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a little piece of forever

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Atsumu bangs on the door with shaky fists, several quick taps that he hopes sound controlled instead of agitated.

He doesn't want to be upset. He's spent the past few weeks upset, a growing poison in his belly, venomous, erratic. No matter how hard he's tried to snuff it out—no matter how hard he's tried to pretend these feelings don't exist—he's nothing if not a pathetic neophyte with his emotions, and his slow spiral into insanity has finally reached his peak.

Tomorrow, his boyfriend leaves the country. Tomorrow, he loses everything.

Maybe to others, he must seem irrational, but to anyone that knows him, this explosion has been a long time coming.

It's really late—or early, if he's being technical—so it shouldn't be a surprise that it takes a while for Hinata to open it, looking as ruffled and disheveled as could be expected. He's wearing an oversized t-shirt and that falls off one shoulder—one of Atsumu's, stolen from his closet with innocent smiles and sweet words, claiming he just sleeps so much better when surrounded by something that belongs to his boyfriend—and he has to rub his eye with the back of his wrist, blinking rapidly, before he seems to register who's there.

"'Tsumu?" he slurs, voice raspy and sleep-drunk even in his surprise. "Wh… What're you doing here?"

"Surprise," Atsumu says with a twisted, mangled smile before he surges forward and crushes Hinata's lips to his.

Hinata gasps at the sudden force of it, stumbling backward on tired, unsteady legs. He almost trips over the shoes laid out behind him, but Atsumu is quick to grab on and hold him up, drawing their bodies flush against each other so Atsumu can angle Hinata's head back and deepen the kiss.

Just the slightest brush of the tongue and Hinata positively melts against him, clutching desperately at Atsumu's shirt as he whimpers so sweet.

But it isn't just the fatigue that makes Hinata this boneless. Even though they've been kissing like this for over three years now, ever since they met during that fast-ending tournament in Atsumu's second year of high school and Atsumu pretty much tripped over himself to ask Hinata out after the game, Hinata still reacts to every single one like it's the first time, always so swift to thaw against him, to adjust to him, to mold his entire being just to cradle Atsumu's moods, wild and volatile as he may be.

He's the perfect little flower, an absolute angel who doesn't deserve to be sullied by Atsumu's cruel, possessive hands.

But Atsumu has never been able to temper his emotions when it comes to Hinata, and he isn't about to start now.

Kicking the door shut behind him and prying his shoes off in the same motion, Atsumu yanks Hinata up against him so his legs instinctively wrap around his waist with an adorable yelp, his tiny hands gripping at Atsumu's shoulders for balance as he's carried blindly down the hall.

"W-wait! 'Tsumu—"

Atsumu doesn't let up with the assault on his mouth, alternating between purposeful rolls of the tongue and ferocious nipping that has Hinata whimpering, so it's inevitable that they bump into a few walls before they finally stumble into Hinata's bedroom, practically toppling over onto the bed.

"Your mom and sister are still gone?" he growls between hungry kisses.

"Y-yes," Hinata gasps. "At—my gra—ah!—m-my grandma's. She's—"

Sick, Atsumu knows, and a very nice lady at that. But he didn't take a five-hour night train to Miyagi to talk about the woman who makes dumplings that even Osamu would kill for, so maybe it's horribly selfish of him, but Atsumu cuts Hinata off with a hungry trail of kisses down his neck, sucking almost harshly as he goes and leaving visible marks he know will push purple come morning.

"A-ah!" Hinata cries, already trembling all over and Atsumu hasn't even gotten his clothes off yet. "W-wait, I—I thought you couldn't—come tonight—you said—ah!—you have practice t-tomorrow, a-and—nn, 'Tsumu, please!"

"I know what I fucking said." And he's regretted it ever since.

Atsumu thought it would be easier, if they didn't say goodbye in person. If he kept his distance near the end, as if that would be enough to put a plug in all the crippling feelings that have been overflowing out of him since the moment they met.

So he made up excuses. Pretended that some dumb fucking volleyball practice would've been enough to keep him away from Hinata if he'd really wanted to be with him on his last night in the country.

The worst part, though, is that Hinata believed it. He really thought Atsumu would've chosen a fucking practice over seeing him off, and he was okay with it, was totally understanding, didn't hold it against Atsumu in the slightest.

"I wish you could've been here to say goodbye," Hinata said softly, "but I totally understand why you can't. Volleyball comes first! I'll just make sure to go straight to see you next time I come back to visit!"

If Atsumu wasn't aware of what a goddamn jackass of a boyfriend he was before then, he definitely did after.

He's always known he doesn't deserve Hinata, but there's no way in hell he's going to let him get on a plane without knowing how much he's loved.

Atsumu kisses like he's fucking owning him, like he's claiming him, like there are only three things he should be doing in the world and all of them are right here. He's never one to mince words or care for proper steps, always knowing what he wants and jumping straight in to get it, and what he wants more than anything is Hinata, pinned beneath him. Trembling and aching. Crying out Atsumu's name.

Just the thought of it—the memory of the hundreds of times they've done this before, of the way Hinata fits so perfectly against him, of how he molds to him, bending, breaking—makes Atsumu desperate, and he grips at him harder, bruising his sweet thighs, marking his perfect skin, crawling even further upward, beneath his borrowed shirt, all the way to—

Atsumu stills, palms flattened over the pretty angles of Hinata's hips. His very bare hips. "You're not wearing underwear."

Even as flushed as he already is, Hinata somehow manages to look embarrassed. "I, ah—it's s-so much more—comfortable—w-without—"

"Oh?" Atsumu's expression clears, gaze going dark, almost predatory. All at once, the storm inside him has calmed, replaced by something else. Something dangerous. "You crawl into your bed wearing nothing but my shirt, primed for my attention, practically begging to be taken, and expect me to believe you didn't have an ulterior motive? Such a tease," he croons. "After all these years, you still don't know how to ask for it, do you?"

