Archive of Our Own

1 week.

Just 1 measly week of following Iwaizumi's modified training plan and Atsumu's already ripping apart at the seams by the middle of the first day.

"Alright, everyone! Service drills! Atsumu— you're on rest again."

"Yes, Coach!" The team echo back to Hibarida as they all line up into position.

Atsumu, feeling hyped up and ready to play with his team of monsters, reluctantly seats himself down on the bench instead.

He watches as Osamu slams down a service ace past Komori. Osamu then runs under the net to take up his rotation just in time to easily pick up Aran's jump serve— a scene so familiar Atsumu's fingers twitch to get under that perfect arc.

He startles at a solid clap on his shoulder.

"Time for you drops, Pinky," Iwaizumi reminds him, looking way too pleased by Atsumu's suffering.

"Ugh," Atsumu elbows him before he fishes through his bag for the offending eyedrops. "Aren'tcha s'posed to be a professional, here?"

Iwaizumi just shrugs, taking a seat next to him to watch the others.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes."

Atsumu really has no leg to stand on in this discussion, especially not when he's tilting his head back and trying not to flinch as the cool liquid hits his eye.

Getting pinkeye at his age is probably something he should be more ashamed of, but when the thinks back to the circumstances… his face half-submerged in a hot tub, while the other half was submerged in the ass of that cute little twink from the national diving team, his pleas and whimpers echoing across the wet tiles…

"Worth it."

He doesn't need to look at Iwaizumi to know what kind of disgusted sneer he must be wearing right now, but when he blinks back into clear vision, the look of pity he finds is even worse.

"You need to be careful, Atsumu. You're lucky you haven't gotten an STI yet."

"Yeah, yeah," Atsumu brushes him off, already thick-skinned from 'Samu's judgment over the years.

He's a grown man. And if he wants no-strings-attached sex with people whose names he'll never have to remember, then he will have it. End of discussion.

"Seriously," Iwaizumi continues as though uninterrupted. "The treatment for chlamydia involves limiting direct sun exposure for 3 weeks."

"What?!" Atsumu pales. "No sun?"

"Nope. Not to mention all the other side effects. You could be benched for a month, easy."

Atsumu is speechless. A month off from the National Team at the wrong time is career shattering. He may never have sex again, actually—

Iwaizumi softens a bit. "Look, all I'm saying as your trainer, and your friend, is to be a little less reckless. Maybe just pick one person you trust to, uh, blow off some steam." Iwaizumi clears his throat somewhat awkwardly, staring resolutely at the players in front of him. "At least until after the Olympics, then I don't care."

"Aww Iwa-san, don't lie! You do care about me!"

The disgusted sneer that Atsumu was expecting earlier finally makes its appearance.

"Fuck off," he huffs, very unprofessionally, under his breath as he leaves the bench without so much as a parting glance.

He's eyeing the players as he passes, the tips of his ears notably a little red from their discussion.

"Great form, Yaku!"

Atsumu snickers, thinking that Iwaizumi is just saying shit to avoid letting Atsumu know how ruffled his feathers are.

His eyes trail over to their starting libero anyway, and all he can think is great form, indeed.

Yaku Morisuke is a player he barely knows, outside of name and reputation, who flew all the way in from Russia to play for their home country— but with his short stature, pretty doe eyes, and thighs that could crush his skull, well… he's exactly Atsumu's type.

He watches as Yaku easily dives under even the most terrifying of serves, one after another, with hardly a moment to rise up out of a deep squat.

Maybe a bit more of this vantage point over the next week won't be so bad.

1 week.

One entire week of none other than Miya Atsumu's disrespectful, objectifying gaze prickling at the back of his neck again. Yaku can tell.

Even that tall blonde girl that Yaku picked up the other night, who liked it rough, wasn't quite enough to shake his restlessness. Maybe he should return her calls for another go after all.

Yaku glances over his shoulder again, only to find Atsumu unsubtly enamoured with the gym's high ceilings.

If the dude was going to be a perv, he should at least own up to it.

Yaku's never been with a man before, but if Atsumu's as easy to open his legs as the rumours and love bites suggest, then maybe he'd consider a test run. If nothing else, it might be nice to have Atsumu whimpering underneath him rather than running his loud mouth for a change…

A nasty jump float from Sakusa suddenly teleports right in front of Yaku's face and he's just a beat too late to receive it, barely moving out of the way to let the air whoosh past his nose as the ball lands annoyingly close to the inside of the line.

"Distracted?" Sakusa asks with an ever-present look of judgment.

"Huh?! I— no!" Yaku's rage simmers, shaking himself off and pointedly ignoring all the eyes on him.

"If you say so."

Sakusa then moves into position, focusing on the upcoming serve from Ushijima— the way Yaku should also be focusing right now.

Thwack!

The sting on his forearms from Japan's cannon feels almost as good as seeing the twitch of irritation in Ushijima's jaw as the ball lands perfectly in front of the net, right into the imaginary setter's domain.

Playing right here, with the best in Japan as they take on the world is all Yaku has ever wanted.

And fucking around with a teammate— with Miya Atsumu no less— is not worth jeopardizing this for him, he decides.

He shoves down that tiny morsel of curiosity and vows to ignore Atsumu completely until the slutty setter's passing fancy becomes a thing of the past.

30 seconds.

