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“Samu, I’ve got a big problem.”
“Here we fuckin’ go. What is it this time?”
Atsumu needs to think strategically about how he’s going to phrase this. One wrong word and Osamu will hang up on him and Atsumu will be forced to wade through the hell of his own mind by himself.
“I jerked off to one of my teammates.”
Osamu hangs up. Atsumu lets out some kind of combination between a groan and a shriek and calls him back.
“There is no way in any sort of reality that we’re talkin’ about this right now,” Osamu answers flatly on the first ring.
“What good is havin’ a twin if we can’t talk about this shit?”
“Nobody talks about this shit with their siblings!”
“Look, look,” Atsumu pleads. “I’m just – I can’t stop thinkin’ about him now. It’s consumin’ me. What do I do?”
“How am I supposed to know? I’m not the type to jerk off to my – ”
Osamu doesn’t finish the sentence. Atsumu knows why.
“I didn’t wanna bring it up but if yer gonna make the connection on yer own,” Atsumu says, innocently, “I do remember a certain time in high school when I walked in on ya with Rin’s picture on yer phone and yer pants at yer ankles.”
“Ya better shut the fuck up, ya monster. I told ya to take that to the grave.”
“I have! I haven’t told anybody about yer depravities. So help me with mine.”
“I hate ya more than I could ever describe. Should’ve let ya run into traffic all those times.”
“I notice ya haven’t asked me which teammate.”
“And there’s a reason for that!” Osamu snaps. “Don’t taint any of their images in my brain. I gotta watch them on TV. Don’t tell me.”
“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
“Goddamn you, he’s the worst one.”
“Who were ya expectin’? Shoyo?”
“Maybe Bokuto. He puts up enough selfies on social media that ya’d have yer pick. How d’ya even jerk off to someone like Sakusa? He barely shows his face.”
Atsumu makes an indignant sound. “He shows his face plenty.”
“On the court – all sweaty and such, hair a mess, breathin’ heavy. Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
“Okay, so I get it. Still don’t know how ya want me to help ya.”
“When it was Rin – how’d ya, uh, get him out of yer head?”
“I didn’t, ya idiot. We’re datin’.”
“You two started datin’ like a year ago – I meant in high school. Ya obviously weren’t thinkin’ about him the entire time up until last year.”
“Hmm,” Osamu muses. “Yeah, kinda was. I fucked him a few times and that helped speed things along.”
“So what yer sayin’,’’ Atsumu starts, “is that this is gonna plague me for the rest of my life and I’m just gonna have to accept it and get him in bed?”
“Yup, pretty much.”
Atsumu is doomed. “How the hell do I do that?”
If Atsumu really wanted to, he could probably hook up with at least eighty-percent of his teammates. Bokuto appreciates an attractive man and Atsumu knows he falls into that category, because they spend a good chunk of practice complimenting each other on their muscle gains. Inunaki and Tomas are always down for a good time, regardless of who said good time is with, and Hinata is just a freak. He probably has a list and adding a teammate as a conquest would be something to cross off.
Of course, Atsumu doesn’t want any of them. Atsumu wants the difficult, prissy, brooding one. He always needs to have a damn challenge.
Sakusa isn’t all that bad. He’s fun to mess with, and he looks like one of those Roman statues that Atsumu had to study in high school art class. He’s also hilarious, in that deadpan sort of way where you’re not sure if he’s really joking but it’s funny all the same. Atsumu appreciates his meticulous nature in his game play, and in his overall life. They’re actually sort of friends, which was unexpected, but welcome.
Then came the horny, and now Atsumu is in shambles.
“I don’t think Omi even sees me as a sexual bein’,” Atsumu admits.
“This is the worst conversation I’ve ever been a part of.”
“Get over yerself and help me out here.”
Osamu grumbles out a string of profanities on the other line. “Gettin’ Rin to look at me different was easy. I just sent him a picture.”
Atsumu gasps, scandalized. “You sent a thirst trap? My baby brother? Where was I? Why didn’t I stop ya?”
