Valerie 🫀 (18+ only)

Valerie 🫀 (18+ only)

19-09-2022

15:48

NSFW “What are you doing?” Atsumu cracks one eye open and sees Kiyoomi standing in his bedroom doorway, midway through pulling off his sweatshirt. “Uh, attempting to meditate,” he responds with an awkward cough. Sakusa lifts a brow. “Well that’s new. What inspired this?”

And Atsumu can’t help the way his mild embarrassment spikes a little further — but he also knows that the sooner he addresses this, the sooner the two of them will be able to find a solution to his problem. He finally opens both eyes and drops out of the lotus position.

“M horny,” he says simply and looks up at Kiyoomi expectantly. Kiyoomi’s got his joggers halfway down his thighs and pauses, staring back with obvious confusion on his face. “… and you chose to… meditate?” Atsumu nods once. “I’m tryin’ to get my mind off it.”

Now Kiyoomi’s standing with his arms crossed in nothing but a thin white t-shirt, boxer briefs, and black athletic socks, a slight frown on his face. “… okay… So, when you texted me ‘Come over’ with a peach emoji, eggplant emoji, and water droplets emoji,

should I not have assumed you wanted to fuck?” Atsumu drops his head into his hands and groans. “Noooo I dooooo! But I got waxed today, which means I gotta wait 24 hours before I can mess around with the parts that got hair removed from ‘em.” He lifts his head back up and

reveals the most pitiful, pathetic expression, shrugging miserably. “I’m so goddamn horny but ya cant fuck me, and I can’t even fuck myself, so I figured I’d try to meditate since I wasn’t sure how long it’d take ya to get here.”

His face and tone lighten somewhat as he presses on. “But I’m kinda hopin’ that if I fuck ya with some of our toys or if I blow ya, that’ll at least take the edge off, even if I can’t touch myself.” He’s smiling at Kiyoomi now and there’s hope glimmering in his eyes.

“Whadya say, Omi? Would ya be okay with that?” Would Kiyoomi be okay with just laying back and letting himself be pleasured? Does the Pope wear a funny hat? Kiyoomi rolls his eyes with exasperated fondness and extends a hand to pull Atsumu off the yoga mat and onto the bed.

“I would be more than happy to help you release some of that sexual energy, but I also think you’re limiting yourself.” The way Atsumu’s head tilts reminds Kiyoomi of a puppy, making him smile as he leans in to slot their lips together.

As they kiss, Kiyoomi slips his fingers from Atsumu’s grasp and runs them along the muscular underside of his forearm, up to the crook of the setter’s elbow, then dancing them back down to his wrist. It’s a very light touch, teasing and sensual, tracing along the veins and

drawing goosebumps once he adds in the light scrape of his fingernails. Kiyoomi runs his tongue along the seam of Atsumu’s lips, and when they open for him and he deepens their kiss, he’s intentional in the way he presses the fingers on Atsumu’s arm more deeply into the skin.

With each lick into the other’s mouth, Kiyoomi mirrors the intensity of the heavy drag of his fingers as they push into the muscle before he finally slides it past Atsumu’s elbow and beneath the loose t-shirt sleeve to grip the bicep there. It’s not as if this is new territory.

They’re both deeply invested in physical touch with each other, both constantly reaching out for skin contact, with fingers threaded through hair or arms wrapped around waists or outer thighs pressed together. But it’s usually quite absent-minded, soft and domestic and sleepy.

This is different. This is purposeful, the way that Kiyoomi touches demands Atsumu to pay attention to all the tiny ways he wants to mould him, undo him, remake him. They’re simple touches but they carry immense weight. As their kisses grow more heated, Kiyoomi pushes Atsumu

down to lay back on the duvet, using the brief separation as an excuse to pull over Atsumu’s shirt and rip down his sweatpants. They’ve been together long enough for Kiyoomi to know the secret spots on Atsumu’s body that light him up with decadent pleasure.

Kiyoomi pulls off his own shirt and socks and crawls on top of Atsumu. He moves his kisses down to Atsumu’s jaw and throat, sucking on the skin beneath his ear and relishing the moan and shivers it elicits. His hands squeeze both pecs and then rake down Atsumu’s chest

and abdomen, making Atsumu twitch in surprise. He isn’t quite ticklish along his rib cage, but Atsumu is so sensitive there, so sensitive along the soft flesh of his stomach, covering the rippling muscles beneath the surface. Kiyoomi digs his fingertips into the sides and

squeezes, and something about the action is so deeply possessive that it makes Atsumu whimper. Kiyoomi moves further down to kiss along the pink trails his fingers left behind, and when he gets to that same soft stomach, he bites at it - gently, obviously; but it’s such a

foreign sensation that it catches Atsumu entirely by surprise and has him writhing under Kiyoomi’s weight. It’s frankly overwhelming to Atsumu. He’s stuck somewhere between confusion over how much this sort of stimulation is affecting him and the bliss of chasing after more of

