Chapter Text
No one should fixate on thighs like that. Fixations are unhealthy. Fixations are a waste of time. Fixations mean weakness.
Sakusa isn't weak. Yet Sakusa Kiyoomis is hyper-fixating on thighs. Atsumu's thighs, to be precise.
He'd think practicing every day with the man would dull the interest. He'd think hearing him spewing the dumbest things during outings would lessen the obsession. Damn Kiyoomi would have thought dating the man and having regular sex with him would give Kiyoomi some peace of mind. What a fool.
But when it comes to being fools, Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu are luminaries in the field.
Experts. Royalty of tomfoolery, ironically Lords when it comes to being buffoons.
And since they came to be together and strengthened the foolish Alliance, the silliness has only peaked.
Point is, Kiyoomi really thought after months of getting the real thing, it would become nice but mundane. Apparently, going to college didn't make him the smartest in the room, nor did it teach him the basic principles of addiction. The more he gets, the more he fixates.
It's quite frankly harmless. Kiyoomi is too much of a volleyball idiot for it to get in the way of the game, but it does get to him during practice when they're slacking, when he's in a corner drinking some water and has nothing else to do than study a play Atsumu and someone else are trying. And by that, Kiyoomi really means trying to study the play. It's not his fault if his gaze trails down, just like Atsumu told him it's not his fault if he needs stupid contention shorts to hug his thighs under his jersey. It's not Kiyoomi's fault if his mind wanders. What is entirely, solely Kiyoomi's fault, is how he gets careless during a break and gropes Atsumu's ass in the middle of a corridor on their way to get some jumping ropes.
Talk about pouring gasoline on fire. Toya is supposed to be the arsonist in the family.
"Didja jus—nah," Atsumu clicks his tongue, looking straight ahead. "Nah, ya didn't, because if ya did, that'd mean we're in fuckin' trouble, Omi. How 'bout we walk five feet apart, cause—"
"The corridor is barely large enough and this isn't a fucking vine, forget the five feet distan—"
"Don't be a smartass and step the hell away because we both know what's gonna happen if ya don't, Omi."
Atsumu surprisingly (and aggravatingly) is most of the time the voice of reason in these scenarios. Probably because he knows that when Kiyoomi reaches the point where he's at, right now, it means they have no safety net anymore and unless Atsumu puts a stop to it, they're doomed. Dropping the jumping ropes in the middle of the corridor and locking themselves in a closet to hump one another like animals when everyone waits for them on court? Impending doom.
"Don't call me horny," Kiyoomi barks, still taking a solid step aside.
"I didn't but thanks for provin' me right," Atsumu grins.
"I don't know, maybe you asked me to step away because I'm sweaty and I smell bad," Kiyoomi gives him a pointed look, squinting.
"That's a trap. Not gonna fall for that shit Omi-kun. Yer always smelling ô sooooo good," he cooes at his boyfriend, leaning toward him but resolutely walking away from Kiyoomi at the same time.
"God! Shut up," Kiyoomi groans, crossing his arms.
"Yer just mad 'cause I'm denying you a piece of that," Atsumu mocks, dramatically holding high and unrolling the jumping rope so it falls along the entire length of his body.
Kiyoomi stares at him blankly, unable to glare, but fighting everything he has in him to not laugh openly at his boyfriend's silliness. He's weak to it. He loves Atsumu's jokes and dramatic antics contrary to what many people assume. Kings of tomfoolery, again, a title they share and Kiyoomi just likes to pretend he's almighty but Atsumu knows better than anyone how what he becomes in private.
"Gotcha," Atsumu rightfully hums, pleased with himself.
"Get outta my face," Kiyoomi groans, pretend-pouting.
"Right, right. Still. If ya want a piece of that, I'll ask Coach Foster to keep us on cleanin' duty."
"We are on cleanin' duty," Kiyoomi deadpans.
"I'm tryna be chivalrous and rescue ya from yer blue balls."
Kiyoomi's mouth falls open as his pace falters.
"Can you hear yourself?"
"Hell no! How d'ya think I survived all twenty-five years of my life? 'Samu got the good hearing. Why d'ya think he dropped a perfectly good volleyball career with me?" Atsumu jokes, walking away.
