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“You wouldn’t mind leaving for the night, Tsumu?”
Oh hell. Atsumu doesn’t know how anyone says no to Shoyo. He’s like a little orange puppy dog, all big eyes and sweet smiles that shouldn’t be so charming on a twenty-two-year-old, but for some reason, it works, and Atsumu finds himself agreeing to anything he asks of him, even if it’s to be kicked out of his hotel room in the middle of the night with nowhere to go.
He doesn’t even remember saying ‘yes’. It’s like he was possessed for thirty seconds, and then Shoyo is smiling like he’s trying to break his teeth and it would be cruel of Atsumu to take it back now.
Besides, Atsumu is a devout follower of The Bro Code, and one of the golden rules is to not be a cockblock – the reason Shoyo is kicking Atsumu out in the first place is so he can have privacy for his elaborate date with Tobio. They played the Adlers this afternoon, and crushed them, thanks to several of Atsumu’s service aces, and now Shoyo wants to celebrate by wooing his rival.
It’s cute and Atsumu respects it. He’s spent the last hour watching Shoyo flit around the room like a frantic bird, tidying and tidying again, double and triple-checking that their dinner will be delivered in time, and asking Atsumu for songs to put on his romance playlist, all the while Atsumu contemplates if he’d get in trouble for sleeping in the hallway.
When it’s nearly time for Tobio’s arrival, Shoyo turns those puppy dog eyes right back on him and Atsumu swats at the air.
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”
“I’ll buy you dinner for this, Tsumu – I’ll buy you two dinners! I owe you.”
Atsumu just waves his hand and walks into the hallway, not even a damn pillow under his arm because he didn’t want Shoyo to think he had nowhere to go. He fed him some lofty lie about wanting to hang out with Koutaro, and Shoyo didn’t even bat an eye at it.
Maybe Koutaro will adopt him.
No, he’s rooming with Inunaki. Inunaki would sooner make Atsumu sleep outside.
Well, Atsumu can take one night of suffering for the sake of Shoyo’s life-long crush on Tobio. He wanders to the end of the hallway, looking at doors and thinking which of his teammates would take pity on him, but none of them have enough space for Atsumu, since it’s two to a room.
Well. There is one single room.
Ah, no, he’ll kill Atsumu if he even knocks on the door.
But what other choice does he have? He’s either taking the chance or sleeping curled in on himself in the corner of the hallway. He’d probably be woken up at 5 AM by a disgruntled janitor, one who will hit him with his mop. Atsumu can’t deal with that.
He waits at the end of the hall because Tobio is supposed to be arriving soon and Atsumu knows how prompt he is. When he sees him go into his hotel room, Atsumu sighs and makes his way back down the hall, to the door directly next to his own, the only single-occupant room this team is willing to pay for, and only because Sakusa threw the world’s quietest fit about it, promising that he would pay any difference necessary to not have to room with any of them.
He can be a real bastard, but Atsumu doesn’t let that stop him from knocking on Sakusa’s door. It’s a little after ten PM – Shoyo got used to late-night dinners in Brazil, apparently – and Atsumu knows Sakusa falls asleep at hours reserved for the elderly, but he’s hoping he made it in time.
There’s no answer at first, but then the door swings open and Sakusa stands in front of him, in loose-fitting sleep pants and a white t-shirt, his curls tousled like he had been laying on them.
Atsumu hasn’t seen him like this before – he’s almost… cute.
Until he glares daggers right into Atsumu’s eyes.
“Hi, Omi,” he begins sheepishly, quietly, because he doesn’t want any risk of Shoyo hearing him. With his bleeding heart, he would call off the date and drag Atsumu back in the room, just so he didn’t have to endure the embarrassment of begging someone as prickly as Sakusa. “I, uh, I was wonderin’ if I could spend the night in yer room. I got kicked outta mine.”
“No,” Sakusa says simply, and he slams the door in his face.
Atsumu blinks at it, then scrunches his eyebrows up in pure frustration. What kind of teammate leaves another stranded in the hallway of a hotel? He didn’t even consider it – he’s a monster.
He’s a monster with whom Atsumu really needs to share a room.
