Work Text:
Shit. He would never get tired of this.
Kiyoomi sputters around Atsumu’s cock, froth trailing down his chin and dripping onto the wooden tiles below his knees. His throat flutters around a gag as Atsumu forces himself deeper, the tip of his cock just barely tickling the back of his throat.
He feels a hand grasp onto his curls, pushing him down— one, two seconds— before pulling him away, giving him the chance to gasp a breath into his lungs. The air feels sharpsharpsharp as it passes through his throat, tickling it to the point where he has to wheeze out a small cough.
“Shit.. yer’ so pretty.. Ya’know that Omi?” He lets Kiyoomi breathe for a few moments, scratching blunt nails against his scalp as he tilts the boy's head back, getting a better look at the tears threatening to fall from the corners of his eyes.
Kiyoomi keens in response, his lips falling into a small pout as he opens his eyes to stare at Atsumu. All he finds is a foxy gaze jumping around his face.
Atsumu’s thumb brushes just beneath Kiyoomi’s bottom lip, catching the faintest trace of spit before slipping it into his mouth like it’s second nature. “Y’look wrecked already,” he says, more in awe than teasing.
Kiyoomi doesn't speak—just blinks slowly, his breath still stuttering as his chest rises and falls. There’s a quiet defiance in the way he holds Atsumu’s gaze, even as his cheeks burn and his jaw trembles from effort.
Atsumu tilts his head, eyes softening slightly. “Still good?”
A nod. Small. Eager, even.
That’s all he needs.
He leans forward, catching Kiyoomi’s mouth in a kiss that’s anything but gentle—wet, messy, hothothot almost too much. His hand finds Kiyoomi’s jaw, thumb tilting it open just enough to deepen the kiss, to taste the remnants of heat and want still lingering on his tongue.
The room hums around them—quiet save for the slow creak of wood beneath shifting knees, the hush of breath between lips, and the occasional soft sound Kiyoomi can’t quite hold back.
Atsumu pulls back just enough to let their breath mingle. “Didn’t know ya’ could look at me like that,” he murmurs, thumb dragging across Kiyoomi’s cheek, slow and lazy. “All wide-eyed ‘n desperate.”
Kiyoomi breathes out a laugh—barely a sound—his voice hoarse. “You like it too much.”
Atsumu grins, not denying it. “Can’t help it. Ya' like this, don’t ya? On your knees like you’re made for it.”
Kiyoomi’s eyes flicker, something sharp passing through them. “You talk too much.”
That earns a chuckle, low and warm. “Then shut me up,” Atsumu challenges, spreading his knees a little wider as if to offer himself up. His hand comes down to rest on Kiyoomi’s jaw again, fingers firm but not forceful, guiding rather than demanding. “C’mon, pretty boy.”
Kiyoomi leans in, dragging his lips over the skin just above Atsumu’s cock, slow enough to make the other man’s breath hitch. He doesn’t rush, taking his time like he wants to memorize every shiver, every twitch beneath his mouth. As if it wasn’t already down his throat today.
Atsumu’s hand finds the back of his head again, curling gently into thick black curls. “That’s it… God, just like that.”
The air between them feels thick, warm. The kind of quiet that buzzes. Every breath is heavier. Every touch more electric. And Kiyoomi—so composed off the court, so unreadable—now looks up at him like he’s unraveling one thread at a time, and Atsumu is the one holding the end.
Kiyoomi’s lips barely graze Atsumu’s skin, each touch hesitant, reverent. His breath fans hot over the dip of Atsumu’s hipbone, and he lingers there, frozen like he’s waiting for permission as if they hadn’t just done this. As if his cock wasn’t already shoved down his throat a minute ago.
Atsumu notices. Of course he does.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and coaxing. “Don’t get shy on me now.”
He threads his fingers into Kiyoomi’s hair, firmer this time—just enough pressure to make the message clear. Guide, don’t ask.
Kiyoomi swallows hard and nods once, the movement small. Subtle.
“That’s it,” Atsumu breathes, watching him. “Ya’ just let me take care of it, yeah?”
Kiyoomi hums in agreement, the sound shaky. He lets Atsumu guide him forward, lips parting obediently. His hands grip Atsumu’s thighs for balance, knuckles white where they press into muscle.
“Slow,” Atsumu instructs, his thumb stroking gently along Kiyoomi’s jaw. “Breathe through it.”
And Kiyoomi listens—of course he does—taking him in with aching patience. His jaw trembles slightly, breath catching, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pull away. His lashes flutter, cheeks flushed as he blinks up through the haze.
Atsumu exhales sharply, hips rolling forward just enough to test him.
“Good boy,” he mutters, watching how the praise makes Kiyoomi’s eyes flutter closed, how his fingers curl tighter into Atsumu’s skin. “So fuckin’ pretty like this. On yer’ knees. Mouth full.”
Kiyoomi makes a small, needy sound in response—barely a whimper—and it goes straight to Atsumu’s gut.