Kiyoomi has no answer for that nor a miraculous solution seeing how he isn't even sure he will survive the three remaining hours of practice now that Atsumu is shamelessly walking in the distance, temptation written all over his ass and thighs.
Kiyoomi grinds his teeth.
3 hours.
Do people know there are 10,800 seconds in 3 hours? Kiyoomi knows.
In college, in some anatomy class, he also learned that the average human (not the thirsty gremlin kind, the normal kind) swallows 2 to 4 times a minute. He should have swallowed 45 to 90 times over the last 3 hours.
Kiyoomi is pretty sure that between the times his throat went too dry and the ones he swallowed loudly an ungodly amount of spit (and spite)... he can cut that by half to the very least. And now he's parched and the water bottle he's downing like a madman at the end of practice isn't quenching shit.
Teammates are clearing out after stretching, some heading to the showers, others (heathens) directly to the locker room to take a shower at their place. The court is slowly emptying itself. Kiyoomi gets to think. He might be on double cleaning duty shortly.
He will because Kiyoomi is a responsible adult, despite what he's about to do, and he'll take responsibility for what he's about to provoke. What he dirties, he'll clean. Whom he dirties... will be a heathen and more than happy to take a shower afterward to get rid of the stains.
That's why Kiyoomi is pretty convinced it won't take more than a few seconds to drag Atsumu away from the court. And that the lame excuse of having to push the balls cart with some help won't get him any mockery.
Atsumu might not fixate on Kiyoomi's thighs, but it's only because he fixates on Kiyoomi as a whole.
He was pretty clear about it in the past and thus Kiyoomi isn't surprised that it's as easy as ABC to drag Atsumu in the supply room by the tail, literally.
They could wait? of course. They could clear the court, clean, take a shower, drive home, have dinner, have sex in Kiyoomi's bed once, take another shower, cuddle and maybe get kinky again. That's a nice scenario. Who said it can't derail a little? Worse things were accomplished due to addictions. A quicky in the supply room isn't the worst. Not the smartest yes, but assuredly not that bad.
"Fuck, so it is that bad."
"Please don't talk," Kiyoomi almost implores as he pushes the door shut behind them with the heel of his sneaker shoe.
"Omi, ya didn't need me to carry these balls here, that's hella bad."
"Yeah and then what?" Kiyoomi presses, letting go of Atsumu after backing him up behind a stack of giant mats that is almost as tall as himself.
They can hide behind that.
"Then I didn't realize I really had to do damage control here," Atsumu lectures him, as if he doesn't sound like a kid on the morning of Christmas.
"We're past that."
"No shit! We can't fuck, though," Atsumu says and he tries to sound firm and reasonable but he's nothing but mournful yet excited and Kiyoomi wants to ravish him all the more.
"No shit!" he mimics, pressing Atsumu into the nearest wall and slotting a leg between his thighs. "Finally," he then growls, nose buried into Atsumu's neck.
Kiyoomi can feel him shiver all over at that and it makes his cock twitch in his shorts.
If they can't be fucked literally, at least they are figuratively because there's no being sensible now. Kiyoomi can't.
"Omi... Kiyoomi," Atsumu whines, conflicted, as he threads a hand in his hair that tries to both press Kiyoomi's face against his neck and pull him away at once.
Kiyoomi pushes against him even more, lips latching onto the exposed skin just above the collar of Atsumu's jersey.
"Omi, move," Atsumu keeps muttering through gritted teeth. "Ya don't do that to a guy without expectin' to get yer dick sucked!"
Kiyoomi's eyes crack wide open. If he was concerned they wouldn't get hard fast enough and they'd be found out... such fears are now off the table.
Fuck! Now he wished he had resisted a little longer and inserted their little excursion somewhere else in the scenario, preferably after a shower...
"For the thousandth time—"
"I know and I don't care!" Atsumu is quick to cut in, finally settling for pulling Kiyoomi away.
"But I do care," Kiyoomi groans, forehead dropping against Atsumu's collarbone in defeat.
God, sometimes it kills him that he has such boundaries but then...
"Oh no, no, nooo, Omi. Kiyoomi, hey, it's cool!" Atsumu immediately rushes in with the most reassuring tone. "It's cool, sorry for pushin'. I can't think straight when my gay boyfriend comes onto me that hard but I shouldn't be an asshole either," he jokes, fingers stroking Kiyoomi's back and waist.
