Work Text:
The national team had settled into their hotel in Rio after a long day of practice, meetings, and analyzing Brazil’s play style. Everyone was exhausted. Some of the guys had gone straight to their rooms to sleep, while others were still lingering in the common area, decompressing from the tension of tomorrow’s match.
Sakusa wasn’t the type to linger. He had his routine—shower, stretching, reading over game notes one last time before sleeping early to be fully rested. He wasn’t going to let anything disrupt that.
But then Atsumu happened.
“Oi, Omi, wait up!” Atsumu’s voice rang out in the hallway just as Sakusa reached his door.
Sakusa sighed, rolling his eyes before turning around. “What do you want, Miya?”
Atsumu strolled up to him, wearing that stupid, easy smirk that made Sakusa itch to wipe it off his face. “Nothin’. Just wanted to check in on my favorite germaphobe before bed.”
Sakusa gave him a flat look. “I am not your favorite anything.”
Atsumu’s grin widened. “Ya sure about that?”
Sakusa hated him.
Hated the way he always acted so smug, like he knew something Sakusa didn’t. Hated the way he got under his skin so easily, the way he pushed him—on and off the court.
But most of all, he hated the way his body reacted to Atsumu’s presence.
The heat behind his teasing words, the way he always found excuses to stand too close. How his voice dropped just slightly when they were alone, as if daring Sakusa to call him out on it.
And Sakusa had ignored it. For months, he had shoved it down, convincing himself it was nothing—just Atsumu being annoying, just competition, just tension between teammates.
But tonight, he felt it creeping in again, suffocating, pushing against the last of his restraint.
“Go to bed,” Sakusa muttered, gripping the door handle.
Atsumu rocked back on his heels. “Come have a drink with me first.”
Sakusa frowned. “We have a game tomorrow.”
“Just water, Omi-omi, relax. I just—” Atsumu hesitated for a fraction of a second, before his grin softened into something quieter. “I dunno. Feels weird, sittin’ in my room alone the night before a big match.”
Sakusa wasn’t sure what possessed him to say yes. Maybe it was the way Atsumu said it, like he wasn’t looking for a fight for once. Or maybe it was the exhaustion of fighting whatever this was for so long.
Either way, he found himself following Atsumu into his room.
…..
Atsumu had barely turned on the bedside lamp before Sakusa started regretting his decision.
The room was small, dimly lit, the only sound the distant hum of the air conditioning. It felt too quiet.
Atsumu handed him a bottle of water before flopping down on the bed, stretching out like he owned the place. Sakusa stayed standing, arms crossed.
“Yer so stiff all the time,” Atsumu teased, watching him with lazy amusement. “Ya ever just sit back an’ relax?”
“I relax just fine,” Sakusa said coolly.
Atsumu hummed like he didn’t believe him. “Yer always so tense. Maybe ya just need someone to—”
“Don’t say it.”
Atsumu smirked, raising his hands in mock innocence. “Wasn’t gonna say anything inappropriate, promise.”
Sakusa exhaled slowly through his nose, reminding himself that murder was illegal.
He should leave. He should roll his eyes, say something about Atsumu being an insufferable idiot, and go back to his own room.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed, back straight, fingers drumming against his knee.
Atsumu watched him, something flickering in his gaze.
For a while, they just sat there, sipping water, staring at the wall. It was oddly comfortable. The kind of quiet that didn’t demand to be filled.
Until Atsumu broke it.
“I meant what I said earlier.” His voice was lower now, quieter. “Yer my favorite.”
Sakusa’s fingers tightened slightly around his water bottle. He kept his expression neutral. “Stop messing around.”
Atsumu shifted, sitting up so he was closer now—too close. Sakusa could feel the heat of his body, the faint scent of sweat and shampoo.
“I ain’t messin’ around,” Atsumu murmured. “Not about this.”
Sakusa’s heart kicked up a notch.
The air between them shifted, electric.
He could feel it—pressing in, suffocating.