this sort of pleasure. Kiyoomi offers the exact same treatment to his thighs, which offer significantly greater surface area for violent, pink, and crimson masks left by wandering fingers and a sweet but relentless mouth. All the while, Atsumu’s poor cock stands at attention,

still restrained by the briefs he’s wearing and leaking enough to have formed a wet patch all along the tip. Kiyoomi’s not a monster, he’s traced featherlight patterns along his length, not enough to satiate any of hunger, nor enough to cause any irritation to the skin —

just enough to keep Atsumu suspended in a limbo of masochistic want, unable to receive anything more than slight grazes. The juxtaposition of these barest hints of contact along his crotch with the heavy, almost cruel touches Kiyoomi leaves everywhere else has Atsumu panting

and gasping for breath, dizzy with delight as desperate whines spill from his lips. For a moment, Atsumu almost thinks he’s managed to make a ravenous Kiyoomi lose control, his hips lifted up to pull down the stained briefs. Instead, however, Kiyoomi turns him into his stomach

and lowers the intensity to a simmer. He runs those long, elegant fingers of his across Atsumu’s back and starts a gentle, seemingly innocent massage. “Omiii” Atsumu whines, uncertain how this was supposed to help take the edge off ANY of his sexual energy, but all Kiyoomi does

is shush him. “I’ve got you, Atsumu. Trust me.” And Atsumu does. He somehow sinks into a deeper state of easy compliance, clay for Kiyoomi to work — until he’s reminded his back is even more sensitive than his front.+

The wicked flare of arousal comes much more quickly this time around; in part because he’s already been worked up once, but also simply because Atsumu’s back really is just that sensitive. It’s a space that’s touched even less than his front, and so even the most delicate of

stimulations are enough to make him feel heat coiling deep inside him. Unfortunately, the moment he starts to grind his hips, Kiyoomi grabs him firmly with one hand& chastises him. “Doing that defeats the purpose, Atsumu,” which only makes the blond bury his face in the sheets.

The reprimand is brief though. Then Kiyoomi resumes his worship and cages Atsumu once more, but not before lifting Atsumu’s hips high enough to leave his cock dangling uselessly between those glorious thighs. He kisses Atsumu’s neck and finds that same spot from before

that never fails to make Atsumu go wild — and then immediately rains down a deluge of praise. “I can’t believe your first thought was to pleasure me to sate your own hunger, Atsumu. What a loving, perfect partner.”

“Look at how beautifully your body’s reacted to my touch this whole time.” “I don’t even need to fuck you to make you weak, that’s how attuned you are to me.” “All you need is me right here, *right here* and that’s enough, right, baby?”

This last comment is made with a torturous touch to the head of Atsumu’s cock. It’s so slight, it’s practically nothing, but it’s more than anything Atsumu’s gotten in terms of direct stimulation. Kiyoomi runs the pads of his fingers and then the flat of his palm all over

the head, still kissing Atsumu’s neck and murmuring achingly sweet things into his already sensitive ears. It’s all so much, so different from what they normally do, so different from the greedy ways they tend to grope at each other and writhe together, carnal in every

sense of the word. This, this has Atsumu’s mind working ceaselessly as he commits himself to a new sort of pleasure. It’s a challenge, and he loves challenges, and he loves to make Kiyoomi proud — so when the latter finally, FINALLY, wraps his hand unbearably loosely around

Atsumu’s aching, purpling cock, barely a ghost of a stroke up and down is all he needs before he’s choking on the intensity of his orgasm, spilling onto Kiyoomi’s hand and dripping onto the cover below. The sensation has him trembling the entire time, mind blanking as warmth

spreads from his groin to the tips of his toes and fingers. He’s vaguely aware of all the soft, chaste kisses Kiyoomi’s peppering along his back and shoulders, still praising, but much quieter and so obviously proud. Atsumu can hardly hear him, with the way his ears feel

as though they’ve been studded with cotton. He can’t help collapsing onto the bed at last, though Kiyoomi helps soften that fall too. It takes all his remaining strength, but Atsumu turns to face him and doesn’t hold back when he locks their lips together.

His kisses spell nothing but a gratitude that is soul-deep, a love that knows no bounds. It’s extraordinary and a little daunting and unbelievably thrilling to know that a simple, stupid horny text could lead to an expression of so much devotion. It leaves him breathless.

When they finally part for air, Atsumu’s still struggling to get his heart back to normal but he’s looking into Kiyoomi’s eyes with nothing but adoration.

They smile at each other and Atsumu mumbles, “Gimme five minutes to get my shit together & I’ll eat your ass so good, you’ll see God.” Kiyoomi barks out a startled but genuine laugh and leans in to kiss the tip of Atsumu’s nose.

“Oh yeah?” he teases with eyes crinkled halfway shut. Atsumu nods with almost solemn severity, fire returning to his own amber gaze. “Absolutely. Lemme grab your favorite vibe too,” he says, before rolling them over and climbing on top. // end


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