Archive of Our Own

“...runs a mediocre drug ring…”

Is someone talking? Shit, what are they being so loud for…

“...neighboring gang put out a hit…”

The next time I see that son of a bitch, I’m going to drown him in his own blood.

“Sakusa? You alright?”

Sakusa blinks away the fog in his head. He straightens himself out in his seat. There’s an incessant pounding in his head that’s been torturing him since the minute he had woken up and he’s having to squint against the bright light accosting his eyesight. With a swallow and a cough, he tries to clear the distracting dryness in his throat.

“I’ll take it. What’s our best angle?” he presses on, putting in considerable effort not to sound like the dying man that he is.

Meian gives him a brief look of surprise. But he moves on quickly with a nod of approval, dropping a hefty folder of documents on the table, which Sakusa wordlessly picks up and starts perusing through. The first few photos have him raising an eyebrow, their unexpected contents helping to pull him from his haze. And when the next ten images only continue to paint the same picture, he glances back at Meian, who just shrugs his shoulders and offers him nothing more than what’s already abundantly clear in the pile of information at his hands.

“It’s the only angle. Dude’s a kinky fuck. Always going to BDSM dungeons and orgies and shit. A real masochist from the looks of it.”

Sakusa takes two seconds to adjust. Considering their line of work, the man he’s reading about right now actually seems rather tame. Just a stroke of unlucky connections. Pissed off the wrong people evidently.

“And apparently…” Trailing off with a careful pause, Meian shoots him a look—a deeply apologetic look—and Sakusa instantly regrets agreeing to the job without bothering to confirm who else would be assigned to it.

Because of course, of course he wouldn’t be allowed a day of peace. Not in this hell hole that’s allowed him to cross paths with the most vexing, most pestilent creature known to man. Someone that’s been causing nothing but turmoil in Sakusa’s life ever since he stomped his overbearing foot into it.

When Meian utters his next words, Sakusa feels his life force start to seep out of his body.

“He’s got a thing for mouthy blondes.”

Fate seemed to be feeling particularly funny because in that exact moment, Miya Atsumu bursts through the door, announcing his presence the only way he seems to know how: with a shit-eating grin and headache-inducing tongue.

“Mornin’, assholes. Who's the lucky bastard that gets ta have one of my bullets in their head today?”

Sakusa has to resist rolling his eyes, out of concern for them becoming permanently dislodged from their socket. He curses every single person that chooses to enable the juvenile remark with a returned greeting, glaring at his fellow recruit, Hinata, for offering an enthusiastic high five.

“Perfect timing, Atsumu. I’ve got a hit with your name written all over it,” Meian beckons the blonde menace over with a wave of his hand. Sakusa wills himself to dissolve in his seat.

“Mmm, ya know the words ta my heart, cap’. Lay it on me.”

When Atsumu arrives at their corner of the room, Sakusa greets him with the deadliest glare he can muster in hopes of scaring him off. It’s never worked before, but he’s getting desperate at this point.

Atsumu’s grin takes a particularly smarmy shape at the sight of Sakusa’s miserable, disheveled self.

“Heya, Omi-Omi. Drinks were a lot of fun last night, weren’t they?” Atsumu sing-songs at him.

“Oh god. Don’t tell me he managed to rope you into a one-on-one drinking game.” Meian sends Sakusa a haggard look that rivals his own.

“I did,” Atsumu confirms for him, with all the pride of a child that’s won their first spelling bee. Sakusa can only sigh as he’s forced to shoulder the weight of the consequences of his own actions.

“Yeah, I shoulda warned ya, Omi-kun. Tsum-Tsum can really hold his liquor,” Bokuto contributes in passing.

“Thank you for the well-timed tip,” is what comes out of Sakusa’s mouth but his tone must indicate murder, judging by the way Bokuto scampers off in a hurry.

Meian shakes his head and lets out a lengthy sigh. “Anyways,” he groans out. Then, with hardened eyes, he gestures for Sakusa to hand the folder to Atsumu. Sakusa’s just barely able to resist himself from dropping it to the floor. He regrets his valiant display of discipline when Atsumu takes the documents from his hands with a sleazy wink.

Things get quiet while Atsumu briefs himself on the situation. Similar to Sakusa, it doesn’t take long for him to get the picture. When he does, he lets out a long, impressed whistle before shutting the folder closed and slapping it down non too delicately on the desk in front of them.

“Guy sure knows how ta have a good time,” Atsumu remarks amusedly.

“You’ll be partnering up with Sakusa for this assignment,” Meian officially announces, sealing their fates.

Atsumu’s eyes sparkle in unspeakable glee. And Sakusa dies his third death of the day. He shuts his eyes and surrenders himself to the darkness, hoping to be put under for good.

“Lookin’ forward ta workin’ with ya, partner.”

Sakusa can hear Atsumu’s smug little smile and has to vacate the premises swiftly to prevent bloodshed.