Atsumu knocks again. “Omi, I’m beggin’ ya. I won’t bother ya. I even showered already, so no germs!”
The door opens again and Sakusa sticks his head out, agitation written all over his expression. “I’m not afraid of your germs, Miya.”
In Sakusa speak, that’s a whole compliment, so Atsumu smiles. “Does that mean you’ll let me sleep here?”
“Only if you promise not to speak to me at all.”
“Cruel, Omi – I can never tell if yer kiddin’ or not because yer so dead-pan!” Atsumu whispers loudly.
Sakusa gives him a dry look in response but moves aside so Atsumu can follow him in.
Feeling giddy about his success, Atsumu grins and closes the door behind him. “Thank ya, Omi, I didn’t think it was fair, ya gettin’ the single room all to yourself, and – ”
“Didn’t we agree no speaking?” Sakusa interrupts him, sharp, and Atsumu frowns.
“I didn’t agree to anythin’, technically.”
Sakusa rolls his eyes. “Did you not think to bring something to sleep in when you were being sexiled from your room?”
“How’dya know I was sexiled?” Atsumu cocks his head to the side. He hadn’t mentioned it.
“We’re in Kageyama’s city,” he says like it’s obvious. “I’m surprised Hinata was able to hold out this long, actually.”
“Well, I’m glad he did,” Atsumu grumbles. “He at least let me shower and change and brush my teeth.”
Sakusa snorts, then climbs into bed. “I don’t have any extra pillows or blankets so I hope the floor is comfortable.”
He pulls the covers over himself and shifts to turn off the bedside light and Atsumu squeaks in alarm.
“Omi, yer not really gonna make me sleep on the floor, are ya?” He looks frantically around the room for other options, but unfortunately, the single rooms in this hotel seem to be sparse – there’s the queen-sized bed, the bathroom, and that’s it. Sakusa assesses him with pure irritation in his eyes.
“Where else would you sleep? Beggars can’t be choosers, Miya. Stop whining.”
God, he’s so mean. Atsumu knows this, of course, from being on a team with him for the past few weeks, but he doesn’t usually mind it so much. It’s fun to try and get under Sakusa’s skin, but now, Atsumu is desperate. If he sleeps on the floor, he’ll mess up his back, and if he’s all sore and broken tomorrow, Coach Foster and Meian will both tear him a new asshole for not taking care of himself.
Maybe that will appeal to Sakusa – the teamwork aspect of it all.
“We’ve got another game in two days, Omi, and I’ve gotta sensitive back,” he whines. “If I’m all stiff, I won’t be able to toss to ya.”
“I’ve heard Hinata practiced setting in Brazil,” Sakusa says. “I’m sure I can hit his sets.”
“Yer the crabbiest person I’ve ever met, truly.”
“Mmm,” Sakusa responds, then he throws a pillow directly into Atsumu’s face, and turns off the light.
Atsumu is stunned into silence, something that he’s noticing happens more and more around Sakusa these days. He recovers enough to grumble to himself, hoping Sakusa hears his discomfort as he shoves the pillow behind his head and tries to settle.
They lie there in complete quiet, and Atsumu knows he’s not going to be able to sleep like this. He’d be better off in the hallway, or sneaking into the gym and falling asleep on a spare mat.
“Omi,” he whispers. There’s no response, but Atsumu knows Sakusa isn’t asleep yet – nobody falls asleep that quickly. “C’mon, Omi – that’s a big bed, and I’ll stay on my side, promise – ”
“Absolutely not,” comes Sakusa’s muffled voice, and it sounds like he’s placed a pillow over his head to drown out Atsumu. Well, that won’t stop him. He’s used to being ignored, and he’s developed a defense mechanism to it – just don’t stop talking.
“I had to share a bed with Samu all the time back in high school, and he never complained ‘cause I’m a great sleeper,” Atsumu continues. “I sleep like a rock, really, on my back and perfectly still.”
“Shut up, Miya.”
“Why’dya think Hinata always wants to room with me? I’m only loud when I’m awake!”
“You’re loud right now, and I’m trying to sleep,” Sakusa sighs. “Are you going to keep talking until I give in?”
