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it Started with a Dare

Chapter Text

Atsumu considered himself a gentleman. Really. Honestly, he did. Fully.

What he was learning to understand was that, despite his best efforts, most people would disagree with him on that. He wasn’t a creep—he knew that. He knew when to back off, when a flirt wasn’t working, and he knew not to gawk at beauties like a creep. Not that it happened often. No, for all his eccentricity he wasn’t particularly interested in relationships beyond those needed for his carrier.

He was a simple, respectable man.

Until he met Tobio. Scratch that, until he met older Tobio. Not that freshman Tobio hadn’t been disastrously gorgeous, it was just that this older version quite literally made him weak in the knees. Older, taller, sharper Tobio with legs to cling to and a torso to claw to shreds. It often made him wonder, during his rather unwanted prodding and pushing of the famed setter, how easy it would be for Tobio to just grab a hold of him and keep him wherever he needed him. Not that Atsumu would ever object to anything Tobio would need of him (as much as he preferred to deny and passionately but falsely disprove that idea), but the notion that Tobio could keep him there, even against his will was, perhaps, a little less than pure fantasy fuel.

But Atsumu was a gentleman, contrary to popular belief, and he’d be a fool to act as outwardly thirsty for Japan’s starting setter as a certain Argentinian brunette chose to. Every time they met Atsumu was left wondering whether Oikawa had always been like that with Tobio. So openly needy, breathless at the lightest touch or the slightest look.

That wasn’t Atsumu. He wasn’t that transparent—

“You’re painfully obvious, you know.”

He’d thought.

Shoyou went on, nibbling on the plastic straw of his cup, “I mean, you’re not, like, Oikawa obvious—“

(See?)

“But you are painfully weak for Kageyama, and it shows,” he finished, slurping loudly on his mostly empty cup. His right hand dipped another fry in the now disgusting mush of cheese and dip that was once his ketchup.

Atsumu grimaced. “I’m not obvious.”

“Ah, so you agree?” Shoyou asked, sparing him a pointed glare over his plate of heart-attack in wrapping, “You agree that you have a thing for Kageyama?”

He could feel his face heating up at Shoyou’s knowing grin. The man in question continued his work of stuffing himself to breaking point with all toxins available to man. Atsumu wasn’t sure why he insisted they eat in a place as horrendously disgusting as its food, but Shoyou insisted the fast-food chain was their best option for a late night post-drinking snack.

Atsumu sighed and pushed himself back in his chair until his weight was supported only by its hindlegs. He stared pointedly at a splat of grease and lettuce dried into the ceiling. It had left a large grease-mark and he momentarily feared it would fall off and into his mouth.

“Ok, so maybe I do, kinda, find him attractive—“

Shoyou scoffed, “Kinda? ‘Tsumu, it hurts to look at. You act like a kid around him. Next thing you know you’ll be tugging on his ponytail.” He took a bite out of his burger so big Atsumu worried for Shoyou’s jaw.

“Beshidesh,” he mumbled, mouth stuffed, and Atsumu scolded him for talking with his mouth full.

Shoyou made a dramatic display of swallowing the whole bite, then cast Atsumu the most impressive glare he’d seen on the walking sunshine. The perks of spending too much time with Tobio, he thought.

Besides,” he repeated, over-emphasizing every syllable, “You’re not the only one who fell for his ugly mug.”

“Who, Oikawa?” he guessed.

“No, me.” he said, and picked up another fry as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Atsumu. Although, in hindsight, perhaps it was as clear as day. The two of them were practically attached to the hip, despite their many claims of not tolerating the other.

“Hold on, what now? You have a thing for Tobio?” he asked, bewildered.

Had. Past tense.” He corrected, slamming a hand on the table between them—color high in his cheeks. He averted his eyes. “Okay, maybe I still think he’s kinda, sometimes, a little hot, but that’s besides the point.”

He took a napkin from their shared, way-too-big pile and started wiping each finger meticulously. “But I had my fill. We used to be in mutual agreement. Once.”

Atsumu blanched. “Mutual agreement.” He repeated. Shoyou nodded casually.

“You mean, like… friends with benefits?” he added, for clarification, expecting Shoyou to aggressively deny such an absurd claim. To his utter astonishment, however, the ginger nodded.

“You and Tobio used to fuck?! Shoyou?!”

A woman and what Atsumu only guessed was her husband sent them a nasty look from across the diner.

Shoyou motioned for him to calm down, “Relax! It was a long time ago and not at all anything serious. I doubt we even understood it ourselves. Tobio and my relationship to him has always just come so naturally. We didn’t exactly talk about it; it sort of just happened.”

Atsumu noted the use of Tobio’s given name, but ignored it. He feared this was, despite his claims, a touchy topic.

“But that’s all over and done with,” Shoyou added, slurping on his coke while he thought, “I’m a taken man now. Can’t go around swooning for big, dark-haired beauties anymore.” The last bit he said with a wide, bright grin, and any worries Atsumu might have had about confessing his mortifying, painful yearning for their starting setter vanished.

Fuck it.

“I definitely have a thing for Tobio-kun,” he said, voice barely audible over the beeping from the kitchen. Shoyou heard him just fine though.

“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding, “I had no idea. How’s that going for ya?” he asked, sarcasm like honey on his words.

“Not good.” He admitted, ignoring his best friend’s alarmingly unphased reaction. Was he really that painfully obvious and if so, how much had Tobio noticed?

