Chapter Text
Waking up today was a mistake, Atsumu thinks, looking at himself— or supposed to be himself— reflected on the mirror.
This is, for the lack of a better word, the worse that could have happened to him. He’s seen a lot of these kinds of movies these days but he really did not fucking think it would happen to him. Or even thought that it would happen at all. Is he still asleep? Dreaming? A nightmare? That would have been just fucking amazing but a pinch to his—is it even his?—cheeks confirms that no, it’s not a dream and that fucking hurts and wow, this assholes skin is soft as fuck.
Atsumu is fucked.
Because he’s in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s body and this is the worst day ever and it’s only 6 in the morning. Fuck.
Wait, Atsumu looks at the reflection in the mirror, eyes widening in panic. Does this mean Sakusa Kiyoomi is in Atsumu’s body? Did they really swap bodies? Or is Sakusa in another person’s body? Hopefully some unknown stranger. Ugh.
Atsumu is filled with questions but first— a shower. He feels kind of filthy and isn’t that just laughable because Sakusa is probably mysophobic and showers thrice a day or something. It’s just, being in another person’s body is creepy, no matter how fit the body is. It’s also a bit jarring because Sakusa is taller—not much!—than Atsumu and Atsumu has to get used to this perspective lest he wants to just randomly trip or something. Ugh.
That’s his mood today: ugh.
Anyways, shower.
Atsumu tries to not… oogle on the body he’s inhabiting but for someone who looks lanky clothed, Sakusa Kiyoomi under all that clothing has all perfect defined muscles on the right places and it’s fucking up with Atsumu’s libido. Granted, they are on the same team and are professional athletes so of course this is a given, Atsumu knows. He’s even seen this body briefly while they all shower in the locker rooms but seeing and touching is different and Atsumu’s—Sakusa’s?—turning red from head to toe. Huh.
Willing Sakusa’s body to not react on the filthy thoughts Atsumu is thinking, Atsumu washes up quickly, ignores the drool almost escaping past his lips when he sees Sakusa’s dick because— that’s one pretty and big dick. Pretty big dick, heh.
Cough.
After that kind of masochistic torture involving forcing Sakusa’s stubborn dick from getting hard by thinking of Osamu and his obsession with onigiri, Atsumu finally dresses himself Sakusa Kiyoomi style— mask and disgust towards everyone and all.
Perfect.
Except, he doesn’t know where the fuck he is, not even Sakusa’s phone is helpful because he only has code as password and not Face ID, like who the fuck in 2020 doesn’t have Face ID as password to their phone?! Atsumu is going to force Sakusa to set up his Face ID just in case this happens again. Which, hopefully, would not. Please, Atsumu is begging. Lord.
Looking like a dumbass, Atsumu navigates the fancy apartment— high rise, penthouse, minimalistic, screaming of rich. Yuck. So Sakusa Kiyoomi, his enemy despite being teammates, is a rich boy? Figures. With that annoying personality of his, Atsumu shouldn’t be surprised but he kind of is because Sakusa never talked about himself except he drives a sports car but he’s a professional volleyball player, he could afford a sports car… maybe. Atsumu can’t. Wait—
Atsumu hates the rich. Eat the rich, is what he always says. Fuck the rich, is what follows.
Tsk.
After gawking at the floor to ceiling windows in the living room and making sure he’s got all he needs, Atsumu finally rides the elevator down to the first floor and tries to not look out of place while walking out of the building. At last breathing in fresh air, Atsumu squints at his surroundings and figures he’s in Umeda.
Of course, of course, Atsumu thinks, pinching the bridge of his nose. Only the best for such a rich boy.
Well, nothing he can do about that. It still irks him that he’s in Sakusa’s body so with the determination of a man on a big mission, Atsumu rides the subway to head to practice.
Before Atsumu can even greet his teammates, his own face is in front of him, half covered with a white mask, frown marring his forehead.
Oh.
“Omi-Omi?” Atsumu gasps, Sakusa’s voice ringing in his hears and isn’t that just weird as fuck. He hasn’t uttered anything since he woke up in Sakusa’s body, barely a hum when acknowledging someone and now, hearing himself—Sakusa—sends a shiver down his spine.
