Archive of Our Own

Kiyoomi loves lavender-scented fabric softener his mom uses while washing his clothes whenever he’s visiting his hometown; he likes to wake up to the smell of coffee his roommate makes on weekends; it’s his favorite thing in the world to slip into fresh sheets after a particularly tiring practice followed up by an hour long shower which leaves his skin flushed and eyes heavy with sleepiness. He also likes the chamomile hand cream Hinata uses after washing his hands because his skin dries fast, and he really loves the smell of the gym on Monday mornings when it’s thoroughly clean and the floors are shiny.

He loves things that smell nice. They give him comfort and make him feel at ease.

Miya Atsumu is not one of them.

At least that’s what Kyioomi tells himself. Their conversations never leave the court nor do they go past Kiyoomi calling in for tosses and throwing insults at each other. Kiyoomi doesn't take much interest in Atsumu; he's just a setter, and a good one. But Atsumu is smug in all the annoying ways people like Bokuto or himself aren't. So Kiyoomi just lets himself go along with his theory. Miya Atsumu is insufferable and probably smells like shit. But Kiyoomi honestly couldn’t care less about Atsumu, especially whether he smells nice or not. It doesn’t matter.

Until it does. Until Bokuto collides with Kiyoomi right in front of the gym because one of them is used to staring at the ground as he walks and the other is distracted by the music blasting through his earphones to watch where he’s going, and he ends up spilling his smoothie all over Kiyoomi’s shirt.

“Oh, shit. Sakusa-san, I’m so sorry. Fuck.”

Kiyoomi mutters an It’s okay even though it’s not exactly okay, but it’s easier to deal with it without Bokuto freaking out together with him.

The two of them are always the first ones to show up to practice. Kiyoomi is responsible and Bokuto is just too impatient to get rid of all the energy he has. Kiyoomi is thankful to be the only one in the locker room as he stretches the hem of his shirt over the sink, not entirely sure if water is going to help or just make a bigger mess. And a bigger mess it is, Kiyoomi thinks as he stares at his drenched shirt, water dripping onto the floor from it, but at least the ugly green drink is gone. He groans.

“Hey. You okay?”

Kiyoomi turns around to see Atsumu, standing with his gym bag over his shoulder and confusion threaded with subtle disgust written all over his face once he gets a look at Kiyoomi’s current state.

“Oh, gross,” he says, and Kiyoomi just glares at him. “I have a spare shirt I keep around for, well, situations like this. You want it? It’s clean, I promise.”

First, it takes him a second to realize that Miya Atsumu is offering him help, and second, he cares enough to mention that it’s safe. Why?

Kiyoomi weights the pros and cons of accepting it, and honestly, there’s not much thinking to do. He can either just go like this and eventually smell of kale and sweat, or go home and pretend he’s sick.

“I mean, not like I’d mind seeing you run around shirtless and shit...” Atsumu says and Kiyoomi doesn’t have to look up at him to know the corners of his lips are stretched into a teasing smile, and he’d rather not, anyway, since the tips of his ears are probably flushed after that comment.

“Shut up, idiot. Give me the shirt.”

Atsumu laughs, and while he shuffles through his locker, Kiyoomi manages to peel his shirt off of himself without having his skin get in contact with the drenched fabric. He places it in his bag even though he’d rather throw it straight into a trashcan right now.

“Here. What happened, anyway?”

It’s just a plain black shirt. He pulls it over his head, it’s a bit tight around his shoulders, but otherwise, it fits nicely. He guesses it’s a hundred percent cotton with the way it feels so gentle on his skin. It smells like a mixture of coconut and bananas, and it’s not exactly the “fresh” type of scent Kiyoomi prefers, but it’s nice in a way, totally different from what he’d expect from someone like Atsumu.

“Bokuto spilled his smoothie over me,” Kiyoomi replies. Atsumu stands a few steps away from him, hands on his hips and head tilted as he looks at Kiyoomi as if he’s deciding whether his shirt looks good on him or not. “It smells nice.”

Atsumu laughs, “The hell? It’s the worst shit I ever tried in my life. I don’t know how-”

“Your shirt. It smells nice. Now hurry up, I need a setter.”

As soon as he exits the locker room, he presses the back of his cold hands to his heated cheeks. Shit.

