Archive of Our Own

Atsumu wakes to a room still dark in the liminal hours of early morning. The first thing he feels is sleepy confusion, frown creasing between his brows at the fact that he’s woken long before his alarm, blames dry mouth as he swallows around a lump in his throat. The second thing he feels, awareness coming slow, is a hard length pressed to the back of his hips.

He inhales sharply, the sound a loud shock in the dense, blanketing quiet of the room. Disrupts the arm draped over his stomach to reach back behind himself and make sure he’s not imagining things, feels cotton and skin where a shirt has ridden up and the outline of—yes, that’s definitely morning wood.

“‘Samu,” he whispers, craning to try and get a glimpse of his brother over his shoulder. He takes his hand away to wipe a knuckle at tired eyes, sees only the bedsheets pulled across both their bodies and dark hair out of his peripherals.

Osamu doesn’t respond. His breathing is slow with sleep and the arm he’s curved loose around Atsumu remains a still and heavy weight on his waist. He’s only barely pressed up against Atsumu’s back, a presence in residual heat rather than contact, and Atsumu thinks it must have been an unconscious action to roll over at some point in the night and seek comfort from his bedmate. They certainly didn’t fall asleep like this.

The warmth around him is almost overwhelming, from the covers up to their shoulders and the body heat that sears skin where it meets, bare legs looped together, from the room that doesn’t have a strong A/C unit and the fact that both of them have always been ones to run hot through the nights. Atsumu can already feel perspiration at his hairline. It curls tufts of blond over his temples.

The way his face flushes deep and red from the situation he’s woken up to does nothing to help the heat.

With a huff of breath Atsumu drops his head to the pillow. He’s torn between letting himself fall back to sleep—easily done, still so early and with his eyes yearning to stay closed—or take advantage of this time spent as the sole person awake.

Atsumu usually gets off in the mornings. He wakes up already turned on and wanting, never remembers his dreams though surely they must be good ones, and it’s all too easy to bring himself to a quick climax before he has to crawl out of bed for the bathroom. Starts his day coming down from a satisfied high instead of standing at the sink sexually frustrated while he brushes his teeth.

Though, he is. Sexually frustrated, that is, at least when it comes to anything but masturbation. Perhaps embarrassing to admit, but it isn’t through a lack of advances. Atsumu is hit on frequently enough to where, if he absolutely wanted to, he could fall into bed with a new person every week. He’s just not interested in them.

(And, if he’s honest with himself, he doubts they’d stay interested in him once they finally managed to get him undressed. Nobody likes surprises about who they’re having sex with.)

“‘Samu,” he whispers a second time, tries to get his attention by jerking back in his unconscious hold. It’s a mistake, or maybe an unspoken achievement, as it rouses Osamu just enough to further entwine their legs and slowly pull Atsumu closer to his chest, to the tent in his briefs. Atsumu makes an involuntary, small noise when Osamu’s hand brushes past the hem of his loose shirt and splays on the skin of his stomach, and delights at how easy it is to use this newfound closeness to impulsively grind against his brother, searching him out. Atsumu bites his lip and tries to settle the roiling in his chest.

He’s not interested in a stranger’s advances, not interested in sleeping around. His interest lies with one person, and Atsumu is reeling at the fact that said one person is currently hard against him. He almost can’t believe any of this is real.

Atsumu doesn’t know when he began looking at his brother in ways that were anything but familial. Sometime in junior high, maybe, when they were growing into their bodies and whispering giggles behind their hands about sex and porn with their peers. If Atsumu were a different person, the realization might have come as a shock, that by the middle of high school he had to admit that the delicate, fluttery feelings his friends and teammates spoke about were never felt toward anyone but Osamu.

He knows he isn’t supposed to. He knows he isn’t supposed to think about, look at, talk to his brother and feel a curl of desire hook its talons into his ribs.

And yet.

Atsumu, testing the limits of this early morning, presses his hips back again and feels that desire melt in his lower abdomen, drifting down further to make a home beneath his pelvis. He clenches around nothing.

A delirious thought forms. Osamu wouldn’t be surprised with his body, if they had sex. He knows what Atsumu looks like.

He sighs out a shaky breath and, for the third time, hisses out his brother’s name, reaching back to pat at the shoulder he lands on. It’s merely an excuse, a feeble play at pretending to want to wake him up in order to appease the side of himself that says maybe he shouldn’t be doing this, maybe he shouldn’t be letting this happen. Unsurprisingly, heavy sleeper that Osamu is, all the light pats on the shoulder do is make him grumble under his breath and nudge his nose into the back of Atsumu’s neck. Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and tightens a hand in borrowed sheets.

They’re sharing a hotel room. It had been cheaper to split the cost, cheaper still to agree on one with a single bed. Atsumu had been the one to suggest it during check-in, a brazen admission of all his hidden sentiments if one were so adamant on looking for them, and had eyed Osamu, leaning against the counter in a challenge he expected to be met with. Though Osamu had only shrugged, a hint of approval lining the way his lips twitched up on one side, and said, “Whatever you want,” in a tone of voice that had sent a spark of eager anticipation ricocheting up Atsumu’s spine.

“No point in arguin’ over it,” Osamu had tacked on, giving Atsumu the opening to throw an arm over the back of his shoulders and tease him for wanting to spend some good old quality time with his brother, pulling on Osamu’s better-developed heartstrings with, “It’s been too long. I really miss ya, y’know?”

Like moths to the flame at those words, guards dropping enough to bring them to the here and now, to a place not easily avoided. A dangerous heat. Atsumu wants for more, even if it means he’ll lead them both to ruin.

Slowly, he drifts a hand down to where Osamu’s is hiked, just barely, up the bottom edge of his shirt, joins it and covers the back of Osamu’s hand with his own, cautiously guides the touch further up himself, a light slide of skin on skin. Stops only once he settles it on his chest, warm calloused fingers spread across his sternum. His heart is pounding wildly with nerves and excitement, and he knows if Osamu were awake he would certainly be able to feel the beating beneath his palm.

Atsumu hadn’t seen the issue with agreeing to share a bed. Though it’s been a while since they’ve had reason to do so, it isn’t out of the ordinary, not for twins who spent the majority of their childhood so firmly attached at the hip they didn’t want to sleep alone, who grew into their teenage years only to keep crowding together on either one of their bunks for the night, at least during the ones they weren’t fighting. It’s a comfort, and Atsumu enjoys having his brother close right now, knowing he can reach out and touch him and find him still there at his side as if he never left him in the first place. He loves Osamu, even if sometimes that love is too far over the line of normalcy.