It’s fucking weird.
“Miya.” Atsumu hears and he can’t help but squeak because what the fuck, is that his voice? Really? He sounds— odd. “Can we talk?” Sakusa frowns more, making Atsumu’s forehead wrinkle even more.
Atsumu huffs, uncharacteristic for Sakusa but hey, he’s not very good at acting so he’s not even going to try emulating Sakusa Kiyoomi, the embodiment of i live in spain but without s meme. Haha.
“Can you please not frown like that? With my face? Please?” Atsumu whispers, grasping Sakusa’s—his—arms.
Sakusa complies, just a little, then sighs. “Let’s talk after practice.”
“Okay.”
“Omi-Omi! You’re finally here!” Bokuto shouts and that ends their conversation.
Atsumu knows it’s going to be a long day. He sighs, praying for salvation, before joining his teammates.
Salvation did not come and so Atsumu is left trailing behind Sakusa Kiyoomi after practice is done.
Again, he tried very hard and very long to will Sakusa’s stubborn pretty dick to not get hard—why is it even getting hard?!—while showering. He was tempted, alright. His hand was already grasping Sakusa’s—his?—fat cock when a loud crash from the locker rooms startles him and he realises that no, he is not going to jerk off Sakusa’s dick. He’s not about to help that asshole get off, even though it’s fucking painful and technically his dick while in Sakusa’s body.
Ugh, Atsumu could scream. Fuck.
“Keys,” Sakusa holds out a hand and Atsumu stares at it, confused. “Car keys.”
Atsumu huffs, adjusting the mask pulled down under his chin. “I didn’t drive.”
Sakusa cocks a brow and it’s so fucking annoying because it’s his face Sakusa is using. Dude!
“Can you stop doing that with my face?” Atsumu complains, brows furrowing.
“If you stop doing that with my face.” Sakusa retaliates, eyes narrowed.
“Hmpf,” Atsumu huffs. “Anyways, I didn’t drive. We can take the subway.”
“The subway,” Sakusa repeats, hint with disgust.
“Oh sorry, rich-sama. This peasant forgot to drive your expensive sports car this morning. Please forgive this lowly servant.” Atsumu replies, sarcasm thick in his voice.
Sakusa glares at him, almost as if he wants to strangle Atsumu there and then but it’s his body so he can’t. Ha! There’s a silver-lining in inhabiting this pretty face after all.
“Fine. Whatever.” Sakusa replies, and even under that mask, Atsumu can see he’s got his jaw-clenched so hard Atsumu fears it’s going to snap. Hopefully not. That’s his fucking jaw the asshole is using. Tsk.
It’s still a novelty, seeing this goddamn rich apartment for the second time and sitting in this goddamn expensive soft sofa across from this goddamn asshole who’s trying to ruin Atsumu’s face with his ugly frown. Wait, no, Atsumu is not calling his own frown ugly, Sakusa is just ugly for frowning. Get it? Right.
“So? What’s it Omi-Omi?” Atsumu starts after a whole fifteen minutes of them having a stare down. It’s uncomfortable being under his own stare. That shit’s scary, for some fucking reason.
“What the fuck did you do that we ended up like this?” Sakusa asks, accusing. He’s standing by the big ass windows, back to the glass while Atsumu is sitting on the sofa in front of him.
Atsumu feels like a dirt in a fully prestine kingdom. An ugly dirt. Ugh, fuck. Thoughts go away.
A sigh, before Atsumu lets his upper body fall on the couch. Now he’s laying, facing Sakusa.
“I didn’t do anything. Why would I even do something like this? If it’s witchcraft you’re thinking; bro, I would’ve acquired a voodoo doll and a strand of your hair instead of swapping our goddamn bodies.” Atsumu rants, studying Sakusa in Atsumu’s own body.