Atsumu is an infuriating man. Just being in his vicinity is enough to drain Sakusa of his already naturally deficient energy reserve. He’s cocky as all hell and far too carefree in his methods. He’s also one of the most seasoned, most successful killers in the entire organization.

When he drops the happy-go-lucky, flirtatious persona and really gets down to business, Atsumu is a sight to behold and a force to be reckoned with. They haven’t had a lot of missions together—Sakusa’s been putting in herculean effort to ensure this—but in the handful of times that he’s seen Atsumu in action, Sakusa has always found himself incapable of getting the man out of his head in the days following.

Images of Atsumu clad in full gear and commanding natural leadership on the field plague Sakusa’s mind. He replays it all in his head—the shape of his defined muscles tensing under the dark, skin tight fabric of his protective suit, the ease with which he strikes down men twice his size, the way he instantly adapts to any and every possible blip in their plans. And the knowing, salacious smirk on his face whenever he catches Sakusa staring at him. As if he knows exactly what’s going on inside Sakusa’s mind and is fully and enthusiastically on board.

It sends electrifying shivers down Sakusa’s spine and makes his skin crawl with the urge to pounce, and bite, and lick. But the heat that blooms inside his gut never gets the chance to settle as it almost instantly fizzles into indignation and shame each and every time. And therein lies the problem.

Sakusa would rather dive into disease-ridden sewage water than admit his disappointing, humiliating little crush on egotistical, pain-in-the-ass Miya Atsumu.

“Whoever caps the guy first gets ta ask fer anythin’ they want.”

Sakusa was just starting to feel like he’s recovered from his horrendous hangover. Atsumu’s startling presence and characteristically inane proposal puts him right back to the moment he woke up with a splitting headache.

“You’re a child,” he chides, turning his attention back to his lunch, resolutely refusing to entertain Atsumu’s antics.

“Oh come on, Omi. Don’t ya wanna have a lil fun with this?” Atsumu presses, uncaring as always to Sakusa’s unsubtle signals of wanting to be left alone.

“You’re a psychopath.” Sakusa sends him a singular, searing glare before standing up, giving up on the meal that’s been soured by Atsumu’s presence.

Atsumu just rises to follow him with an obnoxious click of his tongue. He trails behind him insistently. “If yer just scared ta lose, ya can say so, Omi-Omi. I‘m an understandin—oof.”

In the middle of Atsumu’s babbling, Sakusa stops in his tracks and turns around swiftly, causing Atsumu to bump into his chest unexpectedly. He stumbles to regain his balance. For a half second, Sakusa considers pushing him to assist his trajectory to the floor. But his body betrays him by shooting an arm out to wrap around Atsumu’s waist instead, steadying him against the solid pressure of his torso.

Atsumu squawks in surprise but he doesn’t shove Sakusa away, scrambling for a place to put his hands instead. He eventually settles them on sturdy shoulders, all the while blinking owlishly at the deep, obsidian eyes drilling into him.

Sakusa curses in his head. Given the opportunity to hurt or hold Atsumu, it’s been made apparent that he’ll instinctively react to the latter.

“Good catch, Omi…” Atsumu notes with an earnest smile, a little breathless, his eyes studying Sakusa’s face up close with rapt attention.

Sakusa releases him—more like shoves him backwards—in an instant. But he doesn’t make a move to walk away. Instead, he holds his ground, staring into hazel eyes with scrutiny that would have most people squirming on their feet.

But Atsumu doesn’t shrink back from the intensity of his gaze, fixing him with a challenging, lop-sided smirk of his own. There’s a turning in Sakusa’s gut. It’s a familiar feeling, one that typically results in the urge to distance himself from Atsumu posthaste.

It might just be the particularly potent flavor of arrogance on Atsumu’s face that gets to him but Sakusa’s starting to get sick of running away from his affliction. And here Atsumu is, insistently offering him an enticing antidote. He’d be a fool not to even consider it and a dead man to decline it.

“Anything?”

Sakusa’s voice, simultaneously ice cold and molten hot, cuts through the silence between them. For a second, Atsumu freezes, taken aback by his sudden, sharp interest. When he recovers, he grins like a Cheshire cat, regarding its favorite toy with sadistic fondness.

“World’s yer oyster, Omi.”

Sakusa scoffs. “Good. Be prepared to grovel, Miya.” With that departing taunt, he turns on his heels. He’s only able to take one step forward before Atsumu’s voice is calling out again, pulling him back in with disconcerting ease.

“Ya know, Omi…” Sakusa grants him a half-interested head turn. When they make eye contact, the smile on Atsumu’s face takes a suggestive turn and his voice goes saccharine with his next words. “If ya wanted me on my knees, ya could just ask.”

It isn’t the first time Atsumu’s propositioned him so brazenly. Far from it. But—and maybe he’s going delirious from sheer exhaustion—the usual overacting lilt to Atsumu’s tone seems to be distinctly lacking this time around. Sakusa reels just considering the possibility.