Hinata stares up at him with parted lips, a tantalizing combination of terrified and breathless that leaves Atsumu starving.

"C'mon, Shouyou," he breathes. "Admit it. Tell me. You want to be fucked."

The sound Hinata makes is downright sinful, made doubly irresistible from how sweet he looks, how virtuous, with his wide eyes and trembling hands and the way he can't even hold Atsumu's gaze, his eyes pointed just above his right shoulder.

It almost makes Atsumu laugh. Outside the bedroom, Hinata may be the fearless one, leading Atsumu along like a bumbling idiot who has long since surrendered his heart, but after dark, their roles are switched. When it comes to the illicit nature of their relationship, Hinata defers to him, bares his body to him, hands over all control and lets Atsumu pull his every string, able to bend him and use him however he pleases.

The best part is Hinata doesn't even mean to. He tries to be steady, tries to fight for control. He just can't. He's made to be worshipped, and his body knows it.

"It's cute, how you think I'd still fall for this act," Atsumu murmurs. "So fucking sweet the way you try to tempt me, all so I'll give you everything you want without you having to say a word."

"N-no! I—"

"But I know better," he continues like Hinata hadn't spoken. "No one who takes cock like you do is innocent. The way you split open for me, struggle to take me, fit my big dick into that sweet little ass of yours…" He slides his rough palms up Hinata's waist, drawing shivers and gasps, lighting a trail of flushed skin with every touch like he's carving lines with a blade. "You're no angel. You want to be ruined, want to be filled, want me to fuck you so hard you feel me deep inside you for the next week. Isn't that right, Shou?"

Hinata whimpers at his words, alway so sensitive to every little thing he says. Atsumu could get him off with nothing but his voice alone. He's done it before. He could do it again. "P-please."

"Please what?"

"I want—I-I want—"

Atsumu laughs, light and airy but in no way masking the dark undertones beneath. "Aw, come on, Shouyou. You're a big boy. You can ask for what you need."

Hinata swallows like his throat is filled with glass. "I want you," he whispers, surprising Atsumu with his earnestness, his shy sincerity. "I missed you so much. I really hoped you'd be here. Please?"

A few words. That's all it takes to feel like a fire is ignited through Atsumu's core, burning instantly through his veins to ignite every distant part of him. His smile grows deadly. "Yeah? Well, too fucking bad."

Hinata's eyes go wide, fucking adorable. "Wha—"

Atsumu cuts him off with a bruising kiss that makes Hinata's whole body react, his body jerking into his touch as he drags his hands up Hinata's thighs, so desperate for anything Atsumu is willing to give. Atsumu makes sure to brush his thumb against the sensitive base of Hinata's cock, drawing the sweetest goddamn gasp in the history of the world, before grabbing the edge of Hinata's shirt and tanking it up over his head.

It barely hits the floor somewhere behind him when Atsumu has his mouth on Hinata's shoulder, on his neck, nipping ferociously at his protruding collarbone before sliding upward to suck punishingly on his throat and chest.

He's being rough, he knows. He's acting like a fucking dog, wanting to lay claim to something that he doesn't doesn't deserve to and not giving a damn what it looks like in the process. He wants to cover him in marks, to make sure no one can look at him without knowing he belongs to somebody.

Screw those goddamn beach Brazilians. Hinata is his.

Moving down Hinata's chest, Atsumu's lips barely close around one pointed peak when Hinata nearly bucks him off the bed, already crying with need. Atsumu bites and sucks, preying on all the parts he knows are sensitive, taking advantage of how delectable Hinata is, how perfectly primed for using.

By this point, Hinata is already shaking, begging, so exquisite in his desperation. His small hand reaches instinctively towards his cock to relieve some of the pressure only to be smacked away with a low growl, the message fucking clear.

Atsumu is running the show tonight. Hinata just has to lie there and take it.

"God, just fucking look at you," Atsumu breathes, marvelling at all the marks that have already bloomed all over Hinata's neck and chest. For someone with such fair skin, Hinata doesn't bruise that easily. It takes effort for Atsumu to mark it, and it's extra work he greatly enjoys—especially when Hinata makes faces like that. "Barely a few sweet kisses and you're already drooling, already hard for me. My pretty little doll, just meant to be played with. You don't even get it, do you? How fucking sweet you are?"

He presses one teasing kiss to the wet corner of Hinata's mouth, earning him the sweetest little whimper in response, like fucking music to his ears. Atsumu leaves a path of cruel kisses down his throat, all teeth and tongue like he wants to devour him while, and he can feel Hinata's hands shift as if to grab his hair only to quickly flinch away, knowing better than to touch him without permission. So fucking cute.

"It's okay, Shouyou," he murmurs. "I know you want something. It's okay to ask."

Hinata hesitates, breathless, wanting more than anything to speak but wanting even more to please him. Atsumu waits for the begging, for Hinata to express how much he needs someone to touch his cock, to help him towards release, so it's an utter surprise when instead he whispers, "Can I—t-touch you too? Y-you're still—wearing all your clothes, and I—I want… Is that—ah!—okay?"

God, Atsumu loves him. He loves him so fucking much.

Forcing himself to lean back so he doesn't lose his restraint and just take Hinata right then and there, Atsumu tilts his chin, almost challengingly, his gaze piercing and dark. "You want me naked? Undress me yourself."

Hinata's hands are visibly shaking as he pulls Atsumu's shirt over his head, and it only gets worse when he reaches Atsumu's sweats. His pupils are blown wide, expression toeing the line between frightened and aroused. When his sweet little hands ease the waistband over Atsumu's hips, Hinata has to take a quivering breath just to steady himself and that's just about all Atsumu can bear.

In one swift motion, Atsumu kicks off his sweatpants and pushes Hinata back on the bed, but this time he doesn't waste any time. This time, his teasing is meant to be cruel.

He slides down Hinata's defined frame to spread those perfect thighs and immediately presses a kiss to Hinata's base.