“He’s just—“

“Really hot. I know.” Shoyou filled in, staring at something above Atsumu’s head as he dove into his memories. “With a really, really nice dick.” He added, then, and Atsumu felt the temperature in the room rise another 30 degrees.

“Honestly, I think he was the biggest I’ve ever had,” he continued, unaware of the turmoil happening in Atsumu’s brain, “And, God, those hands. Hands, ‘Tsumu!” he was practically shouting now, leaning across the table so far he was almost face to face with Atsumu. “I would kill to have those hands around my throat again!”

Atsumu spluttered, loudly, and pushed at Shoyou’s face with his hands, sticking his tongue out in disgust at the sauce it left on his fingers. He took a napkin from their shared pile.

“Jesus, Shoyou! Have some decency!”

“Not my fault you’re a huge virgin, Miya-san,” he mocked, slurping on the remainder of his drink. Mostly to annoy Atsumu, which begrudgingly worked.

“I’m not a virgin.”

“Oh, really?” Shoyou asked, the pitch of his voice rising just that tiny bit to where Atsumu thought ‘Ah, a challenge is brewing. This will be ugly.’

“Prove it, then,” he said, “Text him. Right now. Ask him out and, when you do meet up, you better end the night with Netflix and a dicking or else you owe me 50 bucks.” he said, pointedly placing Atsumu’s phone square and neat in front of him on the greasy table.

Atsumu stared at the thing, wishing it would suddenly grow legs and run away from them. Perhaps then he’d have an excuse out of this thing.

“And if I do it? What do I get?” he asked.

Shoyou didn’t hesitate: “The dicking of a lifetime.”

Chapter Text

He hadn’t been expecting the whole team to show up. Or at the very least, a large portion of the team.

 

So, there he sat, on his impromptu date with Tobio, except they were far from alone. Atsumu bemoaned his shit luck and even shittier friends as he sat squashed between a flailing Bokuto and an equally as energetic Shoyou. They were cheering, loudly, on Hoshiumi, who was currently engaged in a rather intense arm-wrestling match with Tobio across the table.

They’d long since eaten their food, and were on their second rounds of drinks when Hoshiumi loudly announced his brilliant idea of an arm-wrestling match. It’d hadn’t been completely unprompted. Somehow Tobio had this inborn, natural talent of riling people up for a challenge without ever actually challenging anyone. He had proudly proclaimed that, out of the five of them he was certain he would win in an arm-wrestling match, to which Hoshiumi had bristled defiantly.

And, so it came to be that Atsumu sat suffocated between the two most insufferable teammates of the Japanese National team, watching in growing horror how Tobio won match after match against a furiously stubborn Hoshiumi who didn’t know when to accept defeat.

 

He could see Tobio’s shirt-sleeves stretch wide across his shoulders and biceps, could see his arms strain with barely-existent effort. Not a drop of sweat anywhere, not a shade rosier than normal; he sat completely unaffected, at this point mostly just messing around with Hoshiumi. Of course, he didn’t show it. Outwardly he kept a perfectly clean poker face, but Atumu saw the glimmer behind those cold, blue eyes. He knew how competitive Tobio was, but he also knew how annoyingly proud he was in everything he did. Tobio wasn’t one to shy away from any challenge, nor was he prone to underestimate his opponents, but every once in a blue moon even he knew to tease, and Gods was it doing things to Atsumu.

“C’mon, Hoshi! You’re getting owned!” Bokuto shouted, flailing his arms and elbows dangerously close to Atsumu’s face as he did.

“My turn! My turn!” interrupted Shoyou. He was shouting now, clearly fired up by the competition and the prospect of one-upping Tobio in something.

 

To be clear, Shoyou had said he would stay out of their… date… situation, but once the other’s were oh so helpfully informed by the ever-generous and ever-social Tobio, Shoyou tagged along. ‘Mostly to annoy you,’ he’d told Atsumu, ‘And to be there for moral support when you embarrass yourself, of course!’ he’d grinned.

 

Shoyou took a seat opposite Tobio, where a disgruntled Hoshiumi had previously sat. Atsumu watched him mull over his loss, probably going through a serious crisis, but he tore his eyes away, back on the wrestling-match, when he heard Shoyou say, “I’ll beat your ass, just you wait, prettyboy!”

They were staring intently at each other, waiting for Bokuto’s signal while he adjusted their arms and hands to where odds of winning would be fair and square.

Atsumu couldn’t tear his eyes away from them; from the electricity that sparked between them anytime they came close to one another. They were each other’s polar opposites. Like a negative and a positive colliding to create a spark so bright and so strong Atsumu could feel it crawling up his legs. He wanted that. A closeness, a connection like that. Someone to share loss and victory with. Someone who’d love him tortuously, without regard for his fame or fortune or hell, his feelings.

 

“Ready… set… go!”

Immediately, muscles bulged in sudden strain, and Atsumu thought, for a moment, that Shoyou had it. That he would take home the first victory of the night, but the shift was as instantaneous as it was deadly. In a second the tides turned, and Atsumu watched in amusement Shoyou’s features go from ecstatic and arrogant to panicked.

“Ch..ea..ter..” he grumbled between clenched teeth. Tobio chuckled, and slammed his arm against the table with a final grunt. Atsumu tried to ignore the way his legs shook as viciously as the table upon impact.

“Again!” Shoyou demanded, fist already poised and ready on the table between them.

 

 

-

 

 

A whole two hours passed like that, with Atsumu growing hotter and hotter under his clothes. By the end of the night Shoyou had managed to land a few wins against the champion that had become Tobio, but when Hoshiumi had argued that it was as such only because Tobio had gotten tired, Shoyou and him entered a heated debate that lasted a whole forty minutes and got everyone else involved.