Just 30 seconds alone with his twin brother and Osamu has already read him for filth.

"Ow! The fuck was that for?!"

"I told you not to go fallin' for someone on the team," Osamu grumbles under his breath, rolling up the offending towel and shoving it in his duffel.

"Hypocrite," Atsumu grumbles, rubbing his leg where the damp towel had struck him.

"At least ask him out if yer gonna be disgustin' about it."

He has not fallen for anybody, doesn't even know if the guy swings that way yet! And leave it to Osamu to bring it up at a time when Atsumu can't even defend himself against baseless accusations of falling for a teammate when said teammate is less than 5 metres away.

Teammates who are freshly dewy from the showers, clad only in the JNT's blessedly skimpy red towels…

Atsumu's eyes trail behind their starting libero's path to his locker, utterly transfixed. This career choice is doing incredible things for Yaku Morisuke's waist-to-ass ratio.

The longer he lets this unfettered lust cloud his judgement, the more nefarious ideas slip inside his mind: ideas like bending him over the nearest available surface, lifting him up to fuck against the nearest available wall, bouncing him on his lap like a—

"Fuckin' pig," Osamu grits out the pained words, letting Atsumu know that he's definitely been staring for too long, and might even be drooling.

He finally tears his eyes away and by the time he's finished drying off his hair and getting dressed, Yaku is already gone.

"Sam-Sam!" Bokuto envelopes Osamu with a big bear hug from behind, peppering kisses all over silvery grey strands.

Osamu's chronic case of resting bitch face lightens up momentarily as he turns to meet his boyfriend's lips with chaste, sweet little kisses.

"Blegh, get a room," Atsumu shoves his hand right in their faces to break them apart.

Osamu must really be pissed off, because instead of bickering back he goes straight nuclear.

"Bokkun, didja know Tsumu's gonna ask out someone from the team?"

Atsumu's spine goes rigid.

"WHAT!" Bokuto's booming voice echoes through the, blessedly, near-empty locker room. Kiryu and Hyakuzawa both noticeably hurry themselves out the door as fast as they can manage.

"Who is it?" Bokuto overcorrects to a whisper, even though the others have already left.

"I am not askin' out anybody!" Atsumu argues indignantly.

"He is," Osamu ignores him, addressing Bokuto. "And I'll tell you tomorrow exactly who it is, so he'd better have his shit sorted out by then."

Osamu's stone cold side-eye leaves no room for doubt.

"Aw, man," Bokuto whines, loping towards the door looking deflated. "You can't just leave me hanging like that!"

"C'mon, I'll take you and Keiji out to that yakiniku place you like," Osamu stares icily back at Atsumu as he guides Bokuto out the door with a hand on the small of his back. "No twins allowed."

Bokuto's cheerful whooping just barely slips through the crack as the door swings shut, leaving Atsumu alone with his thoughts and his rumbling stomach.

Stingy bastard— forcing Atsumu's hand and not even giving him delicious home-cooking to mooch.

At least he's only got two options now: a swift and painless rejection, or the prospect of Yaku underneath him by the night's end.

He's feeling pretty good about his chances, thinking back to how flustered Yaku was when Atsumu winked at him earlier.

And once the cute little kitten learns that Atsumu's dick game is a good as his volleyball, he'll be hooked.

Having a booty call on-demand just down the hall from him would be pretty convenient too, especially with how seriously their team takes STI testing.

Atsumu swings his bag over his shoulder and heads back to the sharehouse with a saunter.

Iwaizumi should he proud, he's already got this whole trusted fuckbuddy thing on lock.

10 minutes.

Yaku is running about 10 minutes late to meet up with… what was her name again?

Definitely too late to catch the train now, he thinks, with one final adjustment to his hair and a subtle spritz of cologne.

He throws on his suit jacket, grabs his car keys, and whips open the door, only to run face first into the very solid and sculpted chest of none other than Miya Atsumu.

"Ugh," Yaku groans. This is just what he needs when he's already running late to dinner with someone who's supposed to be taking his mind off the man in front of him. "Look Miya, I'd like to hear whatever explanation you have for your weird ass behaviour this week, but I've got a date—"

"Wait!"

Atsumu grabs his bicep as Yaku tries to sidle past him.

Yaku looks up, finally sparing him a proper glance, and there's fire in Atsumu's hooded eyes.

"Call me Atsumu." His smirk is sharp as steel, the tip of his canine on display against a plush lower lip. "I think you should cancel your little date, and take me out instead."

Yaku's struck dumb by the absolute shamelessness. Atsumu must be desperate for a good fucking if he's going after straight guys now. It's a little pathetic, in an endearing way.

He can't help the laugh that escapes him, but hurries to clarify when seeing the look of offense start to spread over Atsumu's face.

"Sure, I'll take you out," he rakes his eyes up Atsumu's casual attire. "But you're not wearing that so go put on something pretty while I make a couple calls."

Yaku brushes a hand over Atsumu's solid waist as he passes into the hall, already pulling out his phone.

Atsumu all but scurries away in his flustered state.

Luckily he doesn't take long, emerging just in time for Yaku to have finished securing a different restaurant reservation that'll better suit their tastes and canceling on… shit, he still can't remember her name…

But anything about her is long forgotten when he sees Atsumu's new outfit.

