
cw nsfw | #sakuatsu | exes with benefits, angst with an open ending, thigh-fucking little late submission for @bottomiweek (hate sex/free day!} === âYou were dreaming âbout me again,â Atsumu says, leaning in the doorway of the hotel bathroom, arms folded across his bare chest.
Kiyoomi doesnât look at him, but he can feel heat rise in the tips of his ears. He continues applying moisturizer at the sink. âYou were bitching until midnight while I was trying to sleep. Of course I was going to dream about your loud mouth.â
âMusta been dreaming âbout what else my mouth can do based on yourââ Atsumu pauses to wave a hand at himâ âcondition.â Kiyoomi sighs. This is the unfortunate thing about a secret relationshipâwhen it ends, badly, because it definitely wasnât designed to last,
thereâs no professional way to explain to your coworkers why you shouldnât room together during travel anymore. Itâs not Kiyoomiâs fault he has a Pavlovian response to being in a bedroom with Atsumu.
And itâs also not Kiyoomiâs fault that he was too disgusted to take care of himself in the shower, willing his morning wood away by sheer stubbornness. It hasnât fully worked yet. Atsumu knows all of this. Kiyoomi rinses his hands and picks up his sunscreen.
âI could help, yâknow,â Atsumu drawls, pushing off of the doorway and stepping into the bathroom. His movements are slow, predatory, as he comes up behind Kiyoomi. âWouldnât do to have ya suffering all day âcause of little olâ me.â
âLittle is the right word for it,â Kiyoomi says, refusing to meet Atsumuâs eye in the mirror. Atsumu scoffs and leans in, bracing his arms on either side of Kiyoomi. Heâs close enough that Kiyoomi can feel his body heat, suffocating. âIt wouldnât even take long.
Youâre so pent up Iâd have you coming in 5 minutes.â If Atsumu uses his tongue, Kiyoomi doesnât doubt it. The thought makes him nauseous, dizzy, heat pooling in his stomach. âI told you weâre not fucking again,â he says instead, rubbing the sunscreen in.
âIt ainât really fucking,â Atsumu argues, always one for semantics. âJust my hand and your dick. So you can stay on your moral fucking high horse.â âItâs about mental health, not morals, Atsumu,â Kiyoomi says. âNot that you care about either.â
Atsumu presses even closer, still not touching him, face turned into Kiyoomiâs neck. His breath is warm and damp when he speaks. âItâs up to you. But I think we both know what you want, Kiyoomi.â Kiyoomi wants him to leave the room. He wants Atsumu to kiss him.
He wants Atsumu to never speak to him again. He wants Atsumu to get down on his knees and beg Kiyoomi to take him back, just so Kiyoomi can walk away. He wants Atsumu around him, on top of him, inside him, taking and taking until Kiyoomi has nothing left to give.
âDonât call me that,â he finally says, pressing his ass back against Atsumu to find him already half-hard.
Atsumu presses an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, sloppy through his grin. One hand leaves the counter to find Kiyoomiâs hip, fingers sliding beneath his towel still damp from his shower. He slowly loosens it, letting it fall to the floor between them.
âYou always make a fuss, yâknow,â Atsumu says, hand brushing over Kiyoomiâs stomach, scratching at the dark hair there. âBut youâre just desperate for it, ainâtcha?â
Kiyoomi grabs Atsumuâs wrist and drags him lower, until his fingers bump his cock. âShut the fuck up and get me off. Itâs all youâre good for, anyway.â Atsumu bites him, hard, in the crook of his neck. Kiyoomi shoves his forehead back. âNo marks, asshole.â
He can see Atsumu roll his eyes in the mirror, but then Atsumu is gripping his cock, palm blindingly hot. His first stroke is too slow, too dry, too teasing. Kiyoomi bucks into his hand, and Atsumu squeezes the base of his cock in retaliation.
âPatience, baby,â Atsumu coos, the calluses on his palm dragging. Kiyoomiâs eyes sting. âDonât use fucking petnames.â
âSo demanding this morning.â Atsumu reaches with his free hand to dig in his ziploc toiletry bag on the counter, pulling out a bottle of lube that Kiyoomi canât believe he had the nerve to bring. The lube clicks open, and Atsumu douses his palm with it.
His lube hand disappears, and Kiyoomi has just a moment to get mad before something cold and wet slips between his thighs. âGoddamnit, Atsumu,â he hisses. âI just showered.â
âShower again,â Atsumu says. Thereâs a moment of stasis, Kiyoomiâs breath bitter in his throat, before Atsumuâs cock pushes between his legs and he wraps his hand back around Kiyoomiâs dick. In the mirror, Atsumu grins, sharp and mean. ââSides, you like it when I get you messy.â
âI hate it,â Kiyoomi mumbles, breath hitching as Atsumu begins to thrust in time with his strokes. They both know heâs lying. Atsumuâs lips find his neck again, the sensitive spot behind his ear, the line of his jaw. Not the mouth. Never the mouth, not like this.
He twists around Kiyoomiâs head on the upstroke the way he knows Kiyoomi canât handle; Kiyoomi sighs every time the tip of Atsumuâs cock catches his rim.
He doesnât last long. He never does, not with Atsumu whispering /squeeze, baby/, not with Atsumuâs cock pressing against his balls, not with Atsumuâs fingers tight and slick. When he comes, he comes silently, teeth dug so hard into his bottom lip it cracks.
Kiyoomi collapses onto his elbows on the sink, eyes shut tight as Atsumu slips out and comes in hot spurts all over his ass. âIâll wipe you down,â Atsumu says, softer now, maneuvering around Kiyoomiâs hanging torso to wet a washcloth in the sink. (twt limit hit, one moment)
He wipes Kiyoomi down slowly, methodically, until the fabric leaves red streaks on his skin. âAll good now.â KIyoomi turns, facing him for the first time this morning, leaning against the sink. Atsumu is still standing there, watching him, something vulnerable in his smirk.
âCan I get a kiss, Omi?â Kiyoomi stares back. This is the worst part of itâthat somewhere, beneath the screaming and crying, the broken dishes and slammed doors, the nights spent on the couch because the bed felt too empty, these moments felt worth it. Atsumuâs gentle hands,
his soft mouth, his head pillowed on Kiyoomiâs chest. Nothing in the room except their slowing breaths and the smell of Atsumuâs shampoo, Kiyoomiâs nose tucked in his hair. âLast time,â Kiyoomi says, just like all the times before, and leans in to kiss him.
(done! đ)
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