He has gone the last near-decade of his life trying not to rely on any hope that Osamu feels the same. It is only when he agrees so easy and hands Atsumu a key to their room, or when he casually comes in to the bathroom to brush his teeth while Atsumu is in the shower, or when he lets Atsumu inch over to press their sides together and show him a stupid video on his phone while they lay on top of the bedcovers, winding down the hours before sleep overtakes, that Atsumu finds how difficult it is not to hope. He spends the entire night relishing this opportunity to be once more so close to his brother, after they have been away for what feels like more than the six months it was.

And then, he cannot help but feel that perpetually out-of-reach hope now, pulled out of his thoughts, when Osamu shifts in his sleep and knocks his hips impossibly closer against Atsumu, unconscious interest prominent at his backside.

Atsumu makes a noise that he doesn’t yet want to call a moan, too garbled and broken in surprise, but it sounds loud to his ears that have been resting in the silent room. He’s loud, has always been loud, but right now is not the time. Besides the fact that Osamu is still asleep, so are all the people staying in the rooms either side of them, across the hall from them.

Right. Atsumu clenches his jaw and reminds himself why they’re staying in a hotel in the first place. Not for some nice vacation for the two of them, no, rather tomorrow afternoon they’ll have to attend a wedding ceremony for an aunt’s second marriage. The rooms of this hall are filled with relatives—ones they haven’t seen in years, ones they see every chance they get—and Atsumu currently has his brother’s cock pressed up against his ass.

Impeccable timing, he thinks, and doesn’t know whether he means it sarcastically or not.

He’ll just have to be quick and quiet about this.

On a whim, Atsumu lets a hand dip down between his legs. He doesn’t yet breach his shorts, just cups the outside of the fabric, putting the barest of pressures on his mound that doesn’t quite settle how turned on he is, just makes him wiggle his hips in search for more. He pushes his palm down a few times in succession and can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat.

He’s about to be royally fucked—figuratively, though he would welcome it in the literal sense, too—because he’s eager. Overwhelmingly so. Atsumu is eager and desperate and oh so wrong with how much he’s willing to do to get off right now. Blinded by the pleasure of simply rocking a hand over his shorts, it’s so easy to follow the innate instinct that tells him to relax, fall into the body he knows is safe around him, arch back enough to ride his cleft on Osamu’s clear arousal, let himself be taken.

He’ll have to settle his fantasies himself, seeing as his brother remains predisposed in sleep.

The thought of coming by his own touch while he grinds on Osamu’s clothed cock has Atsumu wetting his lips and sighing a shuddering breath, but that is tame. Not as daring as he needs. The thought of Osamu waking up and fucking him to orgasm, fucking him through it and making him come over and over while he takes his own pleasure from Atsumu’s body, has Atsumu letting out a whine and moving against his brother with renewed fervor. He gives in, shoving his hand down the front of his shorts and boxers to slip two fingers between his folds.

The pads of his index and middle fingers find the tight nub of nerves with only a bit of maneuvering, difficult to access while his thighs are pressed together and he isn’t yet wet enough for that effortless slide. The space between his legs is hot, though, hot and damp, and with this rhythmic rocking back on the hardness he’s been graciously given to use he knows it won’t take long to get himself soaked.

Osamu suddenly ruts with him, subconsciously thrusting into the promise of sex, and Atsumu sucks in a breath. When Osamu does it again, however, and Atsumu isn’t as caught off-guard by the act, he lets out the breath in a needy moan and chases after it, chases after each one. Atsumu can feel, even through the many layers of clothing, the way Osamu’s cock reacts to their motions—throbbing, filling further with the constant stimulation—and he swallows back the saliva that pools thick at the back of his tongue.

“Ah, ‘Samu?” he asks, tests whether his brother is still asleep. He is, no response but another sporadic roll of his hips, the hand at Atsumu’s chest not even tense, just a dead weight.

The only thing Atsumu has said since waking up has been his brother’s name. He only wishes he could scream it.

He’s sweating into the pillow, side of his hair likely mussed and flattened. Rubbing at his clit is a familiar haze-inducing pleasure that gets him slick and ready fast; Atsumu’s able to tease a fingertip into himself every so often, gathering that slick and using it to ease the strokes over his sensitive nub. The current angle isn’t right to properly finger himself, not wanting to move much more than he already is, but he can absolutely make do with toying at his clit. He’s come just from that plenty of times before.

The friction behind him is what’s lacking. It’s close, so close, to perfect, but Atsumu has enough self-control to realize he has to keep his movements light. They’re only half as purposeful as he wants them to be, and though Osamu occasionally ruts against him, Atsumu isn’t able to meet those with his own, forceful grinds.

He has no idea what Osamu would actually do if he woke up now.

Would he wake slow and unawares, giving Atsumu enough time to stop himself and feign sleep, listen to his brother groggily groan and shift about and let him come to terms with getting hard against Atsumu on his own?

Would Osamu catch him in the act instead, cry out in surprise and scramble back, putting a whole bed’s worth of space between them, leave Atsumu wanting and bereft while he turns and sputters out an apology through tears upon meeting his brother’s disgusted eyes?

Or… or would he catch Atsumu trying to pretend to be asleep and still be able to tell somehow, what he’d been up to? Maybe from the smell of slick and headiness, maybe from the way Atsumu wouldn’t be able to keep himself from twitching his hips at the sudden lack of heat and hardness, wouldn’t be able to keep himself from whimpering like he’d been robbed of release. Would he laugh, would he tease him?

Atsumu thrusts down on his fingers and then back again, hard.

Maybe Osamu would wake up all sleepy and confused just as Atsumu had, falling into the cadence of their clothed coupling involuntarily, base instinct alone guiding him, all turned on and with a willing participant in bed beside him who’s desperately asking for all Osamu has to give him. And then, maybe he’d pause and orient himself and realize it’s Atsumu, and maybe that realization would have him fall into it more, biting the back of Atsumu’s neck so bare and presented while he helps Atsumu push his bottoms off, freeing his cunt to the warm air beneath the covers before taking out his cock. No foreplay needed, wanted, or involved, just pressing himself to Atsumu’s skin, to his hole, spreading both slick and pre-cum along his inner thighs all spread open for him. Easily slipping in with shallow thrusts before he drops the careful pretense and fucks Atsumu like he means it.

Atsumu can’t help the deep moan that spills forth at the image he’s creating, at the way his fingers pulse and rub against himself, at the cock he’s been practically drooling over still slowly grinding behind him.

It’s loud, echoes off the walls and rings in his ears, but god he really, truly cannot help it.

It opens the floodgates.

