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“What were they thinking?” The question comes with the most disdainful click of tongue. It isn’t lost on Atsumu that Kiyoomi waited for him to finally get his mini bottle of Yamazaki and take his first, long-awaited providential sip to ruin the moment.
He had plenty of occasions to show his disapproval before, but that’s Sakusa Kiyoomi for Atsumu. Thorough in everything: including being a mean asshole.
“What d’ya mean ‘what were they thinking’? Like what did they think when they sent the two guys the most suited for the job in the whole company? Can’t imagine why they’d pair us up. Face it, we’ve got the best chemistry.”
Kiyoomi refrains from clicking his tongue again, but the air of dismay on his face is clear. Atsumu knows it’s more of a façade than anything — which is why he takes it as a challenge to make it crumble every time Kiyoomi tries to play that little game. He’s a freak, anyway. Atsumu finds it thrilling too, but he doesn’t get what’s Kiyoomi’s deal. He can’t understand why Kiyoomi keeps pretending they have nothing to do together when he smiles to himself like a madman everytime they win over a client, thanks to their team effort. Atsumu saw him do that, several times — not counting all the times he missed it because Kiyoomi was sleek enough to hide. It’s like a tacit game they play. Pissing each other off for entertainment has become the only way to breeze through tedious corporate assignments. Atsumu isn’t tired of it, per say. But he’s as much a challenger as Kiyoomi, and he’s getting antsy. Maybe this time he can take it up a notch? After all, his dear co-worker is his toughest battle. Atsumu knows he can win him over; that it would be far from the end of their little game, too.
He leans over the table in between them, fist loose around his drink. Across from him, Kiyoomi eyes the beverage with a squint. Atsumu knows if he knocks it over, he’s as good as dead — which makes him want to be silly. He releases the plastic cup, taping it with the tip of his index. The liquid sloshes around slightly, and although there’s no real threat in a bullet train going at cruising speed, he can see Kiyoomi’s jaw clench. Atsumu crafts his next smirk into what he imagines to be 'insufferable yet charming' and says, “We’re the best they’ve got. There’s not a deal we haven’t closed together. Damn, our chemistry is so fuckin’ crazy it’s insane ya haven’t asked me to relieve ya from all that sexual tension we’ve got going on. Would help ya a bunch by the way. Yer so freakin’ uptight, Omi-kun.”
“You’re so crass,” Kiyoomi whispers, not even looking Atsumu in the eye. Instead he bats his hand away from the cup with a slap on the wrist.
Atsumu rolls his eyes and grabs the cup with a firm grip.
“Yeah, right. Ya think I never heard ya when yer on the phone with yer cousin? Yer not exactly a smooth talker when yer not performing for the clients.”
Atsumu waits for Kiyoomi’s reaction while taking a sip of whisky, expecting something underwhelming. But Atsumu is secretly convinced Kiyoomi gets off on surprising him and he is on point.
“Crass and rude. Who the ever loving fuck told you you could listen in on my private conversations?”
Atsumu immediately clasps a hand over his mouth, eyes opening wide for the theatrics. “Did ya just curse at me? Oh my god, yer dear cousin would be clutching his pearls if he could hear ya.”
“Another word from you and you’ll do that meeting presentation with your front teeth missing,” Kiyoomi deadpans.
It makes Atsumu want to play a bit more.
“I just love it when ya talk dirty to me, Omi-k—Okay! Okay, I’ll stop. Yer no fucking fun.” He has to cut himself off when Kiyoomi grabs the expensive fountain pen tucked in the front pocket of his shirt and gets ready to stab him in the eye.
After that, Atsumu finds solace in his drink while peace and quiet settles back over their train compartment. They have to last another thirty minutes without killing each other before they arrive in Kyoto. But quite frankly, if they’ve survived that and the terribly exhausting crunch of the prep week leading to this presentation, they can survive anything.
“I’m going to kill myself.”
If they weren’t in the middle of a fancy lobby and the young clerk in front of them wasn’t seconds away from bursting into tears, Atsumu would have burst into laughter.
“Very gen Z of ya, Omi-kun. Excuse him, miss. He’s a tad dramatic…”
Kiyoomi points at himself in shock, horror fading from his features to be replaced by outrage. Atsumu can hear him alright ‘me? You are saying that to me?’ despite the lack of words. So when he snickers, he’s not surprised to see Kiyoomi clasp his hands together in a silent prayer. As if a superior force can help him remain calm in the presence of his worst foe. Atsumu would like to see that happen.
“You deal with it, Miya,” Kiyoomi barks at him before turning around and stalking away.
Atsumu stays silent until he sees him drop into one of the expensive couches on the opposite side of the lobby. Kiyoomi immediately pulls his laptop out and opens it with enough brute force to snap it in half. Atsumu can’t hear his furious tapping on the keyboard from here, though, so he figures Kiyoomi won’t hear their conversation either.
It’s true they’re in quite the predicament, but he doesn’t really know how to deal with it. Minute three of them talking with the young women behind the counter, they all realized something was wrong. It was written all over her face as she was frantically typing behind her monitor. Then the news came. Their company made a stupid mistake while booking their hotel rooms. As in… they booked only one.
It’s not the first time Atsumu stayed here. The client they’re meeting tomorrow is one he’s had to deal with before. But it’s the first time he’s been sent on this case with someone else since a recent and complicated company merger.