Still looking over his own shoulder, he eyes Atsumu’s figure up and down with an intentional drag of his gaze, admiring where it dips and bulges along the way. There’s an errant thought that tells him Atsumu could have on a trash bag and it would still have his mouth watering.

When he returns to the pretty face on the pretty blonde head, it mirrors his own hunger. And Sakusa aches with a voracious craving that has him desperately wanting to consume every inch of Atsumu he can get his mouth on. It would be easy—to blow through the bullshit and get on with what they’ve been building up to these past agonizing months.

But a meal tastes best after victory. So Sakusa turns his head straight ahead and walks away without another word.

He’ll enjoy his reward after he’s earned it. And he will earn it.

It’s been a few days since Sakusa had agreed to Atsumu’s declaration of war. They’ve barely interacted with each other, both of them too preoccupied with their own planning and preparations. Technically, they aren’t working on the mission together like Meian had assigned them to but Sakusa can’t imagine that their superintendent would care much so long as the job gets done. The only conversation they’ve had regarding the operation was for deciding on an upcoming exclusive event in which they’ll both attend to carry out the hit.

Well, only one of them will get to do the killing. And if everything goes according to plan, it’ll be Sakusa that gets the job done. Atsumu’s got a significant edge on him given the guy’s particular preferences but Sakusa’s got his lethal brand of competitiveness going for him.

Once he finishes laying out his plan of attack, Sakusa feels the buzz of anticipation coarse through his veins. He has full confidence that it’ll work. He’s going to win their stupid bet and lord his victory over the pretty pout that’s bound to take form on Atsumu’s plush lips.

Feeling well prepared and well rested, Sakusa takes his time going through his nighttime regimen. When he gets out of the shower, he approaches his bedside table to check on the phone that’s resting on it. It’s one of his many burners, one that he shared with Atsumu for the sole purpose of communicating about the mission.

Atsumu had acted just as Sakusa expected he would within the first few days of them agreeing to exchange contacts, spamming him with irrelevant text messages at any given time of the day. Sakusa had read all of them but he left them that way, not once responding to any of the messages detailing the mundane happenings of Atsumu’s daily life.

Sakusa had learned a lot about Atsumu that way—the kind of food he likes to eat, his ungodly sleep schedule and his favorite type of animal, which is apparently every breed of dog and cat that he comes across on the street. Sakusa could compose an album with the hoard of images in their one-sided messaging history. The last picture Atsumu had sent him was of a large doberman, sitting by its lonesome and quietly eyeing the other dogs at the park with its head held high.

fancy seeing you here omi-omi!

That had been a few days ago. It’s been nothing but radio silence since. And Sakusa had convinced himself of being relieved by the abrupt absence of notifications, but he had also coincidentally developed a habit of checking up on the phone in every idle moment of his day.

Sakusa’s drying his hair with a towel when he picks up the device in his free hand, expecting only the default image of his lock screen to greet him as usual. So when he’s met by a single, innocuous bar on the bottom of the screen instead, he pauses. He squints his eyes at it for two seconds.

There’s a message from Atsumu with an attached image. The first thought that comes to Sakusa’s mind is the likelihood of Atsumu having gone on a spontaneous late night walk only to encounter a random passerby walking their dog. So he thinks nothing much of it when he clicks on the notification to open up the messaging app.

Sakusa is wholly unprepared for the fatal ambush awaiting him.

In the photo, Atsumu’s dressed in a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats. He’s standing in front of a mirror, holding a hanger against his shoulder blades. And on that hanger is a two-piece set of rouge red, lacy lingerie.

Sakusa isn’t breathing when the hand on his towel goes lax, letting the damp fabric drape uselessly over his shoulder. His brain simultaneously kicks into high-gear and shuts down as it scrambles to process the information of what his eyes are seeing.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, Sakusa struggles to read the words below the image.

good luck tomorrow. you’re gonna need it to go against this ;)

He doesn’t feel like he’s entirely in control of his body when Sakusa clicks on the photo to enhance it and have it take over the full screen. Atsumu’s only holding up the racy undergarment against his modestly clothed body but Sakusa can picture him wearing it with alarming clarity, aided by a hyperactive imagination that he never knew he was equipped with until this moment.

Standing stupefied by his bed, Sakusa’s mind overflows with images of Atsumu, under him and on top of him and inside him—taking him and crying out his name. He’s consumed by the need to have Atsumu in all these different ways, to have him come undone each time by his own hands. Sakusa wants to see him covered in filth and incoherent. He wants to devour Atsumu. Top to bottom, inside out, body and soul.

Eventually, Sakusa manages to break free from the chains of his self-indulgent, depraved fantasies. He isn’t sure how much time has passed but it was evidently long enough to have him fill up completely in his shorts. He adjusts himself carefully and hisses at the meager friction it brings.

Sakusa isn’t able to stop his hands from fully cupping himself over his shorts. He tugs at the hardened length twice, groaning in pleasure. He doesn’t even have it in him to feel a lick of shame, his mind far too clouded by the potency of his arousal. The need to get off is dizzying, but Sakusa exercises godlike restraint when he takes his hand away to type out a message on his phone.