Hinata reacts like a bullet, sudden and swift. His hips try to lift off the bed, but Atsumu holds him down, one hand anchored on his hip while his other hand holds Hinata's cock in place so Atsumu can give it a slow, teasing lick.

"Ah!" Hinata wails. "No!" He shakes his head clumsily against the sheets, even as he tries to rock his hips deeper, so fucking demanding.

Atsumu smiles against his cock and dives right in.

Like with everything else, Hinata is so much smaller than he is, though not unimpressive. There's still enough for Atsumu to grip, to stroke, to fit perfectly into his mouth. He keeps to kitten licks and teasing kisses along the sides, the perfect kind of torture for someone as sensitive as Hinata who can genuinely get off with the slightest touch, and the sweet sounds that he's making, the choked-up wails and begging for things he knows he won't get, only make Atsumu want to torment him more, keep him on the edge as much as he can so long as he keeps looking utterly wrecked like this.

"Please," Hinata cries. "P-please, 'Tsumu, please! I—I need—more—I can't—ah!"

"So impatient," he hums, gently thumbing his slit. "And after I'm being so fucking nice to you. Can't even wait a minute, can you?"

Hinata's face is a cherry, and Atsumu wants to devour him whole. "P-please," he whispers, just as desperate even as he tries to temper his anguish. "Please, I can't—I can't come like this, I—I can't—"

"Who said I wanted you to come? You're leaving me, aren't you? Maybe this is punishment."

His expression is so devastated that Atsumu almost wants to take pity on him.


Atsumu edges him for what feels like hours and yet somehow no time at all. And he enjoys every single second of it.

He loves the weight of Hinata against his tongue, loves the salty taste of him, of the sounds it draws from him. They say sex is two parts sensation and one part reaction, but Atsumu thinks there should be a category reserved for how much he fucking loves to capture parts of Hinata in his mouth, from the suckling of his fingers to the way he draws in Hinata's bottom lip just so he can tease it with his teeth. He loves the kissing, the sucking, the overwhelming pleasure of leaving bite marks all over Hinata's skin in places he can hide to places he definitely can't.

And then of course there's the gratification of taking Hinata's perfect pink cock into his throat to draw out noises no one else has ever heard from him—and, if Atsumu has anything to say about it, no one else ever will.

Over and over, Atsumu teases him with the gentlest touches to drag Hinata up a slow climb only to let him dangle and sink back without release. And over and over, Hinata cries.

His cheeks are flooded, his skin flushed so beautifully red. And yet he doesn't tap out; doesn't ask Atsumu to stop. He just takes it, begging and desperate—takes it like the good boy he is, like the perfect thing he's always been, and maybe Atsumu is getting soft or maybe he's a little impatient himself, because he gives in far sooner than he intended to.

With an affectionate hum, Atsumu expertly tongues the underside of Hinata's cock while rubbing his thumb against his perineum and is rewarded with the almost instant sobbing explosion.

"Ah—n-nngh!" Hinata bites the inside of his wrist to muffle his screams, and Atsumu might've been miffed about it had he not been so captivated by the feeling of Hinata's release on his tongue, sliding down his throat, his cock twitching desperately as it tries to settle from its much desired high. Of course, Atsumu has to be an ass and lick playfully at his oversensitive tip, which drags another strangled cry from Hinata's lips.

Almost as if in apology, Atsumu immediately releases him and crawls up his tiny frame, kissing gentle amends as he goes.

"You did so good, Shouyou, fuck, you're such a good boy, so fucking perfect for me." He kisses praises all over his neck, loving the way Hinata can't even move but still wants it, tilting his head as much as he's able to give him better access. "Only two more to go."

Hinata makes a gurgled sound, sluggish and faint. "More?"

"Of course," Atsumu says. "That was only your first orgasm. I want you to have at least three before we're finished."

As expected, Hinata's eyes go wide, so fucking adorable in his singular predictability. "T-three? No, I—I can't, 'Tsumu, there's—there's no way—"

"Aw, you're so fucking cute, acting like you don't want it." He brushes Hinata's bangs back so he can press a soft kiss to his forehead, his brow. "Three is the minimum. Let's see if you can be good for me and get to four."

"W-wait—ah!" he gasps when Atsumu gives him a playful slap on the thigh before sliding off the bed with a wink. After grabbing the lube from the bedside drawer, he crawls back onto the mattress, urging Hinata to roll over as he goes.

"On your knees."

Hinata swallows thickly, even as his body obeys, probably without thinking. "I… 'Tsumu, are you—mad at me? You seem…"

A bitter laugh rises from Atsumu's throat. "Are you really only noticing that now? Of course I'm fucking mad. I've been mad all fucking week." Atsumu grips Hinata's ass one more time for good measure then begins to smear the lube all over his fingers, his limbs stiff no matter how much he tries to get them to obey.

But first he softens his voice.

"Do you want to stop?" he asks quietly. Because no matter how angry he is, no matter how hurt and scared and fucking pathetic he knows he's acting, he would never do anything to actually hurt Hinata, never do anything to make him uncomfortable or push limits they've already established.

Expression turning gentle, Hinata shakes his head once, then, instead of offering a kiss, he lays his chest against the bed, ass still up in the air, curving his spine the way he knows Atsumu likes. An apology for something he has no business feeling guilty for. "I want you," he says softly. "More than anything. And I always trust you to take care of me."

It's like wrapping barbed wire around his heart and expecting him not to falter, but Atsumu is a stubborn bastard and he's not finished making Hinata his, so he only presses one kiss to the bottom of his spine, a silent I love you, before pressing his finger in.

Of all the sounds Hinata makes when they're together, Atsumu loves the ones when Hinata is being entered most, whether with his fingers or his cock, the drawn-out gasps somehow different from all the others, like it stokes a completely different flame in him than when they're just kissing or using tongue.

