// miyacest Atsumu breaks his arm in his third year. It's not bad, just a buckle fracture near his wrist and luckily close enough to the start of the school year to not affect training much. He'll be sitting out a few practice matches until the cast is off but it could have +

Been a lot worse. What is worse is the guilt Osamu is feeling right now. Because Atsumu didn't break his arm playing volleyball. He didn't leap into the air, smashing a killer spike before landing awkwardly and falling into his wrist. He didn't dive for an incredible save, +

Valiantly throwing himself across the floor before catching himself on a wall or barrier causing the fracture. No, it was Osamu's fault. It was after class one afternoon and the twins had walked to the konbini with Suna and Gin. Of course, Atsumu was running his mouth about +

Something, something so stupid Osamu couldn't even recall now. But it pissed him off enough to shove him and Atsumu shoved back. The scuffle was short lived; after a few jabs to each other's arms and chests, Osamu had grabbed the front of Atsumu's shirt, sharply tugging him +

Forward. Osamu had spat a short tyraid of insults before letting go. Atsumu stumbled back, face twisted in anger, ready to throw more punches– and slipped off the gutter, catching himself on his right hand he let out a yelp. It was so banal, the shove typical between the twins, +

The fall so short and the pathetic cut-off sound Atsumu made hardly spoke of serious injury. None of them even offered a hand when Atsumu didn't immediately get back up, they even chided him for being a baby when he gripped his wrist with tears dotting his eyeline. Osamu can't +

Remember the venomous words that Atsumu threw his way, but the pathetic face his brother made swirls in his memory along with the guilty itch of his conscience. The cast would be on for at least 3 weeks, and after that Atsumu would need to rest it. He was a cloud of gloom that +

Trailer behind Osamu wherever they went; from class to the cafeteria, he would pout, cursing under his breath as he fumbled with pencils and every meal he would make quiet the mess with his refusal to accept help from his scrub of a brother. +

Atsumu was clearly frustrated, but so was Osamu. His attempts to assist were denied at every turn– as if Atsumu wanted to torture him, knowing full well the guilt Osamu held, he refused to allow him any relief. +

One evening Atsumu didn't show for practise, which was cause for concern in Osamu's eyes; the idiot had showed up for every single training session and sat and watched– still running his mouth whenever he felt Osamu wasn't focusing enough and calling out every misstep any of +

His teammates made. It should have been a breath of fresh air for Osamu but he couldn't focus. Atsumu never missed training. "Coach," Osamu called out as he jogged over, "'Tsumu ain't here. 'm gunna go check for him." The coach nodded and waved him off with a disinterested +

Flick of the wrist. Osamu nodded and snatched up his gym bag, leaving the gym at and jogging the way over to the dorms. He wasn't particularly worried or with any scenario in mind, but he knew his brother. Atsumu would be burried in his bunk, crying over his cast, +

And even if it's blame and accusations Atsumu wants to throw at him, he'll be there to take it because that's what brothers are for, and maybe that's what he deserves, just a little bit. When he pushes through the door to their shared room, he finds Atsumu where he expected to +

Sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk, head in his hands. A box of tissues sits beside him, discarded wads scatter the floor at his feet. Osamu feels a pang of guilt twist in his chest at the soft sobs pouring from his brother's shaking body. He moves across the room, +

Dumping the gym bag on the floor and slides onto the mattress beside Atsumu and wraps him in his arms. "'s okay 'Tsumu," he says as Atsumu turns into him, burying his face into the crook of his neck. He holds him like that, rubbing his back in firm circles until the sobs +

Subside enough for Atsumu to murmur something against his skin. "Hm?" Osamu asks, pulling back and looking down at Atsumu's puffy eyes. "S'not that," Atsumu says. Osamu doesn't understand what he means, so he asks. "S'not about volleyball," Atsumu admits and Osamu's eyebrows+

Pull together quizzically. He couldn't think of a single thing that would have his brother crying like this. Well, he was a bit of a crybaby, but as far as he knew Atsumu didn't have a girl to dump him and if there were some family tragedy, Osamu would have gotten a call by now +

"if it's not volleyball, then what's wrong?" Atsumu huffs, sitting back and wiping his face with the palms of his hands. "'m just frustrated s'all. I–" he hesitates, chewing his lip and looking at the floor, "I can't jerk off right." +

Osamu blinks. And blinks again. "Yer cryin'... Cause ya can't jerk off?" Atsumu's face heats red and Osamu buries his face in his hands. "Here I was rushin' home to check on ya an' yer in here tryin' ta jerk off an' on my bunk too?" He lifts his head to gesture at the tissue+

Box. "Can't ya just use yer other hand?" Atsumu groans and flops back into the bed. "I know, I know, 'm an idiot an' a dumbass an' a scrub, 'm so stupid fer cryin' over this, but 'm just so pent up? An' I tried the other hand, it just don't /feel right/ an–" he lifts his +

Left hand and makes a fist, miming a jerking motion before he continues, "I can't get the rhyme right? My hands all jerky and weird?" Osamu screws his face up at the vulgar gesture. "C'mon 'Tsumu, ain't ya a setter? Ya use both hands all the time?" +

"I ain't ambidextrous 'Samu, I haven't got the control I need to get me over the edge." "Alright, enough 'Tsumu, sorry to hear ya strugglin' but I'll be leavin' ya to it now." Osamu pushes off the bad and reaches from his gym bag. "Wait!" Atsumu cries, catching Osamu by the +

back of his shirt. "What 'Tsumu? I ain't interested in this sob story." "Ya should help me." Osamu freezes, eyes wide and brows high. "I should fxckin' do what?" Atsumu's face changes, his lips curl and his eyes doe up like a kid putting the charm on for some candy. +