Atsumu pants open-mouthed, sweat from straining at the pleasure-broken edges of the morning beading up the entirety of his overheated body. His hair sticks to the pillow, clothes stick to skin which sticks to the sheets, and the whines, the whimpers, the moans that rise and fall with his own rhythm become etched into the silver-dark of the room. He manages to remember to close his lips around the loudest sounds at the last moment, thoughtful to their neighbors. Their relatives.

That thought makes him shiver.

Would he enjoy getting found out? Or does he just enjoy the rush of adrenaline that comes from the fear of getting found out? Of some unknown person listening in, witnessing this, them.

He’s getting close, he can tell, movements steadily growing more erratic. His hand is cramping right at the tendons of those two fingers but he can feel the tingling spikes of climax so near. He’s right at the edge, if he stops now he’ll only fall backward, not over the lip, and he ruts his hips on Osamu carelessly, clumsier than before, trying to find that high. He’s lost the overarching worry about waking Osamu up, but what should be a dangerous situation doesn’t even faze him. He doesn’t care, he just needs to come. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t—

“‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu freezes, hand and hips stilling, eyes wide and afraid in the wake of Osamu’s very real and very awake voice so close at his ear, blood running cold. His open-mouthed panting quickly takes an edge of panic. His heart drops to his fucking bowels.

It’s a moment that feels like eternity.

And then Osamu tugs him out of his head by pressing his own hips forward deliberately, says, “Mnh, sorry,” and Atsumu whines. Doesn’t know whether he’s whining at the apology, at the touch, at the fact that he still can’t bring himself to face his brother after being caught out like this, but he does, long and high-drawn.

Despite his anxieties Atsumu is still quite turned on—he’d been so close to finally coming it’s impossible for him not to be. The fact that Osamu hasn’t backed away from him, hasn’t retracted the hand from Atsumu’s bare chest, up under Atsumu’s shirt, hasn’t hit him or pushed him out of the bed or shouted at him, questioning what the fuck Atsumu thinks he’s doing, the fact that Osamu is still warm around him and still hard behind him is not at all helping calm that desire buzzing beneath his skin.

Osamu moves his hand to Atsumu’s ribs, broad palm easily cupping his side (and Atsumu wishes he could revel in the realization that his brother could hold him by his waist with little difficulty, hold him down and Atsumu would have no chance of fighting it), and props up on his elbow to look over Atsumu’s shoulder. Atsumu doesn’t want to meet his eyes, dips his nose further into the pillow to avoid them.

“‘Tsumu,” he murmurs, voice so low and calm. Osamu runs his thumb in light circles over Atsumu’s skin, a delicate touch that sets his insides fluttering. “Atsumu.”

“‘Samu, I—” he breaks off in a choked sob, and Osamu shushes him like a child.

“Hey. Will you look at me?”

“No.”

Osamu actually snorts out a laugh, despite everything.

“‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu doesn’t respond, and when the quiet tumbles on for more than enough seconds for Osamu to understand he’s being ignored, his brother hums a considering note. It’s a warning, preceding the way he begins traveling that hand down Atsumu’s front, nearly tickling with how light the touch is. Torn but equally yearning for more, Atsumu hisses, “Wait.”

Osamu stops immediately. “Hm?”

“What’re ya doin’?”

“Touchin’ you.” He dips down to nose at the side of Atsumu’s neck, lips brushing skin when he adds on, “Tryin’ to, at least.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to?”

“Why?” Atsumu repeats, presses the question. It’s more of a plea, really, fueled by his need to make sure whatever this is about to become isn’t just something born out of a quick outlet to get off. For all his begging and wanting of earlier, hiding behind the safeguard of being the only one he had to face, Atsumu wants to at least try to be cautious. He’s been dragging these feelings of lust and love for Osamu for too long to be fucked over now.

Osamu hears the desperation, of course he does, knows what every little shift and change in Atsumu’s voice means, and so Atsumu lets him press fingers to the underside of his chin and guide him into finally meeting his eyes. From the angle, Osamu looks down at him, but Atsumu does not feel looked down upon, not when hazel eyes are simultaneously soft and determined in the low light, bleeding sincerity and all the affirmation Atsumu is looking for.

“Because I want to,” Osamu stresses.

All Atsumu can do is blink up at him, mouth working over affected silence.

“Now,” he lets Atsumu’s chin go, “do ya wanna continue to have a conversation first, or do ya wanna deal with this?” He rocks his hips again on the last word, prodding his still-hard cock to the back of Atsumu’s thigh, and Atsumu bites his lip on a moan and lets his face drop back to the pillow.

“Yeah, okay,” he pants, presses back in requital, wants to shake off the emotional cumbrance and delve into the lust that’s withdrawn to the edges of his vision, wants to fall back into the heat. They always have later to talk. “Point taken.”

Osamu rumbles a laugh and continues his trek down Atsumu’s front as if he’d never been interrupted, trailing fingertips down until he reaches Atsumu’s hand. It’s resting on his stomach, just above his mound, pulled out from inside his boxers sometime during the blinding panic of his brother waking up. Osamu bypasses it with little acknowledgement, teasing the waistband of Atsumu’s sleep shorts with his thumb.

“Ah, ‘Samu—”

“This okay?”

Atsumu nods, quick and eager. Arches up into the almost-there touch and sighs, “Please.”

It’s all the allowance Osamu needs. Before the plea even finishes falling from Atsumu’s lips his brother is dipping past that waistband to map out slick folds, groaning so heavy with relief and desire at such long-awaited contact; the sound of hedonism at its finest. It rocks Atsumu to his core, bathes the sensitive skin of his neck with a wash of breath, and he lets out a pleased gasp when Osamu tightens his hold on him to roll his hips in a few proper grinds, ones that shift the whole bed with their strength.

They are nothing like the weak thrusts of before, cautious little things that Atsumu was trying to keep his brother asleep through.

They are incomparably better.

“Oh, fuck.”

Osamu circles the pad of a single finger around Atsumu’s clit, and Atsumu bucks up into it and plants his foot on the mattress, opening his thighs and giving his brother more room to work with. He winds his dry hand up to grasp at whatever he can reach of Osamu behind him, lands somewhere at the side of his head, chin close to hooking over Atsumu’s shoulder to watch himself work him past the point of rational thought. Osamu leans into the touch as he parts Atsumu’s folds one-handed, holding him open while he drags his middle finger further down to hook just inside the rim of his hole. Teases pressure there, curses at the fresh wave of slick that proves just how ready and willing Atsumu is, the warm wetness coating both hand and inner thighs alike, seeping through Atsumu’s shorts.

