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Kiyoomi was kissing Miya Atsumu. It wasn’t the first time, or even the second, but Kiyoomi had spent so long assuming that this scenario was impossible (first because he hated Atsumu’s guts and then because he was tragically pining) that he had to re-process it every time.
It was easier this time than it had been any of the previous times. They had a routine now. Atsumu brought a change of clothes in a ziploc bag, and Kiyoomi went in accepting that his hair was going to end up a disaster because Atsumu seemed to have a weird fixation on it. Atsumu would flinch away when Kiyoomi touched bare skin the first time because “Yer hands are fucking freezing, I never expect it!”, but a moment later he’d put them right back where they’d been.
And after Kiyoomi’s little adjustment period, he was comfortable. Which was weird, on the one hand, because Kiyoomi spent most of his life somewhere on the “uncomfortable” end of the spectrum, and completely reasonable, on the other, because Miya Atsumu had never settled for being anything less than exceptional in his life. If anyone was going to find a way to steamroll Kiyoomi into relaxing a bit, it was him.
The point was that Kiyoomi had Atsumu’s hands in his hair, Atsumu’s ridiculous thighs clamped around his waist, and Atsumu’s tongue in his mouth, and it was only the good kind of overwhelming.
So it came as no great shock when Kiyoomi realized he was hard, and it was… fine. Surprisingly fine, actually, given that Kiyoomi rarely considered the reward of having sex with someone worth the hassle.
He and Atsumu had both showered before all this started, the sheets were freshly cleaned, and Kiyoomi wasn’t strapped for supplies. Kiyoomi had assumed it would take longer for him to let his guard down enough for this to happen, but he’d trusted Atsumu even before they were dating. That was more than he could say for anyone else he’d had sex with.
Maybe Bokuto’s long, drunken speeches about the power of love were on to something.
Now to tell Atsumu. The last person Kiyoomi slept with regularly told him that his tendency to stop things completely and communicate his intentions was a “mood killer”, but Kiyoomi didn’t really know how else he was supposed to proceed.
Atsumu, apparently oblivious to Kiyoomi’s ongoing internal turmoil, moved so he was straddling one of Kiyoomi’s legs rather than his waist, breaking away just long enough to murmur “hip cramp” before he was kissing Kiyoomi again.
Maybe Kiyoomi wouldn’t have to say anything. Natural escalation, he told himself, shifting his hips just enough for Atsumu to notice.
Atsumu pulled back, breathing hard. He looked down at Kiyoomi’s lap, then back at his face, now wearing an extremely self-satisfied smirk.
“There’s a new ramen place down the street.”
Fantastic. That was exactly the response you wanted from someone you were trying to have sex with.
Kiyoomi’s darkened mood must have shown on his face, because Atsumu frowned at him, moving so he was sitting next to Kiyoomi, rather than on top of him.
“Y’alright?”
“Do you not want to have sex?” Kiyoomi asked, because tact was, in his opinion, something that happened to other people.
“No?”
He said it like it was unthinkable, a foregone conclusion.
It wasn’t the first time someone had taken Kiyoomi’s mysophobia as a sign that sex was off the table, but he had hoped, apparently naively, that things would be different with Atsumu.
Kiyoomi scowled at him. “You don’t have to do this for my sake.”
“Shockingly, I haven’t been going around not wantin’ to have sex for twenty-four years solely for yer benefit, Omi-kun,” Atsumu snapped.
It took a moment for the words to fully register, and even then, Kiyoomi wasn’t sure he’d heard them right.
“Pardon?”
“Comes with the asexuality, ya see,” Atsumu said. He seemed to be aiming for snarky and unaffected, but his shoulders were tense. “For me, anyway.”
Kiyoomi tried to come up with something that properly expressed his confusion without being rude.
“You’re asexual?!”
Well. That was perhaps not the best way he could have gone about it.
Atsumu looked stunned. “Ya didn’t know?”
“You never told me!”
“I must’ve, I tell everyone! I make jokes about it all the time, I came out to the team…” Atsumu trailed off, realization dawning on his face. “I came out when I joined MSBY. Ya weren’t on the team yet, shit.”
He turned so his legs were dangling over the side of the bed and dug his hands into his hair, slumping forward so his elbows were propped on his knees. “Fuck.”
Atsumu seemed genuinely distressed, and Kiyoomi… well, quite honestly Kiyoomi had no idea what to do about that, but he knew that he wanted it to stop.
“Atsumu?”
“I thought it was obvious,” Atsumu told the floor. “I make the joke literally every time someone uses “ace” as a volleyball term.”
Oh.
“I thought you were just bragging,” Kiyoomi admitted.
How else was he supposed to take Atsumu saying “We all know I’m the true ace here”? Out of context and taking Atsumu’s personality into account, Kiyoomi was perfectly justified in his assumption that Atsumu was just being an arrogant ass.
“It was a pun!”
“You flirt with anything with a pulse. You have an ongoing “your mom” battle with Inunaki. Forgive me for making assumptions in the opposite direction from the assumptions you wanted me to make.”
“I can still appreciate a good sex joke,” Atsumu said defensively.
Kiyoomi scoffed. “I’m concerned that you think yelling “that’s what your mom said last night!” across a crowded locker room is a good sex joke.”
Atsumu stuck his tongue out at him, looking marginally less panicked.
“I didn’t-” Kiyoomi started, pulling one of the pillows into his lap. The situation from earlier had taken care of itself after the abrupt tone shift, but having some kind of barrier between him and Atsumu felt safer. “I didn’t traumatize you or anything, did I?”