♡

“What are you doing in my room?” Kiyoomi asks.

Atsumu, holding a key that has Kiyoomi’s room number carved in it, just shrugs. “Guess we’re roommates!”

This is their first game out of Tokyo, and Kiyoomi never asked to be roommates with anyone, especially not Atsumu. Even if he did, it would probably be Hinata because he’s a more respectful version of Bokuto that’s actually easy to scare off. He hates sharing his living place, even if it’s a hotel room he will be leaving in less than two days.

“The bed by the window is mine,” Kiyoomi says, suspiciously observing Atsumu as he drops the bag next to the foot of the second bed, the one closer to the bathroom.

“Honestly, I don’t care. I could sleep on the floor right now.” Atsumu sighs, pulling his hoodie over his head, and he looks exactly like the type to wear nothing beneath it. He throws his head back, eyebrows furrowed as he rolls his shoulder. “That bus was shit, my back hurts so much. Gonna go now, make sure I don’t fall asleep in the shower.”

He smiles at him and Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “I might as well leave you to drown.”

“You need a setter, remember?” Atsumu winks at him, then the bathroom door closes and Kiyoomi buries his face in his pillow.

“Hey, you hungry?” Atsumu says once he’s sitting on his bed, hair damp and unlike any state Kiyoomi has seen it in before. One strand falls right over his right eye and it irritates Kiyoomi so much he wishes he could move it back himself. Atsumu also definitely seemed like the type to not see any point in wearing shirts, and that turns out to be true once he exited the bathroom in nothing but gray sweatpants. Kiyoomi doesn’t remember when he came up with all these assumptions about a man he doesn’t care about one bit, but he likes being right.

There is one thing, though, that he got wrong. He couldn’t miss the scent of strawberries that filled up the bathroom once he went to brush his teeth right after Atsumu was done with his shower, nor the cute, bright yellow, chapstick on the nightstand that had a picture of citrus fruit on it. Atsumu seems to love fruit-scented things.

“Who made that?” Kiyoomi points at the sandwich Atsumu is offering to him.

“I did.”

Kiyoomi laughs, turning his attention back to the game on his phone. “No, thanks.”

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t eat this, either. I think the bread was a few days old.” Kiyoomi catches the way he scrunches his face cutely, walking across the room to throw it into the trashcan.

“I’m so bored. What are you doing?”

Kiyoomi expects Atsumu to throw himself on his bed with the way he walks over to him like a little kid ready to be entertained, but instead, he drops onto his knees next to Kiyoomi’s bed, resting his chin on the mattress.

“Playing a game,” Kiyoomi replies shortly.

“Lemme see,” Atsumu says, moving up to take a look at his phone but Kiyoomi stretches his arm out so he can’t see it or reach it. Atsumu also definitely looks like the type ready to snatch it away from him.

“Why can’t you show me?” Atsumu whines. “Were you watching porn?” He fake gasps, jumping to his feet and actually succeeding in taking Kiyoomi’s phone away from him. He has a big smile on his face as he holds the phone behind his back, staring down at Kiyoomi who got on his knees on the bed.

“I honestly wasn’t expecting this from you, Omi-kun.”

“Shut up, idiot. Why would I be watching porn while I have you walking half-naked around the room, anyway.”

That didn’t come out as offensive as he intended it to be.

“What are you implying, Omi-kun?” He raises an eyebrow as he makes a step forward, his knees touching the mattress of Kiyoomi’s bed. Way too close. “You sayin’ you’d rather be watching me?”

“You are so full of yourself. I was actually playing Candy Crush. Now give it back.”

Atsumu hums, “Ask nicely.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, so you do want to-”

“Whatever. Keep it. Goodnight.” Kiyoomi cuts him off, turning around to lay back, covering himself with his duvet.

“Okay, Omi-Omi. I’ll clear all the levels for you.”

Atsumu turns the lights off, pulling the curtains over the window. Kiyoomi listens to him as he gets back to his bed, every now and then turning around in it because he can’t seem to find a comfortable position. He can also hear that funny music every time he moves up to the next level.

Kiyoomi can’t sleep. It’s probably because he slept on the bus and had an energy drink earlier today. The bed is pretty comfortable and the sheets that he brought himself smell fresh and are warm, Atsumu is quiet and everything seems to be perfect enough for him to just close his eyes and rest, but he can’t seem to stop staring at the wall in front of him.