“Probably, yeah,” Atsumu admits.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” Atsumu chokes. He has to be honest with himself, he didn’t think Sakusa would actually go for it that easily – he expected to be begging for at least another hour, but here he is, telling him ‘fine’.
“Did you want me to change my mind?” Sakusa threatens, and Atsumu cries out several variations of the word ‘no’ before popping up and blindly navigating his way towards the general direction of Sakusa’s bed.
He bumps his ankle into the side and curses. “Ya coulda turned on the light for me.”
“You complain a lot for somebody who could end up right back on the floor,” Sakusa responds and Atsumu stops his grumbling then. He manages to climb up into the bed, and makes sure to lay himself down right on the edge, so he won’t encroach on any of Sakusa’s space.
“Thanks,” Atsumu sighs. No matter what a jerk Sakusa can be, Atsumu owes him for this. “I appreciate ya.”
“Mhm,” Sakusa replies.
“Well, g’night, Omi.”
Atsumu is not graced with a reply, but that’s okay, because the hotel bed is warm and as soft as a cloud, and Atsumu’s eyes are heavy with the exhaustion that comes from playing a hard game. He closes his eyes, and lets himself be pulled under, drifting off into a hopefully heavy sleep.
His peace is shattered by a barely-muffled, drawn-out, sinful moan.
Atsumu’s eyes snap open.
“Um.”
“Oh my God,” Sakusa says.
Another follows, this one higher-pitched and breathy, and accompanied by entirely-too-clear cries of, “Tobio, Tobio”.
“Oh my God,” Atsumu echoes. For a moment, there’s silence, and Atsumu thinks that maybe that was the worst of it, and they realized that they’re loud and the walls are thin, but then the loud thump of something – probably the headboard – hitting the wall tells him otherwise.
“What the fuck,” Sakusa grumbles.
“Should I hit the wall? Tell ‘em to shut up?” Atsumu asks. He sits up a little bit, and looks towards Sakusa’s section of the bed – he’s on his side, facing away from Atsumu.
“I doubt they’d hear you,” Sakusa says miserably.
A guttural moan comes from what Atsumu can safely assume is Tobio. He’s kind of impressed – he didn’t think the goody-two-shoes was capable of it, and he sounds like he’s giving it to Shoyo good. Actually – maybe Shoyo is giving it to him. That’s an image.
That’s an image he shouldn’t be thinking about while listening to his teammate fuck their rival while Atsumu is in bed with Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Another moan sounds off, and what the fuck, it sounds like they’re blasting it into their room with a speaker system, and Atsumu shifts a little bit to try and get comfortable.
His mind latches onto the small thought of Sakusa, just a few feet away from him, in the dark, and assaults him with an image of Sakusa under him, making those noises he’s hearing from Shoyo.
Oh. Oh no. This is not good.
Atsumu doesn't even like Sakusa! He’s a monumental pain in his ass. Sure, Sakusa hits every single one of Atsumu’s tosses like he’s his own personal weapon, and he may have an ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck’ attitude that Atsumu tends to seek out in his personal life, and yeah, he’s alright to look at, but he’s Sakusa Kiyoomi.
He is not somebody Atsumu should be having sexual thoughts about, especially not in this proximity.
And yet.
His brain is a traitor to his body. It really can’t have anything to do with Sakusa at all. It’s just… tension, suffocating amounts of it, as the two of them lay separated by only a few feet, trying their best to stay as still as statues and pretend what’s happening in the next room isn’t affecting them.
Well, Atsumu doesn’t know if it’s affecting Sakusa, but judging by the fact that he hasn’t heard him breathe in thirty seconds, he imagines he’s probably uncomfortable.
Five minutes go by, or ten, Atsumu doesn’t check, because he’s busy trying not to pay attention to the moans that are sounding increasingly like a really nasty porno.
A war breaks out in Atsumu’s head.
Despite how Sakusa generally treats him, he’s still a teammate, and Atsumu doesn’t want to make things uncomfortable for him. He should probably leave, or at the very least retreat to the floor, and then when morning comes he can sneak out and the two of them never have to speak about this again. It’s embarrassing enough that even Atsumu won’t crack a joke, and he knows Sakusa will take it to the grave.
