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Kiyoomi feels sweat dripping down his temple and is quick to wipe it as he kneels down. He feels hot and overwhelmed, and he wishes he could wear less clothes, but he needs to be covered in order to keep his identity hidden. He tightens the black handkerchief pulled over his nose and mouth, his harsh breath muffled by the fabric.
There's dirt caked on his boots. Dirt, and blood. A lot of blood. So much that he knows he'll be scrubbing his boots in the nearest river well into the night.
The thought makes his skin crawl. This is the worst part of the job. He doesn't mind the killing. Not really. He's a good shot, and with his rifle he can shoot from a distance. He normally doesn't need to get close to the body when he's doing something nefarious.
Sometimes he's looting a property he knows is owned by some asshole gang, or shooting someone in another asshole gang in self-defense if they happen to recognize Kiyoomi. It doesn't matter. Either way, Kiyoomi doesn't like to get too close to the dirt, the sweat, the blood.
It's all disgusting to Kiyoomi. Like today, after he's killed thirteen- fourteen?- men after their leader drunkenly bragged about the fortune they were keeping here and then rudely spilled a pint of beer on Kiyoomi last night at a saloon.
Kiyoomi was just there to rent a room upstairs and order a whiskey that he planned to bring upstairs with him. Then that piece of shit ran his mouth and ruined Kiyoomi's night. Kiyoomi wanted revenge. He got it. Now, he wants his treasure.
The problem is that he needs a key to get into the basement of the house. He'd shoot the lock, but it's thick and he risks the bullet ricocheting and hitting him. So, he's searching every body for said key and having to step in dirt and blood to do it.
All of the body's in the house were keyless, so he went back outside to check the bodies there. He's kneeled before someone now, and he digs in their pockets for it. He feels another bead of sweat forming on his brow, so he swipes at it irritably and sighs.
Even though he doesn't particularly care about the men he killed this evening, shooting always takes a lot of Kiyoomi's energy. He's tired, and hot, and just wants to take a long bath in the room he rented before going the fuck to sleep. Well, after cleaning his boots. Fuck.
Finally, he feels his fingers close around something. He breathes a sigh of relief when he removes his hand from the body's front breast pocket and turns his palm up to reveal a set of keys. He glances over at his horse as he walks back to the house.
She's a gorgeous, black Arabian horse, who almost blends into the night as dusk settles in. Kiyoomi loves her dearly, and has trained her well enough that she stays put while he works. He knows she'll be okay, so he enters the home without another glance.
He walks over to the basement door, the only sound being his heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. He grabs the lock, thankful for his black leather gloves that provide some barrier between his skin and the probably dirty metal. He tries each key, his patience wearing thin.
When he finally hears the satisfying click of the right key turning the lock, it's at the same time he hears wood creak behind him. He freezes when he feels the barrel of a gun press into his nape. He lets out a short exhale. Is one of those men still alive?
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, mister," comes an amused voice. "Breakin' and enterin' is a crime. Though, so is murder."
Kiyoomi feels his last shred of patience snap. Oh.
Of course.
"Get that gun off of me," Kiyoomi demands. "Now, Miya."
He feels Miya pull back his gun, so Kiyoomi turns around, his brows already furrowed.
Miya doesn't even have the decency to look scared of Kiyoomi. He stands there with his hands on his hips, his pistol now tucked into his holster like he doesn't have a care in the world.
His smile is big and annoying, his cheek dimples barely visible due to his stubble and the shadow cast from his brown hat. Apparently, since the last time Kiyoomi saw him, Miya also decided to grow a mustache. Kiyoomi glares at him.
"Sakusa-kun," Miya returns, as if he's greeting an old friend. "What do ya have to say for yerself? This is quite the mess."
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. "I say you're welcome. I'm sure at least half of these men have a bounty of them. I did your job for you."
Miya clicks his tongue. "Some people are wanted alive, ya know. Do you remember the conditions of yer bounty?"
Kiyoomi doesn't reply, because of course he knows the conditions of the bounty that's made Miya Atsumu, feared bounty hunter around these parts, chase him for months.