Atsumu, however, wasn’t paying that much attention. Since his talk with Shoyou, and his rather horrible drunk-text to Tobio, he couldn’t get the intrusive images out of his head whenever he looked at it. Images of his dick post practice, the few times he’d had the opportunity to glimpse it in the locker rooms, and what it could really do, according to Shoyou.

His hands, big and strong and perfectly manicured, holding onto his opponent for dear life, straining so much Atsumu worried he’d break someone’s hand. But he didn’t. The night passed without injury, because Tobio would never willingly hurt anyone. Atsumu knew that. He knew Tobio was a gentle doof. That those same, aggressive, large hands liked petting stray cats on the road and giving head scratches to injured, crying teammates as twisted ankles got bound and treated. He knew all this, and yet he wanted him to hurt him. Wanted those hard, roughened hands everywhere, in every way.

 

“’Tsumu?” He was abruptly brought out of his daydream by Bokuto’s hand on his shoulder. “We’re heading home, you guys staying?” he said, and looked between him and Tobio, who was still sitting on the other side of the table, his hands caressing a glass of whiskey. The condensation ran down and onto his fingers. Atsumu licked his lips to detach them from each other.

“I uh—“

“I think we’ll stay for a while,” Tobio interrupted, perfectly poker-faced as always. A pressure against his foot brought him to full attention. Tobio was telling him to comply.

He scratched his head, “Uh, yeah, that’s right. We, uhm, thought we would discuss some strategies… for the upcoming game.” He said, laughing nervously at Bokuto’s unconvinced, squinted stare.

Luckily for Atsumu, Bokuto wasn’t the brightest in the bunch. That, or he didn’t care whether they came with or not, “Alright! Just make sure you get home safe!”

 

They waved the group goodbye, and once the head of orange couldn’t be seen from their spot by the window anymore Atsumu turned, shakily, in his seat, to be met by a pair of blue eyes suddenly much closer than they were before. Tobio had gotten up and taken the seat closest to Atsumu where Bokuto had previously been sitting.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“W-what do you mean?”

“The message. Last night. It was weird. Were you drunk?” he asked, then looked down at his hands still clutching the now empty glass, “Was I not supposed to invite the others?” he wondered, quietly, and Atsumu wanted to kiss away the furrow between his brows.

He placed a tentative hand atop Tobio’s, and unlatched his fingers from the glass. “Tobio-kun, are you going soft on me?” he asked, teasingly, and cheered internally when the worried expression turned sour instead. Yes. That, was comfortable. That, he could handle.

“Jerk,” he mumbled, glaring daggers, and tore his hand away from Atsumu’s.

Atsumu was about to apologize, profusely, for overstepping some invisible boundary, panic already brewing in his gut, but Tobio turned, then, and said: “Are you coming, or what?”

He stopped. What?

“What?” Tobio echoed his thoughts, “I thought you asked if I was up for dinner and a movie night at your place? Wasn’t that the original plan?”

Atsumu couldn’t believe his ears. Was he doing what he thought he was doing? Was he flirting with Atsumu, or was it all Tobio’s innocence speaking? Did he know Atsumu had ulterior motives? Did he care? Would he be hurt, if he found out?

 

All these questions kept turning in his head on an endless carousel of distress when a warm, calloused hand grabbed a hold of his wrist and pulled him out of his seat.

“Stop thinking,” he whispered, eyes downcast, and turned so that Atsumu couldn’t see the burn in his cheeks.

He grinned, childishly giddy all of a sudden, as he watched the back of Tobio’s neck turn a lovely shade of red.

 

 

-

 

 

Empty bottles clouding your mind.

I know you get lonely sometimes.

Say the word and I’ll make the drive.

 

Chapter Text

Night had crept upon them slowly, and as they made their way to Atsumu’s apartment, side by side, Atsumu had room to think. To reconsider his options, and to properly evaluate the situation.

He had the room to think, but he couldn’t, because as it were his thoughts were clouded with a feeling he couldn’t quite put to words. All he knew was that Tobio’s hand against his, in the biting cold air, was ecstasy in it’s purest form.

 

He’d never longed so much for another person. Never seen himself so clearly in someone else’s eyes. Tobio did something to him. Changed him in an entegral way, a way he didn’t want to voice or even give words to. What they had, the space between them, it didn’t sparkle and crackle like Tobio’s and Shoyou’s; no, their space was different. Their sparks were internal, warm, a soft oozing of the sweetest nectar.

 

Or so his brain decided to voice the concerning warmth in his pants.

Atsumu’s hand in Tobio’s was smaller. Slimmer. Not by much at all, but by enough to send a jolt of pleasure up his spine. Their shoulders bumped gently with every step, and Tobio was wearing that stupid, naive little smile he only sometimes dared to dress. The shy, tentative thing that sent Atsumu’s heart soaring anytime he saw it.

 

“Which floor?” Tobio suddenly asked, and Atsumu realized with a start that they’d reached his apartment and his elevator.

“Eight.” His nerves came crashing down on him in that confined space. If only he could have stayed blissfully on cloud nine the whole night, but the unfortunate reality was that he’d been yanked down on Earth and right at the tipping point, too.

Tobio beside him seemed utterly calm. Or, at the very least his expression betrayed nothing. As calm and composed as ever. Atsumu hated him a little for it.