On the other end, though, Atsumu is hot under the covers, and with each wanton moan that carries over from the other room, it gets more impossible to ignore that he’s straining a little bit in his pants. He’s only human, and it’s not like he’s into Shoyo or Tobio, but the sounds they’re making – they make his imagination run a little wild.
Sakusa is so close. They’re blind to each other, in the darkness, but Atsumu wonders if he turns his head, what would he see? Is Sakusa ignoring it, not at all plagued by these thoughts that make camp in Atsumu’s mind, or is his body weighed down with the same desires, frozen in place because if he moves, then maybe he wouldn’t be able to stop?
It’s not hard to picture Sakusa hot and bothered – Atsumu sees him enough on the court, with sweat-slicked curls hanging over his eyes, cheeks flushed a light pink, contrasting with his pale skin, and breaths coming out in slow, controlled pants. It translates well to this situation, and Atsumu can almost feel it, because Sakusa is so close, all he would have to do is reach out –
The moan that comes next is unmistakable – strangled and desperate, begging for bliss and release, and Atsumu wonders what it would take to get Sakusa to that level. He could bring him to the top with careful teases, his fingertips moving feather-light over his cock, just to take the touch away, again and again until Sakusa is begging him for it.
Fuck. He has to stop.
Sakusa shifts, his movements in perfect sync with the thump of the bed against the wall, muffled by a paper-thin barrier. Atsumu shifts with him, unconsciously mirroring his movements, only breathing when he breathes.
Atsumu thinks if he gets just a fraction of an inch closer, he’ll be able to feel Sakusa’s body heat. If he reaches his arm out, he’ll be able to brush the fabric of Sakusa’s pajama pants.
It’s overwhelming, and entirely fucked up, because Atsumu has never thought of Sakusa in this way before, but he’s being confronted with an unavoidable truth as the moans from next door increase in pace and volume and become an inescapable background track to his descent into something he probably can’t come back from.
He just needs to say something, anything, to draw Sakusa over to him.
“Will ya be able to sleep, Omi?” He settles on the question, just a whisper but it shatters the silence all the same. The tension that sat stagnant in the room now swirls around them like a hurricane.
“No,” Sakusa answers, still as curt as he ever is, but there’s a slight tremble in his words, like he’s trying to hold back what his body wants to reveal.
Atsumu knows this, can feel it on a visceral level, and he makes his decision. Hotel rooms during away games are practically in another universe – an escape from reality, where their actions don’t have to have consequences, as if they’re simply dreams.
“Then,” Atsumu breathes, and he rolls himself over, just once – a tiny movement with a monumental impact, as he comes face-to-face with Sakusa. Just like on the court, his cheeks are flushed that pretty pink, and his eyes are hooded. “We should do somethin’ to pass the time.”
Sakusa could yell at him. He could kick him onto the floor, demand he leave, call him an insulting name, but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes flicker, just briefly, to Atsumu’s slightly parted lips.
A moan comes from next door, one that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and Sakusa snaps.
Sakusa closes the distance easily, wrapping his arms around Atsumu’s waist and pulling him, and Atsumu has no time to think before Sakusa is covering Atsumu’s mouth with his own, and then suddenly the moans are coming from inside their room.
Atsumu opens his mouth for Sakusa to slide his tongue in, and threads his fingers through those black curls. They’re flush against each other, so close to begin with, and Atsumu is aching to get closer. He ruts against Sakusa, tangles their legs together while Sakusa digs his nails into Atsumu’s loose-fitting shirt.
Ah, this shouldn’t be happening. Sakusa is a teammate, but Atsumu wants him beyond comprehension. He wants and he wants and Atsumu always goes after what he wants.
Their background noise long forgotten, they create a symphony of their own – Sakusa’s tiny grunts and gasps when Atsumu detaches their lips in favor of kissing a trail down his porcelain neck; Atsumu’s whispered pleas, incoherent in nature but Sakusa understands. They ebb and flow together, an entanglement of limbs, but it’s not enough.
“Omi,” Atsumu chokes out when Sakusa takes control back, and grips Atsumu by the hips. “Let me take yer clothes off.”