“’Tsumu?” Kiyoomi says, barely above a whisper, but Atsumu catches it.

“Did you just give me a nickname or are you too tired to say my whole name?”

Both. Kiyoomi smiles, biting his lower lip. “What time is it?”

“Eleven p.m. Your phone’s about to die.”

So he’s been blankly staring at the wall for two hours. That is definitely going to give him the strength he needs for tomorrow’s game.

“I’ll charge it in the morning.”

The silence fills the room yet again after that. Kiyoomi turns around so he’s laying on his back.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He asks once Atsumu leaves Kiyoomi’s phone on the nightstand, right next to his citrus scented chapstick.

Atsumu sighs. “My back hurts so much. And especially my shoulders. I just can’t get comfortable.”

Kiyoomi realizes that Miya Atsumu is actually nice to talk to. He still is a little shit who steals his phone and implies that Kiyoomi enjoys seeing him shirtless, which he does not, but he offered him a clean shirt a few days ago and a shitty sandwich earlier this evening, and not to harm him in any way but because he seems to have a soft heart beneath that jock appearance and behavior. Maybe he could go as far as to say that he enjoys his company, but saying he likes him as a friend would be crossing the line. He makes an offer, anyway.

“Would you like me to give you a massage? I learned it from my mom, she’s a physiotherapist.”

They turn around to face each other at the same time, Atsumu probably because he can’t believe his own ears, Kiyoomi because he realizes he can’t trust his own mouth from now on. They both know that Kiyoomi hates touching people, hates having people touch him. He didn’t go further from a high five with the players on his team that he’s way closer to, like Hinata who still hesitates to slap his shoulder in encouragement whenever he messes up on the court.

“You sure? It’s fine if you don’t feel comfortable doing it.”

“No. I think I will be okay. Just put a shirt on.”

Atsumu nods, and Kiyoomi barely sees him moving in the dark as he grabs a clean shirt from his bag. Kiyoomi kneels on his bed, tapping the edge of his mattress in invitation. “Come here.”

“Want me to turn the lights on?”

“No, my eyes can’t take it.”

Atsumu laughs softly, sitting in front of Kiyoomi’s spread thighs.

“Why did you learn how to massage if you dislike touching people?”

When he doesn’t get a reply, nor hands on his shoulders, Atsumu turns his head to look up at Kiyoomi. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“No, it’s fine. When I was younger, my dad’s back would always hurt after a long day in the office, so mom taught me how to ease the pain for when she wasn’t around to do so.”

Kiyoomi presses the heels of his palms into that spot where shoulders meet the neck which he knows can be quite irritating when in pain. The tips of his fingers ghost over Atsumu’s shoulders before he goes for it, kneading them with not enough confidence but Atsumu’s muscles are tense enough to not notice it.

“So you were a good kid. Who would’ve thought?”

Kiyoomi laughs, “I wasn’t always so... hostile, you know? When I started high school I realized that there were people who won’t respect your boundaries, if anything, they will use them against you. That’s why I’d rather have you think I’m an asshole than let you mess with me.”

“I never thought you were an asshole, though. It’s hard to understand, but I try my best to.”

Kiyoomi hums, and he’s glad Atsumu can’t see the way blood rushes to his cheeks and how his hands tremble as he glides his palms until they reach his lower back.

Atsumu exhales slowly, eyes closing. “That’s nice.”

Touching people is unnecessary and potentially harmful. A lot of people don’t shower or wash their clothes often enough, they don’t wash their hands when they need to, they aren’t cautious of where they sit and what do they lean on in public spaces. They don’t clean their nails or take proper care of their hair. Instead of policing them, Kiyoomi decides to not take any chances with his own health and stay away from people in general. He doesn’t remember the last time he had physical contact with anyone out of his closest family for longer than a minute.

But, for some reason, here he is, hands all over Miya Atsumu’s back. It’s a nice back. Strong muscles and all. Makes him wonder what it would feel like to touch it with no barrier between his fingers and Atsumu’s warm skin, what it’d be like to sink his teeth into his shoulder.

