Lynd ☾⋆。˚ C☻mms Open!

Lynd ☾⋆。˚ C☻mms Open!



#SakuAtsu 🔞 | on the down low (featuring getting adventurous in the backseat of the car) | rated E __ “Who’s idea was this again?” Kiyoomi grumbles as he squeezes into the backseat with Atsumu.

There’s barely any leg room, but sharing a seat with Bokuto and Hinata in the middle row would prove an even worse nightmare. “C’mon Omi, it’ll be fun,” Atsumu cooes, leaning his head on Kiyoomi’s shoulder with a lackadaisical grin. “Road trips are the best.”

Kiyoomi squints suspiciously at their captain in the driver’s seat knowing full well this is 𝘩𝘪𝘴 idea of team-bonding. Meian simply switches on the radio and turns up the volume over the team’s excited blabber, not so subtly ignoring the stink-eye Kiyoomi is emanating.

Sighing in defeat, Kiyoomi leans back in his seat, trying to to find a semblance of comfort in the cramped space. He’s mostly resolved himself to endure the most uncomfortable nap of his career—what with Bokuto’s raucous laughter and Hinata’s enthused yelling—

head bent at an inadvisable angle to cushion against his seat belt, when Atsumu’s sly hands announce themselves. As they’re wont to do. In a standard, run of the mill Atsumu fashion, this man can’t keep his hands to himself even if it killed him.

The first brush of fingers is tentative and comes off as a surprise, but Atsumu’s hand pressing between his legs hardly counts as one. Bold in a way only Atsumu ever is, his boyfriend continues whistling merrily to the tune playing on the radio. Kiyoomi holds his breath,

eyes seeking to meet his boyfriend’s gaze, except Atsumu is resolutely looking away. In the rearview, Meian glances back at the traffic once, twice. Kiyoomi doesn’t dare exhale, painfully aware of how easy it would be for them to get caught in such a compromising position.

If Bokuto or Hinata abandoned their theatrics, if they just craned their necks back far enough, they might see Atsumu’s hand unabashedly sliding over his crotch to palm him. A shameless bastard he is, greedy hand squeezing until Kiyoomi’s breath shudders out of him.

He tries to close his legs just to vex him, but Atsumu is undeterred. His hand wriggles lower, cupping Kiyoomi fully—as though he can’t hold enough of him in his hand. He keeps his hand there like a weighted blanket. Frustratingly still as Kiyoomi’s body betrays him,

heat pooling low in his gut, pleasure sparking beneath Atsumu’s touch. Fuck it, Kiyoomi thinks, discreetly widening the spread of his knees in invitation. Atsumu gives him an exploratory stroke, as though to check if he’s appropriately riled up.

Kiyoomi bites the inside of his cheek, resisting the temptation of rolling his hips into the touch. This is going to be a long ride but two can play this game. His hand slips down Atsumu’s front to palm him through his jeans, and finds him already hard. Figures.

He shoots him another look, and almost regrets it. Kiyoomi is struck by his expression like lightening; glazed over honey eyes, staring unseeingly ahead, a hungry flush permeating his cheeks. And oh, this Atsumu 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴.

Kiyoomi knows the kind of hunger that drives Atsumu to look like this. Has seen it barely concealed in public settings right before Atsumu would drag him somewhere he can get his hands on him.

Atsumu who doesn’t hesitate when Kiyoomi flagrantly tells him to put his mouth to good use after he makes a fool of himself running it around company. Sliding to his knees behind an ajar door just to fit all of Kiyoomi inside his mouth,

gulping him down like the obscene noises he makes aren’t loud enough for any passerby to hear. Atsumu who once, on a dare, slid under the dinner table to give Kiyoomi head, only to reclaim his seat with his hair a mess,

but with the most self-satisfied grin as he dapped at his lips with a handkerchief. His zipper digs painfully into his growing erection, but Kiyoomi is not blatant enough to untuck himself here. The same can’t be said for Atsumu. Kiyoomi tries not to look—

tries not to draw attention to the way Atsumu’s cock stands hard and leaking for all to see if they bothered to look. But his treacherous eyes ravenously drink in the sight of Atsumu’s fingertips lightly teasing the head,

swirling his index around his slit to spread the wetness beading there. He ignores the way his mouth pools with saliva—the way want curls like claws in his gut—as Atsumu squeezes the flushed head. His other hand remains frustratingly steady over Kiyoomi’s crotch,

thumb stroking back and forth in a parody of a comforting caress. “Man, and then Tobio said no!” Hinata bemoans loudly, slumping back in his seat hard enough that it rattles. It startles Kiyoomi so badly, he almost jumps. Atsumu’s eyes flicker briefly, his hand pausing.

When all Hinata does is lean forward again to clutch the back of Adriah’s seat, Atsumu resumes the playful swirl of his hand, as though they didn’t nearly get caught. Kiyoomi’s fingers curl in edges of his seat. Let it be known self-control has never been his forte.

He reaches for the hand Atsumu is using to touch himself and pries it off. Wrist held hostage, Atsumu finally looks at him, lids dipped low with desire. His gaze seems to hold a silent challenge: 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵? Now what, indeed, Kiyoomi thinks as he releases Atsumu’s wrist,

only to replace his touch with Kiyoomi’s own. He runs his fingers down Atsumu’s length, feeling the way it throbs in answer. He curls his hand and strokes once, twice, feeling his own arousal hit a crescendo before he lets go to do something infinitely more risky.

Kiyoomi tosses his jacket in Atsumu’s lap and pretends to yawn before he—rather gracelessly—tumbles sideways right into Atsumu’s lap. Atsumu’s breath catches. Bokuto laughs. Hinata asks Adriah to change the channel. Kiyoomi rests his head there and waits with bated breath.

When no ones remarks or so much as spares him a glance, he twists his body to face Atsumu’s and slides the jacket aside. From this angle, Atsumu seems even bigger, his musk permeating Kiyoomi’s senses. It makes him feel delirious with want as he tucks his nose close.

He inhales sharply, basking in the way Atsumu’s hand trembles as it settles on his shoulder. Kiyoomi looks up at him from beneath the curve of his lashes as he innocently stick his tongue out to curl around the base of Atsumu’s cock.

Atsumu who swallows shakily and cradles the back of Kiyoomi’s head. But Kiyoomi doesn’t give him much more, save for tucking the head against the pocket in his cheek and watching him with half-lidded eyes. Atsumu’s breaths quicken as Kiyoomi’s tongue swirls teasingly.

His hand fists in Kiyoomi’s hair when Kiyoomi’s mouth suctions around him, enjoying the way he can feel Atsumu leak desperately all over himself. He dutifully cleans it with his tongue, chasing each drop,

and then flattening it over the head just to listen to Atsumu’s breaths quietly hiss out between his teeth. But he doesn’t give him more, even when his hips buck needily. After all, two can play this game. (It was going to be a long ride, indeed.)

// with this I conclude my yearly writing goal of 300k words 😳 Virtual Tip Jar 🫙✨

Should I write a part 2?

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