the slide of his cock against his palm. He thinks about the way Shouyou looked during that first freak quick, the way he hovered in the air, bright like nothing else on the court. He thinks about the way Shouyou shut out his last attack with Osamu, and how Atsumu didn’t even see him or Tobio coming because he was too busy pouring his heart into the game they all loved so fucking much, and the last thing Atsumu saw before the ref’s whistle signaled Inarizaki’s defeat was Shouyou rising high and high over him. Atsumu thinks:
I’m gonna be setting for you one day.
When Atsumu comes, it’s not to the waves of anger still ebbing and ebbing away within him—it’s to the smile that Shouyou sent Tobio, asking for another toss. Atsumu wants that pretty mouth smeared all over his own like it’s the best meal he’s ever had. He wants to swipe his tongue against the soft underside of Shouyou’s jaw and then bite down, and he wants Shouyou to do the same for him, to take nothing less than what he demands from Atsumu and to flash Atsumu that razor-blade smile as he’s calling for a toss, as he’s slamming down a ball, as he’s blinking those wide eyes up at Atsumu and asking for just one more.
This is the part where Atsumu says something embarrassing like a name of a boy or a boy-deity-monster, but common sense catches him at the last second as he’s coming in white stripes across his thighs, reminding him that Osamu is literally a door away and Atsumu would prefer to keep his dignity for a little longer. He smothers all verbally incriminating evidence into his free hand, and uses the other to wipe up the rest of the come with some tissues nearby.
Moments after Atsumu’s catching his breath, his dick tucked back into his shorts, Osamu finally comes back out. His nose wrinkles when he looks over at Atsumu.
“Gross. You totally just jerked off now, didn’tcha?”
“No,” Atsumu lies, like a liar. Twin telepathy is a terrible thing. “Maybe. Fuck you. You better have left some hot water for me.”
***
2. atsumu plots to revenge-curb-stomp hinata shouyou, spring nationals, 2014
One way or another, Atsumu gets a hold of a few of Karasuno’s game tapes. Atsumu’s the captain of Inarizaki now, so it’s important that he do his proper research and meticulously plan out how he’s going to curb-stomp the team that ended Atsumu, Osamu, and their beloved senpais’ last run in Nationals and gave Atsumu the second weirdest boner of his life. Atsumu steals Osamu’s laptop (better sound quality than Atsumu’s) while Osamu’s hanging out one night with Suna (big glaring question mark at that). He huddles up in bed, back hunched over the screen, and clicks Play.
Atsumu blames a variety of factors for what transpires next: the fact that it’s after 10 PM, which means all bets for Atsumu’s sanity are off; the fact that he’s alone and sharing a bedroom with your twin means taking every opportune moment to wank off in private; or the fact that, in the time since last year’s Nationals, Atsumu hasn’t been able to catch a single glance of Karasuno’s #10 AKA Hinata Shouyou with the unbelievable hair and feral eyes and—fuck. He’s still hot.
Needless to say, the Second Instance finds Atsumu at 12 AM watching a Karasuno vs. Dateko match with his hand down his pants. Again. If he’s being honest though, he’s not even putting his all into coming—he’s a bit content to just tug at his dick in slow, twisting strokes and watch Shouyou tool the shit out of these 200-centimeter giants. It’s waaaaaaaay funner watching this freak show happen to some other poor bastard and getting the full, uninhibited pleasure of Shouyou’s face breaking into that terrible grin. The camera angle is a bit shaky, but Atsumu will bet anything that the little shit was doing that weird tongue thing, which probably shouldn’t even be legally allowed in a volleyball match. The thought of it makes his dick leak a little. Maybe Shouyou could do that weird tongue thing to clean him right up.
Atsumu doesn’t even register the click of the door opening because he’s too busy leering at a rally where Karasuno’s #10 digs a particularly nasty serve—bet you couldn’t do that for my serve, huh, Shouyou-kun—until Osamu calls out his name.
Atsumu slams the laptop shut.
“Tsumu.” Osamu doesn’t even sound upset. He’s beginning to sound more and more like a cocktail mix of resignation and world-weary disappointment that Atsumu is a living, breathing person, which is really just a meaner knock-off of what Aran and Kita used to emulate. It says a lot about the arc of Atsumu’s sexual awakening thus far that his dick barely softens at the thought of them. “What the fuck were you doin’ with my laptop.”
Atsumu stands his ground because he refuses to allow any more blows to his dignity. He glares back, hard enough to zero in on the way Osamu has deliberately pulled the collar of his jacket higher. “What the fuck were you doin’ with Suna, Samu.”
They don't stop staring each other down until Atsumu lets his hand slip off his dick with a wet sound that makes Osamu’s face twist up in disgust and break eye contact. Hell yeah. Dignity preserved.