Atsumu let out a soft laugh. “Nah, yer good. The jokes and the team talkin’ about it is fine too. The way I see it, it’s like that true crime stuff? Morbidly fascinatin’, but I never wanna actually do any of it, y’know?”
Kiyoomi, against his better judgment, snorted. “I suppose that answers my follow-up question.”
“Yeah, that’s a full no. I tried, once? When I was still figurin’ it out. Got as far as takin’ our clothes off before I decided it wasn’t for me.”
“Right.”
There was a long silence, not quite uncomfortable, but… anticipatory.
“I get if it’s a deal-breaker,” Atsumu eventually said, eyes firmly locked on the floor. “Ya didn’t know goin’ in, so-”
“No,” Kiyoomi interrupted, surprising himself with his vehemence. “I would have preferred if we’d communicated properly from the start, but I’m not breaking up with you because of this.”
“Are ya sure?” Atsumu asked, finally meeting Kiyoomi’s gaze again. “Ya seemed pretty keen to get yer hands on my hot bod.”
Oh good, he’d recovered enough to start being annoying.
“I like sex fine, but it’s… difficult, for me. It’s very exposed. And messy, neither of which are things I particularly like.”
Atsumu seemed to be trying very hard to keep a straight face. “I never woulda guessed, Omi-Omi.”
Kiyoomi smacked him in the face with the pillow.
“Ow! Okay, okay, that was rude.” Atsumu paused, considering his next words. That couldn’t possibly be good. “I’m glad ya trusted me enough to try, even if it didn’t end up happening.”
Oh. That was bad in the opposite direction Kiyoomi had anticipated. He was definitely blushing.
Time to deflect. “Stop being sincere. It’s weird.”
“Awwww,” Atsumu cooed, reaching over and honest-to-god pinching Kiyoomi’s cheek, “yer all red!”
“Fuck off!” Kiyoomi tried shoving Atsumu away, but that only seemed to motivate him. He caught Kiyoomi’s wrists and pushed them over his head, using the opening to slide onto Kiyoomi’s lap and wrap around him like a koala.
“Not gettin’ rid of me,” he sang, peppering Kiyoomi’s neck and chin with kisses while Kiyoomi tried—ineffectually—to pry him off.
Damn limpet.
Kiyoomi eventually gave up. Years of being at constant war with his brother had given Atsumu a clear advantage, and it wasn’t like Kiyoomi was suffering.
Atsumu took his victory with customary grace, meaning he called Kiyoomi a loser and bit the tip of his nose.
That restarted the struggle, which went on until Atsumu hit the particularly sensitive spot on the underside of Kiyoomi’s jaw and he abruptly lost the will to fight back.
The look on Atsumu’s face landed on the exact midpoint between wonder and scheming. Kiyoomi wanted him dead.
“It’s like a kill switch,” he said, amused, rubbing over it gently with his thumb.
Kiyoomi made a truly embarrassing noise, and Atsumu’s grin somehow got even wider.
“I will be exploiting this, just so ya know.”
Kiyoomi glared at him, which would probably have been more effective if Atsumu wasn’t still doing it.
“I hate you.”
“Mhm, sure.” Atsumu did not sound convinced. “Ya like me enough not to have sex with me. That’s not nothin’.”
Kiyoomi frowned. “It should be.”
“When yer ass is yer best feature it’s just somethin’ ya need to accept.” Atsumu sighed dramatically, draping his arm over his forehead like a lady in a period drama. “So many people only want me for my body.”
There was truth under the joking, Kiyoomi could tell. But they’d already had one soul-baring talk today, and that kind or earnest, honest display of emotion didn’t come easily to either of them. He could leave it for the time being.
“I like your thighs better,” Kiyoomi said, with a surge of malicious glee when Atsumu’s ears went red. “And you mentioned a ramen place?”
Atsumu, all too happy for the distraction, lit up.
“Yeah! The food looks real good, and the health and safety reviews are glowing. They’ve got pictures on the website, hang on.” He leaned over to grab his phone from the nightstand, making no move to leave Kiyoomi’s lap.
“See?” he said after a few seconds of searching, turning the screen toward Kiyoomi.
It certainly seemed clean, and the food, as promised, looked delicious.
“How bad is my hair?”
Atsumu pulled back a bit to study him. The way he pursed his lips to keep from smiling told Kiyoomi everything he needed to know.
“I’m showering again.”
“Come oooooon, it’s not that bad!” Atsumu whined. “I’m hungry, and ya take forever.”
“You should have considered that beforehand,” Kiyoomi said primly. He managed to shove Atsumu off of him, though he suspected—based on Atsumu sprawling out like he’d been shot—that he’d allowed it to happen for the sake of drama.
“I bare my soul to ya and ya abandon me to starve.”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, ignoring Atsumu’s increasingly hyperbolic declarations of suffering until he closed the door to the bathroom and could no longer hear him.
A glance at the mirror told him that his hair was exactly as bad as he’d guessed, and, more concerningly, that he was smiling and hadn’t even noticed.
Fuck.
Atsumu was still on the bed, though he was now scrolling though Instagram instead of bemoaning his fate.
He looked up when Kiyoomi opened the door, half-frowning.
“Omi? What’s-”
Kiyoomi kissed him. It wasn’t their best; the angle was horrible and Kiyoomi only really managed to hit Atsumu’s top lip, but the starstruck look on Atsumu’s face when they broke apart more than made up for it.
“I can wear a hat. Let’s go.”
Atsumu grinned at him. “Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?”
“Fuck off,” Kiyoomi said. He sounded disgustingly fond.
An hour later, tucked away in a corner booth with their legs tangled under the table and Atsumu gesturing emphatically across from him, the fondness lingered. Somehow, Kiyoomi couldn’t bring himself to mind.