You must be really desperate, Miya. You know you’re not going to get reimbursed for that, right?

Sakusa punches the send button as he goes to sit down on his bed to cool off. It isn’t long before his phone buzzes to life again.

don’t worry your pretty little head omi. planning on putting it to good use outside of the mission too :)

At the thought of someone other than himself seeing Atsumu in such a compromising state of undress, Sakusa grips his phone so hard his knuckles go white. He tosses the device back on the nightstand to avoid shattering it in his hand.

Something ugly and untamed brews in his gut. Something that would end a man’s life without hesitation for having the gall to steal even a momentary glance at what’s rightfully meant for his eyes and his eyes only.

Anyone foolish enough to challenge this is putting a bounty over their own head. One that Sakusa would take great pleasure in fulfilling.

“Your invitation please.”

A tall blonde woman clad in a figure-hugging midnight black dress extends her hand out with a polite smile. Calmly, Sakusa fishes out the forged document from his blazer. She scans over the paper thoroughly before folding it delicately and gesturing to the door.

“Enjoy your night, Sato-sama,” she ushers him inside with a welcoming bow. Sakusa regards her with a curt nod before stepping through the elegant arch of the double door entrance.

When he steps into the expanse of the main room, Sakusa finds the event in full swing, most of the people inside already devoid of decency and latched onto a chosen partner, or several. He had arrived two hours late, going off of the intel he had gathered on his target’s recorded pattern of behavior. There was no worry of Atsumu getting a jump on him. Knowing the cocky bastard, there’s a good chance he’ll even show up an extra hour late.

Taking in his surroundings, Sakusa chooses to post himself by the bar near the entrance, ordering a glass of whiskey sour that remains glued to the marbled countertop. To his dismay, a few people proposition him while he’s on the lookout. He turns each of them down, man and woman alike, faking niceties in his rejection to avoid a memorable encounter.

After Sakusa sends away the fifth person to approach him, he considers relocating to a different area. Just when he’s standing up to abandon his untouched drink, he spots a familiar man walking in, wearing a garishly patterned suit and a lascivious smile—the unfortunate recipient of tonight’s hit.

Gearing for his approach, Sakusa secures the leather gloves on his hands before undoing the top few buttons of his silk shirt. This was the perfect place to entrap him, where it’s bustling with activity and the people all around are too preoccupied and strung out to pay attention to their surroundings.

Without further deliberation, Sakusa saunters across the room. When he greets him, the man leers at him openly, tracing his figure from head to toe. He gives a satisfied smile, making Sakusa feel secure in his success. So he takes his time, putting in extra effort in his act of interest and bringing up certain topics that he knows the man typically enjoys.

Conversation flows easily between the two of them. Sakusa thinks everything is proceeding smoothly but at some point, he notices the smile on the man’s face begin to recede with every passing minute. Then, seemingly in the blink of an eye, the man excuses himself sheepishly before walking away from him with barely concealed urgency.

Having been convinced that he had the man wrapped around his fingers, the man’s hasty exit leaves Sakusa frozen on his feet, not having a clue what could have possibly gone wrong during their interaction.

Eventually, he snaps himself out of his stupor. Victory isn’t lost on him. He planned for such contingencies, after all. He’ll simply keep an eye on the man from afar and wait for an opportune moment. Given his history, he’ll guide his desired partner into a private bedroom at some point in the night. Sakusa will carry out the hit then. It’ll be annoying, having to account for a potential witness, but it’s hardly his first time having to deal with a situation like this. He’ll get the job done. He always does.

“Yikes. That was reeeaaal painful ta watch.”

Sakusa pretends that the sudden, familiarly accented remark doesn’t take him by surprise. He’s always resented Atsumu’s uncanny ability to sneak up on him. He doesn’t turn towards the unannounced presence to his side, keeping his mouth shut as he goes to stand in a more secluded, dimly lit hallway. Atsumu trails behind him with a sigh.

Once he’s settled into his new vantage point, Sakusa tries to concentrate on his mission and not let the anger that’s beginning to simmer inside him boil over. Atsumu—the cocky bastard—had purposefully let him take the first shot, fully expecting him to fumble the ball. And now he’s here to rub it in his face like the annoying prick that he is.

“Ya talked too damn much. He ain’t here ta find the love of his life, the guy just wants a good fuck,” comes Atsumu’s unprompted and uncouth critique. Sakusa still refuses to look at him, but he isn’t able to hold back the derisive retort that shoots out of him.

“Like you could do any better, Miya.”

There’s a flash of movement in Sakusa’s periphery and suddenly, Atsumu’s standing right in front of him, demanding his undivided attention verbally and bodily.

“Watch me.”

Sakusa sees the arrogant smirk on Atsumu’s face but only for a second because in the next instant, he’s honing in on his appearance from the neck down.