The clerk found him in the register, assigned to the same type of room Atsumu usually gets when he’s sent to Kyoto. The problem is… she’s yet to find Sakusa Kiyoomi’s name anywhere. Atsumu knows where this is going: to shit. He’s seen that movie before — terribly predictable scenario, B-list actors, a cringy sex scene… Fuck, they’re going to have to share a room.
And sure, in theory, this scenario fits perfectly into Atsumu’s big scheme — the one where he pushes Sakusa Kiyoomi enough to make him snap. But before he can get anywhere near the moment things might get interesting, he still needs to try and appease the situation. No matter how willing Kiyoomi is to play, hearing the news was upsetting to him. He’s peculiar with a certain number of things and his personal space is one of them — Atsumu wouldn’t want Kiyoomi to assume he doesn’t care about that. He’s not an asshole. Not when it matters, that is.
The clerk has stopped typing and is now looking at Atsumu over her screen with a teary face, stealing anxious glances at Kiyoomi from time to time. She seems hesitant to speak again but eventually gathers the courage to do so, albeit her voice is wobbly.
“I can’t find it. Like I said, with the festival, we’re booked. Oh dear, what can I—I mean… God—There’s always… I’m absolutely sorry to mention this, sir, but there’s always the hotel down the street. A—”
“Stop ya right there, miss,” Atsumu interrupts her with a broad smile. The poor thing looks like she’s going to break and he needs her to stay focused. “If yer idea of saving the day is to hint at me and my co-worker landing in a love hotel together, his silly little threat about killin’ himself is gonna turn real. And neither me or ya want to be cleanin’ up that kind of mess.”
Atsumu saw the tacky hotel in question on their way here, just before the taxi dropped them off. That’s a hard no. Not that it wouldn’t be funny, but Atsumu knows it’s game over if Kiyoomi really finds himself forced to stay in that kind of establishment.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles, mortified. “I can call another hotel for you, we have a partnership, but it’s a few metro stations away. I’ll call a taxi, of c—”
“Mmh. This one is close to our company, it’s convenient for us. And it’s only one night, so if there’s nothing in the vicinity, I think we’ll decline.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” the young lady repeats, her panic growing — and seeing her age, she clearly is seconds away from tweeting ‘i’m gonna kms’ with two dozens of skull emojis while having a nervous breakdown in the break room. Atsumu can’t have that, he already has a drama queen to deal with and he’s not too pleased to be robbed of this sacred title.
He gives her a reassuring smile. Refusing the proposition wasn’t in bad faith — it really is more of a hindrance than anything to move to another, further hotel, especially at this hour. However, he’s not done dealing with the situation. Atsumu stayed here in the past, after all. And there’s a place he never had the occasion to visit — nor the funds for. He might be abusing the situation, but… one look over his shoulder, and Atsumu decides he deserves a nice compensation for his trouble. One that will suit his plans perfectly.
“It happens, my travel companion and I understand. We’ll take the room without troubling you. Of course… If there’s anything ya can do for our dinner reservation… I heard there’s an exquisite sushi restaurant on the rooftop—”
The clerk lets out a strangled, excited yelp at the mention of the restaurant. Her eyes glimpse with a new, hopeful flame.
“Yes! Yes, sir. It’s on the house, please. Any tab you have, just give your room number. I’ll make a reservation under your name immediately. Thank you,” she says in the same breath as she starts typing like a madwoman again.
“That’s my line.” Atsumu chuckles, propping his elbow on the counter while she keeps at it, a furious blush creeping on her face.
It takes another minute for her to find a magnetic card, assign it to their now-shared room and write down the wifi password on a piece of paper. Atsumu exchanges those for a wink and after a few other words about their upcoming dinner reservation and room service taking care of their luggage for them, he’s off to pick up his date.
He already knows Kiyoomi isn’t going down without a fight — which works just fine. They have to go all the way up to enjoy a fanciful dinner, with a strategic plunging view over a nice public garden. A garden in which takes place the very festival that has the area packed for the next three days. There will be lanterns, and probably one of these light and sound shows involving colorful drones to replace otherwise dangerous fireworks in the middle of the city. More free and nice things for them to enjoy. Instead of a fight, Atsumu expects a lovely date. If he’s lucky, he’ll get both.
He knows Kiyoomi has ridiculously high standards when it comes to food. Suffice to say he should warm up a bit at the prospect of eating a delicious serving of expensive yet free sushi, instead of whatever gloomy option was waiting for them at the hotel cafeteria.
Kiyoomi slaps his laptop shut in his lap the moment he sees Atsumu approach. It’s obvious he’s wary of whatever Atsumu will announce.
“I made the deal of the century,” he says, sly.
“I’m going to hate it,” Kiyoomi says, not as a warning, but in total despair.
“Aw, don’t hurt my feelings, Omi-kun. Ya haven’t heard it yet—”
“Do we have to share a fucking room, yes or no?” Kiyoomi asks without an ounce of patience.
“Don’t ya want to know if we can share a bottle of their best wine as well as a full array of delicious seafood, instead? On the house,” Atsumu adds proudly. With the short distance between them, it’s impossible to miss Kiyoomi’s eye twitch. “Come on, Omi-kun. That’s worth more than a room.” And although there’s some truth in that, it doesn’t seem to console Kiyoomi one bit.