 

He’d always despised the way Tobio never seemed to struggle with nerves, never doubted anything in himself. He loathed the way he went about life simply doing his best, and expecting the best from those around him. Who could fault him, then, once he did fail? There was nothing to fault in pure, brutal, stupid honesty, and Atsumu adored him for it. Sometimes he glimpsed the little goody-two-shoes he’d seen that faithful day so many years ago, but he was gone as fast as he’d come. He supposed the little boy that sometimes reared his head was Tobio’s version of nervousness.

 

 

-

 

 

His apartment felt too big and yet too small at once to house such an enigma as Tobio Kageyama. He stood there, next to his bed, and was in the process of leisurely taking off his scarf, scanning the room as he did.

“Strange,” he said, humming to himself as he traced Atsumu’s belongings with the tips of finely manicured fingers, “It’s… empty.” He said.

He turned to look at Atsumu, who was stuck to the doorframe, seemingly waiting for an explanation.

“Empty? What, you mean I don’t have a lot of stuff?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s empty.” He said, and threw his scarf over the back of Atsumu’s deskchair. “Hinata always tells me that, too,” he went on, standing awkwardly in the middle of Atsumu’s—apparently—rather barren room, “But I never really understood what he meant before now.”

Atsumu chuckled from his place at the door. It earned him a displeased look from Tobio.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but this is all Kita’s doing. I think he spends more time caring for this apartment than I do.” He confessed.

Kita had developed a habit in highschool of caring for Atsumu, and the rest of Inarizaki, like the mother he thought they all deserved. It had stayed with him throughout life. Whenever he was by on a visit long enough to crash at Atsumu’s place he made it a point to tidy it all up and go through all the things he didn’t need with Atsumu. At this point it had become their own little way of bonding.

“Kita-san cleans for you? Are you married?” Tobio asked, and Atsumu laughed loud and hearty.

Tobio frowned at him, which only made Atsumu laugh harder. He took a step inside the room, and then another, and another, until he was close enough to Tobio to touch the sleeve of his shirt.

“15-year old me would have probably jizzed his pants if he’d heard you say that,” he said, surprising himself with his sudden honesty.

Tobio’s eyes widened. Atsumu chuckled.

“I used to have a crush on him,” Atsumu explained, to which Tobio nodded and let out a slow, quiet ‘Ah…’

“But not anymore,” he went on, and pointedly held Tobio’s gaze as he did, trying hard to somehow telepathically announce his raging crush on the setter.

Tobio seemed no different. The subtle hint had completely gone over his head.

“Why does he clean for you then?” he asked, and Atsumu almost kissed that stupid pout from off his face right then and there.

He bit his lip. “Well, lets just say it’s his way of showing he cares. He doesn’t visit often though, and I’m not here often either.”

“Where do you go every day? Don’t you at least sleep here?”

Atsumu groaned internally at Tobio’s inability to get a hint and read the mood.

“I appreciate your concern for my sleeping habits, Tobio, but I don’t think we came here to discuss my circadian rhythm.”

“Circadian what—“

Forget it, Tobio.”

They stood there, for a moment, simply breathing in each other’s existence. Atsumu realized, with a growing trepidation, that Tobio was no stranger to intense eyecontact.

“So what did I come for, then?” he asked, and Atsumu’s floor was swiped from beneath his feet. All of a sudden, his mouth refused to work, and all noises that did escape were half finished beginnings of vaguely distressed noises.

And then, to really nail it home, Tobio smiled.

Not that small, little thing, that was so common of him, and that Atsumu saw more and more of as they aged. No, this was brutal in the way it lit up his face and sharpened his already deadly features. The way it gave his eyes that little something that turned his piercing gaze incomprehensibly warm.

“That’s not fair, Tobio-kun…” he whispered, as quiet as the air in the room, and watched as those pools of blue grew closer and closer until, finally, he closed his eyes, and let his lips discover the pattern of Tobio’s.

They were soft. Moisturized and cared for like the rest of him. Of course Tobio wouldn’t struggle with such a stupid thing as dehydration. He paid close attention to every single part of his health, and upheld it with proficiency. It was one of the million things Atsumu secretly admired about him.

So his lips were soft and velvety, and his tongue tasted like the whiskey he’d been drinking earlier. A little sweet, a little tingly. Hot, like the plates of his arms as they slid up his sides, and under his shirt, to park right below his shoulder-blades where their warmth spread out like a flame over his sensitive back.

Atsumu’s hands slid up over his neck, over that strong, beating pulsepoint, and into his hair; black as coal and yet so utterly, devastatingly soft. It slid like fine sand between his fingers. He groaned, loudly, when Tobio’s body pressed closer, and his big hands found leverage right over his ass.

Atsumu tore his lips away from Tobio’s for only a second to breathe. They watched each other heave for air, held close and intertwined from fingers to hips. Atsumu wanted to ask if this was alright, if they were going too fast, if he was being insistent on something Tobio maybe wasn’t ready for, but all that came out was:

“Shoyou told me, about the two of you,” and Atsumu wanted to sink through the floor at the startled look in Tobio’s eyes.

Moment successfully broken by Atsumu’s idiocy, they slowly untangled to once again stand a step from each other.

