nsfw | #SakuAtsu | intercrural sex, wall sex Thighs. No one should fixate on thighs like that. Fixations are unhealthy. Fixations are a waste of time. Fixations mean weakness. Sakusa isn't weak. Yet Sakusa Kiyoomis is hyper-fixating on thighs. Atsumu's thighs, to be precise.
You'd think practicing every day with the man would dull the interest. You'd think hearing him spewing the dumbest things during outings would lessen the obsession. Damn you'd think DATING the man and have regular sex with him would give Kiyoomi some peace of mind. What a fool.
But when it comes to be fools, Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu are luminaries in the field. Experts. Royalty of tomfoolery, ironically Lords when it comes to being buffoons. And since they came to be together and strengthened the foolish Alliance, the silliness has only peaked.
Point is, Kiyoomi really thought after months of getting the real thing, it would become nice but mundane. Apparently, going to college doesn't make you the smartest in the room, nor does it teach you the basic principles of addiction. The more he gets, the more he fixates.
It's quite frankly harmless. Kiyoomi is too much of a volleyball idiot for it to get in the way of the game, but it does get to him during practice when they're slacking, when he's in a corner drinking some water and has nothing else to do than study a play Atsumu and someone
else are trying. And by that, Kiyoomi /really/ means trying to study the play. It's not his fault if his gaze trails down, just like Atsumu told him it's not his fault if he needs stupid contention shorts to hug his thighs under his jersey ones. It's not his fault if his mind
wanders. What is his entirely, solely Kiyoomi's fault, is how he gets careless during a break and gropes Atsumu's ass in the middle of a corridor on their way to get some jumping ropes. Talk about pouring gazoline on fire. Toya is supposed to be the arsonist in the family.
"Didja jus—nah," Atsumu clicks his tongue, looking straight ahead. "Nah, ya didn't, because if ya did, that'd mean we're in fuckin' trouble, Omi. How 'bout we walk 5 meters apart." "The corridor is 3 meters large and this isn't a fucking vine, forget the five feet distan—"
"Don't be a smartass and step the hell away because we both know what's gonna happen if ya don't." Atsumu surprisingly (and aggravatingly) is most of the time the voice of reason in these scenarios. Probably because he knows that when Kiyoomi reaches the point where he's being
it means they have no safety net anymore and unless Atsumu puts a stop to it, they're doomed. Dropping the jumping ropes in the middle of the corridor and locking themselves in a closet to hump one another like animals when everyone waits for them on court? Impending doom.
"Don't call me horny," Kiyoomi barks, still taking a solid step aside. "I didn't but thanks for provin' me right," Atsumu grins. "I don't know, maybe you asked me to step away because I'm sweaty and I smell bad," Kiyoomi gives him a pointed look, squinting. "That's a trap. Not
gonna fall for that shit Omi-kun. Yer always smelling sooo good," he cooes at his boyfriend, leaning toward him but resolutely walking away from Kiyoomi at the same time. "God! Shut up," Kiyoomi groans, crossing his arms. "Yer just mad 'cause I'm denying you a piece of that,"
Atsumu mocks, dramatically holding high and unrolling the jumping ropes so it falls along the entire length of his body. Kiyoomi stares at him blankly, unable to glare, but fighting everything he has in him to not laugh openly at his boyfriend's silliness. He's weak to it. He
loves Atsumu's jokes and dramatic antics contrary to what many people assume. Kings of tomfoolery, again, a title they share and Kiyoomi just likes to pretend he's almighty but Atsumu knows better than anyone how he gets in private. "Gotcha," Atsumu rightfully hums, pleased
with himself. "Get outta my face," Kiyoomi groans, pretend-pouting. "Right right. Still. If ya want a piece of that, I'll ask Coach Foster to keep us on cleanin' duty." "We /are/ on cleanin' duty," Kiyoomi deadpans. "I'm tryna be chivalrous and rescue ya from yer blue balls."
Kiyoomi's mouth falls open as his pace falters. "Can you hear yourself?" "Hell no! How d'ya think I survived all twenty-five years of my life? 'Samu got the good hearing. Why d'ya think he dropped a perfectly good volleyball career with me?" Atsumu jokes, walking away.