Sakusa looks at him, a brief moment of clarity in his otherwise glazed over, lust-crazed expression that Atsumu had already committed to memory, and he worries briefly that that’s too much – that this is all he’ll get from Sakusa Kiyoomi, and in the morning, they’ll pretend it never happened.
But then Sakusa slips his hands under Atsumu’s shirt, and his muscles tense at the cold touch. He lets them creep upward, bringing his shirt with them, until it’s bunched up under his armpits, and Sakusa puts his mouth on him.
Atsumu bucks his hips up, purely reactionary, when Sakusa sucks a nipple into his mouth. He keeps one hand twisted into Atsumu’s shirt, and the other he lets wander freely, tracing Atsumu’s torso with a hungry curiosity, dipping into every line and plane, stopping just before the elastic of his shorts.
Atsumu tries to get a purchase on Sakusa’s shirt, because he’s losing more and more of his own control, and this is Sakusa, so it’s a little bit of a competition, but he’s caught in a vice grip. Sakusa keeps him locked in place, trailing hot kisses down his stomach. Sakusa is mindful in everyday life, and this is no different – he’s meticulous in his torture, making sure Atsumu is whining and squirming, practically begging for it, before trending his kisses back upwards, away from where Atsumu is on fire.
He fights against the power dynamic, twisting his fingers back into Sakusa’s hair to pull him away. The glare is evident, even in the low lighting, and Atsumu smiles, trying for confidence even as his hands tremble.
“I said I wanted yer clothes off, Omi,” Atsumu reminds him, voice honey-thick. Sakusa may be slowly taking him apart with his touches, but Atsumu is better with his words. “Lemme see more of yer beautiful skin. I wanna taste it.”
Sakusa bites his lip, and Atsumu uses his hesitation to his advantage, switching their positions so they no longer lay side-by-side but Atsumu straddles Sakusa’s hips.
Sakusa hisses out a breath when Atsumu grinds down on the bulge in his sleep pants, and lays complacent when he drags his shirt up to his torso and over his head. Atsumu discards his own, and takes a moment to drink Sakusa in.
His chest rises and falls with tiny, uncontrolled breaths, and the flush from his cheeks has taken over the rest of his body, blooming over his abdomen like a map for Atsumu to follow. He peppers kisses over it, a precursory taste that he’s been craving, an appetizer before the main meal.
Atsumu lifts his hips up enough so that he can pull Sakusa’s pants to his ankles, and Sakusa kicks them off, never taking his eyes off Atsumu.
“Ya know, Omi,” he speaks softly and Sakusa clings to every word, “Yer real gorgeous when yer fucked out like this, but I bet I can get ya to make an even prettier face.”
“Mmm,” Sakusa gives his agreement in a broken moan, and Atsumu yanks Sakusa’s boxers down, leaving him bare. Atsumu knows now that there’s no way he can get enough of this man in one night. This may be a place outside of the everyday, a place where things can happen in the dead of night without needing any explanation, but Atsumu is going to shatter the illusion – he will cement Sakusa Kiyoomi in his reality.
Now, though, Atsumu wants too much to slow down. He’ll kiss each mole on Sakusa’s torso another time; he’ll count each one and make sure every inch of him gets the attention it deserves, but now, he craves. Atsumu ghosts a kiss onto Sakusa’s inner thigh, and is rewarded with a fractured mewl, and then Sakusa’s hands are in his hair, guiding him to where he needs relief.
Atsumu will admire Sakusa’s cock when he sees it in the light of day – it’s pretty, he can tell, even in the shadows, well-kept and elegant, like Sakusa himself, and Atsumu wants to devour it.
“Oh my God,” Sakusa groans, and it’s the first full sentence he’s said since they started. Atsumu takes it as encouragement, and places searing kisses along the underside of Sakusa’s shaft, tasting the salty skin. He continues with kitten licks and feather-light kisses, covering his cock entirely until Sakusa is squirming, bucking his hips upward and whining.
It’s a beautiful scene, Sakusa falling apart – always so in control, so put together, and it’s Atsumu who breaks him. He puts his hands on Sakusa’s hips to ground him, and sinks his mouth over as much of Sakusa’s length as he can take.
“Fuck,” Sakusa cries, and Atsumu pulls back to twirl his tongue around the head, teasing once more.