“I hate you,” Osamu says emphatically. “I hate you so much.”
“Okay,” Atsumu says. He wipes his hand discreetly on the edges of his bedsheets. “And for your information, I was just doin’ my job as team captain and scoutin’ teams for Nationals.”
Osamu looks like he does, unfortunately, believe this, and looks all the more disgusted for it. Aran would be so proud.
“Whatever. Just don’t let your dick fall off because you can’t separate your libido from volleyball.” Osamu turns back around. “I’m gonna go get some bleach to dump on my laptop. And maybe you.”
“Hope you and Suna were safe,” Atsumu calls after him. Osamu flips him the bird as he leaves.
Shrugging, Atsumu opens the laptop back up and clicks Play. He’s long soft now, but he wants to see how Shouyou and Blondie are setting up their new defensive formation. Captain’s duties and all.
***
3. hinata shouyou’s lost years, 2015 — 2017
Hinata Shouyou departs for Hyrule to level the fuck up. Or somewhere like that. Atsumu’s not great at geography. He slips out of Atsumu’s mind because Atsumu is also busy trying to level the fuck up his arsenal of volleyball superpowers and Korean hair products and spank bank material. He’s got a whole slew of new monster-god-teammates and a mission to prove to Osamu that Atsumu is going to be the happiest motherfucker in all of Japan, with or without him or Hinata Shouyou with the unbelievable hair and feral eyes and whiplash tongue. Atsumu is going to be so fucking happy. Just you wait.
(Okay, fine. Sometimes there are moments. A smidge of something, when Atsumu’s bored and horny, toying with himself for what feels like hours because hah, he can do that now in his Osamu-less room. When he’s got a thumb pressed against the head of his cock, two fingers pressing up inside of him, and he’s hopelessly aching for that something to send him careening off the edge, his horny lizard brain will search the dark underbelly of Atsumu’s subconscious for that something, that smidge of something, anything—and then he’ll be hit with the memories like the first burst of sunlight, the kind that wakes up your body and touches you with just enough sensation to make you feel starved for it. His orgasm will hit him in hot, gasping spurts, and if Atsumu chokes out a name into the air, his vision going dark and blurry with flashes of orange softening the edges, then he’s sure fucking glad that no one else is there to hear it.)
***
4. hinata shouyou returns to japan like the third coming of christ, 2018
Hinata Shouyou comes back with a faint sunglasses’s sun, a polyglot’s tongue, and a sledgehammer to wreck Atsumu’s life.
When Shouyou is officially announced as the next new member of the MSBY Jackals, Atsumu avoids him on general principle. He keeps it professional on the court, of course, ‘cause Atsumu knows how to separate his libido from volleyball (fuck you, too, Osamu). But everywhere else—in the locker rooms, in the gym, in the hallway between their two apartments because the universe hates Atsumu—he makes it a point to swerve all contact with Shouyou, AKA God, That Fucking Guy, AKA The Former Star of Atsumu’s Spank Bank Fantasies, Which He Will Never Share with Anyone Else. Ever.
In other words: Shouyou leveled the fuck up in Rio de Hyrule, and Atsumu feels like he’s been playing on Baby Gamer Casual Mode this whole time.
“Have you always been this much of a nerd?” Osamu asks him. Atsumu is shoving two different kinds of Onigiri Miya’s onigiri in his mouth. He is in immense pain.
“His arms, Samu,” Atsumu manages to garble out around rice and tuna and mayonnaise. He swallows, hard. “His thighs.”
Osamu also looks like he’s in immense pain. Must be one of those twin empathy things.
“His spikes are even more killer now, his digs are stupidly fast, and his sets—he sets for me, Samu! And he’s actually good at it! What the fuck! What kind of next-level grindin’ did Shouyou-kun have to go through when he was abroad.”
“He must have grinded a lot,” Osamu says blankly. “So much grindin’. Can’t even fathom it.”
Atsumu’s eyes glaze over for just a second because he and his brain of horny lizards are seriously having the worst-best time right now. Osamu takes this opportunity to slap him upside the head—which ow, what the fuck, but Atsumu gets the message that Osamu values their blood bond enough to not let Atsumu have a boner in public.
“Thank you,” Atsumu says, a little begrudgingly. “Can I try the salmon belly onigiri next?”
Atsumu makes it about a month before he breaks and succumbs to the entropy of the universe. He blames Bokuto, who is like another version of Shouyou that’s less present in Atsumu’s arsenal of spank bank fantasies. Bokuto invites the team over to his apartment after an exhausting week of practices. Akaashi Keiji, who Atsumu suspects is the headliner in Bokuto’s spank bank fantasies, will be there. Akaashi will be cooking penne alla vodka. Atsumu doesn’t know why Bokuto tells them any of this, but Bokuto tells them there will also be actual vodka alongside the penne alla vodka. Atsumu decides to come.