 

He knew. Atsumu knew this didn’t mean anything, that in Tobio’s eyes it was at best nothing more than a one-time thing. An accidental fling one late evening, with alcohol a fresh buzz in their veins, that wasn’t supposed to ever have happened, and yet somehow did. He knew that, and yet he yearned so horribly for this unattainable, unloving person who’d never spared anyone so much as a single glance. Anytime the late nights at camp turned into rounds of gossip about the prettiest managers, the sexiest girls, Tobio would excuse himself early. When they grew older, and when their lips had touched many others, they would cheer and laugh around the living-room table as they shared drunken stories of one-night-stands gone wrong and failed hookups. Everyone but Tobio, who’d sit to the side, sipping his drink and simply breathing in their excitement.

He’d never spared anyone so much as a single glance. So why Shoyou? What had made him stand out? He wanted to ask, to know which type of person earned the privilege of undressing the walking dream that he was. But he didn’t, because ultimately he knew the answer.

Since he’d first seen them together he’d known they were inseparable. Nothing could break their bond. The way their spark grew and grew and grew every time they came near each other was proof enough. The unbothered way in which Shoyou would strut around in Tobio’s clothes, in Tobio’s jacket, in Tobio’s life—was proof enough. The way he’d wrap his arms around him, or bury his face in his chest, or fall asleep against his side—was proof enough. Atsumu knew why Shoyou was special, but it didn’t make it hurt any less, because despite the odds of the universe being against him he still yearned for silken hair and big, warm, calloused hands.

 

“He told you, then?” Tobio asked, gently, into the silence that had fallen like a veil over them. It clouded Atsumu’s eyes, and he hoped to whatever deity could hear him that it wasn’t because he was actually about to cry, or something equally as embarrassing.

“He did,” he managed to get out, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. Ruined the mood, didn’t I?” he laughed, trying in vein to brush it all off. To at least turn the fiasco the night hard become into an evening of movies and popcorn and laughter.

But no laughter came. Tobio’s gaze on him was steady and clear. He took a deep breath.

“You have questions.” He said. A statement, and nothing more, and yet it gave Atsumu room to ask, because Tobio had leaned back against his desk as he’d said it, and was now fiddling with the white cord of his desklamp.

He threw Atsumu a curious look beneath the curtains of long lashes.

Atsumu weighed his options, then. Heavily, and with great caution—with a tenderness he didn’t posses, according to his brother—before he opened his mouth to ask what had really been on his mind:

“Are you interested in, this, at all, or am I making horrible assumptions?” he asked, hoping Tobio would understand without him having to explain himself. He was embarrassed enough as it was.

Luckily for him, Tobio only smiled; that small, gentle thing again.

“Ah, I see,” he said, “I should have expected that to come up. Unsurprisingly, you’re not the first partner to ask me that.” He said, and Atsumu gaped.

“Wait, hold on. First? There’s been more?” he asked, bewildered, and realized only too late what his question implied. “Not that you wouldn’t—that people wouldn’t—I didn’t mean to insinuate—“

“I know,” Tobio cut him off, “I know what you mean. It’s alright. Like I said, you’re not the first to wonder, but I’m not a prude, Atsumu-san.” He shifted his weight so that he was fully supported by the desk, and clasped his hands in his lap in front of him where fingers pulled and twisted at each other. He was frowning again.

“I don’t talk about it much, because I don’t think it would be fair to the people I’ve been with for me to go around and share our stories with the world like gross locker-room jokes,” he began, voice unwavering, “But I have had sex, Atsumu-san,” he said, and looked up at a burning Atsumu who couldn’t quite meet the disappointed glare Tobio’d thrown him. “I’ve been with a few, men and women alike, and I’ve dated all of three people in my life, one of which you know, although I don’t think Hinata would call it dating, but it was basically what it was.”

Atsumu watched him as he sat, leaned against his desk. The clothes and the back-light from his lamp made him look like a long, black shadow against the wall. He was wearing all black. Black jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt that stuck to his body like a second skin. Even his boots had been black. The only thing that hadn’t been black on him had been his brown coat, and his gray scarf. Atsumu realized, with a tingling in his gut, that Tobio knew Atsumu liked him in black. He’d told him so, many times, drunk and sober, that Tobio looked like sex in black. That it brought out the blue in his eyes, somehow, and made his features as dangerous as a cliff’s edge.

Tobio rose form his seat, and with a few steps came close to Atsumu again, close enough to where he could reach out and grab Atsumu’s hand in his. He brought it up to his own chest, and placed it there over his beating heart.

“Do you think my heart would be beating like this if I didn’t actually expect something to happen? Want something to happen?” he asked, and watched closely every micro-expression on Atsumu’s face. Saw right through him and into his soul, which was melting underneath his touch.

Atsumu laughed, brokenly, and watched his hand in Tobio’s firm grasp shake uncontrollably. “Who knew you were such a player, Tobio-kun,” he teased.

“Who knew you were such a softie, Atsumu.” Tobio fired back, and Atsumu could feel his pulse spike at the lack of honorifics.

“I’m not a softie.”

“But you’re as timid as a virgin right now. Are you sure you’re OK?” Tobio went on, sounding almost genuinely concerned, “This isn’t like you,” he added, but Atsumu heard that bubbly, sparkly tone in his voice that spoke of mischief.

And he was right. It wasn’t like Atsumu to fret and flounder like this. To trip all over himself and forget how words worked. But Tobio had that devastating effect on him, and perhaps his knees were still weak from their kiss. It still burned on his lips, and made it hard to speak.

 

“Fine, then,” he said, and felt for the first time that night the weight over his chest lift off and disappear into the night, “I’ll drop the timidness, then, Mr. Goody-two-shoes,” he said with a grin, and drew him in for another searing kiss.

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Breaking my back just to know your name.

Seventeen tracks and I’ve had it with this game.