Atsumu has on a sleek blazer, not unlike his own. Except Atsumu isn’t wearing a shirt under his. The garment is cut and buttoned to strategically show only a hint of his shapely chest while revealing an ample amount of his chiseled abdomen, leaving no room for any interpretation of a proper undershirt.

But given his proximity and slight height advantage over Atsumu, Sakusa is able to catch a glimpse of the only thing that could possibly fit in between the delectably tan torso and the jacket that’s barely covering it from the front. A flash of eye-catching red fabric peeks up at Sakusa. It winks at him playfully before grabbing him by the back of his neck, effortlessly holding his attention in place.

Sakusa knows he’s very obviously staring at Atsumu’s chest but he’s not entirely capable of looking away. That is until Atsumu clears his throat pronouncedly.

“Eyes up here, Omi.”

Atsumu has both his hands in the pockets of his sinfully tailored dress pants, his hip cocked to one side. There’s an infuriating curl to his lips. Sakusa wants to drive his tongue into it. He forces his gaze to drag higher up instead. And when their eyes finally meet, golden irises pierce through him, flashing with renewed hunger at what they find beyond the flimsy surface of his flesh.

“Yer blushin’.”

Sakusa recoils from the accusation with a reflexive twitch of his eyebrows. He levels a murderous glare towards Atsumu, warning him to back off in resolute silence. But Atsumu presses him instead, undeterred as always.

“Why are ya blushin’?” he asks, the wicked grin on his face making apparent the rhetorical nature of his question. Atsumu steps further into his space, taking a hand out of his pocket to place it on his clothed chest. Slowly, he slides it up the expanse of Sakusa’s upper body, all the way until his fingertips brush against the exposed skin of his pale neck.

That’s when Sakusa reaches for the weapon concealed behind his back. In an instant, Atsumu’s distancing himself with his hands raised up in surrender, all the while snickering most amusedly. He continues to walk backwards as he calls out a final taunt.

“Stick around till the end of my shift, yeah? I’ll be out in 15.”

Atsumu sends him a sly wink. Then he’s turning around and heading off into the sea of undulating bodies mindlessly chasing the pleasures of carnal sin. Sakusa tracks his movement through the crowd like a hawk.

When he sees him stop in front of a familiar face that immediately lights up on their first viewing of the enticingly dressed, blonde man, Sakusa feels every cord of muscle in his body tense up. He looks on, venom creeping into his thoughts, as the two hold a conversation for all of two minutes before Atsumu’s leaning in to whisper intimately into the other man’s ear.

When Atsumu pulls away, there’s a repulsive curve to the man’s lips. He then snakes a hand over the small of Atsumu’s back, far lower than it has any right to be. Yet Atsumu leans into his touch with an encouraging smirk.

Sakusa’s face goes dark. A sinister storm begins to cloud over his mind. And when he sees pretty pink lips ghosting over a bearded jawline, he feels something inside him pop out of place.

Incinerating his carefully crafted plans into oblivion, Sakusa stalks over to the two men across the room, now making their way to the staircase. He’s a few feet away when all of a sudden he’s hit with a dizzying spell, followed immediately by an overwhelming, bone-deep exhaustion.

Sakusa stumbles in his confusion. Someone calls out to him from the side but their voice sounds muffled. His vision blurs as he feels his consciousness getting pulled under by an unknown entity.

From the distance, a head of golden hair turns over a broad shoulder. A pair of fox eyes bore into him with a mischievous glint.

It’s the last thing Sakusa sees before he’s engulfed in complete darkness.

When Sakusa comes to, there are unfamiliar, nervous faces hovering over him.

A middle-aged woman with wavy brown hair, naked as the day she was born, asks him in concern, “You alright, hon?”

Two men are at each of her side, in an equal state of undress as they look down at him curiously.

Sakusa blinks himself into coherency. “How long was I out for?”

The woman looks around to the others, unsure. “Uhh, I dunno. Maybe five? Ten minutes?”

Sakusa springs up at her response. He ignores their worried calls as he brings himself to his feet swiftly. Once he’s upright, he staggers to catch his balance. From the corner of his eye, he notices one of the men shoot an arm out to help. Sakusa eagerly side-steps the contact.

“I’m fine. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he tells them firmly before bowing his head with a curt nod. He fixes his blazer in place, shifting it by its lapels. He then proceeds towards the staircase that he had last seen Atsumu ascending. With another man’s hands wrapped around his trim waist.

Generally, Sakusa likes to keep himself detached from his work, remaining level-headed and professional as he carries out an order to extinguish the life of a complete stranger.

But that was all before Atsumu had hooked his claws into him, infecting his brain with a maddening urge to claim the vexatious, bewitching blonde man all for himself. And Sakusa is all too willing to give himself over to the venom in his veins.

There’s a calmness to his rage, as Sakusa unholsters the pistol on his back and meticulously equips it with the silencer he had stowed away next to it. He brandishes the weapon openly, uncaring of who might see it. It’s by a stroke of luck that the hallway he’s walking through is currently empty. Going by the steady stream of moans and groans spilling through the cracks of every doorway, all the activity is happening inside.