Instead, he gets up all stiffly, radiating cold ire. “You’re taking the couch, Miya.”
Atsumu bites back his smirk and waits for Kiyoomi to have walked a safe distance away to say: “Gladly would, Omi. But I’m afraid there’s no couch in standard bedrooms.”
The discussion ends right there, with Kiyoomi punching the poor button to call the elevator. Atsumu couldn’t have dreamed of a more peaceful outcome.
As expected, the crisis is averted. Kiyoomi is mean throughout the first ten minutes of dinner but the situation isn’t dire enough for him not to survive the initial shock of the news.
They have work to discuss about, with the presentation tomorrow, and Atsumu gets back in his good graces by making sure his glass is never empty of the insane Château Saint-Emilion grand cru 2015 they’ve been served. Charming Kiyoomi isn’t too complicated anyway. He respects hard work and wits — Atsumu showcases both over his second weakness: a plate of amazing food.
Sure, Kiyoomi tells him to shut up often, and the banter is more like a verbal joust than a nice conversation — but in their world, this is the equivalent of aggressive flirting. And maybe it’s the wine talking and the pleasant atmosphere, but Atsumu almost gets hard when Kiyoomi tells him he’ll choke him in his sleep if he dares to venture on his side of the bed in the middle of the night.
He has no idea what's in the cards for him, but the night is young. “I expect you to pay the bill,” Kiyoomi says as he dabs his mouth with a napkin.
“Yes, ‘cause for some reason it's my fault if yer stuck sharin’ a room with yers truly. Some men would kill for that.”
“Isn't that a fun quirky thing to put in your Grindr bio? Two truths, a lie. I'm a loud fucking mouth. I shared a bed with my co-worker. He murdered me in my sleep.”
If Atsumu didn't know him by now, he'd think Kiyoomi was just being sarcastic and bored, but he catches the almost imperceptible up-tilt of the corner of his mouth. Oh, the game is on. Else why would he mention a gay app, out of the blue?
“Sounds like three truths to me and now I'm hella scared, Omi-Omi. I'll go pretend I pay for dinner while ya park yer butt over there,” Atsumu says while pushing his chair back.
“Mentioning my butt in the work environment amounts to sexual harrasment, Miya.” Kiyoomi could be threatening him, but he makes sure to whisper, so no one pays attention to words that could otherwise turn into a scandale in a crowded place. And there it is, still, that sneaky little smirk.
That's it. Atsumu is half-mast in his pants and he hates the guy. There's little hope they'll get past the aggressive flirting, yet Kiyoomi has no qualms tormenting him. And Atsumu can't even blame it on the wine. Kiyoomi is known for holding his liquor like an absolute freak. He’s the one the company sends when they have to handle old clients who measure a deal by the amount of expensive drinks their corporate slaves can take.
Atsumu finds the waiter by the register to sign the receipt. He stalls another couple of minutes by the young man who’s bowing to him deeply. He, too, apologizes once again on behalf of the hotel — which has the merits to cool Atsumu’s head down. And whatever other body part of his that isn't cool after Kiyoomi's relentless attacks.
He finds him checking his Apple watch by the elevator at the end of the rooftop. Whatever text Kiyoomi received is long as hell, because it takes the whole ride for him to read it. Atsumu feels pleasantly buzzed by the alcohol, full from his excellent dinner and finds himself enjoying the silence. He’s far from done with the evening but he can give Kiyoomi a moment of respite. It’s not like he has anything in mind yet. Maybe something will come to him once they reach the bedroom. Atsumu will rile him up, one way or another.
Kiyoomi’s lack of reaction when they enter the bedroom is underwhelming to say the least. He gives the room a quick glance before his eyes set on Atsumu.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” he says, as if it’s Atsumu’s fault.
“Oi! I’ve done nothin’!”
“That’s what I’m saying…”
Atsumu stomps over to his weekender. “I got us a nice dinner in the best restaurant around. Ya couldn’t afford to take me there if ya wanted to,” he rants while he retrieves his toiletry kit, purposely leaving any fresh pair of boxers packed behind.
“Oh, but I could. Keyword being ‘wanted’.” Kiyoomi is already unzipping the pouch protecting his laptop. “Are you going to use the shower, or can I—”
“Yer fuckin’ mean,” Atsumu groans before crossing the room. And before he can slam the door, he gives Kiyoomi one last evil look and a: “I know ya enjoyed our little dinner date, ya big ass liar.”
Atsumu could swear he hears Kiyoomi chuckle but he goes through with the dramatic exit and bangs the door before he can confirm it. He can’t really reopen it to point and claim that he caught Kiyoomi red-handed, because Kiyoomi would find a way to lie and make Atsumu look like a loser.
No, instead, he’ll have to piss him off harder to trigger a bigger reaction. Maybe if he reaches the point where Kiyoomi really wants and tries to throttle him, things will get physical and Kiyoomi will have to admit once and for all he’s not immune to Atsumu’s charms.