Maybe he trusts Atsumu because he smells like strawberries and because he knows that he uses separate products for his hair and body, and also that he doesn’t own an Axe body spray. His nails are always nicely trimmed and shiny. His lips are never chapped and his teeth are so bright it’s no wonder everyone falls for that charming smile of his. Kiyoomi trusts him because, despite their lack of communication in the previous few months, Atsumu understands and respects him. He didn’t exactly expect that from him, but he isn’t complaining.

Silence falls between them and Kiyoomi doesn’t allow himself to think too much. Because, if he did, he’d be thinking about how Atsumu is slowly leaning back towards his chest, how he hums in satisfaction every time Kiyoomi reaches a rather tense spot, how he actually likes even this bare minimum of affection. They are alone in a locked room, the night is still young, and there is so much more Kiyoomi realizes he would like to do.

“A bit lower.”

“Like this?” Kiyoomi says, pressing his thumbs at the base of his neck.

Atsumu doesn’t reply, just sighs deeply, but that’s enough encouragement for Kiyoomi to keep going.

“I could fall asleep like this.”

“I am not awake enough to carry you to your own bed so I’ll just push you onto the floor then,” Kiyoomi jokes, fingers getting dangerously close to Atsumu’s hair, and something inside him warns him about it, tells him that he shouldn’t, but he wants to - so badly.

“You sayin’ you would otherwise? Carry me to my bed, that is.” Atsumu turns his head towards him slightly, his eyes are closed sleepily but there’s a smile on his face.

“You make me regret every single thing I say to you.”

“It’s one of my many talents.”

“Okay, I’m done. Go away.”

“No,” Atsumu whines, falling back against Kiyoomi’s chest, his head on his shoulder, “My back still hurts so much. This is pure agony. I will die.”

Kiyoomi’s heart picks up its pace, and he hopes Atsumu can’t feel how it pounds against his chest. It’s so dark he can barely see the entirety of their room, and it’s so silent he can hear his own breathing, and Atsumu is so warm in his arms. He smells good and Kiyoomi just wants to bury his face in his hair.

“Hey, Omi-kun, look at us,” Atsumu suddenly breaks the silence and Kiyoomi tilts his head to look down at him which turns out to be a huge mistake considering the lack of distance between them needed for Kiyoomi to be able to breathe properly, “Who would’ve thought we’d be such great friends?”

“Get off me before I start wasting energy on death threats.”

Atsumu pouts but he does get up and drop on his own bed, face buried in his pillow as one of his feet hangs over the edge of the mattress. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Go to sleep, asshole.”

Kiyoomi knows Atsumu won’t reply because he’s fast asleep just as he had expected. The massage he just gave him eased the pain in his muscles but also wore him out, he probably feels like jelly. Atsumu is going to be so good tomorrow. Despite what Kiyoomi used to think about him, he always gave his best on the court, but tomorrow, they are going to wipe the floor with their opponents. Together.

Kiyoomi smiles so hard his cheeks hurt. His instinct tells him to get up and wash his hands, but they smell like Atsumu’s coconut scented fabric softener with just a hint of strawberries.

♡

They win the game, and it’s not like any of them expected anything less. Bokuto and Adrian pick Hinata up and carry him on their shoulders with victorious smiles as if they have just won the Olympics. And maybe that’s a thing he loves about this team; every win is celebrated like they have finally conquered the world, and losses? They aren’t even an option.

“Hey.” Kiyoomi feels a gentle brush of fingers over his shoulder, it lasts barely a second, but it’s long enough to make him flinch. “It’s me, hey.”

“Oh.” Kiyoomi relaxes and his lips easily spread into a smile when he sees Atsumu standing in front of him.

“You were good today.”

“You too. I’m glad to see that you are feeling okay.”

Atsumu nods, looking down at his feet as they walk out of the gymnasium. Kiyoomi looks at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Wanna go eat with us?”

Kiyoomi frowns. He doesn’t like how busy restaurants are whenever they go to eat after a match. He doesn’t like to think about everyone who came in contact with the table on which they’re eating or the dishes in front of him. It makes his stomach turn so he usually avoids getting into those situations.

“No. I’m just going back to the hotel to shower and sleep. I’m exhausted.”

It’s apparent on Atsumu’s face that he wants to protest, but he closes his mouth and just nods in the end.

