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how to draw a bath

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The world had never melted away at his feet before.

Elegant dew drops cover their bodies and the early morning breeze crawls inside his bedroom, enveloping them in a tight hug. He shivers, his eyelids fluttering open as he slowly crawls inside his blankets again, as he slides closer and closer to the warmth emanating from the body beside him, from the soft snoring and childish pout as the sun slowly awakens to start another day. 

There’s a golden mess sprawled out over white sheets, a curled up body facing him. 

It hits him like a truck.

Heads thrown back and nails digging into his back. Mouths hanging open in silent screams and the occasional not-so-silent ones. Heavy breathing on his neck, teeth nibbling on his skin and marking him in every way possible. Their hips meeting once and then twice and then a million times after that because fuck, fuck, fuck. Their post-match sore muscles screaming in agony, pleading for mercy as they threw their arms up and let their heads roll from one side to the other, their bodies seeking more, more, more, more, always more. Their lips parted in the shape of each other’s names, their teeth clashing in open-mouthed, clumsy kisses as they tried to muffle their moans, as they tried to make it last. 

It was soft at first, with a slow kiss and hands burying themselves in soft hair. It had started with Atsumu’s hands around his neck and a hum against his lips. They’d kissed plenty of times before, but it usually ended with wheezes as they laughed and tried to catch their breaths, their foreheads touching and fingers intertwined over their laps. They’d touched each other, too. Warm hands all around each other, sliding up and down slowly but steadily, increasing in speed when their breaths hitched in their throats, when they whined and whimpered and ah, please .

It had started with Atsumu poking his tongue out before quite literally devouring him in every sense of the word, his head bobbing and his tongue swirling, his hands pinning Kiyoomi’s jellified body to the mattress and ah, ah, ah , he managed to grab him by his hair, managed to pull him up and over him, managed to flip them over and look down at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. 

Tired, Omi?

You wish.

It happened so fast and yet so slowly Kiyoomi couldn’t feel his legs. It was him and everything so inherently his that Kiyoomi couldn’t help but let his body fall forward, his arms trembling as they tried so, so hard to keep him up, his eyes hazy and his mouth dry. Atsumu was shaking as they took off their clothes, as they stared into each other’s eyes and felt their hearts climbing all the way up their throats. And fuck, fuck, fuck , they were kissing again and Kiyoomi couldn’t help his hips from moving down, a low whimper escaping Atsumu’s lips, muffled by Kiyoomi’s own. 

Ah.

It’s not like they were virgins (they weren’t), but it almost felt like they were. There were shy glances and giggles. Why are you shaking? , Kiyoomi asked in a whisper against Atsumu’s neck. I dunno, ‘m nervous, he had answered with a snicker. Ain’t that stupid? Not like ya haven’t seen this already, but… ya know. It’s different.

And it was.

The world had never melted away at his feet before, not until Atsumu whispered his name against his chest, until he threw his body back and yelled , until he arched his back when Kiyoomi touched him right there, Omi, please , until Atsumu’s eyes were filled with tears, until he looked up through thick, wet lashes and smiled so, so sweetly at Kiyoomi before whispering we’re one now, Omi, how does that make you feel?, until he sighed in relief as Kiyoomi wiped away the stubborn tears sliding down his cheeks, until Kiyoomi smiled back at him as he let his head hang low until their foreheads touched. 

I feel like I’m going to melt.

A laugh. Yeah , he’d sighed. Yeah, me too.

Now, Kiyoomi muffles a chuckle when Atsumu pouts and rolls over in his sleep.

His neck is a mess of light pink, red and purple bruises and there are teeth marks on his shoulders from where Kiyoomi bit him as he tried to drown out his own sounds when Atsumu took shaky breaths and looked up at him pleadingly, his hands trembling as he pulled at Kiyoomi’s hair, as he bit down on his bottom lip, already puffy and red as he choked out a Omi, Omi, please, plea-, ah!

Miya Atsumu is a god, a clever illusionist who conceals the reality of his thoughts, who chooses his words carefully and puts in a tremendous amount of effort and care into everything he does. Miya Atsumu is most definitely not who Kiyoomi ever thought he’d have in his bed, sleeping peacefully beside him as the sun slowly climbed up to its spot in the sky, a scopiferous brush painting an aquarelle sky with the shades of yellow and gold in his hair, with the hazels and browns swirling inside his eyes. 

Miya Atsumu, who screamed his name and scratched his back in pure bliss.

Miya Atsumu, who whined and whimpered and whispered I love you over and over again as their fingers intertwined, as their lips met in one and then two and then a hundred kisses, as they got drunk on each other’s smells and tastes, as the whole world came crashing down around them and it went by unnoticed as Kiyoomi brushed sweaty golden locks out of his face, as he wiped one and then two tears away from his cheeks with a swift stroke of his thumb. Miya Atsumu, who drank him up with eagerness, his teeth playing with Kiyoomi’s bottom lip, his legs open and wrapped tightly around Kiyoomi’s waist. 