But now that Atsumu is in the middle of the cramped bathroom, he has to admit he’s at a loss — out of ammo. Atsumu knows how to run his mouth, but it doesn’t seem like the best course of action at the moment. Kiyoomi knows how to ward his attempts off. The bedroom situation doesn’t seem like a major issue either. Atsumu reckons Kiyoomi will fuss when they get in bed, but by then, it might be too late for the fun. He can picture the man being strict enough when it comes to his sleep schedule — and although there’s no doubt Kiyoomi can break some rules, Atsumu would bet anything he has that he's only willing to break them on his own accord. Atsumu needs to push his buttons, but in the end, Kiyoomi will be the one to decide when to activate the switch. It's been like this since they met, in every aspects of their partnership. In their little rivalry, in their conjoint assignments, in their team work, in their banter…
Well. Atsumu has only one option left. That is: to be a complete, utter idiot and pray for the best. He's had ages to take a full shower and brush his teeth by the time the idea forms into his mind. It's not his brightest, it's even pretty simple, but Atsumu needs something efficient, not something to fry his brain over. That's why he grabs the shower head… And generously pours as much water as he can outside of the cubicle. He makes sure the mat is soaked and the area in front of the sink drenched. After he's done, he can't even see clearly anymore — the room is filled with steam. Kiyoomi is going to hate every single second of it. Where to go from there? Atsumu has no idea. He doesn't want to think too much about it because he knows he'll start second guessing himself. Thus, it's a problem for future-Atsumu.
The future, however, is closer than what he thought. His plan prevents him from using the mirror to style his hair or do his skincare routine. Was it short-sighted? Yeah. Atsumu blames it on the second glass of Saint-Emilion and his two horny brain cells fighting for dominance in the ‘how to get my hot but prickly co-worker's attention the fastest’ competition.
It's too late to regret, anyway. Atsumu decides to man up, tie one of the clean hotel towels around his waist, and get out there.
A cloud of steam precedes him when he swings the door open, making for an entrance as dramatic as his previous exit. He receives, however, no reaction.
Kiyoomi, still wearing his full suit, is sitting on the edge of the bed, typing again on his keyboard like a madman. Atsumu notices he must have taken half a millisecond to loosen his tie — the only sign Kiyoomi took a breath between their dinner and returning to being a workaholic freak. He clears his throat to get his attention, but Kiyoomi barely looks up from his laptop screen.
“Won’t ya chill for five minutes? I’m the one doing the pres’ tomorrow.”
“You’re running your mouth, tomorrow. May I remind you who’s providing the material?”
Atsumu crosses his arms over his chest, puffing his cheeks to express his childish but warranted annoyance. It would make for a perfect picture, if not for the fact that his heel slips over the wet floor and he has to catch himself up against the door frame.
The stunt attracts Kiyoomi’s attention, at least. His eyes scan the floor in a frenzy before they narrow into slits. Atsumu wishes he could abort the mission, but it’s too late. Kiyoomi is on his feet, laptop abandoned, rushing toward the small bathroom. He stops in his tracks before colliding chest to chest with Atsumu who’s trying to cross the path. There’s only a few centimeters difference between them, but those, plus the two firm hands on Atsumu’s shoulders to manhandle him out of the way, are enough for Kiyoomi to find out. Atsumu should never have fucked around.
“Oh my fucking god, you heathen. Why?” Kiyoomi doesn’t exactly explode but he has a hard time keeping his composure.
Atsumu tries to look over his shoulder but Kiyoomi won’t let go of him and his whole body feels stiff. “Good question…” Atsumu has no trouble admitting he doesn’t know himself why he did it.
“You mean you didn’t even have a plan? Let’s just ruin my evening for no reason?” It’s obvious, by the tremor in Kiyoomi’s fingers, that he’s trying not to shake Atsumu, but he wants to.
There goes the physical reaction — except Atsumu would almost feel bad. If not for the next words that leave Kiyoomi’s mouth. “God, if you’re so pent up, just find someone to fuck instead of trying to fuck me over.”
Atsumu's head perks up, eyes going wider. “Who said I’m trying to get fucked—Wait.” That’s exactly what Atsumu is trying to do, if he’s honest. Kiyoomi notices his double take, his brows raising up behind his bangs.
“So that’s what it is, isn’t it, Miya? What is it? Desperate for me to notice—”
“Shut the hell up, don’t make it look like I’d beg for ya, asshole,” Atsumu cuts him off, refraining from slamming a hand over Kiyoomi’s mean mouth.
“Yeah? Well, at least begging would be cute. Because that just looks a bit pathetic, don’t you—mmph!”
Atsumu’s palm makes contact with Kiyoomi’s lips, in the end. He immediately takes it back, embarrassed by the impulse and dreading Kiyoomi’s reaction. He’s already glowering. “Just shut up, Omi-kun.”
“What? Can’t stand it when someone else runs their mouth? You’ve been doing that a lot, it’s not fair you’re the only one.”
Atsumu feels an uncontrollable need to smirk at the man. If he wants to start shit, Atsumu will bite. He kept a few cards up his sleeves, after all. Kiyoomi is forcing his hand.
“Ya love it when I do. Ya’ve been putting up with it for years. Ya think I don’t know yer the one who reminded our manager of my last intervention at the seminary?”
“Atsumu.” Kiyoomi takes a step closer to him as he says his name in a low voice — a delight to hear. The tension in the air is thicker than the fog left after Atsumu’s shower. It makes him smirk all the more — a little air of ‘I knew it’ that’s going to make Kiyoomi’s blood boil.