When Kiyoomi gets back to his room, it’s already raining. It’s only five p.m. but the Sun has already set and he can’t see the Moon because of the black cloud forming over the city. He checked the weather for this weekend and he knew there would most likely be a storm coming, and now that it’s unraveling right in front of his eyes as he looks at the city through the window, it brings back that horrible feeling in his chest that he can’t quite define, but it makes him restless. He decides to take a long shower, and the sound of water hitting cold tiles and his flushed skin mutes the thunder from the outside, and then it’s a bit easier to breathe.

When Atsumu arrives, it’s late, but still raining. The door was unlocked but the room itself is empty.

“Omi-kun?” Atsumu calls out but he doesn’t get a reply. He can’t hear the sound of the water coming from the bathroom either. He still decides to check, opening the door slowly. It gives him hope to see that the lights are on, but he almost jumps when he sees Kiyoomi sitting on the toilet lid, knees pressed to his chest. For someone who’s almost two meters tall, he looks incredibly small.

“Hey. You okay?”

Kiyoomi looks up at him, then sighs. Being afraid of storms isn’t exactly something he likes to share. It’s also quite embarrassing. When he was a kid, whenever it stormed, he would get under his bed, and when he became too tall for that, he hid in the bathroom because that was the only room where thunder couldn’t be heard. And it became a habit, so here he is.

Kiyoomi doesn’t reply. Instead, he looks at the bag Atsumu’s holding. “What’s that?”

Atsumu smiles, it’s a shy one, something unusual coming from him, and he scratches the back of his neck. “I brought you some food. I know you must be hungry after that long match.”

Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows in surprise. He didn’t expect Atsumu to be caring or thoughtful, especially when it comes to him.

“You should go eat it while I shower,” he says, exiting the bathroom. Kiyoomi can hear him as he pulls the curtains over the window. “But, I mean...” he suddenly trails off, shuffling around the room before he’s back in front of him again, holding a towel in his hand, “If you wanna watch me, that’s fine with me.”

Kiyoomi groans when Atsumu adds a little wink on top of that, and he instantly gets up, leaving the bathroom before Atsumu can catch the way his cheeks heat up.

He tries not to think much about how Atsumu thought about him while he was out eating with their team, how he worried about Kiyoomi being hungry and even got him something to eat. But he ends up thinking about it so much that he forgets about the rain hitting the window harshly.

Atsumu comes out of the bathroom half an hour later and a cloud of steam follows him.

“You wiped the floors?”

“Yep.”

Kiyoomi looks up at him. Atsumu is scrolling through his phone, standing in the middle of the room with nothing but a towel hanging too low on his hips. Water drips from his hair onto his shoulders, drops rolling down his arms and chest until they disappear beneath the towel. His mouth waters.

“Like what you see?”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, getting up from his bed and walking past Atsumu to get to the bathroom. Luckily, he doesn’t add another snarky comment, and once Kiyoomi gets into the bathroom, he isn’t sure if it’s him or it’s just so fucking hot in there.

He brushes his teeth, and he can sense Atsumu’s shower gel and every single product he used in the air. The mixture makes him feel dizzy. His mind is clouded by thoughts of how soft Atsumu’s skin must be after he used that gentle body lotion that he left on the counter by the sink, how soft his hair is and how good it would feel to bury his face in it, how nice his lips must taste.

Somewhere along the way, Kiyoomi concluded that Miya Atsumu isn’t that bad. He’s still an asshole who steals his phone and refuses to toss him the ball whenever Kiyoomi calls him a dick during practice. But Atsumu is also the one who worries about what might feel bad for Kiyoomi, and whether he’s hungry. It’s not that hard to like him.

Kiyoomi doesn’t know what time it is. Every single time thunder rips through the sky his jaw clenches and he wants to bolt to the bathroom and sit under the sink.

“Omi-kun?”

“Yeah?”

“You scared of thunder?”

Kiyoomi turns on his side to look at Atsumu who’s already facing him. He expected him to have that insufferable smirk on his face, but instead, his eyebrows are slightly raised as he stares at him in the dark.

“Maybe...”

Atsumu does laugh, though, but it’s soft. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” he pauses, “You’re so tense. How do you usually deal with it?”

“Hide in the bathroom or distract myself somehow, I guess. And it’s not exactly fright, it just makes me nervous. I don’t like loud noises.”

“I’ll distract you, then. Can I come over there?”