Cause heaven ain’t close in a place like this.

Bring it back down tonight.

Never thought I’d let a rumor ruin my moonlight.

Chapter Text

Tobio’s weight on top of him was perhaps the most surreal feeling he’d ever been blessed enough to experience. It was shocking to feel every inch of a body normally so far away, so shielded and well protected; a body that shied away from touch so often. And yet Atsumu could feel him.

Every single inch of him.

Warm hands were exploring every nook, every bump and surface of Atsumu’s body, and the reality was that Atsumu could—was allowed to—do the same in kind.

And yet he couldn’t. Some bizarre idea that Tobio would flee from his touch like a frightened animal had his hands stay glued to Tobio’s shoulders.

“Atsumu-san…” he whispered into his ear, and he groaned in response, hips bucking up to meet Tobio’s firm yet slow grinding.

“I think I’m slippin’, Tobio…” he said—mumbled—into his neck. He smelled amazing; like cologne and fabric-softener and that distinct scent that was so overwhelmingly Tobio.

“Touch me,” he pleaded, lips ghosting over Atsumu’s exposed neck, and who was he to deny such a cute request.

So, with his heart in his gut, beating a mile a minute, he allowed his hands free roam over Tobio’s wide back, and all the way down to his slim waist. He didn’t dare go lower, still too shaky to believe any of what was happening was real and not just his heated fantasy running wild, but Tobio was nothing if not insistent. With a firm grip on Atsumu’s wrists, he lowered his hands so they lay right over his ass, and sat back just enough to strip out of his...very...very tight shirt.

The sight was drool-worthy, if Atsumu were to be honest. Tobio always undressed like the whole world was watching. All his movements were calculated, smooth, sensual—as if he knew there were always a set of eyes on him and a pair of greedy hands ready to pounce. This was no different. Tobio’s movement was slow, but not so slow as to be awkward. His back arched in a beautiful bow as the hem of his shirt exposed inch after inch of beautiful, tan skin and a torso carved and cut by the above. Atsumu dumbly, in his shocked state, noted a smattering of moles he hadn’t seen before. One on his right hip, right at the juncture where thigh met hip; one over his navel; and the third one beneath his left pec, over the highest rib. Atsumu was torn between kissing every single one of them in order, or trailing shaky fingers down the happy-trail of coarse, black hair that disappeared into a pair of black jeans that suddenly seemed a lot tighter than before.

“Like what you see, Miya-senpai?” Tobio asked, and Atsumu would scold him for the constant teasing if it weren’t for the twitch of interest down south. Tobio switching between honorifics was something he didn’t think would turn him on as much as it did, but the power, the control, he held himself with was a fantasy he’d definitely add to his alarmingly growing list.

“I—“ he started, but had to stop and swallow when Tobio’s hand started traveling up his stomach and over his right nipple, bringing his shirt with it as it went. Tobio’s gaze was firmly set on Atsumu, face unchanging. “I d-do…”

Once his shirt was off, too, Tobio took it upon himself to leisurely drag blunt nails down his chest and to his bucking hips where they stopped to instead gently, with the tip of a finger, trace patterns right above the hem of Atsumu’s jeans. His cock was already rock-hard, straining against the material and probably soiling it in the process. The only thing that brought him peace of mind was that Tobio was likely in no better state himself.

“How do you wanna do this?” he suddenly asked, and Atsumu forgot to answer for a moment, too entranced by the drop in Tobio’s voice. He’d always had a nice voice. Even as teenagers his voice stood out among the rest. Deeper, raspier. It sounded like hot chili or crackling fire.

 

“Atsumu?”

“I want you,” he blurted, then flushed hot from chest to ears. He hadn’t pictured it like this, really.

All the times he’d fantasized about something like this with Tobio he’d been the one on top. Something about Tobio’s elegance just made him irresistible. But he realized now, with his heavy thighs on either side of Atsumu’s hips; with his weight like a blanket he couldn’t tear himself away from even if he tried, on top of him—that he wanted Tobio. Needed his cock as far inside of him as it would go. Wanted to feel every inch of him, right on top where he belonged. Wanted to hear his pleasured groans and grunts as he sunk into Atsumu in that God-awfully sexy voice of his. Wanted his hands wrapped around him, firm and calloused.

Tobio crooked a brow and regarded Atsumu for a moment and, then, smirked.

“I see,” he said, voice a raspy, broken thing, “Alright, then, ‘Tsumu. I’ll give you what you want.” He said and rose from his seat atop Atsumu to slowly, tortuously slowly, strip out of his jeans and underwear. Standing naked beside Atsumu’s bed, with nothing but the desk-lamp light shining on his dark skin, he looked dangerous. A drug would be healthier, he thought, as he let a hand reach out for a thick, firm thigh. It was covered in soft, dark hairs and felt wonderful to touch. Atsumu gulped as he let his gaze travel up, and to the left.

Tobio was big. He’d sort-of known that already. They’d both seen each other naked before, but this type of naked was new. He’d never had the privilege to gawk so openly, and at a Tobio in such a private light. His cock hung heavy between his legs. Dark and leaking with desire. Twitching under Atsumu’s gaze.

He was about to wrap a hand around him, give him some form of release, but his hand was slapped away.

“Didn’t give you permission to touch me, did I?” Tobio asked, smirk still plastered on kissable lips.

Atsumu shivered, and bucked his hips in a fruitless search for friction when Tobio kneeled back on the bed, between his legs.

