kit 🎃

kit 🎃



#sakuatsu | nsfw | fwb, size kink, degradation, bottsumu. Atsumu reaching down between his thighs as Kiyoomi’s fucking him to slip his middle and ring fingers inside his hole alongside Kiyoomi’s cock. It’s not that Kiyoomi’s small; Atsumu just loves the extra stretch and —

being able to feel Kiyoomi as he’s driving into him, noticing the moment his thrusts get a little rougher than before, a little deeper. And if the way Kiyoomi narrows his eyes, noticing, makes his stomach ache in pleasure, that’s something Atsumu’ll probably never tell him.

It’s much more fun feeling Kiyoomi’s grip on his legs tighten, fingers sinking into the flesh of Atsumu’s inner thighs. Or seeing the annoyed pinch of his eyebrows making his expression even more intense than the dark, possessive way he watches Atsumu bottom for him, exclusively.

Kiyoomi’s easy to read when he’s overwhelmed. The twitch of his hand like he’s debating his next move gives away the fact he’s holding back. Atsumu pushes his fingers deeper and hears it all come apart, hears Kiyoomi hissing, “My cock’s not enough?” as his fingers release —

to wrap around Atsumu’s neck instead, curl their bodies closer, Kiyoomi’s thrusts never stopping in the process. He’s pinned to the bed with Kiyoomi’s weight on top, and the grip on his throat, not tight enough to restrict but firm enough to feel leashed, has Atsumu squirming.

He could easily give in, slip his fingers out and wrap them around Kiyoomi’s wrist, cling to the thing that’s deciding whether he lives or dies, whether he breathes or begs, but it’s not in his nature to let rivals (because that’s what they are, not friends) win so quickly.

Not if they haven’t earned it. Groaned and sweat for it like Kiyoomi’s prone to do when Atsumu pushes his buttons just right, aiming for his pride, not his need for control. The shapes his dark curls make stuck to the glistening skin of his forehead and nape are worth the wait.

Stubbornly, eyes never leaving Kiyoomi’s heated glare, Atsumu leans his head back on the pillow, pushing his throat into Kiyoomi’s palm. The adjustment arches his back off the bed, changes the angle so Kiyoomi’s slamming on his prostate, and he’s hard as hell, thick and veiny.

With his fingers in the way, Atsumu can feel every throb of his fat cock as it slides past his knuckles, hear the disgustingly-wet sound it makes sinking into his hole, knows better than to put it past Kiyoomi to be aroused at the filthiness of it all, the lube squirting out,

spilling down his ass on the sheets. Their first fuck, these things might have stunned him; Kiyoomi’s cum-stained fingers shoving into Atsumu’s mouth took him by surprise. Seeing his pupils dilate as Atsumu licked them clean felt more surreal than what they’d just done.

Years of aggressive tension, jokes said for the sake of pissing the other off, open sneers and backhanded court compliments culminating in a fight for dominance that Atsumu half-participated in to see Kiyoomi get increasingly desperate to mount him. He’d known he’d bottom.

“Slutty,” Kiyoomi hums to himself. Atsumu huffs something between a moan and a laugh to let him know he’s never once denied it. When his free hand moves to hold onto his arm, Kiyoomi catches it halfway and slams it on the bed, their fingers dangerously close to intertwining.

Atsumu squeezes to startle him. Kiyoomi grips him back because he isn’t someone who spooks easily, and that’s what makes fucking him so damn addicting. He makes it clear it’s nothing but a night, and yet when Atsumu draws him close enough to raise suspicion, Kiyoomi cradles him.

“Don’t move your fingers,” Kiyoomi orders. These, Atsumu holds back from taunting as Kiyoomi laces their hands together properly, sending a jolt of stupid hope down Atsumu’s spine. Kiyoomi’s other hand travels down his body, palm sliding to a stop on the side of his groin.

“Wha-” Atsumu has no time to question Kiyoomi’s smirk before he feels the pressure on his rim increase sharply as Kiyoomi pushes his thumb next to Atsumu’s own fingers, stretching him wider for everything to fit - cock and all three digits. “Don’t move,” Kiyoomi reminds him.

It shouldn’t be that much of a difference. It’s one finger! Atsumu’s had five up his ass, working him like a puppet. But Kiyoomi’s being a dick about it, curling his thumb to spread him open at the same time his thick cock pulls out to the very tip and presses back in slowly.

“Is this enough or should I properly destroy you?” Kiyoomi asks, “ruin you for all the replacements you bed when I’m gone?” “They don’t - fuck me,” Atsumu grits, breathing in to adjust to the pain, smooth it out of his face and voice. Nothing but the occasional gasped hiccup.

“I fuck them,” he snaps. “Is that why you’re so greedy when someone actually gives you what you need?” And is that supposed to sound sweet? Is it supposed to help him notice despite his mouth running, Kiyoomi’s fucking into him carefully like he knows Atsumu might be hurting.

The thought makes him throb. Intimacy - with Sakusa Kiyoomi - the coldest asshole Atsumu’s had the privilege of fucking - is making his cock throb. He’s entirely too unprepared for what’s about to come out of his mouth if he doesn’t focus, something silly like ‘I need you.’

He shoves it aside. “If I needed someone to make love to me, I wouldn’t be fucking you.” “What, this?” Kiyoomi mocks, squeezing their clasped hands, eyes darkening as they ignore Atsumu’s face in favor of his body. “It’s so you don’t touch yourself before I’m done with you.”