“How convenient he’d think of me in particular to go with ya, mmh? Apart from the insane chemistry and all. We both know he could have sent ya alone. This is a new deal, new contact. But ya had to—”
“You really need to shut it.” Kiyoomi is breathing in the very air Atsumu exhales, now. They’re so close, Atsumu can feel the ghostly touch of Kiyoomi’s shirt against his chest.
“Or what? Why are ya so mad, Omi-kun? Ya embarrassed or something? Just sayin’, but calling me desperate when ya’d do that just for us to be together… Man, I’m gonna start thinking ya called the hotel to cancel yer bedroom yourself.”
“One more word and—”
“What? Yer gonna shut me up yerself?” Atsumu sneaks a leg forward, between Kiyoomi’s thighs. They couldn’t be closer, at this point. Or they could, but they’d have to swap spit for that. One more push. “Might as well try. I don’t think I’m the only one who’s pent up, here.”
“Too corny,” Kiyoomi says but Atsumu wins because the words are groaned against his lips when Kiyoomi seals them with a demanding kiss.
The hands on Atsumu's shoulders push him until his back meets the door and Kiyoomi is the one pressing a leg between his thighs. Atsumu can feel Kiyoomi is already getting hard through his pants. But Kiyoomi doesn't let him grin into the kiss. He probs at his lips with his tongue, taking Atsumu aback. He always had a feeling Kiyoomi wanted this as much as he did, but he didn't expect him to be so pushy. Atsumu's knees go weak at the first press of tongue against his own, his arms flying around Kiyoomi's neck for support as he deepens the kiss. It feels so fucking good, Atsumu gets a bit too turned on to brag.
That's why when Kiyoomi gives him a few seconds to breathe, he sounds weak as he teases him. “Knew it.”
“I like your toothpaste, don't flatter yourself.”
The absolute bad faith revives Atsumu's spirit on the spot.
“Seriously? Just say I'm a good kisser like everyone else, don't be a freak, Omi.”
“No one said that, ever,” Kiyoomi says but then he kisses him again like he can't get enough of Atsumu. At this rate, the towel won't hold up. Atsumu is so aroused, his dick might explode if Kiyoomi keeps grinding his thigh up against him.
“I'll make ya say it,” Atsumu says before he grabs Kiyoomi by the front of his perfect stupid shirt to seal their lips again.
Kiyoomi turns his head to the side but Atsumu isn't deterred. His lips latch onto the side of his neck where he immediately starts nipping and sucking on the pale skin. The throaty little noise that escapes Kiyoomi’s mouth is more than rewarding. Especially because he sounds like he's fighting for his life when he speaks after that: “Earlier… You—’who said I’m trying to get fucked’. That's… what you—fuck. Is that what you want? Want me to fuck you?”
Atsumu smirks against Kiyoomi's neck. Of course, once he's on board, he's not going to take any detour around it. Kiyoomi loves to play with his food when it's time for it, but Atsumu had a feeling he wouldn't tiptoe around when it really matters. He's the perfect kind of imperfect for Atsumu, so they better make it count.
“Wouldn’t say no to that,” he says and it seems like Kiyoomi was only waiting for this.
His hands sneak under Atsumu's towel when they resume the kiss, this time. He feels Atsumu up roughly, keeping him trapped between his body and the door. It's only when his fingers sink into the flesh at the junction of Atsumu's thighs and his ass that something dawns on him.
“Shit. At least a love hotel would have had condoms.”
Kiyoomi snickers discreetly, but Atsumu hears it.
“For all the barking, you're really no bite. You've been trying to get into my pants for ages and couldn't even come prepared?”
Atsumu is speechless. Kiyoomi is a little shit and he's having the time of his life. Fuck, Atsumu might fall in love with him, if they're not careful — way more dangerous than any STD, way more life impairing than getting pregnant.
He's ready to run to a konbini, if need be, but while Atsumu fries his brain, Kiyoomi remains in total control and uses it to his advantage. For the second time, Atsumu doesn't see it coming. Kiyoomi has no trouble manhandling him out of his stupor. Atsumu is thrown onto the bed, towel falling apart for good when his ass collides with the mattress.
“I don't want to see that go anywhere else than under your ass, Miya.” Atsumu swallows loudly as Kiyoomi towers over him. He's there, in full suit, bossing him around, while Atsumu is at his mercy. This shit is awakening all sorts of things in Atsumu he's not sure he needs to find out about now.
Worse. The next time they're at work and Kiyoomi orders him around, there might be dire consequences. Again, though: it's a problem for future-Atsumu.
Kiyoomi, oblivious to his internal crisis, goes to his weekender left on a chair. He rummages through it less than a minute before Atsumu feels something hit him in the chest. Bewildered, he looks down his stomach where a soft plastic bottle flopped down. It's lube.
“God, Omi. Who's been eager to get into whose pants again?”
Atsumu knows Kiyoomi wants to wipe his insufferable grin off of his lips, but the method he chooses is way more thrilling than a kiss.
He doesn't stop at the foot of the bed, this time. Kiyoomi climbs onto the mattress, undoing his belt while staring Atsumu down. The quality leather running smoothly through the loops of his pants produces a satisfying sound that makes Atsumu's dick twitch. The zipper comes down next, just as Kiyoomi straddles his chest. Fuck. Atsumu is doomed.