And god, the way he shakes. A few crooks deep inside him and he is putty. A second finger followed by a third and he is sobbing. Hinata is a blooming flower, so sensitive everywhere, so easy to ignite with pleasure, but it's only when Atsumu reaches inside him, fucking stretches him—so tight and wet and hot around his skin—does Hinata really break, shattering so completely with only a few minutes of being spread apart.

His comedown this time is far less lyrical, choppy and broken and fucking hotter than anything Atsumu can dream. When he pulls his fingers out, the tight little hole twitching after him, somehow begging for more even after everything he's been given, Hinata can only whine, a sweet, keening noise that fists around the fire in Atsumu's belly and stokes it into crippling blaze.

"That's two," Atsumu whispers, after kissing up Hinata's spine, all the way up to his neck, his ear. "Now crawl forward. I want you sobbing."

At first, Hinata is so out of it he can only gurgle a confused noise in response, which Atsumu expertly predicted and finds too stupidly endearing for words. To assist, he slides his hold to lift Hinata's torso and lead him further up the bed until he's on his knees in front of the wall, hands anchored on the headboard, chest almost pressed against it.

Only then does Hinata seem to realize what Atsumu has in mind, and the panic is enough to supply him with a surge of energy, grip tightening over the wood as he throws a terrified look over his shoulder, so fucking gorgeous Atsumu almost can't take it.

"We—can't!" Hinata gasps, the words stuttered and slurred with his exhaustion.

They both know this position is a brutal abuse of his prostate, and while that might've been fine for his first orgasm or even his second, this kind of direct stimulation after already coming twice is nothing more than a punishment and Hinata will likely be destroyed by it.

With an easy hum, Atsumu uses one hand to cup his chin for a kiss, the other hand already slicking over his dick, preparing him for entry.

"Tell me to stop," Atsumu says. But of course Hinata doesn't, so he only pushes forward.

And god, he almost has to stop halfway through, it feels too fucking good. The way it feels inside him—there's no bliss that can match it, no drug that can replicate it. This is ecstasy, euphoria, a pleasure so great and all-consuming that it drives his body straight into a mindless delirium. Hinata's little body grips him so hot and wet and tight it seems almost impossible that Atsumu is able to be there at all, and he has to pause the instant he sinks into the base, his breathing already fractured and worn.

"Fuck, Shouyou, your ass is perfect, who gave you the right to be this fucking perfect, mother of fuck." Groaning lowly, Atsumu rocks only once into him, slow, almost gentle, but Hinata cries out like he'd been fucked black and blue, his spine giving out so Atsumu has to hold him up by the waist just so he doesn't collapse into a boneless puddle.

"Nooo," Hinata moans. "No, no, no, 'Tsumu—it's—too much—I—I can't—"

"You can," Atsumu murmurs, without another torturously slow rock of his hips. "You'll be good for me, won't you? Let me fuck you so deep you'll feel me during your entire plane ride to another continent far away?"

Hinata sobs, inconsolable. "I—I—"

"Good," Atsumu says, almost cruelly, as he pulls back to the tip then slams in hard.

And Hinata breaks. With his back to Atsumu's chest, his hands clawing uselessly at the wall, every thrust of the thick cock inside him scrapes relentlessly against his prostate, a direct assault that not even the strongest man could endure.

It's sadistic and punishing and unbelievably cruel, but Atsumu only tightens his grip on Hinata's hips and fucks him harder, enough that Hinata almost has to rest his head against his trembling hands, unable to properly breathe with how horribly Atsumu is treating his body. Hinata tries to straighten up against the headboard, tries to pull away to lessen the crippling onslaught of sensation, but Atsumu only grips his hips tighter and drags his cock in and out of him with the purpose of a flamethrower, searing, destructive.

He's only able to do this once, twice, who knows how more times before Hinata's whole body seizes up and he sobs his way through another torturous orgasm, not even a minute after being entered.

Feeling merciful, Atsumu stops his movements enough to keep from hurting him, though it's inherently selfish because there's nothing better than the feeling of his Hinata coming around his bare cock. After being together for so long, they only use condoms when they don't want to make a mess, but tonight, Atsumu wants to fill him. Tonight, Atsumu wants to mark his pretty pink skin, wants to claim him, partly so Hinata knows it but more so Atsumu himself knows it, can remember it, the way some part of him is able to lie in a place inside Hinata where no one else has been.

And the way Hinata feels around him without a barrier, the way his wet flesh clings to him, trembles around him, trying so hard just to keep him in—it's more than worth the cleanup. Atsumu would give anything to feel him like this, every day, all the time.

"You okay?" Atsumu murmurs, breathing kisses along his shoulder, climbing up his neck. One of his hands keeps Hinata's nearly limp body upright, elbow hooked around his narrow waist, while the other hands plays gently along his skin, a dancing melody both of them are too wound-up to appreciate.

The sound Hinata makes is garbled and incoherent, barely more than a moan. Atsumu rocks his hips a little to test him, only to have Hinata clench down on him so hard he nearly blacks out, the sweet boy so wrought and oversensitive he spasms with the slightest brush.

"Fuck, Shouyou, your ass feels so good trembling around my dick like that—"

"No," Hinata sobs. "No! I—I can't—it's too—"

"So tell me to stop," he whispers again. "C'mon, Shou. You know I'd pull out the instant you told me you can't take this—but that's not what you want, is it? You like this. You want this. You're so fucking greedy, chasing another orgasm after I've already given you three. My beautiful, needy boy."

Hinata cries so sweetly against the wall, his ass fluttering around Atsumu's dick with the praise, such a shameless compliment whore.

"You have to tell me," Atsumu says. He rocks into him just enough to torment, never pulling out, but never putting anything but passive pressure on his prostate either. "You have to say it. Know what you want and fucking ask for it, damn it!"

"You!" Hinata bursts out in a sob, like the words have been ripped from his throat, choked, strangled. "I want you," he begs, somehow even more broken. "'Tsumu, please. It h-hurts. I need you to fill me. Please."