Flowing, red silk with a few too many buttons undone frame Atsumu's chest and the delicate gold chain he wears beautifully, while slim fitting dress pants makes his long legs stretch on for miles.

Now that Yaku's letting himself look, it's easy to get lost in Atsumu's stunning features and imagine forgoing their night out altogether…

"Aren'tcha gonna take me to dinner first?"

Yaku's eyes snap back up to Atsumu's smug face.

Yaku may not have had any experiences with men, but he knows a spoiled princess when he sees one— and he knows exactly how to handle one too.

3 hours.

Somehow, against all the known laws of time and space, 3 hours have passed.

The oshizushi is of phenomenal quality, and the conversation is flowing even more effortlessly than the sake pairing.

They certainly don't overdo it on the drinks— their flight to Romania for their first World Championship game is tomorrow evening, after all— but Atsumu finds that he really doesn't need any liquid courage.

Yaku, being the eldest of 2 rowdy younger brothers, has enough battle stories to rival even Atsumu's upbringing alongside an evil twin.

When Atsumu's not doubled over in gut-splitting laughter from Yaku's brutal sense of humour, he's burning with curiosity over the kinds of teammates Yaku has been playing with in the Russian League. One of whom will be playing for the Romanian team.

"No! You can't tell me this! I'm gonna haveta see the dude in like, two days!"

"You really don't wanna know?" Yaku taunts him.

Atsumu really wants to know. He scoots in closer and nods.

"Alright, I'll tell you in a minute. You still hungry?"

Truthfully, they'd been eating round after round rather slowly, so Atsumu isn't quite full yet, but also doesn't want to be too sluggish for their activities later.

"Nah, I'm good."

Yake eyes him curiously for a moment before waving down the server. "We'll share a slice of matcha cheesecake, please."

Atsumu's stomach flutters, feeling strangely taken care of. Nobody's ever had the gall to order for him before, and yet Yaku has been confidently wining and dining him all evening like it's second nature to anticipate Atsumu's needs.

Yaku then leans over the table, lowering his voice.

"Okay, so then, after a few days of Dmitri being really sus, some of the guys cornered him after a shower, took off his towel, and found it."

"Found what?" Atsumu whispers excitedly, on the edge of his seat.

"A burn mark, in the shape of a heart. Turns out his girlfriend took them to a dungeon party and branded him."

Atsumu's jaw drops. "Shit, that's kinky."

"Right?" Yaku smoothly slides his hand over Atsumu's, encouraging restless setter's fingers to fidget with his own hands rather than the napkins. "Are you into any of that stuff?"

Atsumu face warms, despite no longer feeling the effects of the sake. Yaku's small hands are much more solid than he expected.

"Nothin' that wild, but I've, uhh, dabbled."

Yaku squeezes his hand, pointedly not letting go, despite their waitress serving their cheesecake.

Atsumu finds that he very much enjoys Yaku openly demonstrating his interest.

Yaku thanks her, turning back to Atsumu the moment she's out of earshot. "Tell me more."

They talk over dessert, and Atsumu's shameless enough as a hot-blooded young athlete to share some of his wilder stories.

Although he's absolutely floored when he learns that Yaku is just as uninhibited as he is.

That sneaky little kitten.

"Just because some of us have boundaries amongst colleagues, doesn't mean we're all prudes," Yaku kicks his shin under the table with a smile.

They pause their conversation as they leave the restaurant, Atsumu having offered to pay only to find out that Yaku had already given his card when they'd first walked through the door.

"Thank you… Mori-kun," Atsumu said somewhat awkwardly, unaccustomed to being treated, and unsure of how the first name thing would land.

Yaku's elbow swiftly jabs into Atsumu's side with his eyes narrowed like an angry cat. "That'll be Mori-san, to you."

"Thank you, Mori-san," Atsumu repeats playfully. Yaku is so cute when he gets mad.

"Come on, Atsu-kun," Yaku bites back, jutting out his elbow again, this time for Atsumu's to hold onto. "There's a park right around the corner, we can walk off dinner and you can tell me what exactly you're looking for."

Yaku is fucking smooth, Atsumu realizes, right there under the dull glow of the lanterns.

He can't believe his luck.

Atsumu has certainly never put nearly this much effort into getting to know a hookup before, and he's gotta say, Yaku's attentive consideration really gets him hot under the collar.

He skips forward to grab hold of Yaku's arm, licking his lips like he can already taste the adorable whimpers he'll make when Atsumu gives him the dicking down he deserves.

18 minutes.

Only an 18 minute drive is separating Yaku from his first gay experience.

He already knows it's a done deal— and there's no backing down from a challenge this time.

Yaku can feel Atsumu's desire filling the car, had felt it all throughout their evening together, and it makes his foot weigh just a little heavier on the gas pedal.

His hand rests on Atsumu's thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze each time he has to let go to shift gears, and Yaku cannot wait for these legs to wrap around him.

He's a little surprised by his interest, but their chemistry is undeniable, made even better by the easy access of shared accommodation.

An exclusive fuckbuddy who shares Yaku's passion for volleyball and insatiable sex drive while also shying away from longterm commitment?

Their arrangement is a no-brainer, really. Assuming Atsumu's as good in bed as he claims to be.

The thick tension follows them all the way back to Yaku's room where they're on each other the moment the door closes behind them.