Miya steps forward, his smirk growing. He leans close, and Kiyoomi can smell alcohol mixed with Miya's natural musky scent. He wonders if Miya was out drinking, and somehow learned that Kiyoomi was here.
"Sakusa Kiyoomi," Miya whispers next to his ear, "wanted dead or alive."
Kiyoomi knows that the dead part is irrelevant to Miya, for whatever reason. It's the only reason Miya's still breathing and allowed to get this close to Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi knows this because Miya would've killed him by now if he really wanted to. He's had enough opportunities.
Kiyoomi knows all of this, and he still has to suppress a shiver at Miya's breath tickling his ear. Kiyoomi needs a drink. Or seven. But he needs to deal with his boots. Miya first, then his boots. Fuck.
When Miya pulls back, his eyes have gone hooded.
Again, Kiyoomi is reminded of the most awful thing about Miya. His terrible personality, his tendency to foil Kiyoomi's plans, and his shitty fucking bounty hunter job pale in comparison to how frustrating it is that Miya Atsumu is really goddamn attractive. And he knows it.
Kiyoomi slides his right hand down to grasp at his own holstered pistol. He could kill Miya right now. But one thing always stopping him is that a bounty hunter being killed piques the police's interest more than any old cowboy dying.
They're useful to society, or whatever. Even if Miya isn't technically with the law, the police leave him alone because he wrangles up criminals. Criminals like Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi, who has robbed carriages, trains, houses, people, and more. Kiyoomi, who has killed countless.
Part of it is because Kiyoomi likes to buy himself nice things, like clothes and food and alcohol, but another part of it is that he sends money back home to his mother and five younger siblings. And he hates people and being told what to do so this line of work is alright.
Killing Miya, who arguably hauls the most criminals in and has made a name for himself, might mean the sheriff takes a personal interest in hunting Kiyoomi down. Which means no more nice things. No more money to send back home. Kiyoomi won't have that.
While Kiyoomi has reasons not to kill Miya, as frustrating as that it, he's not sure what reasons Miya has to not kill him. In the past, Kiyoomi just needs to point his gun at Miya and he's able to get away. Miya doesn't call his bluff, for whatever reason.
Now, though, Miya has caught him with his guns holstered. Miya might be able to tackle him and hogtie him before Kiyoomi can grab and aim his pistol. Miya seems to know that, because for a moment they just stare at each other. Kiyoomi, frustrated. And Miya, amused.
Kiyoomi's eyes roam over Miya, over his tanned skin accentuated by his white shirt tucked into his jeans. There's a candlelit chandelier providing the only light in the otherwise dark house, and it creates a warm glint in Miya's amber-colored eyes.
Miya's blue scarf is tied around his neck, and Kiyoomi's fingers twitch when he imagines tugging on that scarf to pull Miya closer. Kiyoomi internally curses himself. No, he shouldn't want that.
"Do it already," Kiyoomi goads, voice low. Miya's smirk digs into his cheek.
"Do what, Sakusa-kun? Ya gotta give a feller more direction."
"You know what I'm talking about, asshole."
Miya steps closer again, and Kiyoomi holds his breath.
"I don't know, mister," Miya mumbles. His right hand reaches out and touches lightly at Kiyoomi's waist. Kiyoomi's heart flips at the weight of Miya's fingers brushing over the black fabric of Kiyoomi's shirt. "Maybe ya mean this."
"I don't," Kiyoomi mutters, but he doesn't push Miya away.
Kiyoomi...Kiyoomi hasn't been touched in a long time. That fact comes to mind now, frustratingly. He's been passing through towns, partly to escape Miya and partly because he thinks there's more money up north.
Either way, Kiyoomi hasn't stayed in the same place for more than one night in weeks. And while he hates it, he normally needs to get to know someone at least a little before he takes them to bed. He needs to make sure they're clean enough, or he won't relax enough to enjoy it.
So, Kiyoomi is maybe, definitely touch-starved. And Miya's touch maybe, definitely doesn't feel terrible.
However, this is unprecedented. Sure, there's undeniable tension between them. But it's angry and hostile. It's pulling guns on each other. It's ugly words.