"Help me out, 'Samu, 'm achin'. My wrist is banged up, I can't train, 'm all pent up energy. Can hardly sleep at night." "So?" Osamu cuts in, "so what? That's not my problem? Don't ya have fan girls ya could call? 'm yer brother, 'Tsumu!" They stare for a moment, before Atsumu+

wets his lips and speaks again "ya know, s'yer fault 'm in this cast." And there it is. The guilt jolts through Osamu as he closes his eyes and a heavy sigh leaves him. "Wouldn't be askin' if there was anyone else ta help me, 'Samu, please." +

// nsfw miyacest Osamu massages his forehead and sighs again. "Alright," he murmurs, "alright, I'll do it. Just– don't make it weird, okay?" Atsumu lights up, grinning ear to ear as he shuffles aside and pats the bed next to him. "Thanks 'Samu, yer the best." Osamu groans +

And sits on the bed. "Right, so how'd ya wanna do this? Cause I don't wanna be lookin' at yet ugly O faces 'Tsumu." Atsumu makes a gagging sound, "ya think I wanna see yers? I dunno, what if–" Atsumu turns his back to Osamu and slides back, settling in between his legs with +

His back against his chest. "How's cuddlin' any better?" Osamu protests, holding his arms out as if touching Atsumu right now would be disgusting, ignoring the imminent and intimate task he had agreed to. "Like this it'll be more natural, right? Ya hand'll just be like mine+

When I do it, an ya can just close yer eyes an pretend 's just yer d!ck, alright?" Osamu's face scrunches. "How long 'ave ya been plannin' this, ya sicko?" "Shuddap 'Samu an' just–" He reaches across with his left hand to find Osamu's right and guides it to the hem of his +

Sweatpants. He lets it fall into his belly and tugs down the elastic, letting his half hard c0ck fall against his hip. "Ugh, were ya half mast the whole time 'Tsumu?" Osamu says with disgust. "C'mon 'Samu, enough, 'm fxckin' dyin' here." Osamu let's out one last heavy sigh, +

And takes hold of his brother's c0ck. He can feel Atsumu take in a sharp breath, his left hand falling to rest on Osamu's knee. He wants to complain, maybe even shake off his hand, but now with his hand on Atsumu's c0ck, it hardly seems worth complaining. He begins slowly, just+

Like he would if this were his own c0ck, squeezing gently and caressing his length, encouraging the blood to flow until Atsumu is thick and full against his palm. He shifts, straightening up and shuffling forward. "'Tsumu," he speaks against his ear, "need ya to move yer cast"+

"Mmfn," Atsumu grunts, wriggling and raising up his right hand, hooking his fingers into the slats of the bunk above them, giving Osamu's arm room to move. "Good?" Atsumu asks and Osamu nods. He tightens his fingers around Atsumu and begins to pump, working his shaft slowly at+

First. He can't ignore the soft breaths leaving his brother, or the way the tension seems to build in every muscle pressed against him. He should be ignoring it, but instead he listens. He listens for changes, for signs of what is good and where Astumu is at. He tells himself +

That if he makes it good, then it'll be over faster, right? "Ahh," Atsumu breathes, fingers digging into Osamu's thigh just a little, "it's –" "It's what, 'Tsumu?" Osamu retorts sharply, "don't want her commentary." Atsumu shakes his head, his hair tickling Osamu's face. +

"'m not gunna critique ya but it's a bit dry 'Samu." "Ah shit, right." Osamu pauses. He thinks for all of two seconds, knowing there's lube in the drawer near by. "Spit on it." +

If he thought Atsumu would protest, he was wrong. Atsumu doesn't even question his instruction, rather he tips his head forward and spits directly onto his c0ck. Osamu stifles a small laugh against Atsumu's shoulder and resumes his work. His hand glides easily over Atsumu's +

Length and he can get a tighter grip, sliding and twisting up around the head. Atsumu relaxes against him, soft moans and gasps slipping from his lips, even as he bites down, trying to muffle his sounds. The closer he gets, the more he writhes and Osamu can't pin point exactly +

When it what caused it, but he becomes aware of his own erection swelling in his sweats. Atsumu grinds back when Osamu thumbs over his slit and Osamu can't help but cant his hips forward, pressing his bulge against his brothers ass. "Fffu–wha– 'Samu?" Atsumu gasps, a question +

"Shhh," Osamu hisses into Atsumu's ear and hooks his chin over his shoulder, looking down at Atsumu's c0ck in his hand. "Not so loud 'Tsumu." Atsumu moans, the warning seeming to hit something for him, and turns into Osamu, pressing his chin to Osamu's cheek.+

Osamu focuses on the way Atsumu moves, his hips lifting and sliding in time with his strokes, the way he presses back against him. He grips Atsumu's hip with his free hand and pulls him back, grinding his c0ck against him and moves his own hips, humping Atsumu shamelessly +

Atsumu unravels quickly, his breath hitching with his hips as he nears the edge. "Oh– fxck– 'Samu," he gasps, curling forward as he comes over his twins knuckles. Osamu doesn't let go, rather he loops his left arm around Atsumu's chest and holds him, his face buried into +

Atsumu's nape. TBC for now! How should we proceed?

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