It's like a chord of restraint finally snapping free, unleashing the monster he's never been good at hiding.

Atsumu doesn't even remember how his heart restarts, because before he realizes it, he has Hinata flipped onto his back, pinned onto the mattress, legs folded in the air as Atsumu thrusts into him like a goddamn madman.

He fucks him so deeply he doesn't remember to breathe for the first half of it, only inhaling sharply when his vision starts to blur around the edges, though he's not sure how much of that is because of lack of oxygen and hot much is because Hinata just feels that fucking good.

With this position, it's less of a direct assault and more of a deadly side storm, though with Atsumu's size, it doesn't even matter. He still fucks against all Hinata's oversensitive edges no matter the angle, and even exhausted, even after coming three times, even as boneless as he is, Hinata still clings to his arms, his shoulders, whining and sweet, like he can't bear to be apart from him, not even for a moment.

"Fuck, baby, you're perfect," Atsumu pants, the rare nickname slipping out of him unintentionally in his delirium. "You feel so good, you're fucking beautiful, you take my cock like you were fucking made for me, fucking born for me, just to take my dick, just like this."

"Too much," Hinata sobs. "It's too—much—'Tsumu, you're so—ah!—I can't, I—love you—loveyouloveyouloveyou—"

Hinata can't rock his hips, can only lie there and take it, but it's enough, it's more than enough, it's everything Atsumu ever wanted. Because here's this perfect boy beneath him, the most beautiful boy in the world, being used so terribly, treated so horribly, yet still he struggles for the energy just to tell Atsumu how much he loves him as he's being brutally fucked.

It fucking hurts, and yet it's all Atsumu has needed these past few weeks as he tried and failed to keep his distance, because despite what people think of him, Hinata isn't blind, isn't stupid, and even when Atsumu is awful, Hinata always knows what he needs.

Him. All he needs is him.

Hinata's hands shake before his body does, but Atsumu can barely register it because he's shattering, too.

He comes so hard he sees stars. Releases so deep inside he knows there's no way they'll be able to get it all out before Hinata's flight in the morning. The force of his orgasm nearly knocks him out completely, made even more paralyzingly by the way Hinata's ass milks him like it's what he was made for, to be filled by this monster who can't seem to stop burning poison through everything he touches.

Atsumu doesn't realize how far he's folded Hinata in half until the boy starts to whimper, and then Atsumu is quick to rise on his elbows, easing Hinata's slim thighs from his shoulders, pressing apologetic kisses to his leg, his calf, the inside of his knee.

He's loathe to pull out just yet but knows he owes it to Hinata to clean him up as soon as possible, so he draws back with a hiss, hating the feeling of the cool air on his wet dick, though he's briefly mesmerized by the sight of his release dripping from Hinata's sweet pink whole, trailing onto the sheets.

"'Tsumu?" Hinata can't even open his eyes, he's so exhausted, but his fingers twitch across the covers, his voice messy, panicked. Searching. Wanting.

Atsumu crawls up on the bed just enough to give him a few soft, regretful kisses on his damp, tear-stained cheeks. "I'm right here, Shouyou," he whispers. "I'm so sorry. Let me clean you up a little first and then I'll be back to hold you, okay?"

Hinata doesn't respond but his worn shoulders relax against the bed, his breathing steadying, content with that answer.

Atsumu makes quick work of his own mess in the bathroom then returns to mop up what's left on Hinata with his favorite feather-soft baby wipes, making sure to be as fast as he is thorough, already feeling the arduous weight of guilt tightening around his chest from how bruised and red he is all over.

Hinata doesn't look like someone who just had sex with the man he loves. He looks like someone who was assaulted. Someone who was just minding his own business, kind and happy and sweet, only to be held down and nailed so ruthlessly that he had no choice but to let it happen.

And that's not far from the truth.

Once everything's taken care of, Atsumu slips beneath the blanket this time and carefully eases Hinata under with him, his tiny body so malleable and weak that it's like molding a small doll to cradle in his embrace, one arm strewn across his chest, his head lolled against Atsumu's shoulder.

Hinata doesn't stir when Atsumu soothes gentle kisses against his hair. His breathing is somehow tattered even in his forced slumber, which only makes Atsumu feel even worse, even more horrendous.

God, what the fuck is wrong with him? He ignores Hinata for weeks, makes petty excuses to avoid him because he didn't want to hear about how excited his boyfriend was to leave him, then on Hinata's last night in the country when Atsumu already lied that he wouldn't be able to make it, he shows up on Hinata's doorstep and proceeds to savagely fuck him into unconsciousness.

Another strike, another black mark.

Another reason Hinata deserves a million times better.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice choked and broken. Filled with regret. "I'm so fucking sorry, Shouyou. I'm sorry."

Atsumu freezes when Hinata begins to stir against him, though barely more than a slight changing of breath. Feeling like there's a suffocating net around his lungs, Atsumu stays perfectly still as Hinata flutters to the living, and when he finally speaks, his voice is soft. Worn.


"Sorry," he blurts again before cursing himself and forcing his breathing to steady so he can try once more. "Sorry," he echoes, steadier now. Fake. "I, ah, the bruises," he lies. "You're practically covered in marks. There's no way you'll be able to hide them all when you leave tomorrow."

Hinata sighs so sweetly, his lean arm a calming weight on Atsumu's chest. "I like it when you mark me," he slurs. "I like being yours."


Atsumu closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Presses his lips to the top of his head.

"You're—way too sweet for your own good," he laughs hoarsely. Another kiss against his hair, longer this time. Filled with yearning. "Go back to bed. I didn't mean to wake you up. I know you have to be up early."

But his mistake was trying to pretend around the one person who knows him better than anyone else, because Hinata only has to hear the slight shift in his voice and then he's sluggishly pulling back to look at him, somehow managing to appear concerned even when his eyes can barely stay open. "'Tsumu?" he whispers. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Atsumu almost laughs, lungs twisted and vitriolic. As if he has to fucking ask. Hinata is leaving him, moving to a warm country far more suited to his radiance, to a culture where friendships are different and courtships are far more fluid and anyone with eyes will try to hit on what's his.