One by one, Sakusa brings his ear to each wooden door he passes. With a considerable pause, he listens for a voice that’s recognizable to him in every way, shape and form. He’s reached the end of the hallway by the time he hears Atsumu’s heavily accented tongue, followed by a horrendously faked giggle.

In the back of his mind, Sakusa knows that Atsumu isn’t actually planning on doing anything with their target—nothing that the man will enjoy at the very least. Still, he had touched things that were meant for Sakusa’s hands only.

The sin has been committed, and so the sinner shall be punished.

Planting his dominant foot down into the ground, Sakusa raises a knee to his chest. He tips forward, using his solid weight to help drive his heel into the area right above the lock on the door. The wood shatters easily under the force of his strength, the sickening crack reverberating into the now visible expanse of the room.

Sakusa sees them on the bed straight ahead. They’re both frozen in place, looking at him sideways and wide-eyed in shock. The man is stripped down to his undergarments and handcuffed to the headboard with Atsumu sitting pretty on his lap. Atsumu’s pants are intact but his jacket is hanging halfway down to his elbows, showing off his muscular chest and the tantalizing red-laced bra that frames it so perfectly.

Sakusa’s gaze is cold and cutting when he aims his gun right in between the man’s eyeballs. There’s a panicked, accented ‘shit’ that’s hissed out.

From his periphery, Sakusa registers Atsumu scrambling to reach for something on his leg. He pulls the trigger a second before Atsumu hastily drives a knife into the side of the man’s neck. In an instant, his entire body goes limp, the handcuffs becoming the only thing that keeps him sitting upright, though leaning heavily to one side.

Not quite satisfied, Sakusa storms over to the edge of the bed. He shoots the man five more times in the chest, smirking at the dark red splotches that bloom all over his shirt.

“Yer a crazy bastard, ya know that?”

Sakusa levels the scowl on Atsumu’s face with a lethal glare of his own.

“You fucking poisoned me.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes as he adjusts his blazer back onto his shoulders but foregoes buttoning it up. “So dramaaatic, Omi. It was a strategic sedation. And clearly necessary considerin’ yer psycho ass.”

Atsumu then extracts himself from the bed, all the while making animated gestures with his hands as he prattles on about something that falls on deaf ears. Sakusa’s focus is occupied entirely by the opening of his black suit jacket—particularly the splash of red that’s peeking through.

When Atsumu comes to stand in front of him, there’s an unmistakable look of petulance plastered all over his face.

“Alright. Deal’s a deal. Ya were a thievin’ lil weasel about it but ya did get to him first,” he grumbles out, finally managing to catch Sakusa’s attention. “So. What’s it gonna be, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu regards him with an earnest half-smile.

Genuinely confused, Sakusa simply furrows his brows. Silence descends on them as he continues to struggle to process the seemingly alien words. But then he remembers. And snorts at the realization.

The stupid bet that Atsumu had roped him into hadn’t even been on Sakusa’s radar anymore when he had decided to barrel through the door to put a bullet through the man’s skull. And it certainly hadn’t dawned on him at any point in the process of adding several more holes to the guy’s torso.

“Oi. What’s so funny, ya fucker?” Atsumu prods, impatient as always.

Sakusa eyes him up and down, lingering purposefully at the piece of lingerie across his chest. Without another word, he captures Atsumu’s wrist with his free hand, guiding him to an empty room across the hallway. Atsumu doesn’t make a sound as he lets himself get dragged away.

Truthfully, Sakusa could give two shits less about the mission at this point. He knows he’s acting irrationally, irresponsibly, but it’s like his brain ceases to function whenever Atsumu is involved. Much like what’s happening now, as he relocates them for the sole purpose of preventing the likelihood of granting any more people the luxury of seeing Atsumu looking like the delectable meal that he is.

Because Sakusa’s finally going to allow himself to indulge. And he isn’t keen on sharing.

When they cross the doorway and step into the unlit room, Sakusa slams the door shut, clicking the lock into place. Then he throws Atsumu against the solid slab of wood. A gruff grunt spills through when Atsumu collides with it.

Sakusa wastes no time. He cuts through the hollow quiet of the room with a single word, spoken lowly with intent.

“Strip.”

Taken aback by the weight of the command, Atsumu simply stares, stretching Sakusa’s patience dangerously thin.

With a loud click of his tongue, Sakusa raises the pistol in his hand, guiding the smooth end of the suppressor under one side of Atsumu’s jacket. He trails it down slopes of rigid abs before giving the fabric an encouraging nudge.

“You said I could ask for anything. I want to see how it looks on you, Atsumu.”

At that, Atsumu’s face breaks out into a feral grin. Then, slowly, he shrugs off his jacket with an excessive roll of his shoulders. He doesn’t even bat away the gun that’s still hanging by his abdomen as he undoes the buttons of his pants. Sakusa bristles at the rush of arousal and adrenaline that courses through him.