He emphasizes the statement with a rough slam of his hips, hand extracting itself from Atsumu’s fingers to clutch at his wrist instead, pin it next to his head. “Better?” “Perfect,” Atsumu bites back, mourning the loss. “Slut like you should have no issue coming on my cock.”

This is a terrible time to moan, but Kiyoomi gives him little choice, punctuating all his provocations with well-angled thrusts past that spot inside him that would make Atsumu see stars if he were to close his eyes. No way. Not without seeing Kiyoomi’s sneer melt away.

“I’ll come on your cock, babe,” Atsumu grins, swallowing the breath working its way up his throat at Kiyoomi grinding his cock in him, thumb rubbing on his extra sensitive rim. “if - if - oh, fuck - if that’s what you need to feel big enough.” There it is - the satisfaction.

Kiyoomi looking like he does when they win against a team that makes him believe he might lose this one. Singular focus and nothing else to grate at him. “I don’t think so,” he tuts at Atsumu struggling to wiggle his arm out of his grip to do something about how good he looks.

“Kiss me, then,” Atsumu snaps. Pissed off it takes Kiyoomi smiling once for Atsumu to go hunting for more - for the taste of his lips, the sweat on his neck, the soft groans Kiyoomi whispers between them anytime they kiss and can’t stop kissing, telling Atsumu he’s not alone.

“Why?” Kiyoomi plays difficult at the same time he’s diving to breathe on Atsumu’s lips. Both their eyes, open, lock on each other. The dark brown of Kiyoomi’s irises melting into his blown-wide pupils. His thick lashes, the freckles on his nose, the spots on his forehead.

He’s flushing in effort, and Atsumu doesn’t want to imagine what his own face looks like with the heat burning his cheeks, but he’s certain it’s nowhere near the beauty of Kiyoomi catching him staring and smiling because of it. Taunting and feral, telling Atsumu he’s been busted.

He turns his face away first, staring pointedly at a blank spot on the wall. “That’s what I thought,” Kiyoomi scoffs against his jaw. He pulls at Atsumu’s other wrist and traps both of Atsumu’s arms above his head. The relief his asshole feels is short-lived.

Kiyoomi fucks him in earnest now that there’s nothing preventing their bodies from slapping together, Atsumu’s hips raising off the bed to meet the front of Kiyoomi’s thighs, his legs locking around Kiyoomi’s waist. It’s fantastic, but not enough. His cock remains untouched.

His hands powerless to change that, wrists bruising inside Kiyoomi’s tight grip. Kiyoomi’s smirk hovering above his mouth, a constant, unattainable taunt. Close, so Atsumu can hear and feel his breath stutter when they fit together just right, but too far to soothe the frenzy.

He’s burning all over with something he can only describe as pure need, itching with desire to be touched, painfully hard cock bouncing on his stomach, brushing against the hair under his navel, dripping profusely on his tightening abs. “Please.” It comes out scorched.

Parched. Soundless. “Not this time,” Kiyoomi grunts though his hips stutter in rhythm and slam harder, barely pulling out before he’s driving in urgently like he’s not made a cock-sleeve of Atsumu already. Atsumu’s fists clench, nails sinking into his palm. “Come on. Please.”

Kiyoomi growls in response, drops his head in the crook of Atsumu’s neck. “You’re gonna make me come if you do that,” he pants, searing the shape of his fingerprints onto Atsumu’s skin with how he’s clinging to his forearms. “You don’t want that. You don’t want me to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” Atsumu pleads, trying and failing to move his hands, and he knows Kiyoomi won’t give, but he can’t stop the instinct to squirm and reach out - to want to try because his body craves it - because he’s close enough that nothing else is deciding his actions.

As if sensing he’s in need of a lifeline, Kiyoomi slides his hands up to twine their fingers again, looks into his eyes and brushes his lips on Atsumu’s mouth. “I can feel you’re right there. Let go.” He’s right, but he’s also a fucking bastard if he thinks Atsumu can when —

he’s never been able to no matter how delicious and persistent the pressure on his prostate is, how long he keeps the vibrator inside. His cock hurts - he needs - “Please!” he sounds like he’s dry-sobbing. Kiyoomi squeezes both his hands, speeds up his thrusts. “Trust me.”

Stupid! So fucking stupid! Coldest asshole he’s ever fucked, remember? “How?” he snaps, squeezing the frustrated wetness behind his eyelids, tasting the peak of his orgasm and curling his toes to welcome it. If only. “Just - do it - please,” Kiyoomi drops on top of him.

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of him, like he’s been pushed into the deep end of a pool and hit the water without thinking to take that big gulp of air needed to survive it, struggling immediately to feel anything but the burn, body wracking through the pleasure.

Kiyoomi’s kissing him when he breaks the surface, soft lips bringing Atsumu’s consciousness back to the present, the physical, Kiyoomi’s solid warmth on top of him, his thumbs gently tracing the vein on the inside of Atsumu’s wrist, his tongue teasing his parting mouth open.

“Never tell me I’m not big,” Kiyoomi drawls, self-satisfied, allowing Atsumu time to suck in oxygen and realize now that he’s assessing the drying come on his belly, that the kind of fucking they just did is not the kind of fucking he wants Kiyoomi to do with anyone else but him.

“Trust me, huh?” he rolls his eyes, turning on the side so Kiyoomi slides off him. “Is that the kind of shit you tell all your other sluts?” “Only the sluttiest of them,” Kiyoomi doesn’t miss a beat. Atsumu doesn’t want to smile but, “You’re such a fucking asshole, Omi-kun.”

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