Atsumu slumps against the wall, both hands on Yaku's face to bring their mouths togther.

Yaku pushes up higher on his toes, struck by the surprising softness of Atsumu's kiss.

He can't help but wonder if Atsumu's taking it easy on him for the sake of Yaku's comfort.

It pisses him off.

Yaku bites hard on Atsumu's lip. He quickly moves down, licking and grazing his teeth along tanned skin on his way back down to get his heels on the ground, settling comfortably at chest level.

His hands travel across red silk and he cups Atsumu's chest— Yaku's worked with less before. He squishes the flesh together until he can lick up the line of cleavage, sucking a cute little hickey to adorn his skin.

"Claimin' me already?"

Yaku reaches up to shove two fingers into Atsumu's teasing mouth before more of his crass words ruin whatever spell has Yaku gripped.

He pets along Atsumu's tongue, and the man seems even more excited to have his mouth occupied.

Normally Yaku would take his time, ease into physical comfort together, but fuck, Atsumu is so needy the way he's moaning around Yaku's fingers and how his hands can't seem to settle.

Yaku hurriedly unbuttons the silk shirt to slide his lips against skin that's hot to the touch, grazing his nails across toned obliques to grip Atsumu's slutty little waist.

Atsumu whines oh so sweetly, and Yaku thinks for a moment that this really isn't all that different to hooking up with girls, when suddenly he's lifted straight up off the ground.

"Put me down!" He barks defensively. He cant help but readjust to hold on, legs instinctively tightening around the waist he was just gripping.

"You got it, babe."

Suddenly Yaku is falling down onto the bed with Atsumu's full weight pinning him down, an erection very prominently grinding against his rear.

Yaku wrestles them over until Atsumu below him, and lines up their cocks to dry hump in a slow grind that feels way better than it has any right to.

"Mmn, someone's excited," Atsumu fists his hair and grazes that fucking canine along Yaku's neck in a way that makes him shiver, giving Atsumu the upper hand to roll on top again. "Once you take my cock, you'll never wanna go back to girls again."

It takes Yaku's horny brain a moment to register, but when he does…

"Hah?!" Yaku knees Atsumu hard in the stomach and moves to loom over him while he's catching his breath, pleased to see that the man looks at least a little frightened now.

"Oh fuck no, I am not bottoming for you."

5 seconds.

Atsumu stares up at Yaku for a full 5 seconds, uncomprehending.

"You don't haveta be nervous, baby, look atcha, you were made for it."

He's grabbed harshly by the ear in a decidedly very unsexy way before the words have hardly left his mouth.

"You wanna say that shit one more time?!"

"C'mon, between the two of us, it's obviously not me that's gonna— oof!"

It seems that Atsumu's usual sweet nothings to smooth things over were about as effective in this instance as throwing gasoline into a fire.

Yaku's pretty brown eyes have turned murderous.

Atsumu could say that Yaku's anger is cute—could also say that it's hot as fuck— but in this exact moment… it's actually a little terrifying.

Especially when he's thrown against the ground rather brutally before the words had even left his mouth.

As far as foreplay goes, being pinned down in what felt like some sort of judo hold with the full force of Yaku's attention on him wasn't all that unwelcome. Atsumu didn't mind playing rough.

"Y'know, this would be way hotter without all these clothes in the way."

"Are you fucking for real?!"

"Just sayin', there's still a lot we can do without stickin' it in."

Yaku cautiously loosens his hold, rolling Atsumu over and staring down with heated eyes and a prominent bulge in his pants.

Atsumu licks his lips, hoping to be as dominant as possible so that next time, Yaku comes to his senses and accepts the pleasure that Atsumu knows only he can give.

The only issue is that Yaku must have the same idea.

The way they fit together can only be described as aggressive. Wet, messy mouths and hands fight for dominance, their bodies crashing against furniture, knocking items off walls and surfaces, linens scattered all around the room.

Yaku, the stubborn bastard, refuses to concede even an inch.

Atsumu's burning up, from the rough carpet against his bare knees, the bite marks littering his chest, and the all-consuming need for more, to get closer.

They're frotting up against one another right there on the floor, both hands gripping just the right side of too tight, gliding even more smoothly when Yaku spits down on them.

Atsumu grits his teeth, forced to reconcile that while they're roughly the same size, Yaku's cock is undoubtedly just a little bit thicker, and blessed with an upward curve that must make him very popular.

But, if he puts his pride aside, begrudgingly, it's sure as fuck a blessing that Atsumu can appreciate right now.

While Yaku's cockhead keeps catching on the edge of his own, Atsumu is right where he needs to be.

"Ahh, I'm gonna—!"

"Mmf," Yaku mouths against his shoulder, nodding his head.

It certainly isn't the most sexually gratifying orgasm Atsumu's ever had, thats for sure, but something in him is feeling settled for the first time in a long while.

Even he can admit that being with Yaku, even just like this, is exciting.

"You suuuure you don't wanna bottom?" Atsumu's only teasing to be a little shit now, doesn't even know if there will be a next time given their mismatching preferences, but nonetheless, Yaku seems like he's at least thinking about it.

"Get us 5 service aces against Romania and you can top me, otherwise I'm fucking you."

"Done deal, baby, I knew you wanted it."

"In your dreams."

"Mhm, yeah I'm sure I'll be dreamin' a lot about you."