Kiyoomi has no answer for that nor a miracle solution seeing how he isn't even sure /he/ will survive the three remaining hours of practice now that Atsumu is shamelessly walking in the distance, temptation written all over his ass and thighs. Kiyoomi grinds his teeth. 3 hours.
Do you know there are 10,800 seconds in 3 hours? Kiyoomi knows. In college, in some anatomy class, he also learned the average human (not the thirsty gremlin kind, the normal kind) swallows 2 to 4 times a minutes. He should have swallowed 45 to 90 times over the last 3 hours.
Kiyoomi is pretty sure that between the times his throat went too dry and the ones he swallowed loudly an ungodly amount of spit (and spite)... he can cut that by half to the very least. And now he's parched and the water bottle he's downing like a madman at the end of practice
isn't quenching shit. Teammates are clearing out after stretching, some heading to the showers, others (heathens) directly to the locker to take a shower at their place. The court is slowly emptying itself. Kiyoomi gets to think. He might be on double cleaning duty shortly.
He /will/ because Kiyoomi is a responsible adult, despite what he's about to do, and he'll take responsibility for what he's about to do. What he dirties, he'll clean. /Who/ he dirties... will be a heathen and more than happy to take a shower afterward to get rid of the stains.
That's why Kiyoomi is pretty convinced it won't take more than a few seconds to drag Atsumu away from the court. And that the lame excuse of having to push the balls cart with some help won't get him any mockery. Atsumu might not fixate on Kiyoomi's thighs because he fixates on
Kiyoomi as a whole. He was pretty clear about it in the past and thus Kiyoomi isn't surprised it's easy as ABC to drag Atsumu in the supply room by the tail, literally. Oh they could wait. They could clear the court, clean, take a shower, drive home, have dinner, have sex in
Sakusa's bed once, take another shower, cuddle and maybe get kinky again. That's a nice scenario. Who said it can't derail a little? Worse things were accomplished due to addictions. A quicky in the supply room isn't the worst. Not the smartest yes, but assuredly not that bad.
"Fuck it's bad." "Please don't talk," Kiyoomi almost implores as he pushes the door shut behind them with the heel of his sneaker shoe. "Omi, ya didn't need me to carry these balls here, that's hella bad." "Yeah and then what?" Kiyoomi presses, letting go of Atsumu after
backing him up behind a stack of giant mats that is almost as tall as himself. They can hide behind that. "Then I didn't realize I really had to do damage control here," Atsumu lectures him, as if he doesn't sound like a kid on Christmas morning. "We're past that." "No shit!"
"We can't fuck, though," Atsumu says and he tries to sound firm and reasonable but he's nothing but mournful and excited and Kiyoomi wants to ravish him all the more. "No shit!" he mimics, pressing Atsumu into the nearest wall and slotting a leg between his thighs. "Finally," he
then growls, nose buried in Atsumu's neck. He can feel the man pressed against him shiver all over at that and it makes his cock twitch in his shorts. Well if they can't be fucked literally, at least they are figuratively because there's no being sensible now. Kiyoomi can't.
"Omi... Kiyoomi," Atsumu whines, threading a hand in his hair that seems conflicted enough to both press him against his neck and try to pull him away at once. Kiyoomi pushes against him even more, lips latching onto the exposed skin just above the collar of Atsumu's jersey.
"Omi, move," Atsumu keeps muttering through gritted teeth. "Ya don't do that to a guy without expectin' to get yer dick sucked!" Kiyoomi's eyes crack wide open. If he was concerned they wouldn't get hard fast enough and they'd be found out... such fears are now off the table.
Fuck! Now he wished he had resisted a little longer and insert their little excursion somewhere else in the scenario, preferably after a shower... "For the thousandth time—" "I know and I don't care!" Atsumu is quick to cut in, finally settling for pulling Kiyoomi away. "But I
do care," Kiyoomi groans, forehead dropping against Atsumu's collarbone in defeat. God sometimes it kills him that he has such boundaries but then... "Oh no, no, nooo, Omi. Kiyoomi, hey, it's cool!" Atsumu immediately rushes in with the most reassuring tone. "It's cool, sorry
for pushin'. I can't think straight when my gay boyfriend comes onto me that hard but I shouldn't be an asshole either," he jokes, fingers stroking Kiyoomi's back and waist. Kiyoomi's heart is about to burst now. Wild that there's enough blood in his body to pump so much in two
different places at the same time. It makes him feel dizzy. "You're not an asshole," he tells Atsumu in the crook of his neck. "All the time," he adds quickly, because he can't help it. "Well, you kinda can be too. And I'm still very much here for it right now, so—humph!"