They all end up crammed around Bokuto’s coffee table because Thomas and Inunaki want to play Super Smash Brothers in the living room. Atsumu eats his pasta and drinks his Moscow Mule and smugly judges all of them until it’s his turn to play. He three-stocks Bokuto’s Incineroar, Akaashi’s Peach, and Meian’s King K. Rool in less than ten minutes.
“I can’t believe you main the dog from Animal Crossing,” Inunaki complains. “That’s kinda weird, man.”
“Are you a nerd or something,” Sakusa asks, completely serious. Sakusa elected to not play Super Smash Brothers. There is nothing more horrifying to Sakusa than four Switch controllers being passed between six different men with different but equally sweaty palms.
Shouyou says, “I love the dog from Animal Crossing.”
“Do you,” Atsumu says carefully. Up until this moment, Atsumu was doing his best to ignore the fact that Hinata Shouyou is there and brushing up against Atsumu’s shoulder, but the taste of victory and his third Moscow Mule and the newfound knowledge that Shouyou also likes the dog from Animal Crossing is putting a damper on Atsumu’s plans. His face feels hot.
“Do you play Animal Crossing, Atsumu-san?”
“Yeah,” Atsumu says. Before he can demonstrate his conversational prowess even more, Meian passes Shouyou his controller and the next game begins.
Shouyou approaches Super Smash Brothers with the same fervor as everything else in his life. His entire body vibrates as he’s hammering buttons down like a mad-man. Atsumu thinks it’s the sheer, God-defying state of being Hinata Shouyou, more than actual Boss Mode Gamer Skill, that allows Shouyou to outlast Bokuto and Akaashi and whittle Atsumu down to his last stock. Atsumu may also be distracted. The air around him smells like competition and tomatoes and vodka and Shouyou’s hair. It’s distracting.
The game finally finishes when Shouyou’s Pikachu zips off the edge of the map. As soon as the results load, Shouyou turns to him so fast that Atsumu gets secondhand vertigo.
“Wow, Atsumu-san, you’re really good at this game! The way Isabelle went woosh with that balloon move you did kept tripping me up! And you’re so precise with all of the other controls! Do you play as her a lot? Do you have any other characters that you can go wham and bam with like that? Could you show me how to do that cool combo move you did against Bokuto-san? Can you—oh, Atsumu-san, you have a bit of tomato sauce on your chin.”
See, this is supposed to be the part where Atsumu demonstrates his conversational prowess and says something smooth like “I can give you some private lessons if you want, Shouyou-kun,” but then Shouyou licks his thumb and reaches out a hand and there’s something warm and wet sliding against Atsumu’s face before he can process what in the actual fuck is happening. Sakusa makes a noise of pure horror, so what Atsumu thinks is happening must actually be happening to him. Shouyou’s thumb that he just stuck into his mouth is now on Atsumu’s chin.
I can never wash my face again, Atsumu thinks. And then, Wait, no. My skincare routine. And then, in the millisecond-long lag it takes for the ghost of Kita Shinsuke and common sense to possess him, Atsumu decides to grab Shouyou’s thumb and stick it in his mouth.
“Why,” he hears Sakusa say to Bokuto. “Why did you host a dinner party and not tell me people were going to be sticking thumbs in mouths.”
Bokuto starts to bluster, “Well, I didn’t know this was gonna happen—” and then Akaashi Keiji says, grimly, “I don’t think anyone knew this was gonna happen—” and then Inunaki doesn’t say anything, but Atsumu can see him whip out his phone to take a picture because the ghost of Suna Rintarou is also destined to haunt Atsumu’s life.
Shouyou says, the pad of his thumb brushing against Atsumu’s tongue, “You have a really soft mouth, Atsumu-san.”
Shouyou pops his thumb out of Atsumu’s soft mouth. He gets up. “Someone can take over for me next round! I’m gonna go use the bathroom.”
Shouyou leaves. Thomas takes back the controller with a delicate look on his face, as if he, too, is now just realizing the person who touched it before him is the sexual nymph of Atsumu’s most vivid nightmares. Atsumu’s mouth tastes like tomato and Hinata Shouyou.
“Have you been drinking too much, Atsumu?” Meian jokes. In times like this, it’s the captain’s duty to dispel weird homoerotic tension. “I feel like you’ve had the same look on your face for the past ten minutes now.”
“Would you like some water, Atsumu-san?” Akaashi asks patiently.