“Don’t act self-righteous. I hate when ya pull that ‘baby brother’ bullshit. Yer the one who taught me what a thirst trap is anyway,” Osamu grouses. “And yeah, that’s all I did. I sent it, he sent one back, and I’m not tellin’ ya the rest.”
“Wasn’t gonna ask.” Atsumu scrunches his nose up in horror. “So, yer sayin’ I should send Omi-kun a thirst trap? I dunno if he’s the type. He never likes my ones on Instagram.”
“Because they’re obscene.”
Atsumu chooses to ignore that because fuck Osamu, he works hard on those pictures. There’s hours of work in the gym and on his hair to achieve that level of beauty. “I don’t think he’d respond, honestly.”
“You’re right. He might drown his phone in disinfectant if ya send him anythin’.”
“Nah, I’m freshly showered, so I know I’m at least up to his standards, but still, I dunno.”
Osamu lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Just – send it to him, and then follow up with somethin’ like, ‘what should I caption this?' Ya‘ve flirted with him before, haven’t ya?”
“Well, I flirt with everyone a little, includin’ Omi, and he doesn’t kick me in the shins when I do it, so that’s a good sign I guess?”
Osamu is silent for six whole seconds before he asks, “Are y’all even friends?”
“Yes,” Atsumu answers with conviction. “‘Course we’re friends. ”
“Like, actual friends, or ya just won’t leave him alone and so he feels obligated to pay ya a certain level of attention?”
“Why does that sound so specific…”
Osamu doesn’t answer. Atsumu is going to legally disown him. Can he do that? He’ll have to research.
“Do ya have his number?” Osamu prompts him from his fantasies of shoving his brother in a locker and walking away. At least there’s one question he can answer affirmatively, with no doubt.
“Yup, I’ve got everyone’s number.”
“Great. Good enough. Do what I said, but good luck gettin’ him to like ya. Ya’ve got the personality of the end piece of bread.”
“Well good thing we aren’t focusin’ on personality here, are we?” Atsumu snaps. If he’s any part of the bread, it’s the soft middle piece that toasts the best, Osamu be damned. “And shut up. The Black Jackals like me. I’ve matured.”
“This conversation says otherwise.”
“Ya know what,” Atsumu grumbles. “I don’t need yer help or yer ideas. I’ll seduce Omi all on my own.”
“Ya do that.”
Atsumu hangs up. Fifteen minutes later, he calls back.
“What now?”
“Will ya proofread my thirst trap message to him? Yer better with words.”
“No.”
Osamu hangs up again and Atsumu throws his phone.
-x-
The only reasonable explanation Atsumu has for his current level of debauchery is that he’s just really, really horny. Tension builds up a lot on the volleyball court. People can say what they want, but nobody truly understands what it’s like spending the entirety of your life surrounded by hot athletes.
Well, maybe Atsumu is the only one with a problem, since he’s never heard anyone else complaining, but that’s beside the point.
He takes seventeen different variations of a thirst trap after Osamu abandons him. Some have his face, but he ends up scrutinizing his expressions too many times and nixing that idea altogether. His mouth is the only part of him that gets an invite to this party, and that’s because his tongue is the star-attraction. He experiments with all of the ways he can stick it out in a way that will be seductive, then switches things up altogether and bites his shirt, holding it up so his abs are on display.
He sends several to Osamu for approval before he gets a call back begging him to ‘please, God, please stop it’.
He manages to narrow it down to two – both suggestive enough to get his point across, but not breaching the line of unsolicited. They’re something he would send in the team group chat to get opinions on, like, his ab workout or something. It’s totally normal, except for the fact that it’s past 11 PM, which means it’s real horny hours. He hopes Sakusa catches his drift.
Before he can second-guess any further, he sends the message.
Hey. Do you think this looks good enough to post?
Atsumu really wanted to say something sultry, like, ‘do you like what you see?’ with several winky-face emojis, but he figures that may land him a restraining order. Sakusa is someone who must be approached with care. If he responds negatively, Atsumu will back off immediately and set his sights elsewhere, but if he shows even a shred of interest, it’s game on.