Kiyoomi stares at him blankly. He doesn’t know what to say, and he always has something to say; that’s how surprised he is. It would be convenient to create a list of pros and cons of letting Atsumu lay in his bed, only if his brain worked properly at the moment.

“C’mon. I’m all nice and clean, I promise!”

I know.

Between his fear of thunder and intimacy, the latter one will always win, but this is a special case. One in which Kiyoomi actually craves intimacy, and the only scary part is that it’s with a person he never expected it to be, so he isn’t sure if he’s making the right choice as he moves back to the edge of his pillow until he almost feels the cold wall press against his back.

Atsumu walks over with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, because Kiyoomi knows he’s trying his best not to smile in satisfaction of Kiyoomi indulging him in one of his antics.

“Your bed is so much warmer than mine,” Atsumu says as he pulls Kyioomi’s duvet up to his nose.

“Maybe if you put a shirt on it wouldn’t be so cold.”

“Oh, wait, I forgot about that. Want me to-”

“No,” Kiyoomi replies probably way too fast, and his heart skips a bit when Atsumu cocks an eyebrow at him. “It’s fine,” he adds quietly.

“You know, Osamu used to be scared of thunder, too. He would always come and sleep in my room when it stormed. I think I eventually bullied him out of that fear.”

“You’re such an ass.”

Atsumu laughs, “Yeah, I was. But I’m nice now, see?”

“I don’t see shit.”

Atsumu pouts, covering the rest of his head, and Kiyoomi reaches beneath the duvet to pinch his arm. “Get back here.”

“What? Missed me already?” This time the duvet barely covers his bare shoulder, and Kiyoomi can see that stupid smirk of his.

“Hey, ’Tsumu, why do you like fruit so much?”

Atsumu blinks at him, and for a second, Kiyoomi regrets blurting out that question.

“What makes you think that?”

“You got the whole bathroom smelling like strawberries.”

Atsumu laughs, and he probably thought Kiyoomi will be too distracted by his pretty lips stretched into a smile to notice how he discretely moved a few inches forward. And he is right; Kiyoomi can’t stop thinking about tasting that citrus fruit mixture on his lips.

“The majority of stuff I use is fruit-scented. It’s gentle and sweet, plus that strawberry shampoo makes my hair soft,” he stops, dragging his fingers through his hair, “You should touch it. It’s real nice.”

Kiyoomi gulps, eyes drifting to Atsumu’s hair. It does look soft despite the number of times it has been bleached. He really wants to run his hand through it.

He can’t gather enough courage to do so, but he still brings his hand out from under the duvet and pets Atsumu’s hair gently, and the latter just laughs at him. Atsumu probably does that way too often, and Kiyoomi just lets it slide instead of pinching him like he deserves.

“It doesn’t bite.”

“Shut up, idiot,” Kiyoomi replies, tugging on Atsumu’s hair harsh enough to make him flinch. “It’s fine. Mine is softer, anyway.”

Atsumu’s hair is so soft it feels like he’s running his fingers through layers of cotton candy. Kiyoomi wonders if his hand smells like strawberries now.

“I don’t trust you on that,” Atsumu says, and Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at him. He finds his hand under the duvet, wraps his fingers around his wrist and brings it to his head.

“This was easier than I thought.”

Atsumu doesn’t pet it or tug on it, instead, he slowly runs his fingers through the wavy strands, his nails lightly scraping Kiyoomi’s scalp, a shiver running down his spine, eyes fluttering closed.

“You’re like a cat,” Atsumu says, but he never stops, and it eventually turns into gentle scratches behind Kiyoomi’s ear and light pulls on dark strands until he can’t help but breathe out shakily. “It’s as soft as I thought it’d be.”

Kiyoomi smiles, eyes still closed. He wants to savor this moment forever. He feels like, if he opened his eyes, it would be gone.

“You thought about it?”

Atsumu’s heart skips a beat, but Kiyoomi doesn’t hear it.

“Yeah, a little. I’ve always wanted to do this.”

At that, Kiyoomi opens his eyes and sees Atsumu staring right back at him. He’s closer than he expected him to be, and the tips of his fingers drift from his hair down his temple, cheek, jaw, and there he stops. None of them says a word as Kiyoomi’s fingers brush over Atsumu’s wrist, and for a second, the both of them think he’s going to push him away, but it doesn’t happen because Kiyoomi thinks that nothing in his life has ever felt this right.