Atsumu keens, shedding tears from how blissed-out he already feels, head clouding. Threads his fingers into short black hair and looks up at Osamu, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with lust, mouth hanging open around heavy breaths, cheeks on fire. His whole body is ablaze.

He means to kiss him, wants to desperately. Wants to push up and press their lips in a branded promise, let his jaw work alongside Osamu’s and slide their tongues together and find out what the back of his throat tastes like. Their mouths are already so close, Atsumu can feel the heated breaths Osamu lets out, loves the similar hazed-over expression on his brother’s face telling just how lost in it he is as well. It sears something through him, the thought that maybe he hasn’t been the only one holding onto formidable feelings of skewed love, that maybe he’s wasted so many years expecting this bomb he’s strapped to his own chest to detonate only to find it was defused long ago, and he’s just been squeezing his eyes shut in pointless anticipation of destruction.

He really means to kiss him then, but Osamu drops his forehead to Atsumu’s shoulder instead.

“‘Tsumu.”

“Ngh,” he moans at a particularly coy curve of digits at his clit again, brows furrowed with disappointment. “Hah.. yeah.. huh?”

“How far d’ya wanna go?”

Is that all? He was denied a kiss for that? Atsumu grits his teeth around a whine, the sound tinged with frustration, and tugs at the locks of hair he still has a hold on, ignoring the pained grunt from Osamu.

“That’s a stupid question.”

Osamu hums his amusement and mouths at Atsumu’s nape, behind his ear, the side of his jaw. “Okay,” he murmurs against skin, lips soft, and Atsumu loosens the grip on his hair. “So, everything?”

“Depends what ya mean by.. hah, oh fuck.. by everything.” It’s difficult to form words when he’s barely capable of coherent thought, attention more so directed to the way Osamu continues to play with him, dragging soft little noises out into the air.

“Here.”

And Atsumu nearly growls at the loss when Osamu stops all of a sudden, slipping those fingers out from between his legs, but doesn’t put up much of a fight when his own hand is gently tugged away from tangling Osamu’s hair to be guided behind himself.

Osamu’s only wearing boxers, so when he brings Atsumu’s hand back to palm where he’s hard and leaking, Atsumu can easily feel the wet spot forming, the way his cock pulses at the touch. He wraps his hand around him as best he can through the fabric and can’t help the grin that breaks through his slack expression when Osamu groans and bucks into the touch.

“This’s what I mean,” he bites at the lobe of Atsumu’s ear and tugs it between his teeth, and Atsumu shudders. “Ya want this?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm? Ya want this inside ya?” Osamu punctuates his words with a firm and measured roll forward into his grip, and Atsumu feels his cunt throb deep and empty.

“Yes, oh—” Atsumu swallows the spit pooling heavy in his mouth and looks over his shoulder once more, searching out Osamu’s eyes, finds his pupils blown so wide and dark in attraction. He’s done waiting, impatience clawing at his throat. “I swear to god, ‘Samu, if ya take much longer to fuck me I’m gonna—”

Osamu doesn’t let him finish complaining. He surges forward and gives Atsumu the kiss he was so yearning for earlier, swallowing down the rest of his words. It’s sloppy immediately, full of tongue and heat and pleasure and desire, and Atsumu doesn’t even mind straining his neck at such a harsh angle, just wants to lick into Osamu’s mouth and feel that same possessiveness in return, as if his own teeth and tongue are being thoroughly charted. Atsumu sucks on Osamu’s tongue when it delves in deep, his brother’s surprised moan ringing in his ears, and matches the sound with a whimper when Osamu bites his lip in payback, grinning into the kiss. Turns it desperate and heady again. He breathes through his nose and his jaw pops and he has drool at the corners of his mouth but Atsumu doesn’t even care. It’s hot, it’s everything, he’s carrying teenage fantasies and he doesn’t want it to end.

It does, though, with a string of saliva connecting the two of them, shaking with exhales before it snaps and falls back against Atsumu’s cheek, thin trail cold. Osamu licks it off his lips and tells him, “Get on your back.”

A thrill runs down his spine.

As he moves, Osamu pulls back the stifling covers to give them room, and the cool rush of air hits Atsumu’s overheated skin and breaks gooseflesh down his arms. He sits up enough to reach around and manhandle the pillows at the headboard, fussing over how flat they’ve become through the night, tries to situate both of them to better prop himself up. When he’s satisfied, and he turns back to find Osamu watching him with something in his expression, something Atsumu can’t immediately identify, he squints at him.

“What?”

He’s smiling, at least, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle at their corners. Osamu’s smiling, and it causes Atsumu’s stomach to swoop when he catches a glimpse of fondness behind the hazel. But then he blinks, looks away and says, “Nothin’,” with a slight shake of his head. He taps Atsumu’s ankle and shuffles forward. “Come on.”

Just one more thing to set on the back burner, to save for their later discussion. He pushes away the light and happy pang in his heart and pulls off his shirt, tossing it just over the side of the bed before dropping onto his back, head pillowed thanks to his efforts. The sheets feel good and smooth on his skin. When he lets his legs fall open without much thought, making a space for Osamu to kneel between and watching a wash of want fall over his brother’s face, Atsumu smirks.

“Ya gonna help me take these off?”

He thumbs at the waistband of his sleep shorts, all gaudy neon blue and damp on the inside and a little too small for the spread of his legs, digging into the meat of his thigh. Pulls at it and shows more of his skin before letting it snap back to his stomach. The smirk turns into a grin when Osamu doesn’t even hesitate, runs his hands up the sides of Atsumu’s legs and reaches around to grab at his ass. Squeezes once and snorts at Atsumu’s impatient wriggle, then curves his fingers over the edge of both shorts and underwear and tugs.

Atsumu lifts his hips to help, already breathing quick in a muddled mix of shame and excitement as more and more of him is put on display. For all his loud bravado, he has to remind himself: Osamu knows what he looks like, Osamu isn’t surprised, Osamu wants this. Osamu is his brother and he loves him and Atsumu loves him just as much in return. He sighs shakily and slips his feet out of his bottoms, and when Osamu drops them on the floor and comes back to him with a hungry gaze, Atsumu once more shakes out of his brooding thoughts.

“Fuck,” Osamu’s hands settle on Atsumu’s knees, pushes them further against the mattress. Atsumu can feel himself being presented in such a way, folds opening with the stretch of his inner thighs, pink to the air and to Osamu’s full attention. “You’re gorgeous.”

Even through the growing heat in his gut and flush in his face Atsumu manages to scoff, “Such a sweet-talker.” The fact that he hides his mouth behind a fist as he says so isn’t important.

“‘m serious, ‘Tsumu.”