“You can take it,” he adds, voice rougher now. His grip tightens just slightly in Kiyoomi’s curls. “I know ya’ can.”
Kiyoomi’s throat flexes around him, and Atsumu groans, head tipping back as the heat coils tighter in his spine. Every slow movement, every stifled breath, every desperate little sound from Kiyoomi just feeds the fire.
And Atsumu watches it all—eyes locked on the way Kiyoomi gives in so willingly, so beautifully, as if the act itself is devotion.
Atsumu curses under his breath, hips stuttering forward, but he doesn’t give in. Not yet. He tightens his grip in Kiyoomi’s hair, holding him there for just a moment longer, the heat coiling tighter with every shallow breath he takes.
“Keep goin’,” he groans, the command coming out rougher now, laced with something desperate. “Just like that.”
Kiyoomi obeys, hollowing his cheeks, letting Atsumu guide the rhythm with a firm hand and gentle thrusts of his hips. The sounds—wet, quiet, obscene—fill the space between them, and Kiyoomi’s fingers press harder into Atsumu’s thighs, grounding himself as he lets go more and more.
“Fuck, yer mouth…” Atsumu bites down on a groan, his free hand digging into the edge of the dresser behind him. “I could lose it like this.”
Kiyoomi whines around him, eager, the sound vibrating along Atsumu’s length in a way that makes his vision go hazy for a second. His hips twitch again, reflexive, just shy of too much.
And that’s when Atsumu pulls him off—fast, firm, sudden.
A slick gasp escapes Kiyoomi’s lips, his chin wet, breath ragged. He blinks up at Atsumu, dazed and flushed, lips parted like he’s about to ask why.
But Atsumu just stares down at him, eyes half-lidded and wild with restraint.
“Not yet,” he rasps. “Ya’ don’t get to finish me like that.”
His thumb drags across Kiyoomi’s bottom lip, smearing spit across the skin. “You want more, don’t you?”
Kiyoomi nods, quick. “Yes—please.”
That’s all Atsumu needs.
“Get up,” he commands, voice low and steady. “On the bed. On yer stomach.”
Kiyoomi scrambles to obey, legs a little shaky, arms bracing himself as he climbs up and lies down the way he’s told. He doesn’t look back at first—just waits. Exposed. Willing.
Atsumu sits back for a moment, eyes dragging slowly over the way Kiyoomi shifts into place—knees spread wide, back arching deep, his forearms braced against the mattress like he’s offering himself up without question. His thighs tremble faintly, slick already glistening between them.
“Fuck, look at ya’,” Atsumu mutters, running a hand down the curve of Kiyoomi’s spine, fingers trailing slow and possessive. “That’s a pretty sight if I’ve ever seen one.”
Kiyoomi shudders at the praise, lowering his head further between his arms, his breathing shallow.
Atsumu kneels behind him, dragging his thumbs along the inside of Kiyoomi’s thighs, spreading him wider. The view makes his mouth water—wet, flushed, and aching for attention.
“So ready fer’ me,” Atsumu breathes, leaning in until his lips hover right over Kiyoomi’s pussy. “Bet you’ve been thinkin’ about this, haven’t ya’?”
Kiyoomi nods fast, too desperate to pretend otherwise. “Yes—please, Atsumu, I—”
His voice cuts off into a gasp as Atsumu licks a slow, deliberate stripe through his folds, moaning low against him. Kiyoomi jolts, arms buckling slightly before he catches himself, his knees pressing into the mattress for balance.
“Fuck,” Atsumu groans, already addicted to the taste. “Yer’ so wet for me, baby. So fuckin’ sweet.”
He dives back in, tongue teasing, swirling and flicking, spreading Kiyoomi open with his thumbs while he works him over. Every movement is calculated—just enough to make Kiyoomi’s thighs shake, but never quite enough to push him over the edge.
Kiyoomi cries out, hips twitching, but Atsumu’s hands clamp around them, holding him steady. “Ah-ah,” he tuts against him. “Don’t move. I said take it.”
And Kiyoomi does—back arching deeper, legs trembling under the onslaught of Atsumu’s mouth. His slick noises echo off the walls, mixed with Kiyoomi’s stifled moans and broken gasps.
Atsumu sucks his clit, firm and wet, then flicks it with the tip of his tongue, relentless, watching how Kiyoomi starts to crumble. His voice is nearly gone now—just little whimpers and soft pleading noises that make Atsumu groan into him again.
“Gonna make ya’ fall apart on my tongue first,” he mutters darkly, licking him messily. “Then I’ll fuck ya’ nice and slow. Make ya’ feel it fer’ hours.”
Kiyoomi’s whole body tenses, breath catching hard in his throat as Atsumu keeps going, not letting up for a second.
And finally—
“Go ahead,” Atsumu growls. “Let go fer’ me.”
Kiyoomi doesn’t last a moment longer.