Atsumu cant seem to extricate himself just yet, positively littering Yaku's pretty chest with slow kisses before trailing across thick, round shoulders and down toned arms, purple with bruises from the power of the spikes he blocks.

For the chance to wreck someone like Yaku… 5 service aces will be no problem.

"Fuck, you're hot, Mori-san," Atsumu practically purred. "I should've turned you gay ages ago."

"That's not how it works, dumbass," Yaku bites into Atsumu's neck like the vicious little kitten he is. "Wanna go again in the shower?"

"Sounds pretty gay to me."

4 service aces.

Atsumu's gotten 4 service aces so far, and it's his rotation for what may be Japan's final match point.

As much as Yaku wants to win this game, he does also want to win their bet…

He squats just a little lower, ignoring his protesting muscles, wiggling his hips side to side as subtly as he can manage while still taunting Atsumu with his clear weakness.

The serve hits the net.

It just barely tips over to the other side where it's plucked up easily by one of Romania's middle blockers and over to their setter.

Yaku prepares himself to defend at any cost, especially to make sure Atsumu's botched serve doesn't end up costing them the game.

The rally continues, back and forth, both teams fighting hard to keep the ball in the air by any means necessary.

His lungs are burning, his arms have gone numb, his legs move without any cognitive input as Yaku drags his body forward for another save as he falls to the ground.

He doesn't even know if he can get up again.

It's in Atsumu's hands now, then over to Suna of all people who happens to magically appear in the right place at the right time to nail down a killer spike at an impossible angle from his freakishly flexible shoulders.

The ball hits the floor on the other side of the net.

And for a just a moment, Atsumu whirls around to him with a furious expression before they both realize they've won.

Yaku smiles big, struggling to right himself before he's scooped up by Komori, the only person he'll ever allow to hoist him up on their shoulders— it's a libero thing.

When the team's celebration dies down and they're walking off the court for a much-deserved rest, Yaku passes by Atsumu to give him a quick little spank, the way any friendly teammate would.

"Nice serve."

Atsumu looks about ready to combust with about 10 different emotions.

Ah, victory feels great.

"How many?"

"Huh?"

"How many times do you wanna cum for me tonight, sweetheart?"

Atsumu's flustered for a moment. Now that he's pulled back out of the kiss, he realizes how easily he'd acquiesced to being pinned down in naught but his underwear.

He decides then and there that Yaku and the stupidly expensive athleisure set he's still wearing need to be taken down a peg.

"Hmmph, well I'd say 4 service aces deserve 4 orgasms," he challenges, setting Yaku up to fail.

Atsumu's not some sensitive bottom who can cum like a fountain, nothing like the men he typically goes for. He's more of a one and done kinda guy, twice on a good night.

He highly doubts Yaku can get him there even once, not for a top like Atsumu, so setting the bar this high is sure to be a huge blow to his ego.

Was it mean to ruin Yaku's first gay experience with impossible expectations? Probably.

But if Yaku didn't want someone mean, well… he shouldn't've picked Atsumu to fuck with.

"You got it," Yaku says, rifling through his things to procure of a bottle of what Atsumu thought was lube, but looked more like…

"Massage oil? You don't gotta do all that crap, c'mon, just get to it!"

Yaku, always with more strength than Atsumu expects, nudges him over onto his front and settles warmly over his lower back.

"Just relax, humour me," Yaku instructs as he coats his hands in oil and smooths them firmly over Atsumu's game-sore muscles. "If you wanted a sprint, you shouldn't have asked for a marathon."

Atsumu's stomach swoops, the determination in Yaku's voice has Atsumu's blood already rushing south.

Whatever the fuck kind of aromatherapy nonsense is in the massage oil wraps itself around Atsumu and has each exhale extending longer and longer, a slow surrender to relaxation and recognition of how good it feels to be touched.

Yaku's hands ruthlessly wring out all the tension Atsumu never even realized he was carrying.

Lost in the sauce, Atsumu doesn't quite notice just how far down Yaku's attention has drifted, until he's startled by an embarrassing moan from his own mouth when Yaku's grabs a firm hold of his glutes and squeezes.

Fuck, how long has Atsumu been hard for?

All this groping of his ass has Atsumu grinding into the mattress to seek some relief until Yaku grabs his hips to still them.

"Ahh!"

A sharp smack down on Atsumu's tender ass cheek burns with a pleasant sting.

"Thought I told you to relax."

"Mmm," Atsumu grinds down again, unrepentant. "Might fall asleep if I relax anymore, better hurry it up."

Atsumu's hips are suddenly pulled back and Yaku's hot tongue starts to make a mess of his hole with no warning at all. Yaku's other hand sneaks around to grab a rough hold of his cock, stroking hard and fast and without mercy until Atsumu's spilling all over the mattress with a choked off scream.

Yaku tosses Atsumu back down in a heap onto the wet spot he'd just made.

Atsumu stares up in horny bewilderment at Yaku using his forearm to wipe off his mouth before removing his shirt to reveal his dewy, sculpted torso.

"I hope you're awake now," Yaku says with a faux-innocent smile, "cause I'm just getting started."

2 orgasms.

Atsumu is right on the verge of his second orgasm and Yaku isn't even inside of him yet, still only teasing him, in fact.

What a dream this guy is, Yaku thinks. Four will be a piece of cake.