Letting the cold metal dig into his skin, Atsumu bends over to guide obtrusive fabric down the thick meat of his thighs, not once breaking eye contact. When he reveals garter straps that connect to sheer stockings, Sakusa’s mouth goes bone dry. Those hadn’t been in the picture that he sent.

Once Atsumu has completely shed his outer layers, Sakusa takes him in bit by bit, admiring every inch of his tan skin, especially where it peeks through lace. The lingerie is a garish shade of red but on Atsumu, it looks utterly regal.

“This enough fer ya, Omi? Just a lil peek?” Atsumu prods, clearly basking under Sakusa’s heavy scrutiny and craving for more himself.

Sakusa chuckles darkly at him. “Careful, Atsumu. You’ll bite off more than you can chew.”

Atsumu steps into his space with a brazen assurance. “My mouth can fit plenty. My throat too. Want me ta show ya?”

Sakusa meets him halfway with his own stride. “Are you ever going to learn to clean that filthy tongue of yours?”

They’re standing so close together now, breathing into each other’s faces.

“Fuckin’ do somethin’ about it if it bothers ya so—mmph.”

Atsumu doesn’t get to finish his sentence when Sakusa carelessly tosses his gun aside to slide desperate, gloved palms over both sides of his jawline, pushing himself forward to take him into a searing kiss. Atsumu’s shoved against the doorframe again, this time with the weight of Sakusa’s sturdy frame bracketing him. He groans roughly at the impact, pulling Sakusa by the waist to keep their bodies flush against each other as he eagerly returns the open-mouthed kiss.

Hands roam and tongues roll, every point of contact between tan fingers and pale skin sizzling, warming the intimate space they share.

Sakusa is a fool for depriving himself of something so divine, so delectable for so long. All because of his senseless, insignificant pride. Aimlessly, he’s been roaming the arid lands of this earth and Atsumu is the first proper sip of water he’s had. He can’t stop now that he’s had a taste. Sakusa wants to drown in him—to consume him and be consumed by him.

When the need for air becomes dangerously urgent, they break apart. But only where necessary. Noses brushing and mouths panting heavily against each other, Sakusa and Atsumu try to catch their breaths. They study each other’s faces in silence for a while, taking advantage of the newly allowed proximity.

“This mean somethin’ to ya?” Atsumu asks, golden eyes boring into obsidian with an intimidating ferocity that would have smaller men buckling at the knees. Sakusa stands firmly without breaking a sweat.

“I would have shot that man without an ordered hit,” Sakusa admits, resolute in his words.

With a simple raise of an eyebrow, Atsumu shows his dissatisfaction, demanding even more of him.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” Sakusa adds, leaning in to capture plush lips with his own once again. Atsumu’s chuckle is sweet when he pulls back and digs his fingers insistently into Sakusa’s sides.

“That ain’t an answer, Omi,” Atsumu criticizes, a dangerous glint to his hazel eyes.

Sakusa then looks at him—really looks at him. And the confession he’s been trying so hard to bury beneath his powerless pride comes surging up from his chest, spilling out on his tongue so effortlessly.

“I want everything from you, Atsumu. You’ve had all of me for a while now.”

Cold leather brushes against rosy cheeks as Sakusa cups Atsumu’s face into his hands. The gentle thumb that caresses his jaw makes Atsumu’s breath hitch, a dizzying contrast from the strength and urgency with which Sakusa had been holding him moments prior.

“You’re a persistent pain in my ass, Atsumu. But I can’t keep myself from you anymore. Regrettably,” Sakusa sighs out in addition. When he notices an errant strand of hair dangling in front of Atsumu’s eyes, he twists it in between two fingers. Then, gently, he tucks it behind Atsumu’s ear, sliding his hands down to his neck once he’s done.

Atsumu lights up under harsh words and careful touch.

“Mmm, I like hearin’ ya say my name, Omi. Wanna make ya scream it.”

Sakusa reacts with a grimace. “You’re obscene,” he gripes, a lop-sided curve to his lips.

“And ya like it. ‘Cuz ya like me,” Atsumu sing-songs, far too childlike for someone that murders people for a living.

“Again, regrettably.”

Laughing, Atsumu takes a hand away from Sakusa’s waist to capture his chin. He leans in close, letting their lips brush for just a moment before pulling back ever so slightly to capture him by the eyes fully.

“Tough fuckin’ shit. I ain’t acceptin’ refunds, Kiyoomi.”

Atsumu’s words torch Sakusa from the inside out, fraying every nerve ending. He rushes forward and down into Atsumu’s neck with a hungry groan, desperate in his desire to fan the flames and chase the burn.

Just when his lips make contact with sensitive skin, a shrill scream rings out beyond the door, abruptly stopping his descent. Sakusa grumbles at the interruption, nipping at the flesh under his lips in frustration.