Atsumu twiddles his thumbs after it goes through. He checks the timestamp, making sure it actually sent. Then, he turns his phone on Do Not Disturb because he regrets his entire existence and he shouldn’t have sent that. Then he turns the ringer on high so he doesn’t miss Sakusa’s response.
God, he really needs to get laid. He’s reverted back to a desperate high-school boy. This is shameful.
His phone pings and Atsumu chokes on air. He nearly drops it in his haste to open up his messages, and when he finally focuses on the screen, he reads Sakusa’s reply three times to make sure he’s not hallucinating.
You shouldn’t post that just anywhere. Not for free.
Atsumu holds himself back from screeching out in victory. Sakusa is hitting on him. He is one-hundred percent flirting. Flirting. Sakusa Kiyoomi. With Atsumu.
Atsumu is going to buy Osamu at least thirty individually-wrapped onigiris for this. Actually, he’ll treat him to an all-you-can-eat buffet.
This is a solid victory – this is confirmation that Atsumu is not simply self-absorbed and that Sakusa does actually make eyes at him, sometimes. He’s a subtle type of person, not one for grand gestures or obvious seduction tactics, but those eyes… they tell Atsumu something, alright.
It’s time to charge on full-speed ahead. He’s pulling out the big guns now.
You think so? Should I charge for it, or maybe you can just keep it for yourself?
Atsumu is a pro at dirty talk and it’s not just because he likes to hear himself speak. It’s his favorite part of hooking up with someone – taking them apart with only words. It’s an intoxicating power trip and with Sakusa? He’s getting hot just thinking about it.
Atsumu has had many crushes in his life. He has a tendency to fall in love with everybody he sees, at least a little bit – the blonde girl in the grocery store who smiles with dimples at him, the man-bun guy on the train, but nobody quite matches up to Sakusa. He gets Atsumu bothered with just a flash of teeth – feral after they pull off a successful play, or that damn pout he’s always sporting when he doesn’t get his way.
Atsumu wants to give him his way.
I’ll keep it, Sakusa replies. Short and simple. He’s going to make Atsumu do all of the work, which is on-brand for him. Sakusa likes it when people come to him. He’s a prince like that.
Since I can’t give anything out for free, where’s my payment for it? I’ll accept a fair trade.
Atsumu’s free hand inches up and down his thigh, fingers tickling over the loose fabric of his gym shorts. He’s hard because he’s a pervert and just the thought of Sakusa looking at his picture is enough to get him moving at a brisk pace, but he wants to savor this, so he goes slow.
Sakusa’s next response comes slower, but oh, it is worth the wait. Sakusa sends a picture – a beautiful, unbelievable, heavenly picture. He’s on display for Atsumu, an expanse of pale skin dotted with moles laid out in front of his eyes for him to devour. He’s flexing his abs, clearly making an effort for this, which Atsumu appreciates, and the tiniest hint of his pouted lips can be seen at the top of the photo.
Atsumu wants to put his mouth on him.
Before he can answer, Sakusa follows up with another text. Is that payment enough?
Atsumu groans. Sakusa is shameless and Atsumu eats it up.
I dunno. I might want to charge more.
The next picture comes quicker, like Sakusa is just as invested in this as Atsumu is, and isn’t that a thought that racks his body with a shiver. He opens it greedily and his eyes fall immediately to where Sakusa’s hand rests, just under the waistband of his sweatpants.
Atsumu is faint. He’s so horny, he might actually pass out. It’s only through sheer will-power that he gets himself together enough to send back his own version of Sakusa’s picture, although his leaves much less to the imagination.
No response comes, but after a moment, Atsumu’s phone rings.
“Miya,” Sakusa breathes, and oh, oh no. Atsumu is done for. He’s ruined. He’s never going to be able to hear his surname in an innocent context again. He’s going to have to change it because he’ll always associate it with the desperate rasp of Sakusa’s voice at this very moment. “You better be able to back up your words with action.”
Atsumu’s heart picks up speed. He swallows it down. “Ya know I always do, Omi-kun. Ya want me to do somethin’ about what I started?”