“And I’m horny, ‘Samu.” He paws half-heartedly at Osamu’s shirt and ignores the soft laugh at his expense. “Now get this off, come on.”

“Not yet,” Osamu grabs his wrist.

“What d’ya mean, not yet?”

Atsumu wants to frown, wants to wallow in his stubbornness until he gets what he’s asking for, try out the age-old technique that works on his brother only if he’s persuasive enough, but the resumed touch to his clit throws all that aside. Osamu lightly pinches loose skin and rolls the nub between his fingers, causing Atsumu to mewl and push into it, chest tight with the shocks that spark out from that one pinpoint of contact. His jaw drops on its own, and Osamu leans in close. Atsumu can see his brother’s stupid smirk just before his vision unfocuses and he sighs across a moan when broad fingers dip down to stroke over his hole.

“I mean,” Osamu says, kisses his cheek in nothing more than a quick peck, “I wanna make ya come first, get ya all relaxed for me. Lemme finger ya until then.”

And, fuck, he’s not going to argue with that.

Atsumu wraps his arms around Osamu’s neck and drags him into a proper kiss, one that’s softer and steadier than the sloppy mess of before. Breaks away with their foreheads still pressed together and says, “Yeah, yeah okay,” and kisses him again.

“That sound good?” Osamu asks against his mouth, and then doesn’t wait for an answer to ease a single digit into him. Whatever response Atsumu had meant to give devolves into a garbled whimper.

During the interim of moving and talking and baring himself to the four walls of this hotel room, without the attention and constant stimulation keeping up that fire in the deepest parts of Atsumu’s body, much of the slick spilled across himself has dried in the open air, leaving skin tacky. Still, the friction inside is a welcome pleasure. It’s only one finger, and maybe Atsumu’s realizing how tightly wound he’s been—how long he’s gone without something other than a toy or his fingers, how long he’s been wanting this, this touch from this person specifically—if one finger is already making him moan, but Osamu’s hands are tough with the work he does, and they’ve always been bigger than Atsumu’s.

“Mnh, ‘Samu, more,” he pants, feels the way the pad of his finger drags along his inner walls and jerks when he curls it deep inside. Osamu doesn’t show any sign he’s heard, keeps up that slide with only one finger. It isn’t enough.

Atsumu can‘t quite tell if his frustration manifests as more of a growl or a whine, but whatever it is gets Osamu’s attention.

“Ya need to be patient.”

It’s a purposeful taunt, the way Atsumu targets his brother’s similar competitive streak by prodding, “What.. ah.. ya don’t think I can take more than this?” and proves his point by rocking back against his hand.

Osamu hums and leaves a light warning bite to his jaw. “Careful.”

Nevertheless, he concedes.

Atsumu’s slick again, opens easily for a second finger and barely even feels the stretch. When Osamu picks up the pace as soon as he first fits two inside, Atsumu clutches onto his shoulders with dull nails, somewhere in the back of his mind cursing the shirt his brother still wears for getting in the way of marking him up. He tries to say something, lips moving but no sound coming out, thinks it’s either praise at how good he feels or pleas to go impossibly faster, but all that spills forth is a moan, blushing furiously at hearing the wet squelch between his legs.

Embarrassing. Stupidly hot. He’s sopping.

It’s becoming difficult to keep his eyes open, Osamu steadily pushing him closer and closer to orgasm. His lids are heavy and his blinks start to slow, but he wants to keep watching Osamu—the way his face twists in his own version of pleasure at how effortlessly he’s taking Atsumu apart, the way his arm flexes with each thrust, his arousal tenting his briefs so close to where his fingers dip inside—but a nasty grind deep up into him has Atsumu’s eyes rolling back, losing the battle and letting bliss hold them closed.

His arms, which Atsumu has wrapped around his brother’s neck to hold him close, take more of an effort out of him to keep them held up through the waves of an oncoming climax, and he relaxes them enough to feel them slip off Osamu’s shoulders. One lands on the pillow above his head, and he turns his face to press into the angle of his elbow, while the other finds purchase clutching at the side of Osamu’s shirt, right where the loose cotton drapes at his ribs.

His legs, feet slipping on the sheets trying to gain enough traction to rock up, begin to tense with the building ecstasy, toes curling and stretching and curling again. They lift off the bed on their own to tighten around Osamu’s waist, muscles shaking with each quick thrust of fingers inside him.

His throat is dry, panting sharply, his breaths very nearly knocked out of him. He cries out, fades back into measured ah, ah, ahs that have Osamu once more capturing Atsumu’s lips with his own. The rest of his involuntary whines and pleas get licked from his mouth.

Osamu pulls back, nudges their noses together, whispers, “You’re bein’ loud.” Voids his own admonishment completely when he brings his unoccupied thumb to join in, to tease along the edge of Atsumu’s folds before focusing on his clit again.

Atsumu keens, high and reedy. The dual points of pleasure wipe everything from his mind, he doesn’t even acknowledge Osamu’s said anything at all, doesn’t hear it behind the ringing in his ears. He simply looks up at him with a glint of tears in the corners of his blurred, half-lidded eyes and moans, “I’m gonna come.”

He says it once, then twice, whinier and laced with an intensity he feels all over, and gets ready to chase down his climax. Then Osamu angles his hand up, finds a spot inside Atsumu that makes him throw his head back into the pillows and open his mouth in a scream he closes his throat around, silencing himself, cutting off what would surely have rattled the paintings on these walls.

He barely has time to recognize the words when Osamu murmurs, “Oh, fuck,” before he’s shifting his knees closer and drilling against that perfect, whiteout spot with insane accuracy. Atsumu clenches around his fingers and meets each thrust, writhes and pants and squeezes his eyes shut and cranes his head even further back and shakes, toppling right over the edge of orgasm.

Stars burst behind his eyes, blinding bright lights of his mind against a backdrop of nothingness, and a heavy, warm rush of slick spills forth, coating everything and pooling on the sheets below him.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he hears Osamu say somewhere alongside the world that fades back around him, and Atsumu groans around an unimpressed grin and blindly shoves at his chest. Allows the warm laughter to comfort him and to distract him when Osamu leaves him empty and gaping.

Atsumu relaxes his legs from where they’ve cinched around Osamu’s waist, letting them fall back open in fucked-out bliss, thighs spasming with the trailing aftershocks. He’s starting to get his breathing back under control, heart still racing, eyes still pressed to his own arm, hiding his face.

“Seriously, ‘Tsumu, holy shit.”

“No, shut up.”

It’s exhilarating, hearing how similarly wrecked Osamu sounds just from being the one to finger Atsumu. He hasn’t even gotten his cock wet.

Atsumu plans to change that.