It's not softness. It's not a subtle caress over Kiyoomi's waist. It's not Miya's warm voice murmuring, "Well? Is this what ya wanted?"
"Is this your plan?" Kiyoomi asks. "You won't kill me but you can't capture me so you're, what, trying to seduce me? Get me vulnerable?"
Miya chuckles, his thumb pressing into Kiyoomi's waist. Kiyoomi tries to ignore it but it's almost impossible. "Who said I won't kill ya?"
"You didn't deny my last point."
"And you ignored my question."
Kiyoomi sighs, remembering again why he hates Miya Atsumu so much.
"I don't know why you won't kill me. Maybe it's because you think I'll fuck you."
Miya's eyes darken, and Kiyoomi feels it like a thrill zipping up his spine.
"Who says you'll be doing the fuckin'?" Miya hums, smiling deceptively sweet.
Kiyoomi huffs, and in one smooth motion he wrenches Miya's hand off of him by grabbing his wrist, spins them around, slams Miya into the nearest wall, and pins his arm behind his back. Miya's hat flies off in the process, so Kiyoomi sees his blond hair, golden in this lighting.
Kiyoomi presses into Miya's back, digging his fingers into Miya's arm until he hisses. His cheek presses into the wall, but Kiyoomi can see that he's still smiling.
"Gotcha, cowboy," Miya says. "Wanted ya behind me the whole time."
Kiyoomi moves his left hand to pin Miya's arm, then unholsters his pistol with his right hand and digs it into Miya's hip. "Sure about that?"
Miya laughs again, but it sounds labored as he's pressed into the wall. "Oh, yeah. Maybe I've never felt better, mister."
"Maybe I'll shoot you and put myself out of my misery," Kiyoomi replies, ignoring the way his stomach flips at Miya's words.
"You won't," Miya says, sounding cocky like usual. "We both have our reasons for keepin' the other alive. Yers are easy to guess is the difference."
Vaguely, Kiyoomi wonders how Miya gets his bounties when he seems so hopeless. And then Kiyoomi thinks that Miya's good looks have to count for something. He belatedly realizes that Miya is seducing him, just like Kiyoomi accused him of. Shit, he's actually falling for it.
Kiyoomi...doesn't mind it, he finds. Miya feels good under his hands. Warm and solid. Like he won't break if Kiyoomi is rough with him. His voice is pretty like this, strained and breathy. So what if Miya is seducing him? Kiyoomi is smart enough to not get caught in the end.
Ignoring Miya's last words, Kiyoomi commands, "Undo your belt. If you're good I'll give you want you're so desperate for."
"Ah, shit," Miya exhales. "Yes, sir."
Kiyoomi holsters his gun, but he doesn't let up his hold, so Miya struggles to use his free hand to undo his belt.
The sound of the buckle being undone and the zipper lowering makes Kiyoomi's face hot. He was already sweating and overwhelmed from his clothes and the killing he did, but now it's like he's engulfed in heat.
Kiyoomi releases his arm. "Put your hands on the wall."
"Won't let me touch ya?" Miya asks, but he does as he's told.
"No," Kiyoomi says, clipped. He's becoming rapidly and dangerously turned on, but he's still got enough awareness to recall that he doesn't exactly trust where Miya's been.
Kiyoomi once again smells alcohol on Miya's breath and clothes, and he wonders if Miya's a little drunk. If that's why he initiated this. Right now, Kiyoomi can't find it in himself to care for his supposed reasoning.
Kiyoomi takes his gloves off and tucks them into his back pocket, then wraps his hand around Miya's cock. When he feels how thick and hot it is, he can't lie to himself. This may be unprecedented, but it's not exactly a surprise.
They've been working up to this, through teasing words and lingering glances. It was only a matter of time before something cracked and they were on each other like this.
Miya's groans, and Kiyoomi's heart beats so fast it thumps in his ears.
Kiyoomi starts jerking Miya off, slow at first just to hear those beautiful pants and exhales as Miya gets harder and wetter in his grasp. Miya presses his hands harder in the wall when Kiyoomi speeds up, the wood paneling squeaking.