Yaku could have probably fumbled around to find Atsumu's prostate soon enough, but where was the fun in that?

"You want… you want me to finger myself?"

Yaku spreads Atsumu's thick legs a little wider over his lap, slotting his own erection in the delicious crease of Atsumu's perky ass.

"Yeah, you've gotta show me, so I know how to make you feel good," Yaku replies.

Atsumu almost seems shy for such a shameless man, but he complies obediently, his head tilting back to rest against Yaku, panting softly as he explores himself.

Yaku waits patiently, massaging Atsumu's chest and playing with nipples that the man had sworn up and down weren't sensitive, though his soft hums and the arching of his back indicate otherwise.

It's immediately apparent the moment that Atsumu's movements change from perfuctory to—

"Oh fuuuck!"

Yaku chooses this moment to slide his own lubed up finger alongside Atsumu's, following it through his tight rim and into the soft warmth.

Atsumu gasps at the intrusion and at the heavy pressure that Yaku is now adding to the place he's been so kindly shown.

"Ah, so this is what it feels like," Yaku takes note, keeping a heavy pressure as he starts massaging small circles.

"Mmnngh!"

Yaku grabs a hold of Atsumu's cock with gentle strokes, hoping to add just enough stimulation without overshadowing Atsumu's newfound pleasure point.

"How's this?"

"Ahh, Mori-san, so good, so good," Atsumu whines.

Yaku keeps stroking and is so shocked by how fucking beautiful Atsumu is, all laid out and whimpering for him, that he barely registers his next words until they've already left his mouth.

"Mmm, yeah that's it, babygirl, cum for me." The petname slips off his tongue out of habit.

Atsumu suddenly seizes up, shooting his load without warning, and Yaku nearly transcends his body at the implications.

Atsumu arches his back, cursing and babbling incoherent nothings as his pleasure spills all over him.

Yaku's never felt quite so unhinged before.

"Yeah? You like that? You like being a good girl for me?" Yaku works him through it, not daring to change up his pace.

"Yes, yes! Oh shit, please… daddy…"

Yaku's so hard now, it hurts.

Yaku thinks he must have gone insane, but reducing the larger than life Miya Atsumu into a whimpering pillow princess is a worthy loss of sanity.

"Come on, princess, gimme one more and then daddy will fuck you real good, okay?"

1 time.

Just 1 time on the receiving end is enough for Atsumu to know his sex life has been altered irrevocably.

He's clawing what are sure to be angry red lines into Yaku's back while the libero's strikingly thick cock, with its vicious upward curve, makes a complete and utter mess of him.

As if that wasnt enough, their height difference puts Yaku pretty comfortably against Atsumu's chest, where he's sucking and biting and otherwise abusing Atsumu's nipples.

Yaku must be magical, drawing out all sorts of unfamiliar sensations that Atsumu swore his body hadn't been capable of mere hours ago.

And theres just something about Yaku that settles him, even despite the overwhelm of it all.

Atsumu's so used to fighting. He's used to squabbles and an endless series of asserting control and dominance over every little thing.

It's kinda nice to be taken care of for once.

"Moriiii, wait," he whines when he feels himself edging too close to his fourth and final orgasm of the night.

With seemingly abundant stamina and patience, Yaku pulls all the way out again, staring so fondly it makes Atsumu a little squirmy when he feels his empty hole twitching around nothing.

"You're so gorgeous like this," Yaku praises him easily.

Atsumu feels kind of emotional looking up at him, all pretty and buff at the same time. Yaku has been taking such good care of him, and suddenly Atsumu's tearing up cause he doesn't want this to end.

"Atsumu?" Yaku nuzzles in close. "Hey, you're alright, I've got you."

Atsumu pulls him in for a kiss and murmurs against salty, sweet lips. "I don't wanna stop."

"Good, 'cause I wasn't planning on it," Yaku adjusts himself so he slides back in again, blessing Atsumu with that wonderfully fullness. "Not until you tell me to."

Atsumu kisses him harder, hooking his legs back around Yaku's waist and rocking his hips up to meet each thrust.

His own petty pride may come back to haunt him, but for now, Atsumu lets the tears fall in surrender.

It feels so good to let go.

5 hours.

After only 5 hours of sleep cuddled up alongside a very clingy Atsumu, some sort of emotional crisis had occurred.

"This never happened," Atsumu declared resolutely to the wall.

"What?" Yaku questioned Atsumu's back, eyes still heavy with sleep. It had been too fucking early for vague statements.

"We're not talkin' about last night. Not now and not ever."

"Um, okay. So, you don't wanna do this again?"

"I never said that." Atsumu's narrowed eye appeared just barely over his shoulder. "…But you're bottoming next time."

The two had kept their distance throughout the week that followed, mostly due to Atsumu's strange, squirrelly behaviour, but partially due to the dread building up inside Yaku.

He knows how reluctant Atsumu was, and how vulnerable he'd been, all sweet and tearful and clinging to Yaku like he never wanted to let go…

It seemed like a done deal at the time that Atsumu would continue to bottom, but Yaku should've known better. Setters always have some sort of weird control issues.

So, Yaku concedes that it's only fair he return the favour.

But that doesn't mean he's thrilled about it. And it certainly doesn't justify all the derogatory comments that Atsumu's been making all day in anticipation.