Still winding down from coming, he’s loose and pliable. It’s easy for Osamu to draw his arm away from his face in search of his hazy expression.

“Ya good?” he asks, and beyond the breathy exterior his voice is filled with plain concern.

Inhibitions dropped, Atsumu turns his palm up and fits their hands together in a loose hold, taking a deep breath and nodding through it. His chest feels tight. “Yeah.”

“Good?”

“Huh?”

“Was it good?”

Atsumu kicks him with his heel, smiles up at him. “No, was awful, ya gotta step up your game.”

His smile widens as Osamu hums in appraisal and says, “Poor little Atsumu. Any way I can make it up to ya?”

“I can think of somethin’,” he purrs, glances down to eye the tent still prominent in Osamu’s boxers and wets his lips. “You can fuck me.”

Osamu chuckles at that, squeezes where their hands are connected before he lets go and sits up. The parts of Atsumu’s stomach where they’d been pressed together shine with sweat in the lightening sky outside the hotel window. Their alarm is sure to ring soon.

“Already beggin’ for more, I see.”

Atsumu watches his brother, and his smile softens. He watches him stand from the bed and finally pull that ratty sleep shirt off over his head, mussing short hair before he cards his fingers through it and tamps it back to normal, listens to the quiet thwump of the shirt joining the pile of Atsumu’s scattered clothing on the carpeted floor. Lets his eyes linger on Osamu’s bare chest as if he’s never seen it before, can’t help but compare unscarred skin to his own. Atsumu never figured himself a sensitive or emotional person, at least not concerning sex, but he doesn’t quite have the experience to back that up. Right now skewers that. He feels very nearly giddy, buzzing with simple, outright happiness.

And how could he think it would be any different, when it’s Osamu who holds his heart.

The one man, one person, in Atsumu’s life who knows him inside and out, all the worst of himself but all the great and beautiful that comes along with it. Who has been by his side from the moment they came into this world, has supported him and cared for him and made his life a living hell at times. Cracked open all of his insecurities and vulnerabilities and turned right around to guard and protect each one. Turned his head and heart to viable mush.

Atsumu loves, and is in love.

Which means he’s almost too distracted with gazing at his brother and letting his whole reel of affection play in his mind to notice Osamu’s hands falling to peel off his underwear.

He reaches into that chasm between them and diminishes it, curls a hand around one of Osamu’s wrists and says, “Wait.” At the raised eyebrow he gets in return, explains, “Wanna do it myself, ya got to do it to me.”

Osamu purses his lips over his amusement and drops his hands to hold them palm-out at his sides, as if saying go on, then.

And so Atsumu does. Shuffles over to perch on his knees at the edge of the mattress, still bare as the day he was born, close to Osamu who stands still for him. His eyes trail across all the skin on display, his own chance to look and to touch. Ignores only for a moment the reason they’re here. Lets one hand glide from Osamu’s chest down to his stomach, just to feel while he has the opportunity to do so freely, and bites down on the smile that threatens when the muscles spasm beneath the light pressure right above his waistband.

“It’s gonna get soft if ya keep doin’ that.”

Atsumu wouldn’t know how true that is, but he hears the hidden impatience, the yearning for something he’s so close to having. He’s rightfully cowed. Atsumu’s being selfish with it, has already come once and is only prolonging the same for Osamu, who has been generous enough to be the one to make him come.

Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t hesitate in that selfishness, would rather sink his teeth into it and hold on for dear life, use it as his own protection.

None of this is normal, though, and Atsumu is enjoying every moment.

So, wanting to appease, he doesn’t linger any further. He grips the hem of Osamu’s boxers and pulls, letting his cock spring free and—

And he should really be ashamed at his reaction. It’s impolite to stare, after all. Atsumu’s almost jealous, if he also weren’t so overrun by a need to get that inside him.

“I think I wanna suck ya off, ‘Samu,” he says, that coil of want coming back to his gut and groin, slowly easing its way back to attention after the post-coital cooldown. He licks his lips involuntarily and swallows down an embarrassing amount of saliva.

Osamu hums like he’s thinking it over as he steps out of the briefs. He shakes his head. “I don’t want this to end too soon. How ‘bout I let ya suck me off some other time?”

Vibrating at the promise of another time, Atsumu pushes. He wraps a hand around the base of Osamu’s arousal and revels at the sharp inhale above him, crouches close and says, “Just a little bit won’t hurt, yeah? Just a taste.” And, like Osamu had done to him, doesn’t wait for a response before dipping down to lick the head.

Salt and bitterness burst on his tongue. Atsumu grins and does it again when Osamu sighs ragged, hands fidgeting at his sides as if he wants to reach out and touch, grab, hold. He’ll let his brother decide why he’s fighting that urge.

Atsumu only focuses on the tip, keeping his word and not stepping too far. Wraps his lips just around the glans and laves his tongue across the underside, lightly sucks and toys with the sensitive spot. Muffles a yelp by instead moaning forcefully overtop it when Osamu bucks his hips in an instinctive drive into wet heat, sliding further into Atsumu’s mouth and finally tangling a hand into the top of Atsumu’s hair. He feels his groin pang.

Though, the hand on his head isn’t to pull him forward or hold him still while Osamu drops the pretense and takes, fucks his mouth while Atsumu gazes up at him with starry eyes, no. Instead he pushes Atsumu away, off his cock and Atsumu darts his tongue out to swipe the drool off his lips, plays up a pout.

“What—”

“I said,” Osamu’s voice is dark, deep with desire, “some other time. Right now, I’d really rather come in your cunt than your mouth. Now lay back.”

A heady shiver runs up Atsumu’s spine at his brother’s words, spoken so freely between them like he hasn’t just caused Atsumu’s world to tip. He scrambles back to lay out on the pillows once more, reaches out to pull Osamu with him and drags him back into the bed. Satisfaction bleeds when Osamu takes his rightful place between Atsumu’s legs, hovering just barely over him.

“Ya still loose for me?”

His gasp comes out mangled when fingers find his entrance, testing the give. Atsumu is only slightly sensitive, still residually wet, and they press in and scissor slow, stretching him back open.

“Yes, fuck, just—”

He’s getting needy again. The tip of Osamu’s cock presses against the seam of his thigh and leaves a sheen of pre-cum in its wake. It’s so close to him, so close to his hole. Atsumu angles his hips toward it, can almost feel himself being filled by something so much bigger than two measly fingers, so long as he shuts his eyes and imagines it, that thought a ringing promise at the front of his mind.

“Yeah?”

“Come on, come on.”