Kiyoomi slides his left hand up Miya's chest, and then starts to undo the buttons. It's tricky, but he eventually gets the shirt unbuttoned, giving him access to Miya's warm, sweat-slicked chest. Miya's cock jumps in his hand when he rubs Miya's left nipple between his fingers.
"Shit, this is hot," Miya hisses. "Wait, shit, stop. Don't wanna finish before ya."
Kiyoomi huffs, "You're not touching me."
Miya looks at him over his shoulder. His eyes are glossy and his pupils are blown wide. Kiyoomi's heart aches. Miya's...beautiful like this.
"I'll make ya feel so good, mister," Miya purrs, slowly blinking his long lashes and his teeth sinking into the plush pink flesh of his bottom lip.
Kiyoomi is embarrassed at how quickly blood rushes to his own cock, filling in his pants. He...he wants Miya to touch him.
"Fine," Kiyoomi grits out, "but if you do something I don't like I'll blow your head off."
Miya chuckles. "I won't. Promise."
Kiyoomi...believes him. Enough to let Miya flip them around. Now, Kiyoomi is pushed against the wall. He takes his hat off and drops it to the ground.
Miya touches the end of Kiyoomi's handkerchief and his eyes bore into Kiyoomi's, as if asking a question.
"What?" Kiyoomi demands, his cheeks coloring at the attention.
"Never seen yer face before," Miya says. "No one has. All yer wanted posters have yer handkerchief."
Kiyoomi glares at Miya. Kiyoomi thinks it's pretty obvious he hides his identity so he's not caught. "So?"
Miya leans close, his lips merely an inch away from Kiyoomi's. "So. I want to kiss you," Miya says slowly, "and it's gettin' in the way."
Kiyoomi swallows thickly.
Kiyoomi's right hand circles around Miya's scarf that's tied around his neck. He tugs on it lightly, and Miya takes that as permission to lower his handkerchief. The tie comes undone, and Kiyoomi's handkerchief falls to the floor. Miya pulls back to look at him, eyes widening.
"You're gorgeous," Miya breathes, and Kiyoomi flushes at the compliment.
The moment is embarrassingly tender, so different than the harsh way he was handling Miya before. Kiyoomi can't let his guard down. Miya is a bounty hunter. He needs to remember that.
Kiyoomi smirks. "Enough talking, cowboy."
He pulls Miya by the scarf, who eagerly moves with the motion and crashes his lips against Kiyoomi's. Miya moans into the kiss, loud and eager, like when Kiyoomi was jerking him off.
And it's...intoxicating.
Kiyoomi has never been kissed like this, so thorough and deep and rough. Kiyoomi's knees buckle, and he slumps further against the wall.
When they break apart to take a breath, Kiyoomi mutters, "Touch me."
He sees a hint of Miya's wicked grin before he's being kissed again.
Miya's hands cup his jaw, holding him close as Miya deepens the kiss again. Kiyoomi is so lost in the sensation of Miya sucking on his tongue that his entire body jerks when he feels Miya tug at his belt instead.
"Gonna- together," Miya stutters out, his voice tight.
Kiyoomi nods quickly, letting Miya undo his belt and unzip his jeans. And then Miya takes them both in his large, calloused palm. Kiyoomi bites his lip to hold back a groan at the touch. Shit, it's been awhile. It feels good. It feels even better when Miya kisses him again.
All of Kiyoomi's previous worries and fears about cleanliness and trust fly out of his head now that he's overloaded with sensation, feeling like he's boiling in his clothes but he doesn't want this to stop. When it becomes too hard to breathe and kiss, Miya noses at his jaw.
Kiyoomi tilts his head back, feeling the dull ache of pressing it into the wall, but it gives Miya access to his neck.
Miya kisses the tender flesh, his breath wet and hot on Kiyoomi's skin as he moans, "You feel so good."
"Mmm," Kiyoomi hums, his eyes squeezing shut.
When Miya starts sucking a bruise onto Kiyoomi's neck, Kiyoomi inhales sharply and bucks his hips up instinctively. His cock slides against Miya's, and Miya closes his hand even tighter around their cocks. Shit shit shit. It feels so fucking good; filthy and debased.