“Put your loud mouth to good use and prepare yourself while you're at it. Wouldn't want to make an eager man wait, would you?” Kiyoomi instructs him while he gets his half-hard cock out of his pants without an ounce of shame.
“Say please, Om—” Atsumu is cut short when Kiyoomi grabs his wrists with one hand and pins them above Atsumu's head.
“You really want to get cocky, now?” Kiyoomi asks, looking almighty and pleased with himself as he uses his other hand to angle his cock toward Atsumu's lips.
Atsumu feels his mouth water. He doesn't even want to answer, his lips fall open instead. He's fantasized about sucking Kiyoomi off in all the dark corners around their office, dozens of times. This is a dream come true.
“Because if you're a little shit, I'm going to keep your hands here—fuuuuck, I knew your mouth would feel good, Miya.”
Atsumu's brain short-circuits at this moment. Kiyoomi forgets to release his hands but Atsumu is boneless anyway. All he can do is try to relax his jaw as Kiyoomi feeds him every inch of his cock. It grows heavier on Atsumu's tongue too, filling him up completely by the time Kiyoomi has entirely sinked into his mouth.
“No gag reflex, uh? God, why am I even surprised?” Kiyoomi groans as he bottoms out. He makes another comment about how Atsumu runs his mouth too much not to be a pro at this, and the irony is almost lost on Atsumu because he's too engrossed in the feeling of being stuffed. But not entirely. For all his bravado, Kiyoomi is the one who can't shut up, now. It would be almost cute, if he didn't start fucking Atsumu's mouth in earnest the next second.
Atsumu's eyes roll at the back of his head. For a moment, he can't even think of doing anything else than taking it. No refined technique, nothing. He's just focusing on the feeling and trying to keep a grip on reality — but it feels too good to be true, so the task is tedious.
After a moment, Atsumu gets his head back in the game, though. Literally. That's when he notices Kiyoomi let go of his hands a while ago. Now his hands are propped on the wall at the head of the bed, while he pumps his hips and grinds against Atsumu's face, giving him free reign again.
Atsumu fumbles around, blindly patting the mattress toward his waist to retrieve the lube. It's been some time since he played with himself, and he's not sure he can focus the way he wants to when his mind is elsewhere, but Atsumu doesn't shy away from the challenge.
If anything, he hollows his cheeks more, toying with the tip of Kiyoomi's dick whenever he gives him small respites, instead of using those precious seconds to breathe.
He makes a bit of a mess, half of the lube he tries to pour on his hands dribbling on his stomach — but the cold feeling keeps him focused. Atsumu could die happy with Kiyoomi's dick buried down his throat. It's good he has something to help him keep sane. Stretching himself is another one.
Atsumu isn't doing an excellent job at it, if he's honest. The angle isn't great, he can't really touch himself where it would matter. Adding a third finger isn't easily achieved. If anything, he loses patience trying to. Atsumu is too eager for it. Kiyoomi's movements are growing slightly erratic and as much as the idea of him coming in his mouth arouses Atsumu…
“‘eady.” His mouth is too stuffed to speak, but Atsumu tries anyway. Kiyoomi seems not to hear at first, because he thrusts down, his dick hitting the back of Atsumu's throat as he heaves a long, trembling sight. Kiyoomi doesn't move for a few seconds and Atsumu thinks it's the telltale sign that he's coming apart. But it's not. Kiyoomi eventually pulls back, leaving Atsumu a sputtering mess.
His chin and lips are smeared with spit and precum, which he rubs with the back of his hand approximately. He looks up at Kiyoomi, who is crawling down to settle between his legs. Atsumu's eyes are watery, yet he sees the faint blush on Kiyoomi's face clearly. His feverish gaze makes him crave for something hopeless.
“Never heard it's rude as hell not to kiss the homie that choked on yer—”
Kiyoomi's lips crush Atsumu's own. The press is hard, hot — like he can't get enough. The slippery mess makes it sloppy but Atsumu enjoys having Kiyoomi's tongue inside his mouth as much as his dick.
“You didn't choke. But I guess you did an okay job,” Kiyoomi justifies himself when Atsumu looks at him in too much shock to bicker back. The last thing he expected was for him to do something like this, when Atsumu literally has dick-breath. It's not the first time Kiyoomi surprises him, though. It only makes Atsumu want the man more. To be specific, he wants Kiyoomi inside of him.
“You're sure you're ready?” he asks, looking at the lube gleaming on Atsumu's abs. Atsumu can't help but notice the way Kiyoomi oggles his body. It gives him a sense of misplaced confidence, parting his legs in a suave move while giving Kiyoomi the most obscene bedroom eyes he knows himself capable of.
“Told ya. Yer not gonna make me beg, are ya? Because we're gonna be here long.”
“Not quite my thing, Miya. Though I'm sure it's a great look on you.”
Atsumu grabs Kiyoomi's loose tie, yanking him down roughly. Their noses bump even with Kiyoomi's fists sinking in the mattress on each side of Atsumu's head to prevent his fall.
“Ya think yer the only one who can put the other back in his place? Had ya right on edge just a minute ago, Omi. I don't think ya should get too cocky.”