And Hinata—sweet, friendly, and stupidly oblivious to flirting—won't have a clue.

Atsumu knows Hinata would never cheat on him. Hinata would never intentionally hurt someone he cares about. He's too kind to even consider it.

But Atsumu also knows how transcontinental relationships work. It's not just the distance that curses them. It's the time differences, the having to put extra effort in just to schedule a call, the lonely nights and hours spent wishing they could talk when the other is asleep.

Hinata may be kind, but he's also a very tactile person, one who is very easy to love and who in turn loves many people.

He could do it, Atsumu knows. He could fall for someone else. It's not the same for him, the way it is for Atsumu. His heart is so big. He could be happy with anyone. It doesn't have to be Atsumu. Nothing ties them together but circumstance, but a choice, and what Atsumu is most afraid of is that one day it'll be easier for Hinata to choose someone else rather than put in the effort to remain with a man in another country whose emotions often make him irrational and whose jealousy is undoubtedly exhausting.

It would be so easy for Hinata to belong to someone else.

And Atsumu hates it. He hates it so much.

"It's nothing," Atsumu says, voice like burning saccharine, almost venomous in his attempt at deception. He's always been so bad at pretending. "Just go back to sleep. Trust me, day-long flights aren't comfortable. You're gonna need it."

But Hinata only pushes up on his elbows a little, so wobbly in his exhaustion, all so he can get a better look at Atsumu's face. "'Tsumu?" he asks again, more tentative this time, achingly hesitant.

He doesn't wait for an answer though. He must see something in Atsumu's eyes because he sits up even more now, bottom lip full-on trembling, a halted look painting his expression with something Atsumu immediately hates to see.

"O-oh," he whispers.

A violent storm twists in Atsumu's belly, and these aren't romance-singing butterflies.

"This… is about tomorrow. About me leaving."

A cruel laugh rips itself from Atsumu's throat, the sound mangled and near hysterics. "Oh, you think? What gave it away? How about the fact that my boyfriend is moving across the fucking globe for two years and didn't even bother to ask how I felt about it?"

Hinata flinches back like he was struck, hurt blooming on his face like a wildfire. "That—that's not fair," he protests weakly. "We talked about this when I was in high school! We made this decision years ago—"

"No," Atsumu snarls. "Not we. You. You decided. You're the one who's willing to throw everything we have to go frolick on a fucking beach, and I had to pretend to be okay with it so you didn't leave me sooner. Do you have any idea what a transcontinental relationship is actually like? It's not the same thing as being on opposite sides of Japan, because at least here we're in the same country, the same time zone, an easy train ride away when we get lonely or scared.

"You're moving to another continent, Shouyou. That's thirty hours of travel—over a day spent in the air—and a twelve-hour time difference, meaning that when I'm getting up in the morning, you're already preparing for bed. Not to mention the fact that I'm a professional athlete with a stupid fucking schedule and you refuse to let me pay for your plane tickets, so that means the amount of times you'll be able to come back to Japan are slim to none. It'll be months between times we get to see each other—months—and you don't even seem to care because all you give a damn about is getting better at fucking volleyball!"

The last of his rant spills out in a breathless flood, like the words have been building up in him for so long that the fortified dam he built to keep them at bay was inevitably bound to crack under the pressure, letting it all rush out of him with the force of a pent-up estuary, and there was nothing he could've done to stop it.

But like most things Atsumu does on instinct, it is quickly followed with regret. Almost the instant that last sentence bursts free of his mouth, his mind finally catches up to his actions and his eyes lock onto Hinata, on his face, on the expression he's wearing, and suddenly Atsumu is willing to give up his whole fucking arm just to turn back time so he can take back what he said.

"Fuck," Atsumu swears, sitting up quickly so he can reach for Hinata's cheek—only to flinch away before he can make contact, feeling filthy, undeserving. "I—I'm s-sorry, I—I didn't mean that, I—"

But he did. And they both know he did.

That only makes it worse.

"O-oh," Hinata says again, smaller this time, and Atsumu actually feels something in his chest crack at how obviously his normally radiant high school sweetheart is trying not to cry. "Oh. I… I didn't know you—felt. Like that." He blinks rapidly, as if that's enough to hide the blatant tears that are already threatening to spill down his cheeks, and though it always kills something in Atsumu to see Hinata upset, he's also tired, so tired, and he's especially exhausted at pretending to be okay with this move, because really he's not, and he never has been.

"God, Shouyou, I—I can barely go a week without seeing you these days. Did you really think I'd be okay with you putting a whole ocean between us so the only time I'll be able to kiss you is after two cramped flights over the span of thirty-one hours and a layover where I'd probably be tempted to kill someone?"

Hinata swallows around the knives in his throat. Looks anywhere but Atsumu's face. "Oh," he echoes.

Atsumu makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "Is that all you can fucking say?"

"I—I don't know what I can say." Hinata clenches his tiny, trembling fists on his lap, his shoulders curled inward with the effort it takes to not break down. "Are you asking me to stay?"

"No." Because he knows what Hinata's answer would be. He's neither optimistic nor stupid.

And Hinata's soft sigh of relief only confirms that, further twisting the blade in Atsumu's gut, stoking the insecurities that no matter how much Hinata loves him, he'll always love volleyball more.

Atsumu will never be good enough for him. It should be pointless to try. But he's so in love that giving up feels even more devastating, like he'd be cutting out the most vital part of him, a precious object he's wrapped his roots around, grown strong around, and trying to untangle who he is without Hinata will only bring him to his knees.

Hinata breathes in like he's a tiny sapling trying to take on a storm, his knuckles so white Atsumu fears they'll break through skin. "What... does that mean for us then?"