Kiyoomi should hate this; should hate kissing and fucking the man who has been chasing him for months, the man who pisses him off to no end, the man who smells like musk and whiskey and sex, but instead all of this is sending Kiyoomi hurdling toward the edge.
His pleasure mounts and spikes and it's so overwhelming Kiyoomi can hardly breathe.
"There ya go," Miya groans against his skin. "So good for me, baby."
And that's what does it. Kiyoomi comes hard, harder than he has in a long time, and Miya strokes him through it.
Somewhere in that blissful high, he registers Miya go wire-tight against him and then wantonly moan as he finishes too. When his cock becomes too sensitive, he bats Miya's hand away and slumps against the wall.
When he opens his eyes, he sees that Miya is looking at him...in awe, or something equally as surprising. And then Miya's eyes droop, and his smile transforms into a sleepy grin.
"Goddamn, sweetheart," Miya chuckles. "I need a second."
"Don't call me that," Kiyoomi snaps.
If Miya hears him, he doesn't give Kiyoomi any indication. Miya tucks himself back into his jeans then slides down the wall, putting his hat back on and tipping it low over his face. He looks dangerously close to falling asleep.
Even though Kiyoomi's heart is still a mess and his breathing is still erratic, he doesn't waste any time. He zips up his jeans and grabs his stuff as fast as he can and carefully walks out of the house so that the floorboards don't creak. He mounts his horse and rides away.
Back in town, Kiyoomi hitches his horse outside the saloon and enters, his handkerchief tied like normal and his boots freshly cleaned. He sits at the bar and calls the bartender over.
"Whiskey, neat," he says gruffly, tired and sore from riding and killing and, well, sex.
The bruise on his neck aches like an ever-present reminder of what he's done with Miya, and it makes his stomach turn. He still wonders how Miya knew he'd be there, but it's not like he's getting any answers now.
The bartender slides him his glass, and he goes to grab it so he can head upstairs, but he stills when he feels someone sit down on the stool beside him.
"Don't go runnin' off again, darlin'."
Kiyoomi doesn't look over. He doesn't have to. He'd know that voice anywhere.
And everything suddenly makes sense. Miya must've been at this saloon when that gang leader caused a ruckus. He must've seen Kiyoomi. He must've known what Kiyoomi was planning.
Kiyoomi smiles into his glass, murmuring, "Wasn't planning on it, cowboy," before taking a sip.
He hears Miya's soft chuckle, and it warms his stomach more than the alcohol.
"Good, 'cause you forgot this."
Miya slides a piece of paper into his field of vision, and Kiyoomi's brows furrow.
"It's a map," Miya explains. "to wherever that guy is really hidin' his treasure."
"That's what was in the basement," Miya adds, and then signals to the bartender to get his own drink. Kiyoomi doesn't reply until Miya has his own glass of whiskey and they're left alone again.
"Why are you showing me this?" Kiyoomi asks.
Miya taps his fingers on the bar, as if stalling, then says, "I've been a bounty hunter for a long time. I'm itchin' for a new adventure."
Kiyoomi feels Miya's eyes on him, so Kiyoomi glances over. Miya's eyes are a golden amber in this light, soft-focused on Kiyoomi.
Miya smiles gently. "I want ya to come find this treasure with me. I'm kinda crazy about ya."
Kiyoomi's breath catches in this throat. Miya's been the biggest pain in his ass for months, and has consumed most of his waking thoughts.
Miya is loud, obnoxious, and frustrating.
But goddamnit if Miya didn't make Kiyoomi feel crazy for him too.
His pretty eyes, his gentle laugh, his strong hands, his teasing words. Kiyoomi has had a taste of it all and he doesn't know if he can give it up now.
Kiyoomi holds his drink up, and his heart aches as he asks, "Partners?"
A brilliant grin breaks out on Miya's face. He takes his own drink, and clinks it against Kiyoomi's.
"Partners," Miya confirms.
Later, when Kiyoomi invites Miya into his room, he realizes that this is the first time that he doesn't mind someone knowing him wholly and completely. Not when it's Miya Atsumu, former bounty hunter.