“Yeah, I do,” Sakusa murmurs. “But if you’re going to do something, you better hurry up and do it. I don’t like to wait.”
“What d’ya want, Omi?” he murmurs. He lays his phone on his chest and drags his hand over his cock, using his own precome as lube. He should send Sakusa a picture of that too, but maybe there’s an easier way.
He doesn’t wait for Sakusa to reply before he switches to FaceTime. Sakusa answers immediately and Atsumu angles it just right for the best view.
“D’ya want this?”
“Fuck, Miya.” Atsumu watches the screen – Sakusa is illuminated in a low-light but he can see everything. The lust in his eyes as he takes Atsumu in, the twitch in his fingers as they glide aimlessly across his body, from his chest down to his hip bone, before languidly dipping into where Atsumu knows they want to go.
Sakusa is putting on a show for him.
“Yeah? If ya want it, ya gotta tell me, Omi-kun,” he simpers. “C’mon, tell me ya want my cock. Yer lookin’ at it like it’s the prettiest thing ya’ve ever seen.”
Sakusa chokes out a moan. He’s biting down on his lip and Atsumu strokes a little faster at the image.
“I don’t hear ya usin’ yer words,” Atsumu teases. “What, d’ya want me to come over?” It’s pushing his luck, but Sakusa is easy like this. He’s more compliant than he’s ever been and Atsumu can’t let that go to waste. “Can’t deal with just thinkin’ about me when I’m right down the hall?”
“Don’t make me ask twice.”
“Ya didn’t even ask once.”
“Miya, are you going to come fuck me or not?”
An electric shock shoots through him, toe to forehead, and engulfs him with tingling heat. He groans, thumbing the head of his cock and closing his eyes for just a brief moment.
“Hell yeah I am. On my way, Omi,” he sings.
“The door is open.”
Sakusa hangs up and Atsumu throws himself out of bed with the speed of an Olympic track star. If volleyball doesn’t work out, he’ll pursue that.
Sakusa’s request is easy enough, since he does live right across the hall. Thank God for past-Atsumu and his latching onto the promise of cheap housing close to work. The sharehouse has never been more of a blessing.
Atsumu throws on the closest shirt to him, adjusts himself, and sneaks out the door. Sakusa’s room is at the end of the hall, as far as humanly possible from everyone else. Atsumu tip-toes past Hinata and Bokuto’s room and practically sprints past Inunaki’s – getting caught is not an option. Nothing kills a boner faster than MSBY roasting you within an inch of your life for trying to fuck a teammate. Nobody would dare make fun of Sakusa, so Atsumu would get the brunt of it.
He makes it to his door unscathed and slips in.
Atsumu doesn’t even get a chance to choke out a ‘hello’ because he’s greeted with a sight that renders him incapable of human speech. Sakusa, completely naked, is propped against the headboard of his bed with his fingers buried somewhere behind him. He meets Atsumu’s eyes with dilated pupils and Atsumu nearly comes on the spot.
“Look at ya,” he whispers. “Gettin’ yerself ready for me… ya look like a goddamn piece of art.”
“I’m tired of waiting, Miya,” Sakusa tells him, still refusing to break eye-contact even as Atsumu creeps further into the room. “You’ve been flirting with me for weeks. Do something about it.”
“Oh, I will.”
No more words need to be exchanged. Atsumu knows when it’s time to shut up and put his mouth to other uses. He sheds his shirt at the foot of the bed and crawls onto it. He cages Sakusa in under him, watching him with hunger and with wonder before crashing down onto his chest and bringing their lips together.
Sakusa moans into his mouth and they fall into a rhythm – Sakusa with one hand stretching himself for Atsumu and the other digging into Atsumu’s back. Their kiss is sloppy, open-mouthed with more tongue and teeth than anything else, but Sakusa is panting for it, and Atsumu is having a hard time thinking straight. He pulls away to lick a stripe of Sakusa’s neck, and he revels in the shiver he gets when he moves his lips to his ear.
“Yer thirsty, Omi – did ya like my picture that much?”