“Fuck, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu growls and spits in his own hand, slicks up his cock with a few even strokes before he grabs the base of it, lines himself up and lets the head catch at Atsumu’s rim. He’s barely yet teasing and Atsumu futilely tries to suck him in. “Ya really are fuckin’ begging for it.”

Atsumu hasn’t been fucked by anything more than silicone in too long to count, and even that small toy is nothing compared to the real thing. He can admit he’s forgotten what it feels like, being so close to another, so exposed. Osamu reminds him the moment he pushes inside, all hot and hard and real, shows him what he’s been missing and Atsumu still cannot believe any of this has been more than an erotic dream, more than just another one of his fantasies. That he isn’t going to wake up to the real hotel room with the real Osamu somewhere on the other side of the bed, that the here and now is what’s real. He’s awake and Osamu’s awake and they’re here, together, falling into this new reality with only each other as witness.

His jaw drops in a gape.

It feels good, too good, and when Osamu bottoms out with a groan ripped through his lungs and grinds deep inside Atsumu, trying to force himself impossibly further in, Atsumu very nearly sobs.

“Oh— oh, g-god.”

“Fuck, you’re tight. Oh my god.”

“‘Samu—!” he chokes out a moan when Osamu drags out and pushes back in without so much as a warning, friction pulling at skin and muscle that isn’t yet adjusted.

“Ah, sorry, ‘m sorry,” Osamu whispers, settles his weight on one hand and cards the other through Atsumu’s hair, filtering fingers so tenderly through blond strands and pushing it off his sweaty forehead, fixes it with such kind attention he gives only the most important things in life; a sweet gesture that shouldn’t be what brings a stinging dampness to his vision.

His bottom lip quivers and only when a flash of panic sparks behind Osamu’s eyes does he realize he’s shedding tears.

“No, no why ya cryin’?” Osamu wipes at a trail with the pad of his thumb. “Oh shit, does it hurt? Here—”

Atsumu digs his heels into Osamu’s lower back as soon as he begins to pull out, mislaid concern being with thinking Atsumu in pain rather than overwhelmed with a melting pot of emotion, all too good to process. He shakes his head, smile watery, and draws him in for a kiss, missing the warm wet slide of his mouth. Osamu’s hand stays cupped at his cheek, thumb running in soothing swaths under his eye, cleaning up any other tear that falls forth.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, “it doesn’t hurt, I’m just—” has to cut himself off with a hiccup and sniffle, nudges their noses together. Continues with a quiet, happy-broken voice, “I’m just feelin’ a lot right now.”

Osamu’s entire expression softens. He smiles so sweet, the kind of smile that creases the corners of his eyes, the kind of smile he wore earlier, watching Atsumu fluff pillows. Then he kisses him, soundly but quick, and says, “Me too. Ya know I love you.”

Not a question. A statement, a reminder, a promise. Osamu loves him, loves everything about him.

Atsumu says, “Of course,” and returns the sentiment.

“Ya okay now? Ready?”

Osamu rocks his hips a little, and Atsumu captures his lips once more, digs his nails into one of Osamu’s finally bare shoulders—the same he’d wanted to leave scratches on before—and tightens his legs hooked over his waist. Sucks at Osamu’s bottom lip, bites and tugs at it lightly between his teeth, releases it to say, “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m ready.”

“Alright, but try to be quiet, yeah?” he smirks, planting his hands either side of Atsumu’s torso, strong arms caging him in. “‘m sure people are wakin’ up soon.”

“Fuck you too, ya— oh—”

Words die in the air between their bodies at the first determined thrust, Osamu starting off in a rhythm Atsumu will dream about for months—or at least until the next time they have the opportunity to fall into a bed together, schedules damning. It’s full of measured, long strokes, pulling nearly all the way out until just the head of his cock remains, leaving Atsumu to clench down on emptiness before whining as Osamu snaps his hips forward, burying himself deep inside. Over, and over, and over again, and through the haze in a vice grip around his mind Atsumu commits this all to memory.

For all the fire and desperation he had woken up to before, for all the times Atsumu has spent sleepless nights picturing this very moment as something that would be quick and dirty and full of unspoken need, something to hide and never talk about again lest they want to face their sins, he never expected this to rip right through him in only the best of ways. They’re fucking, but he wouldn’t call it that if ever asked to describe it. The way Osamu moves, the way Osamu looks at him, the way Atsumu gets to bear witness to the unadulterated love and affection in his brother’s eyes, he feels as if he’s been violated. Emotionally so, as if someone—Osamu, Osamu, always Osamu—has come in and carved out all of Atsumu before putting him back together once more.

It’s intense. It nurtures that tightness in his ribs and tells it all the best ways to let go. It leaves him finally opening his eyes and realizing he can take off that bomb wrapped around his chest, never again needing to fear it tearing them apart. It allows him to picture a future he never thought he would ever get to see. It also almost overstates the absolute body-quaking pleasure of getting fucked.

Almost.

Atsumu is bathing in the pleasure that comes in rounds, moans and sighs softly, arches back and lets Osamu take him. Sees the distant boundaries of a building orgasm on the horizon, doesn’t yet have a reason to chase it down. Wants to stay like this as long as he can, connected at their most exposed, their most vulnerable.

Osamu tears through that when he shifts on the wrinkled, damp sheets and hooks an arm under Atsumu’s knee, pushes that leg up to his chest. It stretches him out, opens him up more, and allows Osamu to nail against that spot inside Atsumu that had him keening before, has him keening now through clenched teeth, unable to keep his volume down especially when he crests over a wave that sends slick spilling out.

The air is thick with the smell of it, the smell of sex and sweat and lust. Osamu pants heavily over him, face slack with his own bliss, eyes darting across Atsumu’s own face like he’s memorizing it, taking mental snapshots that’ll curb his hunger until the next affair.

“Come here,” Atsumu says and uses his grip on Osamu’s shoulders to pull him down for a kiss. He’ll burn if he lets that gaze remain for long, a hazel that sees right through him.

The kiss lingers, and with it Osamu’s hips slow to an idle rocking. He drops the hold on Atsumu’s leg, both shaking with the effort and distraction of sliding their tongues together. Atsumu suddenly breaks it with a gasp, looking down to find Osamu thumbing a nipple, peak hardening with the touch.

“Hah, ‘Samu—!”

“Sensitive?”

“Ngh,” Atsumu nods, can’t get much more of a word out when Osamu does it again, then pinches it just enough to border that line of pain without crossing over it.

“Who knew there were so many ways I could play with you?”

“Please,” Atsumu cries, doesn’t even know what he’s begging for.

But Osamu leaves him wanting. Atsumu almost feels lost when his brother sits up, slips out with the movement and props back on his knees. He searches his face, interrogation on his lips, yields when he finds Osamu’s heady attention unfaltering from where Atsumu is swollen, wet, and flushed red.