He’s wearing grey sweatpants with a big hoodie and Atsumu has never thought of himself as small but if he, in Sakusa’s body, stand in front of Sakusa, in Atsumu’s body, the difference is quite— how should Atsumu say it… not quite astronomical but maybe quite obvious. And see, that’s even weirder because he’s always thought he and Osamu looks the same, from head to toe but seeing himself in this kind of perspective just shows Osamu and Atsumu are quite different and maybe not as big as they thought they were. What a bad epiphany in this hard times of being laser glared by one Sakusa Kiyoomi. Yikes.
“Didn’t think you have the power anyways,” Sakusa replies then crosses his arms before continuing, “but what the fuck happened? Why did this happen?”
Atsumu shrugs, then grins, jokes, “Dunno. Maybe because of Kimi No Nawa?”
“Don’t fuck with me,” Sakusa grits out. “I want my body back.”
“Dude, as if I don’t want my body back? You’re ruining my image! It’s painful to watch,” Atsumu moans, faux agony.
“There’s no image worth ruining. You do it on your own on the daily,” Sakusa retorts, rolling his eyes. What an asshole. Atsumu wants to strangle him.
“Fuck you,” Atsumu spits out.
Sakusa cocks a brow, “Always knew you’re this narcissistic. I bet you watch yourself jerk off in front of a mirror.”
Atsumu frowns, slow on the uptake before blushing— well, Sakusa’s face is blushing.
“What? No! Dude, what the fuck,” Atsumu replies, lips pursed. “What about you, huh? Why does your dick always gets hard, like what’s the deal with this abomination? Every time I shower, it’s hard and I can’t even jerk off!”
“Why not?” Sakusa asks, nonchalant.
“Huh?” Atsumu yelps, exasperated. “It’s your dick!”
“So? It’s your dick right now,” Sakusa explains. Like, wow, logic.
Atsumu hates him so much.
“I don’t want to touch your dick,” Atsumu says, indignant.
“You touch it when you go to the bathroom. What’s the difference,” Sakusa, the voice of reason and assholery, as always.
“There’s a difference!” Atsumu shouts, sitting up on the couch. He points at his crouch, at Sakusa’s dick, “Pleasuring myself with your dick sounds disgusting.”
“Oh?” Sakusa walks—more like stalks—towards Atsumu and it’s a little laughable because it’s his face and it shouldn’t be intimidating but Sakusa in Atsumu’s body is still intimidating and Atsumu doesn’t know what to feel. “Shall I help?”
“Huh?” Atsumu blinks, looking at Sakusa who’s suddenly kneeling in front of him.
“It’s my dick after all. I should relieve it myself, no?” Sakusa cocks his head, looking at Atsumu intently.
“Uhm—“ Brain freeze. No thoughts, head empty. “Okay.”
Sakusa takes Atsumu’s hands that’s laying on his lap. “Really?”
Atsumu blinks again, then— “Wait! Isn’t this weird? I mean yes, it’s painful when I can’t jerk off but this is your body! And I’m in it! Isn’t this weird, Omi?”
Sakusa shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “It’s just like masturbating myself. No big deal.”
Atsumu feels like he’s missing something here or like— logic? Sanity? Do those things even exist right now? In this time space? Probably not. Atsumu can’t even make sense of anything right now. But hey, what the hell. Why the fuck not.
Sakusa Kiyoomi jerking him off? Why the fuck not?
Atsumu is gonna stop thinking. Pleasure is pleasure, he reasons.
“Ugh,” he groans. “Fine. I don’t care anymore. Do whatever you want.”
“Sure,” Sakusa grins, uncharacteristic but somehow feels right on Atsumu’s face. Weird.
The moment the word escapes Sakusa’s mouth, Sakusa doesn’t waste time in pulling Atsumu’s sweatpants down, pulling a yelp out of Atsumu’s mouth.
“Dude, be gentle!” Atsumu kicks Sakusa’s thigh, huffing.
“It’s my body,” Sakusa says, like that explains anything. Which, actually, it does but still!
“And I live here right now! Take care of me!” Atsumu replies, truly agonised.
“Fine, fine. What a baby,” Sakusa replies before gently pulling Atsumu’s boxers down and throwing it to the side.