Yaku angrily storms into the room, tossing the bag from the drug store onto Atsumu's bed and ripping of his own clothes, denying Atsumu the satisfaction.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

When Atsumu emerges from the fabric of his shirt that he's just removed, his smug expression morphs into something far too soft for a moment.

"If you really don't want to, we don't haveta—"

"Shut up!" Yaku interrupts to push Atsumu down onto the bed and yank off his sweatpants.

There's nothing he hates more than being looked down on, treated like he's some weak, fragile thing.

"If you're as good with your mouth as you say you are, then there's no problem," Yaku kicks off his boxers and gets a hand on himself with the sight of Atsumu's plush lips to get him started.

"Only the best," the lips curl back into their signature smirk, his pink tongue poking out to wet them.

"Great," Yaku runs his fingers through bleached blonde strands before grabbing and pulling. "On your knees, then."

Atsumu scrambles into position with a hiss of pain, despite being perfectly capable of swatting off Yaku's hand. Interesting.

Yaku bullies his cock into Atsumu's mouth without much preamble, and before long a slutty moan is sending a pleasant vibration through his sensitive skin.

The way Atsumu sucks him off is so wet, so sloppy, so enthusiastic, and so unlike any other blowjob Yaku's ever been on the receiving end of.

Yaku can't help but want to keep taking more from him, holding Atsumu's head in place each time he bottoms out.

Atsumu must've trained out his gag reflex, because all he does is swallow around Yaku's tip like a fucking dream.

Each time Yaku pulls on his hair, Atsumu moans beautifully, the little crescent moons of his fingernails carving into the flesh of Yaku's thighs.

"Ahh, ahh," Yaku pants, feeling greedier and greedier by the second.

He pulls off for a moment, both to collect himself and to test out a theory.

"You're working too hard, princess," Yaku pets through Atsumu's hair gently again. "Just sit there and look pretty for me, yeah? I'll do all the rest."

Atsumu stares up Yaku with deliciously glazed eyes that only seem to dilate further. His mouth falls back open, his tongue out and ready to accept Yaku back in.

Yaku plants one of his feet up on Atsumu's thigh for a better angle and grabs a firm hold of Atsumu's face while he sheaths himself a few times experimentally.

The moans grow louder from both parties the more ruthlessly Yaku starts fucking Atsumu's face.

Turns out, just like their first night together, Atsumu is very willing to relinquish control, and Yaku is more than happy to take advantage of that.

6 times.

Yaku has interrupted Atsumu's attempts to fuck him 6 times now.

"Stop. I don't like this angle."

Atsumu stops dead in his tracks, his painfully hard dick twitching inside the luxurious warmth of Yaku's ass, where he finally, finally, has him pushed up against the wall like he'd dreamed, barely one stroke inside before his fantasies screech to a halt again.

"Put me on the dresser," Yaku instructs, breathless but still very much full of that strangely addictive commanding confidence that Atsumu can't get enough of.

Atsumu will carry him anywhere he wants to go, perform whatever Yaku asks of him, so long as he gets to keep holding his attention like this.

The dresser is a bit too high, and even on his tiptoes Atsumu's cock can only reach about halfway inside, so he expects Yaku to suggest somewhere else.

Atsumu's obedient, sure, but he's not patient, and all this starting and stopping has him about to lose his mind. Shit, he wonders what it would take for Yaku to let them go at it like animals.

"Mmm, perfect," Yaku settles his weight on the dresser, leaning back onto his hand while he strokes himself lazily with the other, and readjusting the grip of his thighs around Atsumu's waist. "Let's try like this."

Atsumu can't fucking believe this guy.

He's so pissed off and turned on at the same time, his voice comes out merely as an affirmative grunt.

It's humiliating. Atsumu knows he's a good lay, and Yaku is doing everything in his power to put him at a disadvantage.

Atsumu can't quite get the height he needs— and isn't that just a sick joke coming from Yaku?— but he gives it his best shot anyway, his feet and calves burning with the exertion.

The barest brush of his pubic hair against Yaku's skin is as close as he can get, unable to bottom out, unable to really slam into him the way he craves.

He's certainly strong enough to overpower Yaku, to ignore his unreasonable demands, but that would feel too much like losing.

And Atsumu refuses to lose.

Not when they've already come this far.

He's borne the brunt of Yaku's cautious and careful explorations, but what a fucking twisted joy it is to see Yaku's iron defences finally coming down.

Slow as a damn glacier, Yaku is actually letting himself melt.

Despite being his first time, he's been hard as a rock throughout all the prep, and even now, as Yaku mindlessly strokes himself, his pleased sounds continue to get louder, and his cute face scrunches, belying his enjoyment.

Atsumu is full of a fiery determination, his own pleasure secondary to Yaku's, full of the burning desire to see the man before him take everything that he needs.

Atsumu continues the pace that Yaku seems to enjoy the most, and until he's instructed otherwise, he'll keep going as long as he needs to.

His reputation is on the line, after all.

10 years.

Yaku's been having sex for 10 years without ever having experienced this.

There's really nothing quite like the feeling of being filled by another, and the power he feels completely enveloping and overwhelming Atsumu is going straight to his head.

Whether topping or bottoming, Atsumu bends to his every whim like a dream, and it makes Yaku a little delirious.