“But there’s time for that later,” he mutters, sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to Atsumu, and slides his palms up and down and up again across Atsumu’s bare legs. Meets hips and waist and tugs, drags Atsumu up into his lap and Atsumu can’t hold back the yelp at suddenly being pulled down the bed, back landing in his own wetness. Ass propped up by Osamu’s thighs, legs once more falling around him, feet planted on the bed behind his brother. He’s arched up in such a way that it makes it oh so easy for Osamu to slide right back into him, an overabundance of fresh slick sounding loud with the intrusion, and they fall into the pace of before. In this position, this angle, the timing of Osamu’s thrusts, Atsumu pants and moans and fists his hands into the sheets above his head.

It’s perfect.

He loses time, has nothing on his mind but the overwhelming sensations wracking him down to his marrow. Atsumu thinks he might be reciting a mantra of his brother’s name, or at least broken syllables of it, floating on harsh breaths because every time he cries or yowls or pleads too loud Osamu shushes him with both a kiss and another reminder of just how thin the hotel walls are.

It’s practically torture for Atsumu, who wants nothing more than to let all of his bitten back noises out, let them ring through the room and declare his pleasure to all who hear him. He doesn’t want to fight against crying out more, please, faster, yes when Osamu gives him those perfectly aimed thrusts to that spot so deep and sensitive inside that it has Atsumu’s toes curling, flood upon flood of warmth streaming down his folds and pooling on Osamu’s thighs.

Instead he pants and sobs, “‘Samu, ‘Samu, oh god, ‘Samu,” through tears that spill from exertion over anything else.

Osamu groans a long and shaky, “Oh, fuck,” and grips Atsumu’s hips tight, pressure to the bone that Atsumu hopes will leave bruises in the shape of handprints. Limber, loose, and willing, it isn’t an effort for Osamu to pull Atsumu back on his cock with every roll forward, meeting his thrusts perfectly in time, driving him deeper and rougher inside. The sound of sweat and slick-soaked skin harshly coming together is enough to cause a flush in his face.

“‘Tsumu, ‘m close.”

Atsumu barely registers the words, too busy welcoming his second orgasm of the morning, watching it plummet from the horizon line. He babbles something, maybe, but his eyelids have begun to droop and he can’t keep his mouth closed and it’s hard to hold on to anything but the waist between his legs, thighs tensing and shaking and tensing again.

Osamu curves around him, fits an arm under his shoulder blades and forces him further into the mattress, dips his head into the side of Atsumu’s neck. Noses at the skin and then kisses him there, bites down gently before warning, “Fuck ‘m gonna come. Inside?”

That filters through the haze. Atsumu rides those words on the waves of pleasure that ripple through him, whines and nods and gasps, “Yes, yes, please.”

Their previously rhythmic coupling grows erratic, then, fueled by the desire to release. Osamu groans and mutters near-unintelligible thoughts, plucked-out words of something fully formed, citing how Atsumu’s so good, how he’s taking it so well. Atsumu manages to scrabble for purchase at Osamu’s back and clench his jaw shut when his brother fucks into him hard, rocking him higher up the mattress and pushing him once more into that whiteout bliss he can’t help but moan through.

“Fuck, fuck, oh fuck,” Osamu chants into his hair, properly thrusting into that tight heat once, twice, before grinding deep to chase his own release, spilling inside Atsumu’s still shuddering body, coming from the clench and massage of muscle around him.

Atsumu is weightless in the aftermath. He lays spread out, relaxed on the bed that’s completely ravaged by bodily fluids, eyes shut and skin cooling in the absence of exertion. The room is brightening with early morning light that cuts through the sheer curtains, painting their forms with white and silver. Atsumu doesn’t want to move, could fall right back to sleep just like this, his breathing and heartbeat settling back down to normal.

The blaring tone of a wakeup alarm cuts right through his paradise.

Osamu’s weight on top of him becomes a hindrance and annoyance rather than a warm blanket, and Atsumu groans and kicks him and pushes at his shoulder. Complains, “Get off. And turn that off, oh my god.”

Osamu matches his groan, but the alarm is a bigger worry than not wanting to move, so he pushes up and unsticks himself from Atsumu’s front. Atsumu both winces when Osamu’s softening cock slips out and grunts at the loss. Curls his lip in mild disgust at the feeling of cum seeping out. With a clear head, things aren’t as hot as he originally thought they would have been.

The ringtone quiets, and Osamu comes to rest beside him. They’re touching, but only barely, only the backs of their arms and the errant way Atsumu has his legs sprawled to the other side of the bed.

“How d’ya feel?” Osamu murmurs.

“Wanna go back to sleep.”

He smiles at his brother’s laugh, all breathy and fond, opens his eyes to find Osamu already looking at him.

“Pro’ly not smart to fall asleep right now. Should take a shower.”

“Ugh, I know.”

“You’re a fuckin’ mess.”

“Hey,” Atsumu snaps without heat, hits Osamu’s chest with the back of his hand. “Whose fault is that?”

Osamu grins and takes his hand in his own, curves their palms together and brings Atsumu’s knuckles to his mouth, presses a soft kiss to them, stares down where they’re interlocked. Atsumu, floored and bold and loving, rolls over to close that distance between them, bodies bare, intimacy without the need to do anything to quench it. He kisses Osamu’s shoulder.

“You know… you know we have to talk, right?”

Atsumu sighs from his nose, lips in a thin line. “Yeah.” He squeezes Osamu’s hand. “I know. Let’s not do it right now.”

“Okay. Don’t worry ‘bout any of it, even though I know ya fuckin’ will.”

“I won’t.”

“Liar,” he whispers through a grin.

“Just kiss me, ‘Samu.”

He does.

Atsumu knows they have to talk. They have to talk about everything, what this morning was and what it means for them and what they’re going to do from now on, lives so different now. They’ll have to talk about that, but also about how good it was, how much they’ve missed out on what could have begun years ago, how they’ll work around their clashing schedules for this to happen again.

They might do so after the wedding. Soon Atsumu will have to stand in a room full of relatives with Osamu at his side, talk and smile to family members’ faces while silently buzzing with their shared knowledge of the morning. It’ll be a test of will, harboring such a secret, but Atsumu has ample faith in himself, has ample faith in Osamu.

They will work, because they have always worked.

But, all of that is a future problem to deal with. Right now, he’s content.

And when he tells Osamu to kiss him, and Osamu pulls him close and cups a hand to his face and kisses him with all the love and adoration in his heart, Atsumu believes that right now is all that really matters.