Kiyoomi's heart is about to burst. Wild that there's enough blood in his body to pump so much in two different places at the same time. It makes him feel dizzy.
"You're not an asshole," he tells Atsumu in the crook of his neck. "Not all the time," he adds quickly, because he can't help it.
"Well, you kinda can be too. And I'm still very much here for it right now, so—humph!"
Kiyoomi shuts him up with a kiss. A thirsty one. The one that finally quenches part of his needs. He drinks it all. The warm press of Atsumu's lips, the hot touch of his tongue, the quiet moans that spill directly into his mouth. Maybe Kiyoomi too fixates on his lover as a whole.
However, what led him there was a particular piece of this fixation. A part Atsumu unknowingly, or knowingly, is currently tempting him with... Because his boyfriend is rutting shamelessly against the leg pressed between his own, his thighs clamping down around Kiyoomi.
Maybe Atsumu is too lost in the kiss, maybe he knows perfectly what he is doing but either way, Kiyoomi is not mad in the least. They need to get to the point and they need to do it fast. And because Kiyoomi's policy about showers after long sweaty days prevents him from getting a mindblowing blowjob doesn't mean he's not willing to make a mess at times. He surprisingly let go of a lot of the strict rules he had set for himself since he got with someone worthy of it like he had never found befer Atsumu. And without ever being pressured.
That's why maybe one day Atsumu will be allowed to drop to his knees after the most intense and disastrous workout session Kiyoomi ever went through without him flinching away one bit but for now... For now Kiyoomi is too focused on these goddamn thighs to be rueful about that, anyway.
"Turn around," Kiyoomi hears himself ask as they break the kiss and before he's even conscious the idea pops into his mind.
Atsumu seems to be catching up on it faster than he does, if the way he sucks in a breath at the command is any indication.
"Sure," he breathes out a little eagerly, frantically writhing between Kiyoomi and the wall to reposition himself.
The space between the mats and the wall is narrow and Atsumu purposely tries to grind against Kiyoomi's crotch so they're caged pretty fast. Poor Kiyoomi stuck against his hot fucking mess of a professional athlete boyfriend. He'd be mad if any footage of them having sex were to leak on the internet but not that mad if it ended up being the title of their sextape. After all, he knows what happens to step mothers stuck in convenient places. Atsumu does too.
"I know the view is shit right now so what's takin' so long, Omi-kun," Atsumu actually asks all smug, ever so impatient, as he ruts harder against Kiyoomi's hardening cock.
"You're twenty-five, how can you be such a brat," Kiyoomi bites with no spite as he moves forward roughly, pressing Atsumu against the raspy wall.
"Got a thingy for almighty guys who think they get to boss people around," comes the snarky replies.
Kiyoomi tugs on the dyed hair within reach.
"Who think? Is this wishful thinking?" he asks with a smirk as his other hand moves south until it settles at the elastic of Atsumu's shorts, not moving further. "I literally dragged you here to use you," Kiyoomi reminds him.
"Ye," Atsumu acknowledges and he sounds all too proud of himself for a guy desperately trying to get on his boyfriend's dick. "'Cause ya were desperate."
Atsumu drags the word out, syllable by syllable and bites his tongue for his trouble when Kiyoomi tugs hard on his shorts suddenly and lets the elastic slap against the back of his thighs a mere second later.
"Fuck," Atsumu curses in the dark.
"You said we can't," Kiyoomi reminds him as smugly as Atsumu dared to be few moments ago. "You might want to touch yourself because me jerking you off is wishful thinking," he adds in a whisper, lips teasing the shell of Atsumu's ear.
"Asshole!" Atsumu moans, throwing his head back in despair. "My hand's fuckin' dry."
"So is my almighty bossy guy's heart," Kiyoomi says, pulling his own shorts and boxers down to free his cock.
Words that could be mean if they weren't mingling with a chuckle and a tender kiss under Atsumu's ear. Atsumu doesn't pay attention to it much, because Kiyoomi's cock slaps against his thighs like his shorts did and that seems to be even much more of a turn-on.
Flattery will get him somewhere, because Kiyoomi gets weak in the knees and thrusts between his thighs at the same time his hand moves in front of Atsumu to cup him over his underwear. He's completely hard and Kiyoomi has to bite down his lip to suppress a moan. Then he starts moving and his back is wrecked with an intense shiver.