“Lube? Condom?” he asked, and Atsumu dazedly flailed an arm around in the direction of the night-table. Tobio got the hint and rummaged through it until he came back holding a pack of condoms and Atsumu’s well-used bottle of lube. Tobio quirked a brow and let out a startled little chuckle. Atsumu flushed.

“I, uh, have had a thing for you for a while now…” he confessed.

Tobio nodded slowly, “I can see that.” He said, and lowered the lube and condoms on the bed beside them. Skilled fingers worked deftly with unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them, along his underwear, down shaky legs.

“Why are you so nervous?” Tobio asked, ever the observant setter.

Atsumu sighed when a calloused palm groped his naked cock. Slowly, tortuously.

“I—I don’t know. You have that affect on me. It’s e-embarrassing…” his voice broke off in a gasp as Tobio’s hands spread his legs, wide, and a lubed, warm finger found his entrance. “I’m n-not usually like—“ He stopped and moaned, loudly, when that finger found his prostate, “Like this,” he finished, and clenched the sheets in his fists so hard his knuckles turned white with strain.

He lifted his head to see what Tobio was doing to him, but dropped back down on the pillow when a second finger joined the first. Tobio’s other hand traveled from his leaking tip to his nipple, where it pinched and twisted slowly in rhythm with his thrusts.

“A-are you sure you’re n-not a playboy?” He asked, referring to Tobio’s skillful unraveling of Atsumu.

Tobio’s face remained indifferent, but his tone was thick with command: “I see you run your mouth as usual even in bed.” It was an insult. Atsumu understood that. He was insulting him on the matter of never knowing when to shut up, which Atsumu was well aware of. Somewhere inside the regular Atsumu, the teammate Atsumu, wanted to bristle and fight, but the submissive mush in Tobio’s hands, melting into his palms, groaned in pleasure at the subtle shift in mood, at the obvious degradation.

He swore, for every second that passed with Tobio his kink-list grew indefinitely larger.

“T-tobio…” he gasped when a third and then fourth finger joined in on the fun.

Tobio sighed dramatically.

“Atsumu-chan…” he started, voice laced in disappointment, like scolding a misbehaved dog who’d thrashed the bathroom while his owner was away. Atsumu’s skin prickled in pleasure. “What am I gonna do with you, hm?” he asked, but didn’t let Atsumu answer before continuing: “You can’t go calling me Tobio without permission? From now on, you will refer to me as sir and nothing else, do you understand?” he asked as he grabbed a fistful of Atsumu’s hair and leaned in close, real close.

Atsumu could barely see his face from the tears that clouded his eyes, but he nodded fervently anyways. There was something like a question in Tobio’s eyes, or rather like he was about to ask—a break in character—but Atsumu didn’t want him to break character.

“Y-yes, sir.” He said, loud and clear, and opened his mouth wide in shock when he felt the head of Tobio’s cock breach his entrance.

“Good boy, Atsumu-chan,” he whispered into his ear, and Atsumu was a gone man.

With limbs like putty, melted into the mattress, he swung his weakened arms up and around Tobio’s back where nails clawed down beautiful, unblemished skin. Tobio hissed and gasped, but judging by the twitch of his cock, buried deep in Atsumu, he liked it.

Emboldened by the reaction, Atsumu’s hands slid down the curve of his spine and stopped over his ass where they dug in, hard, and pressed him closer.

Tobio dropped his elbows so that his arms could envelope Atsumu and lift his back subtly off the bed. The lack of support meant Tobio’s whole bodyweight was now on Atsumu, who groaned loudly in pleasure.

“Aren’t you a good boy? So pliant and submissive beneath me, Atsumu-chan.” He started moving in slow but hard, deep thrusts. Each one barely grazing Atsumu’s prostate. His cock was stuck between him and Tobio, rubbing deliciously against Tobio’s stomach.

“Oh, fuck, s-sir,” he gasped and wrapped his legs tighter around Tobio’s body. The bed creaked loudly with every thrust, and Atsumu knew he’d get a complaint letter from his neighbor.

“Atsumu-chan~” Tobio sang in his ear, “You’re so good for me, so good. Do you wanna come?”

And Atsumu knew he dind’t care if it did.

“Yes! Yes! Please, sir, f-fuck me!” he shouted, nails digging into the small of his back, “Harder! Please!” he begged and barely recognized his own voice. He sounded so needy, so utterly broken, and he loved it.

Tobio bit and sucked his neck, hard, and Atsumu preened with pride, knowing he’d be walking around with visible proof that, yes, he’d fucked that.

Tobio’s thrusts sped up until each slap echoed in the room between them, and nothing could be heard over the creaking of the bed and Atsumu’s loud, uncensored moans. Tobio leaned up on his hands, so that the muscles in his arms and shoulders strained gorgeously, and Atsumu found a new place to claw, to mark as his. God, he wanted him. He wanted him more than he’d ever wanted anyone else.

“S-sir! Yes! Right there!” he shouted, practically yelled, as Tobio’s cock found his prostate.

“Are you gonna come, baby?” he asked, voice broken down by the effort. Sweat trickling down his neck and over his chest.

“Yes! Yes, sir!” he affirmed, losing himself in the feeling of being stretched open and impaled on Tobio. Feeling his hips give with the force of his thrusts every time he came down and into him.

Tobio leaned down on one side to grunt in his ear: “Untouched? Think you can do that for me, kitten?” And Atsumu was gone.

With a spark of light he felt his orgasm build until it spilled over and his back arched off the bed as hot, white seared behind his eyelids, and his mouth could barely produce a single sentence aside from a choked off, needy, “Tobio…”.