Atsumu frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"If…" He hesitates. "If it'll be easier for you to—to take a break, w-we can—"

"What?" Atsumu jerks back so quickly he almost gets whiplash. "You want—to break up?" The words come out in a choked whisper, practically strangled from his throat. His lungs are tight, suffocating him, making it impossible to think, to breathe, because no, he can't, he can't break up with Hinata. He can't. He won't survive it. He can't.

Eyes going wide, Hinata surges forward with surprising energy to grab Atsumu's hands. "Nonononono, of course not! I just—I thought if you wanted to—"

"No!" Atsumu howls. "Why would you even—no! Fuck no! I can't—how could you—I-I thought—"

"I know, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, I'm so sorry," Hinata rushes to say. "I didn't mean to—"

"Give me a fucking heart attack at age twenty?"

"I'm sorry," Hinata cries. "I really thought you—"

"Just because I'm fucking terrified that you'll find someone better in Brazil doesn't mean I'll ever be the first one to break things off. I love you, damn it! I love you so much it—" Atsumu sucks in a sharp breath before he can finish that sentence, raking a trembling hand through his sex-wrecked hair as he tries to steady his breaths.

But Hinata's face has cleared like he was just slapped with a revelation, his perfect little mouth shaping into the sweetest little 'o.' "You think… I'm going to fall for someone else?"

Atsumu flinches. Rolls his shoulder. Forces a smile and tries to play it off. "What, you really telling me you won't be tempted, with all those hot Latin American men jumping around in their swimsuits covered in sunscreen and sweat?"

Hinata looks strange, likes he's stuck between trying not to cry and trying not to laugh. "I… don't even know how to start unpacking that. I mean, first of all, they don't wear swimsuits all the time—they still have clothes, y'know, like normal people—and secondly, what about sunscreen is sexy? Why is everyone hot? What kind of beach pornos are you watching?"

Atsumu chokes on a laugh before he remembers he's supposed to be angry, but it's hard to be mad at Hinata when he looks so cute with his pouty sweet lips and furrowed little brows like he genuinely doesn't understand where Atsumu developed this warped idea of what Brazil is like. "You don't know how you'll feel when you get there—"

"Actually, I do," Hinata says earnestly. "I do know how I'll feel. I'll still be in love with you."

Somehow, out of everything that's happened tonight, that takes his breath away the most.

It's funny, because everyone always presses hard on Atsumu about how he acts around Hinata. Be nice to Hinata, don't hurt Hinata, treat Hinata well… And Atsumu takes it, of course—he takes a lot of shit from his friends that he wouldn't normally take from anyone else—but he also has to bite on his tongue to keep down the bubbling scoff.

Because don't they realize Hinata isn't the one at risk here? Everyone seems wary of Atsumu, like he'll be the one to fuck all of this up—and yes, maybe he's a screw-up when it comes to anything outside of volleyball, but not here.

Hinata holds all the power here. Hinata is the one with the potential to break Atsumu into a million pieces so he'll never be whole again.

"I love you," Hinata says again, just as soft, just as kind. "More than anything. I wish you'd believe it. And I'm not going to Brazil because I want to leave you behind. Having you is honestly the reason why I almost called the trip off several times." A shy laugh, though it's more tinged with a wilted sadness that Atsumu is only just now starting to notice. "It—scares me, thinking about being apart from you. I hate it. It—makes it hard to breathe. Like I'm drowning. Like I can't get enough air. Like I've made a grave mistake and I'm ruining everything by getting on that plane. But then I have to remind myself why I'm doing this in the first place. Why I'm trying so hard to be good."

"You're already a great player," Atsumu disagrees. "And—you could learn here, try out for the Jackals—everyone on the team already loves you, you know they do—"

"But that's still improving on someone else's strengths. If I want to be strong enough to stand on the same stage as you someday, I need to learn to thrive on my own, to be able to do everything, to be able to work with any setter but also not needing a setter to prove I'm worth something out there, more than just another spiker who can hit someone else's toss. Because when I finally step onto the court with you again, whether we're teammates or opponents, I want to make sure I earned it. That I deserve it."

"With... me?" Atsumu echoes dumbly.

Hinata blushes adorably, the pink like flowers on his satin skin, painting cream with roses. "O-of course! I want to play with the strongest people in the world, and you're one of them. You're—you're everything. You make me feel so happy, so alive, anytime we get to play together, to even just be together. You're so amazing, 'Tsumu. You know that, right?"

Atsumu hates how easily Hinata is able to thaw him with only a few genuine words. Hates it as much as he loves it that he can. "Y—you're just trying to butter me up," he says with a forced scoff. "I'm supposed to be mad at you."

Hinata flashes his dimples at him, adoring, radiant. Too fucking cute. "So stop being mad at me," he says. "Kiss me instead."

The request is outlandish, it's preposterous, it's so completely out there that Atsumu actually chokes on a laugh before he realizes maybe it's not so impossible at all.

Maybe it really is that simple. To want Hinata and to choose him, and to know that Hinata will choose him back. Life's already hard enough as it is. Why is Atsumu so intent on making things even more difficult by refusing to accept things at face value? By being unable to trust that his boyfriend actually wants to be with him, instead focusing on the far more negative possibility that he truly doesn't deserve this?

"You love me?" Atsumu asks, needing one last confirmation because he's greedy and scared and should be embarrassed by how pathetic he's being.

Hinata's eyes are warm, practically molten, yet somehow gentle at the same time. Soft. "More than you know."

Their first kiss is slow, almost teasing. The next few build up quickly with deliberate, open-mouthed caresses, though Atsumu doesn't slip in his tongue until Hinata has somehow found his way onto his lap, straddling him, arms draped over his shoulders.

Atsumu could go on like this forever—just kissing him, holding him, treasuring him like there's no tomorrow—but there really isn't a tomorrow, not for them, and he can tell Hinata is also aware of it from how stuttered his breaths have become as he grinds slowly down on Atsumu's lap.