He likes when Sakusa is vocal – just another sign of the madness that Atsumu has ailed him with, a point of pride that goes straight to his own erection. Atsumu dives back in, taking Sakusa as close to the back of his throat as he can get, and wraps his hand around what he can’t take.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Miya.” Sakusa’s grip on his hair is bordering on painful, but Atsumu gives it right back to him, digging his nails into one thigh while he uses the other to jerk Sakusa closer and closer to release.
It doesn’t take long. He feels Sakusa pulse in his throat, and then he’s coming and Atsumu is using his hands to keep him steady in place, making sure he gets to taste it all.
Atsumu pulls off with a pop, and Sakusa has collapsed backwards. “I think you killed me,” he murmurs.
“Good,” Atsumu teases back.
“C’mere,” Sakusa mutters, and it’s a command, though gentler than any he has ever given Atsumu in the past. Atsumu obeys, crawling on all fours so that he hovers above him.
Sakusa’s eyes fall to where Atsumu is still clothed, and he doesn’t have to say what he wants. Atsumu sheds his last layer, discarding his pants at the bottom of the bed.
“You don’t wear underwear?” Sakusa raises an eyebrow, broken out of his trance temporarily.
“I like to be free at night.”
Sakusa snorts, the slightest smile playing on his lips, and then he drags Atsumu down so that he’s laying directly on top of him.
Their cocks brush, and – holy shit. “Yer already hard again.”
“I didn’t go soft,” Sakusa corrects him, and Atsumu thinks it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard come out of his mouth. He grinds against him, and Sakusa stops speaking again, opting instead to close his eyes and jerk his hips in rhythm with Atsumu’s. Their lips meet, and it’s sloppy and electrifying and it spurs Atsumu on. He breaks apart briefly to lick a stripe up and down his palm, and before Sakusa can question it, he’s back on him, and Atsumu navigates his hand to the space in between his and Sakusa’s bodies. He lines up their cocks and he feels more than hears the gasp against his lips when Atsumu wraps his hand around them both and tugs.
It feels impossibly good, like something that truly can’t exist outside of this room, but Atsumu is going to prove that thought wrong. He jerks them in earnest, keeping his eyes closed so his vision doesn’t blur, and drinks in Sakusa’s frantic, fast-paced moans.
It doesn’t take long, for either of them. Atsumu goes first, carrying them both through the shocks and spasms of his orgasm, and Sakusa follows for the second time, letting out an unholy noise that Atsumu thinks he’ll hear in his dirtiest dreams for the rest of his life.
He falls onto Sakusa when he finishes, and blessedly, Sakusa doesn’t immediately throw him off.
His tolerance is only so high, though, so eventually, he grumbles, “Go take a shower.”
“Mmph,” Atsumu complains. “Can ya carry me?”
“You’re a pro athlete. You’re not small or cute enough to be carried.” Sakusa shoves at him, but it’s half-hearted.
“I think ya think I’m cute,” Atsumu teases. “Ya wouldn’t have let me suck yer dick if ya didn’t.”
“You think so?” Sakusa challenges, and Atsumu knows so, because he’s still lying on him, playing absently with the curls at Sakusa’s neck, and Sakusa hasn’t tried to kill him yet.
“So, is this happenin’ again...or?” he dares. “Now that we, uh, did that, I guess I can be transparent and say that I’d love to fuck ya.”
Sakusa opens one eye to glare at him. “Who says I’m a bottom?”
Atsumu is about to react to that – how, he isn’t sure – but he doesn’t get the chance, because there’s a loud, exaggerated sigh from the next room over, and then Atsumu recognizes Shoyo’s voice.
“I think they’re finally done,” he says.
“Thank God.” That’s Tobio. “That was…”
“Just don’t mention it to Atsumu, okay? He’ll be so embarrassed.”
Sakusa barks out a laugh and Atsumu silences him on instinct, covering his lips with a kiss so Shoyo and Tobio don’t hear him. Sakusa leans into the kiss, deepening it and once again, running his fingers up and down Atsumu’s bare skin.
The fantasy has been broken, but Atsumu thinks that reality is going to be even better than he can imagine.