Atsumu giggles as he bats Sakusa’s shoulder, chiding him none too seriously. When Sakusa starts to lay kisses down the column of his throat, another horrified shriek punctures through the walls around them.

Sakusa had been resolutely prepared to ignore the racket across the hallway. But strong fingers weave through ink black curls and forcibly pull him up by the back of the head.

Indignance in his eyes, Sakusa glowers at the amused smile on Atsumu’s face. With a single tilt of his head, Atsumu wordlessly signals their imminent retreat, his gaze leaving no room for argument. Sakusa stills in protest but eventually rolls his eyes in reluctant surrender, concluding their silent conversation.

As the commotion outside builds in volume with more people making their way to witness the mess they had made of their assignment, Atsumu and Sakusa slip out through the window, escaping into the night unheard and unseen.

“What were you going to ask for?”

Sakusa’s driving them away in the car he had parked a few blocks from the venue when he drops the question, curiosity eating at him.

"A very generous fondlin’ of yer tits,” Atsumu answers proudly, entirely serious. And Sakusa goes through the five stages of grief, coming out of it with the firsthand experience of a dying cat.

“You would have been a dead man, Atsumu,” he deadpans.

“Mmm, I like ta take my chances.”

They settle into comfortable silence after that, with nothing but the cool breeze of the midnight air whizzing by to listen to. Eventually, Atsumu’s the one to cut through the quiet.

“Hand me yer phone?”

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Sakusa fishes out the requested device from his blazer’s inner pocket. He drops it into Atsumu’s outstretched hand without complaint.

“Have at it. I’m destroying the thing tomorrow anyways,” he comments idly.

Sakusa sees Atsumu go still from his periphery. With an uncanny turning of his head, Atsumu silently stares him down from his place in the passenger seat.

“Ya gave me a burner number??” he shrieks out after an extended pause.

“Sure did,” Sakusa answers with a smug grin, all too happy to be the one causing affliction this time around.

“I gave ya my real one, asshole!” Atsumu continues, pointing a petulant, accusatory finger at him. Sakusa laughs wholeheartedly at the dramatic outburst, causing Atsumu to go quiet with a sudden flush to his cheeks.

“That’s dangerous, Atsumu. Giving away your personal contact to a hitman…” Sakusa drawls amusedly, keeping his eyes glued to the road. He breaks at a stoplight, bringing the car to a complete halt before turning over his shoulder to level a heated glance at the devilishly handsome passenger at his side.

“You might as well invite him to your home,” Sakusa finishes with a sly curl to his lips.

Atsumu hums with considerable interest, awfully placid all of a sudden. “That ain’t a bad idea, Omi. Ya know these things’re actually real tricky. I could use some help takin’ em off,” he comments, evidently referring to the ensemble under his suit.

Sakusa snorts at Atsumu’s readiness to abandon his grievances. “I don’t think you’ll have much luck with that,” he muses, eyes back on the road as he sets the car back into motion.

“No? Why not?”

“Because I’m going to fuck you with it on.”

The building tension between them goes taut in the short silence that follows.

“Ya break it, ya fuckin’ buy it,” comes Atsumu’s eventual retort, sounding intently goading rather than threatening.

Sakusa simply snickers as he pulls over to the side of the road. When he puts the car in park, Atsumu glances out the window and balks at the all too familiar building in front of them.

If he hadn’t spent the past ten minutes with his eyes glued all over Sakusa’s figure, Atsumu would have recognized the names on the passing street signs, the coffee shop that he likes to frequent, and his go-to convenience store when he’s too lazy to travel more than two blocks for food.

“Wha—that’s my…you!”

Sakusa watches on, calmly undoing his seat belt as Atsumu scrambles to get a proper sentence out.

“Lead the way, Atsumu.”

The smile on Sakusa’s face is more menacing than it is sweet. It promises pleasure but pain even more so—casting a shadow of bite marks and bruises and blood. A sane person would jump out of the car and take off in a world record breaking sprint, never looking back.

Atsumu fists Sakusa’s shirt and pulls him in over the console, fire in his eyes and poison on his tongue.

“I like my eggs scrambled, by the way. Just like my guts so ya better—mmhm.”

Sakusa’s discovering how easy and satisfying it is to shut Miya Atsumu up with a kiss. For all the complaints he’s hurled at Atsumu’s mouth and the absolute filth that spews out of it, he savors each slide of their lips and swipe of their tongues like it’s his last meal, inhaling toxins into his lungs with the uncaring mind of a man undying.

The temperature in the car reaches a boiling point when Atsumu nearly shreds his suit off and scrambles over the console into Sakusa’s lap. Predictably, they don’t make it to the apartment, fervently indulging in each other’s bodies right then and there.

In the dead of the night, there isn’t a single soul to witness the entrancing way Atsumu comes apart under Sakusa’s touch. But if a curious passerby had approached the violently rattling vehicle to take a peek into foggy windows, they would have been placing a target on their own forehead.

And Sakusa never misses.