His entire body pulls taut, a strangled moan ripping from his throat as he comes—hard. His thighs clamp together instinctively, trembling violently as the wave of pleasure crashes through him. The sound he makes is wrecked, raw, as if the orgasm is being torn out of him. He quivers through it, clutching at the sheets with white-knuckled fists, his back arched high, slick gushing against Atsumu’s tongue as he rides out every second of it.
Atsumu groans into him, holding him still as he licks him through it—slow, deliberate strokes, tasting everything Kiyoomi has to give. He doesn’t stop until Kiyoomi’s hips jerk away from overstimulation, whining soft and broken into the pillows.
“Fuckin’ beautiful,” Atsumu breathes, finally pulling back, chin glistening with slick. His eyes are dark with lust, practically feral as he takes in the sight of Kiyoomi spent and shaking, still on his knees but barely holding himself up. “You always fall apart so pretty.”
Kiyoomi lets out a low, needy sound—half a sob, half a plea. He’s flushed everywhere, breath hitching with every shallow inhale, body boneless and twitching with aftershocks.
Atsumu gives him a moment. Just a moment.
Then he leans in again, lips brushing against the small of Kiyoomi’s back, pressing soft kisses up his spine. “Yer not done, baby. I told ya’—I’m gonna fuck ya’ nice and slow.”
Kiyoomi groans, but it melts into a whimper of anticipation as he feels Atsumu’s cock rub against his entrance. Hot, hard, and dripping against sensitive skin, making him twitch in oversensitive overstimulation and want all at once.
“Ya’ still want it?” Atsumu murmurs, voice low and thick.
Kiyoomi nods frantically, voice catching. “Yes. Please, Atsumu—I need it.”
That’s all the permission Atsumu needs.
He guides himself in slowly, just the tip at first, letting the stretch ease in, savoring the way Kiyoomi gasps and writhes beneath him. His hands grip those trembling hips again, firm but reverent.
“Yer’ so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, inching deeper. “Still flutterin’ around me like ya’ didn’t just come all over my mouth.”
Kiyoomi can’t even reply—just gasps and sobs as Atsumu bottoms out, hips flush against his ass. The fullness makes his eyes roll back, and his body instinctively rocks into it, desperate for more friction, more everything.
Atsumu starts slow—just like he promised. Deep, smooth thrusts that grind against every sensitive spot, drawing out fresh moans from Kiyoomi’s already ruined throat. It’s slow, torturous, every roll of Atsumu’s hips deliberate, every movement calculated to keep Kiyoomi teetering right on that knife’s edge of pleasure and overstimulation.
“I wanna feel ya’ come on my cock this time,” Atsumu mutters against the nape of Kiyoomi’s neck, one hand slipping down to rub at his clit with lazy circles. “Think you got another one in ya, baby?”
Kiyoomi sobs out a breathless, “Y-yeah, I—please, I need to—”
And Atsumu grins wickedly, speeding up just a little, just enough to make the wet slap of skin against skin echo off the bedroom walls. “That’s it. Let me fuck it out of you. Let me feel ya’ come again, pretty thing.”
Kiyoomi doesn’t even realize he’s crying again—tears slipping down his cheeks from sheer intensity as his body spirals toward another climax. Atsumu keeps working him, hips driving deep, his fingers insistent on his clit, his voice constant and low in Kiyoomi’s ear—filthy, loving, commanding.
“Come fer’ me again,” Atsumu breathes, voice breaking with how good it feels. “You’re mine, Kiyoomi. Let me have it.”
And with a shattered, broken cry, Kiyoomi does.
His body goes stiff, then collapses entirely as another orgasm rips through him—louder this time, longer, more overwhelming. He sobs Atsumu’s name, clenching down around him so hard it nearly pulls Atsumu under with him.
Atsumu grits his teeth, fucking him through it, until the tight heat and pulsing grip becomes too much to bear.
“Fuck—Kiyoomi—”
He spills with a hoarse groan, burying himself as deep as he can go. His hips jerk, muscles locking, as he empties inside him with a raw, drawn-out moan.
For a long moment, neither of them move.
Then Atsumu slowly collapses forward, still buried deep inside, chest pressed to Kiyoomi’s trembling back, both of them gasping for breath. He wraps an arm around Kiyoomi’s waist, pulling him close, grounding him.
“Ya’ okay?” he whispers after a minute, voice hoarse and tender.
Kiyoomi hums a soft, breathless sound. “Mmhm. That was… god.”
Atsumu chuckles quietly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Yeah. That was somethin’. ”
But even as they lie there, bodies spent and hearts thudding in tandem, there’s something electric still thrumming beneath their skin. Something unfinished.
Because Kiyoomi turns his head, eyes heavy-lidded but burning, and murmurs, “You said hours, right?”
Atsumu’s smile turns feral.
“Oh, baby,” he growls, rolling his hips just enough to remind them both he’s still hardening inside him, “we’re just getting started.”