Atsumu had a point. They're both pretty dry and the head of his cock catches a few times against the skin of Atsumu's inner thighs, making Kiyoomi inhale sharply, but it doesn't deter him for one second. The sensation of these toned legs squeezing him — and Atsumu is really squeezing the life out of him to try and create the friction he craves himself — is driving Kiyoomi insane.
"Remember the embarrassment of creaming your pants when you were a teen?" he finds two brain cells to ask at some point - when his dick slides between Atsumu's thighs just easily enough thanks to the precum gathered there.
"I don't 'cause that never happened to me!" Atsumu groans through gritted teeth, writhing against Kiyoomi.
"Oh nice! You'll be the first Inarizaki alumni making memories," Kiyoomi breathes out.
And before Atsumu can ask what he means, he snakes a hand inside Atsumu's boxers, jerking him off a little roughly, maybe, but Atsumu clearly is here for it. He melts against Kiyoomi's body who has to use his other arm to hold him tight. It stays around Atsumu's chest for a moment, until Kiyoomi feels like he's seconds away from tipping over the edge himself.
Then his hand moves higher until it reaches Atsumu's throat and higher until he can thrust two fingers inside his open, panting mouth. Atsumu's lips snap shut around them as he's torn by another shudder, coming on the spot.
Atsumu being taken apart is another of Kiyoomi's addictions.
Reminding where they are at the last seconds, he lets go of Atsumu's cock and pulls away from the tight embrace of his thighs. There's a low grunt as Atsumu collapses forward against the wall. Kiyoomi's throaty moan drowns it as he jerks himself off with his cum-covered hand.
There will be some cleaning to do, now that the back of Atsumu's underwear is striped white and wet. Now that his thighs are.
It's all Kiyoomi's fault. Solely, entirely, Kiyoomi's fault. One he will admit to gladly once he's able to breathe evenly again.
"Shit, I knew it was gonna be bad but ya really lost it there, Omi," Atsumu's hoarse voice pierces the relative silence.
"You don't really sound like I need to apologize," Kiyoomi comments through harsh panting.
Atsumu chuckles as he rolls against the wall to face him, only making contact with his shoulders to avoid pressing his stained ass against it and putting them in an odd position. Kiyoomi doesn't mind. They keep breathing in silence for another minute.
"Nah, not really. But yer on laundry duty now. And you hafta finish cleaning the court alone."
"Threatening me with a good time is not the punishment you think it is," Kiyoomi tells him.
"Maybe not. But that drying cum in yer pants is," Atsumu teases with a devilish grin as he leans into Kiyoomi to chase a kiss.
Kiyoomi uses the proximity to grab Atsumu's jersey instead and shamelessly wipe his dick on it. Atsumu gasps, mouth falling open. Kiyoomi shrugs.
"Laundry really is my favorite chore," he explains with a smirk. "Now hop in the showers without being seen."
"I take it back, I'll do so much damage control from now on yer never touchin' me in a public space ever again," Atsumu protests dramatically, visibly outraged.
Kiyoomi cocks an eyebrow at him, unfazed.
"For at least one day," Atsumu adds fiercely. "Now move away, ya ass."
Kiyoomi can't help but laugh wholeheartedly at that. It's even easier now that he's ridden of the tension.
"Really threatening me with a good time, uh?" he asks as Atsumu walks away as awkwardly as can be with cum dribbling down his thighs and sticking both the front and back of his underwear. He stops for a moment and Kiyoomi wonders what kind of insult he's going to get this time but Atsumu only trails back to stop right in his face and steal a breath-taking kiss from Kiyoomi.
"Maybe," he says with a cocky grin the moment they break apart. "Thanks for yer help, almighty bossy idiot," he adds.
And in one go, pulls on Kiyoomi's jersey harsh enough to make him bend so Atsumu can wipe the mess between his thighs off approximately. He seems content enough because Atsumu pulls away immediately, grin never wavering, and with one stupid wink, he flees the room before Kiyoomi can even express his indignation. But it's all his fault, and Atsumu walking away only reminds Kiyoomi he's but a weak man and got in this situation by himself in the first place.
So, that's a no, Kiyoomi thinks with a smile.
No, he doesn't really wish he was cured of his fixation.