Tobio groaned and thrust into him a few more times before ceasing all movement and collapsing right on top of Atsumu.

 

They lay like that, for a minute, as each caught their breath. Atsumu barely could; not with a full-grown man right on top of him, but he cherished it anyway. Cherished that moment of ecstasy ass Tobio’s hot breath tickled his neck. Atsumu’s fingers traced the scratches on his back, now visible, red lines. He cursed himself for going over board, but when Tobio raised his head it was to smile down warmly at Atsumu.

“You’re one kinky bastard,” he mumbled in that raspy voice of his, further enriched by the sex still lingering on his syllables, and Atsumu knew he was in love.

“I really like you,” he said, and hesitantly reached out a hand to touch his jaw, tenderly, and so unlike everything they’d just done.

Tobio hummed and placed his own hand over Atsumu’s. It was hot, almost painfully so, and Atsumu had half the mind to worry about a potential fever when Tobio leaned down and stole his lips in a kiss.

This one was slow, tentative, gentle. Passionate like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He wanted to savor it, to somehow print out the feeling it created in him and keep it tucked in his wallet for the rest of his life.

“It’s your lucky day, ‘Tsumu,” he whispered when they broke apart, lips so close to his they touched with every word he uttered, “Because I like you too.”

Atsumu didn’t get the time to so much as react to his feelings being reciprocated before he was lifted, bridal-style, and into Tobio’s arms.

“Woah! Hold on!” he said, already feeling a hot blush creep up his chest, “I have legs, you know!” he objected, ears ringing.

Tobio smirked. “I can see them, yes, but you’re also a needy little princess.” He said, and cast him a knowing look.

For the second time that night, Atsumu found it difficult to protest, but made it a point of returning the favor after the shower.

Out of pure pettiness and, perhaps a little bit, of adoration.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

You say the word and I’d go anywhere blindly.

Any road that you take, you know that you’ll find me.

I’m a sucker for all the subliminal things no one knows about you,

and you make the typical me break my typical rules.

I’m a sucker for you.

 

 

 

 

-

They were lying next to each other, Atsumu with his head on his shoulder and his nose at his steady pulse, and Tobio with his leg’s entwined with Atsumu’s, drawing patterns on his side with the pad of his thumb.

Atsumu wanted to stay like that forever.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Tobio suddenly asked. Atsumu blinked and hummed into his warm skin for him to continue. “You and Kita… you’re not, like, a thing, are you?” he asked, and Atsumu almost wanted to laugh. He wondered where the proud dom from before had gone off to.

“No,” he chuckled and pulled him closer, “Kita and I are friends. Are you jealous, Tobio-kun?” he teased, not expecting an honest reply, but as with everything else about Tobio, he was painfully honest.

“Yes.” He said, “If we’re gonna do this you should know that I get…” he stopped to think, and Atsumu lifted his head enough to see the deep creases between his brows. His eyes danced around the room as he looked for the right word.

Atsumu shivered. “Possessive.” He filled in, half-expectantly.

Tobio nodded, slowly, “Something like that,” he said and sighed, “But it’s cool if you’re friends, I don’t have a problem with him, then.” He added, and placed a hand behind Atsumu’s ear where delicate fingers brushed through the short hairs.

Atsumu melted into his side. “A problem, huh? Well, if we’re gonna be like that I have a problem with a certain Argentinian player you seem to favor.”

Tobio blinked for a second, before remembering: “Who, Oikawa? Why?” He asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Atsumu laughed. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, flirts with you. He’s maybe even more obvious about it than I am,” he said.

Tobio mulled this over for a minute. “Well, we did date, once,” he stated, matter-of-fact, and placed a hand behind his head, as unphased as ever.

Atsumu sighed. “When will you stop dropping these bombs on me like they’re nothing?”

“What? How is that surprising?”

“It is!” Atsumu whined, “Didn’t he used to, like, hate you before? When did the whole dating-thing happen? How long?”

Tobio laughed and Atsumu felt the vibrations against his side. He smiled, despite himself, but kept his death glare on Tobio as best he could, still waiting for an answer.

“Around the time when Hinata moved, I think. We started chatting more and, over time, the times we bumped into each other on accident became shorts visits that then turned into long visits and overnight stays,” he explained, “But it didn’t last long. Oikawa had to move to Argentina and I wasn’t too excited over the prospect of long-distance. Maybe he still has feelings for me, if what you’re saying is true and not just your delusion.”

Atsumu huffed, “I’m not delusional. Have you seen yourself?”

“Says the most handsome guy on the team,” Tobio fired back, and Atsumu hated the way it sent a pang through his poor, abused heart.

“Am not,” he mumbled, “Not next to you.”

“Atsumu-san, I think everyone and their mother wants to be with you.” He said, as certain and as painfully honest as ever. Atsumu grinned into his skin.

“Alright, jeez, I get it I’m perfect. You don’t have to convince me of the tru—“

A pillow whacked him hard in the face and broke his sentence. He coughed and spluttered and laughed as Tobio hit him over and over again.

He grabbed the pillow and looked up at a grumpy Tobio, naked and grinning and absolutely free.

“You said so yourself,” he said, breathless, and watched Tobio’s lips quirk up into a wide smile.

“You’re insufferable.” He said, and leaned down to kiss him one more time.

 

 

 

And in the morning, when Atsumu’s phone lit up with a new text message from Shoyou, he ignored it in favor or cuddling back into Tobio’s arms.

He would text him later, he thought.