Sakusa grasps his already half-hard dick gently, stroking a couple of times, like testing the waters. Atsumu stares open-mouthed and wide-eyed at Sakusa’s hand holding his cock. That’s technically Atsumu’s hand and wow— What a sight. That— That’s kind of hot.
Atsumu allows himself to stop thinking and just feel. Sakusa keeps on moving his hand up and down his shaft, thumbing his slit a couple of times, spreading pre-come on his dick. After ignoring his cock twice earlier, Sakusa’s touch feels good. So good and Atsumu can’t help but moan.
It’s obscene, the way Sakusa’s moving his hand around his dick, a little bit dry, the pre-come not enough as lube. But it still feels amazing, the friction welcome after having denied himself.
“Omi—“
“Hmm.”
“Lube.”
“Hmm.”
The hand on his cock disappears and Atsumu whines. He wants more. Fuck morality. Fuck logic. He wants to come, goddamnit.
He watches as Sakusa rummages around an innocent looking box just sitting under the coffee table. He emerges with a bottle of lube and Atsumu would have teased him if he wasn’t so desperate but the sight of lube makes him even more aroused, his mind chanting, finally finally finally.
Sakusa crawls back in between his legs, watching Atsumu with this look that he can’t pinpoint just yet.
“Okay?” Sakusa asks while pouring lube on his hands and rubbing it in between his fingers.
“Hmmyeah,” Atsumu replies, hands clenching and unclenching beside his naked thighs.
“You know,” Sakusa starts, hands grasping his dick once more. This time it’s wet and it feels even more amazing when he starts stroking up and down, slow, teasing. “It is weird jerking myself off like this but knowing it’s you in this body, I think it’s hot.”
Atsumu doesn’t know what that means and he doesn’t even have time to decipher it properly because Sakusa is moving his hand around his cock faster, wrist flicking expertly, and moving just so that lets Atsumu know that Sakusa does know his own spots and god, that’s so fucking hot.
He wants to come.
“Omi,” Atsumu moans, hands clutching his chest as his breaths comes in pants, legs trembling.
“Coming, Miya?” Sakusa plays with his balls while his thumb presses on the tip of his cock.
“Y-Yeah,” Atsumu nods, eyes downcast and looking at his own face for a brief moment before shifting his gaze to the hands rubbing his cock expertly.
“Then come.” Sakusa says, flicking his wrist, stroking faster.
Atsumu can’t deal with it. It’s too much.
He comes with a moan muffled by his hands covering his mouth. His cock spurts white come on Sakusa’s hands that continues stroking his cock, milking his orgasm.
“Fuck.”
“Right,” Sakusa says after stroking Atsumu’s cock for the last time, come spilling between his fingers and dripping down to his wrist.
“Uhm,” Atsumu stares before jumping to action. Honestly, he doesn’t know why he does it. The first thought he had was tissue, ohmygod but the first action he does is grab Sakusa’s wrist and lick the come sliding down his skin.
Shit.
Sakusa is frozen, probably disgusted but Atsumu can’t stop now so he continues. With eyes closed, he licks the remaining come on Sakusa’s wrist before trailing his tongue up to his palm, tongue swiping the come lingering there. He hums as he swallows, allowing the come to slide down his throat. It’s salty, not really a michelin star meal but Atsumu doesn’t care. He continues to suck on Sakusa’s fingers, one by one, tongue swirling along the digits. He’s starting to enjoy the taste of his—Sakusa’s?—come when the fingers he’s sucking hooks on his cheek then flattens on his tongue, shoving down his throat.
Atsumu chokes, curses loud but inaudible.
“Didn’t know you’re a come slut, Miya.”
Atsumu stares at Sakusa. It’s as if they’re on their own bodies and not each others. Atsumu can picture it, Sakusa’s expression while doing this, his own expression being at the receiving end of this.
It’s—
Atsumu can’t describe it.
“Miya, you like the taste of my come?”
Atsumu swirls his tongue around Sakusa’s fingers, hums as he sucks it.
Well, Atsumu can’t really deny anything. That he’s a come slut or that he likes the taste of Sakusa’s come.
So he shrugs, not saying anything.
Body swapping isn’t so bad after all. Huh.