Maybe Kiyoomi is too amazed by Atsumu’s incredible skills when it comes to never closing his mouth. Maybe it’s just that he’s too impatient to move on, but the only thing Atsumu gets is a click of tongue. Then he thinks he’s done it and gone too far, as Kiyoomi moves back to sit on his heels. However, Atsumu doesn’t have to fear for long. Instead, he gets to enjoy the show: Kiyoomi starts undressing. And although Atsumu had to admit it was hot to have his mouth fucked by Sakusa Kiyoomi in a full suit while he was lying there naked to take it… It’s even hotter to find out Kiyoomi doesn’t skip a day at the gym. There’s a clearly shaped V-line, and defined abs Atsumu dreams of using as a pillow, under his perfectly ironed shirts. Atsumu has no idea what he did in his previous life, but it was probably as good as saving a few thousands lives.
“My eyes are up here,” Kiyoomi says when he slides back between Atsumu’s legs.
“Great. My ass’ down there,” Atsumu answers, looking Kiyoomi straight in the eye.
“I’m so impressed. You’ve got me lying in the same sheets as you by sheer fucking miracle, yet you’re still trying to ruin it,” Kiyoomi says but Atsumu isn’t scared. Not when he hooks an arm under one of Atsumu’s knees and suddenly pushes his leg back to make room for himself.
“There’s no fucking miracle, Omi. Ya were dyin’ to be there.” Atsumu hikes his other leg around Kiyoomi’s waist and has to keep a ridiculous moan down when he feels the tip of Kiyoomi’s hard cock bump against his taint.
“You really need to have the last word in everything,” Kiyoomi groans, rolling his hips at a tantalizing pace.
“Fuck it out of me if that annoys ya so much,” Atsumu taunts in a low voice, arms wrapping around Kiyoomi’s shoulders. No last word comes out of his mouth when Kiyoomi breaches him open, though. Only the air that’s punched out of his lungs. Atsumu throws his head back, mouth wide open for a second before he grits his teeth.
“Shit! Why are you so tight?” Kiyoomi hisses, the head of his dick barely in.
“Ah…” Atsumu shuts his eyes tight, nails digging into Kiyoomi’s shoulders. “I think I got too distracted…”
“What? Distracted from what?” Kiyoomi grabs his jaw with one hand, forcing Atsumu to look at him. He starts pulling back but Atsumu is quick to lock both his legs around his waist firmly. “Atsumu.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t focus on prep. I kinda had things goin’ on, like yer huge dick down my throat,” Atsumu laments but, if anything, his grip around Kiyoomi tightens.
“You said you were ready, idiot!”
“I am! Just give me a minute,” Atsumu says, breathing hard but voice steady.
It doesn’t seem like it hurts for Kiyoomi, because he stops trying to pull out. Actually, Atsumu can feel the tension in his arms where it’s obvious he’s holding his own weight back. If only he had been thorough, Atsumu would already be plowed through the mattress by now.
“Let me help.” Kiyoomi’s sudden whisper takes Atsumu aback. He doesn’t sound pissed or frustrated. And even if he’s not acting cute, he’s not aggravated in the least.
Atsumu trusts this voice — his legs parts open. Kiyoomi gently pulls away before he straddles and moves up Atsumu’s body. He fists his dick, pressing down so it slides against the slippery mess on Atsumu’s abs. Back… And forth. And again. Atsumu’s eyes go wide as heat pools into his core. Kiyoomi using his body to get off is the most sensual and sexiest thing Atsumu ever witnessed. But then, Kiyoomi arches back enough to be able to reach between Atsumu’s legs with his other hand and Atsumu thinks about proposing. At least for the few seconds when he allows himself to think.
Kiyoomi’s slender fingers slip inside him without resistance. He doesn’t even try to go deep, he just teases Atsumu. But it feels so good his entire body goes pliant at a speed that would make Atsumu embarrassed if he had any shame. He doesn’t. Kiyoomi could come like this, just using him while Atsumu barely gets to feel a knuckle brush against his prostate and he’d still be grateful for the experience. He’s a fucking goner — and his body speaks volumes for him. Kiyoomi probably feels it, or sees how much of a wreck Atsumu is, because he stops after a while and leaves Atsumu floating there.
He doesn’t have the time to come to his senses and complain, though. Not one but two hands hook under Atsumu’s knees this time. The next second, he’s folded in half and something way thicker than two fingers slam inside of him. Smoothly.
Kiyoomi curses against Atsumu’s hair although Atsumu isn’t really able to make out much of it. He’s on cloud nine. The stretch stings enough for him to remain aware of everything but not painful enough to override the pleasure. Kiyoomi waits a few seconds — whether for himself or for Atsumu, he can’t tell, doesn’t care — then he starts pumping his hips.
The angle allows him to thrust deep and hard — something Kiyoomi doesn’t refrain from after Atsumu starts moaning without any restraint. They both overlook the fact that they’re in a regular hotel and the walls are probably too thin to fuck like animals on a creaky bed. Kiyoomi is as shameless as Atsumu. If anything, he aims for the same spot over and over when he realizes Atsumu gets louder each time Kiyoomi rams into it.
So much for making him shut up, Atsumu thinks at some point, through the haze clouding his mind. He probably looks ugly with his dopey, fucked out smile, but Kiyoomi kisses him like a starved man so Atsumu couldn’t care less. It’s rough, yet Kiyoomi does nothing but pleasure him. It’s overwhelming, even. Atsumu only realizes he’s clinging onto Kiyoomi for dear life when he hears him hiss again.