He could see it—how Atsumu’s eyes flickered to his lips, how his own breathing was coming just slightly faster.
He could hear it, in the way neither of them moved away.
The moment stretched too long.
And then, finally, Sakusa muttered, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Atsumu’s fingers brushed against his knee, light, testing. “Then tell me to stop.”
Sakusa didn’t.
Instead, he grabbed Atsumu’s wrist and pulled.
Their mouths collided in a kiss that was anything but gentle.
It was all heat, all teeth, all months of frustration exploding at once.
Atsumu made a choked sound against his lips, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he kissed back harder, pushing against Sakusa like he’d been waiting for this just as long.
Sakusa wasn’t gentle with him. He bit down on Atsumu’s bottom lip, hard enough to make him hiss. His fingers tangled in blond hair, yanking, tilting his head back to expose his throat.
Atsumu groaned. “Fuck, Omi—”
Sakusa didn’t let him finish.
He shoved Atsumu back onto the bed, crawling over him, pinning him down. Atsumu’s pupils were blown wide, his breath coming fast. He looked wrecked already, and they had barely started.
Sakusa smirked. “What’s wrong, Miya? Thought you liked running your mouth.”
Atsumu swallowed hard, fingers gripping at Sakusa’s waist. “Yer evil.”
Sakusa leaned down, lips brushing against his ear. “And yet, you’re still here.”
Atsumu shuddered. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I am.”
And then he was pulling Sakusa down, flipping them over, dragging his mouth over every inch of bare skin he could reach.
It was messy. Desperate. Inevitable.
And when it was over, when they were lying there tangled in sheets that smelled like sweat and heat and them, Sakusa stared up at the ceiling and exhaled slowly.
“We really shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered.
Atsumu turned his head, still grinning, still smug despite the fact that he was completely wrecked.
“Yeah,” he agreed, voice hoarse. Then, lazily, he leaned over and pressed his lips to Sakusa’s jaw in something dangerously close to a kiss. “But I ain’t stoppin’.”
Sakusa closed his eyes.
Neither was he.
….
Sakusa woke up before the sun.
For a moment, he forgot where he was. The sheets weren’t his. The scent of sweat and shampoo wasn’t his either.
Then the arm draped over his waist tightened slightly, and reality came crashing back.
Atsumu was still asleep, his breath slow and steady against Sakusa’s neck.
Sakusa stared at the ceiling, mind racing.
They had a match in a few hours. They were teammates. They were supposed to be focusing on winning, not… this.
He needed to leave.
Carefully, he untangled himself from Atsumu’s hold, moving slowly so he wouldn’t wake him. The second his feet hit the floor, he exhaled in relief—
“Leavin’ already?”
Sakusa froze.
Atsumu’s voice was thick with sleep, but his eyes were open, watching him with something too knowing.
Sakusa swallowed, forcing his expression into something neutral. “We have a match.”
Atsumu hummed, stretching his arms over his head. His body was littered with fresh bruises—marks Sakusa had left.
Sakusa tore his gaze away, grabbing his hoodie off the floor.
Atsumu didn’t stop him. Didn’t tease him. Just propped himself up on his elbows and watched as Sakusa got dressed.
It should have made him feel less guilty. It didn’t.
“Yer overthinkin’ again,” Atsumu finally said, voice quieter.
Sakusa’s fingers stilled on his zipper. He clenched his jaw. “No, I’m not.”
Atsumu gave him a knowing look, but didn’t argue.
For once, Sakusa was grateful.
He turned to leave, reaching for the doorknob.
Just as he stepped into the hall, Atsumu called out, “Hey, Omi?”
Sakusa hesitated. Didn’t turn around. “…What?”
Atsumu’s voice was warm. Steady. “Ya do know this wasn’t just a one-time thing, right?”
Sakusa’s stomach twisted.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t trust himself to.
Instead, he shut the door behind him and walked back to his own room, ignoring the way his chest felt too tight.