“Shut up,” Sakusa manages. He’s writhing beneath him. “Take your clothes off.”
“All of ‘em?” he teases against his ear, blowing air. Sakusa bites back a beautiful whimper. Atsumu’s vision blurs.
“I don’t think you can fuck me with your clothes on, Miya.”
It’s always a game of control with Sakusa – how far can Atsumu push before Sakusa loses it? What words can he say to unravel him? On the court, it comes in the form of wagers and competitions – flashing eyes and snarky smiles and running until their lungs burn. Off it, Atsumu realizes, the game continues. How can they make each other crazy? What does Atsumu have to do to make Sakusa lose that sense of composure?
Apparently, sending a half-nude of himself. It’s good to know for the future, except Atsumu doesn’t think Sakusa will be the only one breaking here.
Atsumu lifts himself up enough to slide his shorts and boxers down to the floor. His cock is aching after he effectively edged himself and he’s desperate for somebody in the room to get their hands on it. Sakusa makes no move to, though, he just stares.
“Better in person, huh?” Atsumu taunts.
Sakusa answers him with a searing kiss, opening automatically for Atsumu to slide his tongue in. He backs Sakusa up, pushing him into the bed. Sakusa drags Atsumu down with him. They’re a tangle of limbs, skin-on-skin burning Atsumu to the core. Atsumu wants to look, to memorize the constellations of moles that dot Sakusa’s body, to map out the dips in his abdomen and the flush on his cheeks, but Sakusa will not give him the time for that tonight. He tugs him down and feasts on his mouth, kissing Atsumu until he’s breathless and dizzy.
He pulls away to watch Sakusa’s fingers move. He has three inside now. His cheeks are flushed. His eyes are heavy and lidded. Atsumu is stuck between wanting to savor this – because who knows if he’ll ever get another chance like this – and wanting to plunge forward, getting as much of Sakusa as he can as soon as he can.
“You should see yerself,” he mutters. “Pictures can’t even begin to do ya justice, but I’m gonna save the ones ya sent me all the same.”
“Maybe if you fuck me well enough tonight, I’ll send you more,” Sakusa says, looking at Atsumu with those eyes that have no right being so sultry and seductive. Atsumu will give Sakusa anything if he continues looking at him like that.
He answers Sakusa’s promise with one of his own. “I’ll fuck ya real good, Omi.”
“Get on with it, then. I’m ready.”
Sakusa would be bossy in bed. That in itself is not a shock – what’s more surprising is how much it turns Atsumu on. He guides Sakusa’s fingers away and replaces them with two of his own. He’s met with absolutely no resistance and he hisses out in appreciation.
“Ya did a good job, didn’t ya?”
Sakusa hums in response, closing his eyes, and with a newly freed hand, he yanks Atsumu down by his hair.
He growls right into his ear, “If you keep teasing me, I’m going to change my mind.”
“Alright, alright.” Atsumu can’t ignore his arousal any longer – another time, he’ll take Sakusa apart slowly. Tonight, he’ll give into the impatience. “Lemme kiss ya a little longer though.”
“Miya.”
“Ah, just kiddin’, Omi-kun. Where are yer condoms and lube?”
Just when Atsumu thinks Sakusa may actually hit him for how leisurely he’s taking things, Atsumu finishes slicking up his cock, gives Sakusa one brief look, then pushes in.
All of the complaints Atsumu knows Sakusa had queued up die in his throat. Atsumu likes to talk, and he likes to hear Sakusa’s voice even more, but he could overdose on the broken inhale that he just drew out of him.
Sakusa’s eyelashes flutter shut as he lays shock-still under Atsumu, letting him ease in gently.
“You’re still,” Sakusa gasps, “going so – slow .”
“Fussy,” Atsumu teases. He presses a chaste kiss on Sakusa’s forehead to soothe him and then plunges in further. Sakusa is loud and handsy, too. He grips Atsumu by the root of his hair, buries his face into his shoulder and bites and no fantasy he created in his head could ever come close to this.