Kiyoomi shuts him up with a kiss. A thirsty one. The one that finally quenches part of his needs. He drinks it all. The warm press of his lips, the hot touch of his tongue, the quiet moans that spill directly into his mouth. Maybe Kiyoomi too fixates on his lover as a whole.
However, what led him there was a particular piece of this fixation. A part Atsumu unknowingly, or knowingly, is currently tempting him with... Because his boyfriend his rutting shamelessly against the leg pressed between his own, his thighs clamping down around Kiyoomi's.
Maybe Atsumu is too lost into the kiss, maybe he knows perfectly what he is doing but either way, Kiyoomi is not mad in the least. They need to get to the point and they need to do it fast. And because Kiyoomi's policy about showers after long sweaty days prevents him from
getting a mindblowing blowjob doesn't mean he's not willing to make a mess at times. He surprisingly let go of a lot of the strict rules he had set for himself after getting with someone worthy of it like he never found in anyone else than Atsumu. And without being pressured.
That's why maybe one day Atsumu will be allowed to drop to his knees after the most intense and disastrous workout session Kiyoomi ever went through without him flinching one bit but for now... For now he's too focused on these goddamn thighs anyway to be rueful about that.
"Turn around," Kiyoomi hears himself ask as they break the kiss and before he's even conscious the idea popped in his mind. Atsumu seems to be catching up on it faster than he does, if the way he sucks in his breath at the command is any indication. "Sure," he breathes out
a little eagerly, frantically writhing between Kiyoomi and the wall to reposition himself. The space between the mats and the wall is narrow and Atsumu purposefully tries to grind against Kiyoomi's crotch so they're caged pretty fast. Poor Kiyoomi stuck against his hot fucking
mess of a professional athlete boyfriend. He'd be mad if any footage of them having sex were to leak on the internet but not /that/ mad if it ended up being the title of their sextape. After all, he knows what happens to step mothers stuck in convenient places. Atsumu does too.
"I know the view is shit right now so what's takin' so long, Omi-kun," he actually asks all smug, ever so impatient, as he ruts harder against Kiyoomi's hardening cock. "You're 25, how can you be such a brat," Kiyoomi bites with no spite as he moves forward roughly, pressing
Atsumu against the raspy wall. "Got a thingy for almighty guys who think they get to boss people around," comes the snarky replies. Kiyoomi tugs on the dyed hair within reach. "Who /think/? Is this wishful thinking?" he asks with a smirk as his other hand moves south until it
settles at the elastic of Atsumu's shorts, not moving further. "I literally dragged you here," Kiyoomi reminds him. "Ye," Atsumu acknowledge and he sounds all too proud of himself for a guy desperately trying to get on his boyfriend's dick. "'Cause ya were desperate."
Atsumu drags the word out, syllable by syllable and bites his tongue for his trouble when Kiyoomi tugs hard on his shorts suddenly and lets the elastic slap back in place against the back of his thighs a mere second later. "Fuck," he curses in the dark. "You said we can't,"
Kiyoomi reminds him as smugly as Atsumu dared to be few moments ago. "You might want to touch yourself because me jerking you off is wishful thinking," he adds in a whisper, lips teasing the shell of Atsumu's ear. "Asshole!" Atsumu moans, throwing his head back in despair. "My
hand's fuckin' dry." "So is my almighty bossy guy's heart," Kiyoomi says, pulling his own shorts and boxers down to free his cock. Words that could be mean if they weren't mingling with a chuckle and a tender kiss under Atsumu's ear. Atsumu doesn't pay attention to it much,
because Kiyoomi's cock slaps against his thighs like his shorts did and that seems to be even much more of a turn-on. Flattery will get him somewhere, because Kiyoomi gets weak in the knees and thrusts between his thighs at the same time his hand moves in front of Atsumu to cup
him over his underwear. He's completely hard and Kiyoomi has to bite down his lip to suppress a moan. Then he starts moving and his back is wrecked with an intense shiver. Atsumu had a point. They're both pretty dry and the head of his cock catches a few times against the skin
of his inner thighs, making Kiyoomi inhale sharply, but it doesn't deter him for one second. The sensation of these tonned legs squeezing him - and Atsumu is /really/ squeezing the life out of him to try and create the friction he craves himself - is driving him insane. Another
shot and Sakusa Kiyoomi is nowhere near going into rehab. "Remember the embarrassment of creaming your pants when you were a teen?" he finds two braincells to ask at some point - when his dick slides between Atsumu's thighs just easily enough thanks to the precum gathered there.