So Atsumu slides his fingers down Hinata's spine, squeezing over the soft mounds of his ass only briefly before trailing lightly against his puckered hole, already so closed up even after everything Atsumu's done.

"Okay?" he whispers.

Tightening his grip on Atsumu's shoulders, Hinata bobs his head once in a jerky little nod, and Atsumu presses in.

Even after all Atsumu's efforts to clean up earlier, there's still so much leftover lube and cum inside him that the entry is somehow sloppy and wet, liquid already dripping down onto his hand with the slightest breach. This makes Atsumu even harder, a breathy groan escaping his lips as he works his finger in with probably far less patience than he should, and when he adds another so he can stretch him out enough to accept something bigger, Hinata whimpers so brokenly that Atsumu stills. His breathing halts. 


Shaking his head back and forth, Hinata cries, "More."

Atsumu is helpless to obey him, no more than a leaf caught in Hinata's undertow. He increases the motions of his fingers, curling them inside him, applying rigorous pressure with impeccable accuracy, and Hinata mewls into Atsumu's neck as he pries him open, needy and soft.

"Ah—please!" Hinata moans. "Please."

With a breathless curse, Atsumu refuses to slow the assault on Hinata's ass as his other hand gropes blindly at the bedsheets, searching for the bottle of lube that has thankfully rolled toward them with their haste. Having to remove his fingers from Hinata, he smears a generous amount on his cock to get him ready and barely has time to register that the boy in his lap is moving when Hinata suddenly grabs Atsumu's dick, lifts his hips, and immediately impales himself on it, taking it straight to the base.

Both of them cry out with the quick entry, neither of them prepared for how fucking good it feels when they're so desperate and sensitive and emotionally raw.

"Fuuuuuck," Atsumu breathes through gritted teeth as he adjusts to the fluttering walls around him, pulsing and wet. "Fuck, Shouyou. Fuck."

"Please," is all Hinata can cry as he weakly grinds his hips, and Atsumu knows what he wants, so he leans back on the stacked pillows behind him and starts to push.

Despite how much he's already been used, Hinata is so swollen and sensitive that his flesh clings to Atsumu with every slow thrust. It's almost impossible to build a steady rhythm when Hinata's ass grips him this tight, but Atsumu does it anyway, just as driven by the shaking boy above him as he is by the torturously perfect sensations on his cock.

This is not the fast, desperate lovemaking of earlier; not the savage claiming Atsumu couldn't help but take out on him despite all his efforts to hold back.

This is deliberate. Sensual. Ardent passion driven by the slow-burning heat of their long-suppressed emotions. Hinata is still so weak and oversensitive from their previous session that he whimpers loudly whenever Atsumu pushes in too deep, but he craves it anyway, rolls his tired hips as best as he can to find it anyway, and Atsumu is more than happy to help, loving how a simple change in angle of his hips can be enough to draw a strangled sob from Hinata's pretty lips.

"God, you're still so tight for me," Atsumu groans. "Fuck, Shouyou, how do you still feel this fucking good?"

"Yours," Hinata slurs. "I'm yours, just wanna be good for you, make you feel good, w-wanna—"

"Please me?" Atsumu breathes, voice growing shaky as his pace starts to pick up from Hinata's words.

He clenches down and rides his way through it like the gorgeous little fuck doll he is. "Y-yes!" he sobs. "I belong to you!"

"All mine," Atsumu agrees. "So fucking mine. So fucking pretty, so sweet, so perfect riding my cock like that, like it's what you were always meant to do." He runs his hands up the sides of Hinata's cute waist, digging his feet into the mattress in a way that allows him to fuck up into Hinata faster, even deeper, the poor boy sobbing as he goes. "Does it feel good, taking my dick like this even after all the orgasms you were already given?"

"M-more! 'Tsumu, please, I—I need—"

"I know, sweetheart. And I've got you," he whispers. "You're mine, remember? So I'll take care of you. You don't have to worry about a thing."

With that, he rolls Hinata beneath him on the bed, gripping his sweet thighs to spread them wide as Atsumu fucks him into the mattress. And maybe it's the way Atsumu took control or the finality of just promise, but Hinata comes almost instantly, body spasming with a silent scream that Atsumu drinks right up because the tightened tremors around his cock have forced him over, too.

They stay like that for a while, Atsumu relaxing as much as he possibly can without crushing Hinata beneath his weight. This time he has much less incentive to clean up quickly, to leave the snug warmth of Hinata's ass, to no longer feel the boy's heightened heartbeat against his skin. If he had his way, he'd stay like this forever, buried inside his Hinata, satiated and calm with the promise that sometime in the future, they'll be able to have this every single day.

But when Atsumu lifts his head to start to rise, he realizes that Hinata is genuinely passed out under him. Surrounding him. His breathing is soft, swollen lips parted gently. His head is rolled slightly to the side, neck begging to be bitten, and his gorgeous cheeks have the slightest tilt to them, somehow radiant even in his slumber.

"Mm," he sighs happily. "'Tsumu."

Atsumu's heart grows so rapidly he feels like the goddamn Grinch discovering the joys of Christmas for the first time.

Unable to hide the growing warmth in his chest, Atsumu presses a soft kiss to the corner of Hinata's mouth before burying his face against his neck, hiding his goofy smile against his lovely, bruised skin. He curls his body over Hinata's much smaller one, partly like a protective cage but also one that's mindful enough not to hurt his charge in the first place.

He feels so much more at peace than he'd been before he arrived, all those feelings of inadequacy and fear pushed aside for the much more preferable sensation of contentment he gets just from being in Hinata's arms.

Atsumu knows this doesn't change anything. He knows that his insecurities haven't gone anywhere, and he knows he's more than likely to spend the next two years being a very jealous, grumpy boyfriend.

But maybe he just needs to trust Hinata. To believe in the way Hinata loves him, the same way Hinata believes in the way Atsumu would ruin the world just to see him smile.

And maybe he can stay like this. At least a little longer.