“No,” Atsumu hears himself say, distantly. He licks his lips. “I’m okay. Let’s play next round.”
And so they do. Sakusa makes it a point to situate himself as far away as possible from the offending parties for the rest of the night. Shouyou comes back and takes his seat next to Atsumu again. Atsumu is now three-stocking Thomas’s Joker into the dust because this is how he is choosing to cope with everything.
“You’re really good at this game,” Shouyou whispers to him. He smells like lavender hand soap and the sun and whatever the fuck was on Atsumu’s chin.
“Thanks,” Atsumu says. He adds, before he can stop himself, “Let’s play together sometime again, yeah? I have a Switch back at my place, too.”
Shouyou smiles, eyes crinkling up at Atsumu. Thomas takes this opportunity to bum-rush Atsumu off the stage because Atsumu is trying too hard to not think about how much he wants to lean down and press himself up against that grin and show Shouyou exactly how soft his mouth is.
“Yeah,” Shouyou says. His smile turns sharper. “Let’s do it.”
As soon as Atsumu gets home, he kicks off his pants and manages to jerk himself off three times in a row before his dick starts to hurt. Thinking about Hinata Shouyou and Hinata Shouyou’s right thumb and Hinata Shouyou’s razor-blade smile right now is making his dick physically and figuratively hurt. He doesn’t know how many times in his life at this point that he’s hurt his dick jerking it to Hinata Shouyou. Atsumu hopes he’ll remember in the morning, right before he passes the fuck out.
***
(+1) sometime in the near future, thank god
They don’t get around to playing on Atsumu’s Switch, but one way or the other, Atsumu ends up naked on his bed again with his hand pumping up and down his cock. This time, though, Shouyou is staring at him with wide, warm eyes.
“Wow, Atsumu-san. You look really pretty like this.”
Atsumu is sweating. There’s a hot flush of red creeping from his chest to neck. His dick is smearing pre-come against his palm, and he’s been five seconds away from coming ever since Shouyou asked him to undress. “Shouyou-kun. Please stop talkin’.”
Shouyou laughs. Evil. Pure sweet evil.
“Do you really want me to? I thought you liked it whenever I complimented you.”
“I do,” Atsumu says before he can stop himself. He presses a hand against the base of his cock, counts to ten. “Fuck. I mean. Of course I fuckin’ like it when you tell me nice things, who wouldn’t, but if you keep talkin’ like that and lookin' at me like that—I’m gonna—”
“I think you can take it for a little longer than this,” Shouyou says, so sure that Atsumu won’t come in five seconds like a blushing river virgin. “Just let me watch you for a few more minutes, okay? I want to see you get yourself off.”
Atsumu nods because his body is incapable of doing anything else in the face of Shouyou’s want. He counts to twenty this time, and then starts to slide his hand up and down in rough, shaky movements.
Shouyou starts talking again in that steady, unyielding voice. “You’re thicker than I thought you’d be, but I knew you’d like it a little rough. I like seeing you touch yourself like this. It’ll give me a better idea what to do with you later on, Atsumu-san.”
“Later on,” Atsumu grits out. He thrusts up into his fist, and bites off a shaky groan. It’s wildly unfair that Shouyou’s dirty talk isn’t even that dirty and Atsumu is still this unhinged. “Y—you sure are cocky, you brat.”
“Not cocky,” Shouyou says brightly. “Just confident.”
He moves a breath closer to Atsumu, face hovering right over his. One hand slides down to grip the inside of Atsumu’s thigh, and the other cups Atsumu’s chin. All of Atsumu’s senses are being overwhelmed by Shouyou and warm hands and the smell of sunlight and salonpas and he’s almost positive that he’s never been this turned on in his life, ever. Atsumu’s life is pretty fucking great.
“I’m going to put my fingers in your mouth now,” Shouyou says. “You can get off once I do that, ‘kay?”
“‘kay,” Atsumu chokes out, and does.
He comes with a high, keening noise from his throat, his mouth sucking the pads of Shouyou’s fingers like a vice. He feels Shouyou’s nails biting crescents into the meat of his thigh as Atsumu pulses his hips up off the bed. The last thing he sees as he comes down is Shouyou over him, his tongue tucked between the teeth of his smile.
Before Atsumu can say anything, his breath burning somewhere in his chest, Shouyou tilts his head, and gives him That Look.
Both Atsumu and his dick twitch instinctively. His life is terrifying and amazing and his dick might fall off by the end of the day but at this point, Atsumu would do anything to keep Shouyou’s eyes on him like that, like there’s nothing in the world that Hinata Shouyou with the unbelievable hair and feral eyes and sexual nymph superpowers wants more than Atsumu, sweaty, sticky with come, and aching to be touched.
“One more time?”