“I touched myself thinkin’ about ya, ya know?” he tells him, filter long since destroyed, if he ever had one to begin with. “Before I sent ya the picture. I imagined what ya’d be like – yer even better than I thought. So tight, so hot.”
Sakusa bites harder in response and then sucks over the bite. Atsumu’s stomach jolts pleasantly at the thought of Sakusa leaving hickeys where everyone can see.
“Move, Miya.”
“I’m over the formalities, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu answers conversationally, keeping his hips steady and still, even though his body shakes with the desire to let Sakusa swallow him whole. “I think we can probably drop them, right?”
“I’m not – ”
Atsumu slips out and then sinks back in, all at once, and Sakusa lets out a guttural noise and wraps his legs around his hips.
“Yer not what, Kiyoomi?”
“Ah,” Sakusa yelps when Atsumu picks things up, slamming repeatedly into him at a brutal pace. “Ah, Atsumu, please –”
“There ya go,” Atsumu growls. He yanks Sakusa up into a kiss as he continues to thrust into him, pulling out a whole symphony of pretty little sounds from the unshakable Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Sakusa rakes his nails down Atsumu’s back with the intention to mark him. Atsumu will wear them all like a badge of honor.
He’s not going to last long, at this rate – not with how he’s being swallowed by Sakusa’s heat, not when his eyes have full access to the beautiful scene below him. This is prettier than any picture he could ever send – this is something that could only be recreated by Atsumu. Sakusa jerks beneath him, his untouched cock bouncing against his abs, leaking precome all over Sakusa’s porcelain skin.
“Gorgeous,” Atsumu mutters, half out of his mind. “Yer the most gorgeous thing.”
When he feels like he may burst into flames, Atsumu gets a hand on Sakusa’s cock and marvels at how heavy and hot it feels. Sakusa is barely hanging on by a thread and Atsumu intends to snap it. He flicks his wrists once, twice, and then Sakusa is crying out his name in broken babbles and Atsumu is following him down, vision blurring in a state of true euphoria.
Sakusa grants him approximately sixteen seconds of peace before he’s pushing him practically off the bed, grunting in disgust.
“Don’t even think you can fall asleep in here without showering first.”
Atsumu, who is clinging onto the corner of the bed for his life right now, perks up at that. “Can I sleep here if I do shower then?”
“I don’t care,” Sakusa mumbles, like a petulant child. God, Atsumu is in deep. He has such a crush on this weird, moody, difficult man and Sakusa definitely likes him too.
“Let’s shower together then, Omi-kun!” he suggests, tugging on Sakusa’s arm. As soon as he releases it, it falls with a thump, like Atsumu has fucked Sakusa into bonelessness. He’s going to use that as a point of pride and reason to brag for the rest of his life.
“Mmph.” Sakusa swats at him. Then, “What happened to Kiyoomi?”
“What?”
“You called me Kiyoomi. I like it better than that stupid nickname.”
Atsumu beams. The butterflies in his stomach are having a field day. “Alright, but ya gotta call me Atsumu.”
“Whatever.”
After another five minutes of goading, Atsumu gets Sakusa to take a shower with him. Distractions happen, but an hour later, they’re settled into bed and Sakusa curls into Atsumu’s shoulder, draping himself around him like a blanket.
“Goodnight, Kiyoomi,” he whispers to him.
“‘Night, Atsumu.”
-x-
“Hey, Samu, I have another problem.”
“I am not lookin’ at any more of yer goddamn thirst traps. If ya can’t figure it out on yer own, then it’s just not gonna work for ya!”
Atsumu snorts. “Oh, it worked. And yer so weird. It’s like lookin’ in a mirror. We’ve got the same body.”
“Yer on drugs. Mine looks much better than yers,” Osamu argues.
“Fuck you, I’m a professional volleyball player. ”
Osamu mumbles out something incoherent and vaguely threatening. “Why are ya callin’ me then? What could possibly be yer problem now?”
“So, I fucked my teammate and now I think I’m in love with him. What do I do?”
Osamu hangs up. With a huff of laughter, Atsumu calls him right back.