"I don't 'cause that never happened to me!" Atsumu groans through gritted teeth, writhing against Kiyoomi. "Oh nice! The first Inarizaki alumni making memories," Kiyoomi breathes out. And before Atsumu can ask what he means, he snakes a hand inside Atsumu's boxers, jerking him
off a little roughly, maybe, but Atsumu clearly is here for it. He melts against Kiyoomi's body who has to use his other arm to hold him tight. It stays around Atsumu's chest for a moment, until Kiyoomi feels like he's seconds away from tipping over the edge himself.
Then his hand moves higher until it reaches Atsumu's throat and higher until he can thrust two fingers inside his open, panting mouth. Atsumu's lips snap shut around them as he's torn by another shudder, coming on the spot. Atsumu taken apart is another of Kiyoomi's addictions.
Reminding where they are at the last seconds, he lets go of Atsumu's cock and pulls away from the tight embrace of his thighs. There's a low grunt as Atsumu collapses forward against the wall. Kiyoomi's throaty moan drowns it as he jerks himself off with his cum-covered hand.
There will be some cleaning to do, now that the back of Atsumu's underwear is stripped white and wet. Now that his thighs are. Kiyoomi's fault. Solely, entirely, Kiyoomi's fault. One he will admit to gladly once he's able to breathe evenly again. "Shit, I knew it was gonna be
bad but ya really lost it there, Omi," Atsumu's hoarse voice pierces the relative silence. "You don't really sound like I need to apologize," Kiyoomi comments through harsh panting. Atsumu chuckles as he rolls against the wall to face him, only touching it with his shoulders to
avoid pressing his stained ass against it and putting them in an odd position. Kiyoomi doesn't mind. They keep breathing in silence for another minute. "Nah, not really. But yer on laundry duty now. And you hafta finish cleaning the court alone." "Threatening me with a good
time is not the punishment you think it is," Kiyoomi tells him. "Maybe not. But that drying cum in /yer/ pants is," Atsumu teases with a devilish grin as he leans into Kiyoomi to chase a kiss. Kiyoomi uses the proximity to grab Atsumu's jersey instead and shamelessly wipe his
dick on it. Atsumu gasps, mouth falling open. Kiyoomi shrugs. "Laundry really is my favorite chore," he explains with a smirk. "Now hop in the showers without being seen." "I take it back, I'll do so much damage control from now on yer never touchin' me in a public space ever
again," Atsumu protests dramatically, visibly outraged. Kiyoomi cocks an eyebrow at him, unfazed. "For at least one day," Atsumu adds fiercely. "Now move away, ya ass." Kiyoomi can't help but laugh wholeheartedly at that. It's even easier now that he's ridden of the tension.
"Really threatening me with a good time, uh?" he asks as Atsumu walks away as awkwardly as can be with cum dribbling down his thighs and sticking both the front and back of his underwear. He stops for a moment and Kiyoomi wonders what kind of insult he's going to get this time
but Atsumu only trails back to stop right in his face and steal a breath-taking kiss from Kiyoomi. "Maybe," he says with a cocky grin the moment they break apart. "Thanks for yer help, almighty bossy idiot," he adds. And in one go, pulls on Kiyoomi's jersey harsh enough to make
him bend so he can wipe the mess between in thighs off approximatively. He seems content enough because Atsumu pulls away immediately, grin never wavering, and with one stupid wink, he flees the room before Kiyoomi can even express his indignation. But it's all his fault,
and Atsumu walking away only reminds Kiyoomi he's but a weak man and got in this situation by himself in the first place. And no, Kiyoomi thinks with a smile. No, he doesn't really wish he was cured of his fixation. /the end ♥