He bites his lip, stifling a moan, and wonders just how much he can ask of Atsumu, how much he'll agree to without prior discussion.

Yaku pauses his movements and looks down at Atsumu from where he's been cruelly riding just the very tip of Atsumu's dick.

"Do you wanna cum inside me?"

"Yes! Jesus, fuck, yes, please!" Atsumu nods desperately.

His desperation is so fucking cute, but worst of all, it makes Yaku want to be greedy again.

"I— hmm," Yaku dismounts completely now, on the verge of expressing a passing thought that probably shouldn't ever be spoken aloud.

But it's Atsumu, he reminds himself. The same guy who voices his innermost embarrassing thoughts all the time.

"What do you need, kitten? I'll do anythin', just say the word," Atsumu coos the ridiculous pet name, kissing each of Yaku's fingers with such tenderness that it give Yaku the courage to speak his mind after all.

"What I'm about to say cannot leave this room."

Atsumu's words die on his tongue as Yaku reaches down to roll off the condom and continues his request before his rational brain takes over.

"I'll let you cum inside me on two conditions."

Yaku refuses to look at Atsumu as he utters the most incriminating fucking words he's ever said. "Fuck me like you mean it, and… and you better eat it all out after."

There.

He said it.

And now Yaku kind of wants to curl up and die, but instead, he buries his face in the pillow he's hugging and lifts his ass in the air like a needy animal in heat, trusting in Atsumu that he won't choose now of all times to be the kind of raging dickhead who would leave him hanging.

"Mnngh, Mori, you're gonna kill me," Atsumu moans. "Whatever my sweet kitty wants, that's what you'll get."

He hoists Yaku's lower body off the bed entirely, slamming his cock in deep and setting a brutal pace that forcibly pushes each and every last coherent thought out of Yaku's mind.

He lets himself succumb to the mind-numbing intensity that he's never experienced in any other facet of his life.

A final, terrible truth echoes in the empty caverns of his mind:

"Oh fuck, I'm definitely a bottom."

5 minutes.

5 of the best minutes of Atsumu's life pass by far too quickly.

He's impressed he lasted even that long all things considered, but all too soon he's spilling into Yaku's tight heat.

It's strange, he thinks, for his own pleasure to feel so unimportant. His orgasm has been reduced to nothing more than a means to an end, a tool with which to keep pulling more sweet sounds out of Yaku.

Atsumu takes a moment to roll Yaku over onto his back and appreciate the view, before a quiet mumble of 'itadakimasu' has him diving back down with an unlawfully thick thigh slung over his shoulder.

The noises Atsumu's making are obscene, all lewd sucking and slurping as his hands scoop out as much spend as he can and eating it all clean.

Yaku's fisting his own cock, twitching and trembling and mumbling praise until he's cumming all over himself.

Atsumu feels Yaku's sweet little hole pulsing around his tongue as he's finishing up his meal, and Atsumu even goes so far as to lick up all of Yaku's cum now too, lavishing attention over every inch of Yaku's skin.

They're both panting like it's the end of a 5-set match and Yaku crudely manhandles Atsumu underneath him so that Yaku can fully settle on top of him like the bratty cat he is.

Atsumu is beyond satisfied.

It's pretty clear from today's events that Atsumu is the submissive one in this arrangement, even he can admit to that much.

But the more difficult truth to reconcile with, is the part of him that even now still feels like something was missing.

The part that can't help but wonder what it'd be like to bottom for the fussy and demanding version of Yaku he experienced tonight…

He's about to open his mouth and say as much, his brain-to-mouth filter even more useless than usual after an romp like that, but he can hear the soft snores emanating from Yaku and chooses for once not to disturb his peace.

He closes his eyes and vows to be honest next time, petty pride be damned.

3 seconds.

Their eyes lock for about 3 seconds in the midst of celebrating the team's victory against Canada, and it's a done deal.

They let the adrenaline carry them all the way off the court, out of the sport's centre, and back to the Olympic village.

Yaku scrambles up into Atsumu's hold, climbing him like a tree, solely because his legs feel like jelly after such a gruelling match, and not because he's secretly grown to crave the feeling of being held and enveloped like this.

Never in a million years did he think he'd ever be happy to bottom for such an incorrigible perv like Atsumu, but, well…

"Shower, now," Yaku commands.

"Yes, Mori-san."

This incorrigible perv was excellent at following directions, and Yaku felt much safer holding the reins.

It really was a great arrangement they'd stumbled into.

They're making out, all hot and heavy under the shower spray, Yaku's back against the cool tiles, and he's so looking forward to getting railed again.

Yaku's mind even starts to drift away, wondering what it might be like to let Atsumu overpower him a little bit…

"Morisuke…"

Yaku's fantasies screech to a halt at the trepidation in Atsumu's use of his full name for once.

"What?"

Atsumu's mouth never leaves his skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down Yaku's jaw, neck, and chest, even while he utters his next damning words.

"You don't haveta bottom anymore."

Yaku yanks on his hair, pulling back to take in Atsumu's sheepish expression in full.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

A tense moment passes before realization slowly dawns over Atsumu's features and he fights a losing battle against breaking out into a smile.

"Pffff, well, like I always say, there's a lot we can do without stickin' it in?"

Much like the rest of him, Yaku finds that Atsumu's laughter is infectious.

"Next time, we're flipping a coin."