If Kiyoomi is mad about it, he has a funny way of showing it because the only thing he does is to fuck Atsumu better.
“There! Kiyoomi, I—I’m… Right there!” Atsumu is happy to beg. Kiyoomi is happy to deliver and let him run his mouth as his climax builds up.
Atsumu does until he’s too breathless for it. Until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Until clinging onto Kiyoomi isn’t enough. Kiyoomi gets him, without any surprise. He thrusts into him a few more times before slamming inside Atsumu all the way, so he can rut against him instead. Atsumu’s world explodes when everything turns into Kiyoomi. The tongue in his mouth, the scalding air he breathes, the hard pulsating cock inside him, the sweat on his skin, the moan they exchange as they come apart together.
He’s never leaving Kiyoomi alone with his own thoughts ever again. Not when it leads Atsumu to the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life. Yet.
For now, though, it’s impossible to form a coherent thought, less a coherent sentence. Atsumu lies on the bed, catching his breath, for what seems like ages. Long after Kiyoomi gives him what Atsumu is certain was a shy attempt at nuzzling his nose against Atsumu’s jaw before leaving the bed. He cracks an eye open and finds out Kiyoomi went to fetch another towel to wipe himself down. The one he used after his shower is crumpled under his ass — Atsumu notices now that everything feels mildly uncomfortable other than the idea of asking Kiyoomi for a second round.
He doesn’t know if he should do that just yet. He’s not even certain he can speak at all. Fortunately, Kiyoomi doesn’t like long silences, contrary to what he’d love to have Atsumu believe.
“It’s a tragic day for me, but you were right, Miya. We do have excellent chemistry in whatever the fuck we put our back into.”
Kiyoomi pretends to be too busy wiping his stomach down to look at Atsumu. If it’s a challenge to get his attention, Atsumu will gladly bite. There’s nothing like Kiyoomi’s fake vitriol for Atsumu to find his voice again.
“Don’t Miya me, Omi-kun. Not when ya were just inside me.”
Kiyoomi darts a mildly annoyed glance at Atsumu. Easy win. He lazily reclines on the mattress, propping himself on his elbows as he looks up at Kiyoomi with a taunting smirk.
“See? That’s your problem, Atsumu. You can’t ever shut up.”
“Sounds like a you-problem to me. But I know ya to be quite the problem solver,” Atsumu says, tapping the tip of his index finger over his pursed lips obnoxiously.
It’s so obvious Kiyoomi wants to rip him a new one, Atsumu can’t help but grin. And his grin only grows wider when Kiyoomi tosses the towel away so he can join Atsumu back on the bed. He reclaims his spot between his spread legs, frowning.
“I hate your guts, Atsumu,” he says. But that’s big talk, coming from someone who’s now breathing in Atsumu’s face and staring at his mouth like a hungry man.
“Is that why ya rearranged them so thoroughly?”
“Die already,” Kiyoomi mumbles before closing the gap between them with yet another of his miraculous solutions to the eternal Miyapper problem. Atsumu chuckles into the kiss, arms circling Kiyoomi’s shoulders to drag him down.
Damn, he’s going to limp into that meeting presentation tomorrow. But who cares? With Sakusa Kiyoomi on his team, it’s a double win.
And winning, they do. Atsumu might be grateful for the lectern he could recline against throughout his presentation, but he knows his façade was impeccable and he nailed it. He’s back next to Kiyoomi once he's done, packing his notes into his briefcase. The company’s director hasn’t stopped singing his praises since he’s been done, going as far as inviting Atsumu back to Kyoto not once but twice.
“Do bring your wife to the inauguration dinner, Miya-san. I would be delighted to meet her,” the old man tells him with a courteous bow and a bright smile.
“Oh, I’m afraid I’m not married yet, sir. In fact, I just started dating someone.”
Atsumu refuses to look at his side, but he notices from the corner of his eyes how Kiyoomi’s hands go very still above the keyboard. It’s impossible not to smirk like a bastard after that. It’s not like Kiyoomi can protest or anything. The only thing he can do is suffer. And who knows… Atsumu likes to be hopeful. Just like being a little shit to his longtime workplace rival, it keeps him young.
“You have?” The old man suddenly sounds forty years younger, trying to not rub his hands together from the excitement and weirdly fidgeting as a result.
“I have. Ya’ll have to excuse me, in fact. I have a date, tonight. I must be on my merry way as soon as possible,” Atsumu says with a crooked smirk.
Kiyoomi’s hands resume moving at this point — in a fierce staccato. Naturally, after a few seconds of furious tapping, Atsumu can’t help but look at the screen of his laptop.
The director is fussing like a gossipy teenage girl over the meeting table, by now. Atsumu doesn’t listen to a word of his, though. He’s frozen in place, heartbeat picking up in the silliest but most delicious way. There’s a new Word draft open on Kiyoomi’s desktop. And just a few lines written in it. Three, to be exact.
One is the name of the fancy restaurant they visited last night.
The second shows the date of the day, with a dinner-appropriate hour.
But the third is the one that almost costs Miya Atsumu their brand new deal, what with his juvenile and dumbass squeal.
‘I expect my soon-to-be husband to pay the bill and seal the deal.’