He rests his hand on Atsumu’s shoulder, and his skin is so warm under his touch, so smooth as Kiyoomi lets his palm slide to his shoulder blade. Atsumu tickles him at the spot where his neck meets his jaw, Kiyoomi laughs and Atsumu joins him because it isn’t something he expected to hear.

It’s quiet, though, once Kiyoomi lets his hand wander across Atsumu’s bare back, and Atsumu brushes the tip of his thumb over Kiyoomi’s lips. He wishes Atsumu’s stare wasn’t so heavy on him, his thumb wasn’t pressing over his lips like he wanted to coax them open. Or maybe he wishes that he just did already. But it feels so nice, how Atsumu who walks onto the court with fire in his chest and does everything so assertively takes his time with Kiyoomi, slowly unraveling him. He does it so attentively and gently that Kiyoomi doesn’t even realize that Atsumu can see right through him and everything he craves.

“Omi-Omi, you make me want to kiss you,” Atsumu says, being the first one to break the silence.

“Then, why don’t you?”

Atsumu bites his lip, and it seems as if he’s hesitating for a moment, but then he moves closer until his knee fits right between Kiyoomi’s thighs, and his hand rests on his nape.

“This okay?”

Kiyoomi nods as his hand slides down Atsumu’s back so smoothly he can’t resist repeating the movement. It makes Atsumu smile a second before he presses his lips against Kiyoomi’s. The tips of Kiyoomi’s fingers dig into Atsumu’s skin as he sucks lightly on his upper lip.

“You taste like lemon,” Kiyoomi whispers against Atsumu’s lips, and his smile just grows wider.

“And you taste like Colgate.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is bad. It makes me wanna do this,” Atsumu suddenly bites his lower lip, pulls on it so hard Kiyoomi thinks it will start bleeding. Once he leans back, Atsumu expects him to call him a lil’ shit or pushes him away, but instead, Kiyoomi pulls him back with a hand on his shoulder, putting all of his thoughts and wishes into a single kiss. Atsumu melts against him, letting Kiyoomi take the lead once he drags the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. The noise at the back of Atsumu’s throat Kiyoomi hears once he finally coaxes his mouth open and feels his tongue over his own has him dizzy.

Kiyoomi pushes Atsumu onto his back, hovering above him with one of his legs between his. Atsumu opens his eyes, and he breathes heavily against Kiyoomi’s lips, hands sliding over his chest until they reach his shoulder which he grips as if he’s always wanted to do it.

“I like your shoulders.”

“Yeah?” Kiyoomi leans in to kiss his cheek, his jawline, his neck.

Atsumu hums. “Your hair too,” he adds, threading his fingers through Kiyoomi’s hair, “and how you always smell so good. I wanted to touch you so badly for so long."

“You smell so fruity, I never expected that from you.”

Atsumu pouts like he’s offended. “Is that bad?”

“No. Makes me wanna eat you,” Kiyoomi says, sinking his teeth into the warm skin of Atsumu’s neck.

“You just say whatever the hell you want.”

Kiyoomi leans on his elbows, looking down at Atsumu. “Do you mind?”

“Not a bit,” Atsumu throws his leg over Kiyoomi’s hip, “Tell me everything,” he winks at him.

“You’re so annoying, I’m not telling you shit.” Kiyoomi moves away from him, laying back onto the bed and turning his back to Atsumu.

Atsumu laughs so loudly it can’t be compared to the storm outside. He pulls on Kiyoomi’s arm, lips pressed to his nape.

“C’mon, I wanna kiss you some more. I’ll be quiet.”

Kiyoomi waits a few seconds before turning to lie on his back, and Atsumu is quick to press their lips together as if he couldn’t breathe otherwise.

Kiyoomi lets Atsumu kiss him until they are both breathless and the passionate kisses turn into light nibbles and Atsumu whispering nonsense in-between. By the time Kiyoomi’s breath steadies and he stops gripping Atsumu’s waist, the sky has already cleared and thunder can no longer be heard. Atsumu smiles, and right before he buries his face against Kiyoomi’s neck, he presses a light kiss on his forehead, just above his right eyebrow, and falls asleep soundly with so much warmth in his chest.