Miya Atsumu.

Fuck .

He smiles at him before throwing his legs over the side of the bed, before stretching his arms over his head and sighing in relief when his muscles finally relax. Kiyoomi gets up and takes a few steps forward, a few to the side and ah , he feels gross. There’s sweat and all kinds of bodily fluids sticking to his skin and the thought of it makes him scrunch up his nose and shake his head. He takes one last look at the cocoon Atsumu has made out of his sheets and giggles softly before walking inside his bathroom.

And he halts as soon as he sees himself in the mirror. 

If he thought Atsumu’s neck was in a bad state, his is in an even worse one. There are no light pink or red bruises, just a ton of purplish ones that go from the side of his neck, just under his ears all the way down to his chest. His fingers slowly trace them, the breath hitching in his throat when his heart suddenly speeds up inside his chest. Of course , Kiyoomi thinks, because that was the Atsumu effect. Everything he did and everything he was made it hard for Kiyoomi to keep his composure and Atsumu knew that, that sly bastard. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to his own reflection because, well, fuck.

His ears are ringing from how hard his heart is beating, from how fast his blood is rushing through his veins and for a second he almost thinks he’s about to pass out. He keeps hearing Atsumu’s whines and whimpers and how softly he called his name, how perfectly he fit between his arms, under and over him and in so many different ways and-

He has an idea.

Slowly, he turns around and takes the first few steps towards the bath. Drawing baths had always been an easy task and it was the best choice whenever his muscles ached, whenever his head spun and his eyes could no longer remain open for more than two seconds. Baths were comforting and warm and everything he needed at the end of the day, letting his body fall limp onto the marble, letting the warm water caress the knots in his muscles and soothe the pain he felt in his joints after a particularly hard workout.

But drawing a bath for Atsumu has Kiyoomi biting the insides of his cheeks and scratching his head as a thousand thoughts run through his mind in a single second.

First, Kiyoomi thinks, he needs to check the temperature. It has to be comforting and inviting like the warmth of his touch, like the bubbling feeling that slides up his arms when Atsumu smiles at him and the sparks that burn behind his eyes when he calls his name. Then comes the hardest decision of them all: salts, bubbles or bathbombs. 

No, he thinks, no bathbombs. Not today - because today Kiyoomi doesn’t want to smell like anything other than him, because the bubbling is sure to distract him from the god he holds in his arms, the god who’ll throw his head back and sigh in relief when Kiyoomi starts to trace his features with his fingers, the god who’ll tug on Kiyoomi’s wet curls and pull him down for a kiss, chaste and sweet and everything they’ve built until now. Today, he thinks, they’ll drown in soap and bubbles and soft, lingering kisses as they intertwine their fingers, as they gasp for air and stare into each other’s eyes.

The water is running: scorching hot at first and then mixing with arctic cold to create a mere replica of Atsumu’s touch. He drops the soap and dips his hands into the water, the bubbles and foam starting to form and glue themselves to his fingers.

Walking back to the bedroom, Kiyoomi wants to curse his heart for beating this fast. He’d tried to calm down as he played with the bubbles and waited for the water to cool down a bit, as he got up and took one last look at his reflection in the mirror. He had scratches down his back and little bites on his neck, a constellation of lovely bruises adorning his pale skin as if Atsumu was a painter and Kiyoomi was nothing more than his blank canvas. And maybe he was , maybe he’d lie down one day and let Atsumu absolutely wreck him and paint him a million different shades of red and purple. 

Maybe one day. 

He walks around the bed to where Atsumu is curled up and slowly pulls the covers off. His skin glows with the first few rays of the sun and Kiyoomi has to resist the temptation to trace the marks his fingers left on his hips. ‘Tsumu , he calls in a whisper so low he’s not even sure he said anything. But Atsumu’s eyelids flutter open and he smiles a sleepy smile as his hoarse voice echoes in the room with a soft hey you.

“I drew us a bath,” Kiyoomi tells him as he brushes a strand of hair out of his face. 

Atsumu hums. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Come on, the water will get cold.”

“Hmm, carry me,” he pouts and lifts up his arms, looking up at Kiyoomi with a smile on his face. Kiyoomi can’t help the smile that tugs at his own lips as he snorts, shaking his head softly. “Please?”

“Alright,” he says with a low chuckle. “But you’ll have to make it up to me later.”

“Oh? I like the sound of that.”

Slowly, Kiyoomi slips his hands under Atsumu’s body, one arm below his legs and the other below his back. Atsumu is quick to wrap his arms around Kiyoomi’s neck and let his head rest on his shoulder. He nuzzles him and whispers a soft ya smell good before Kiyoomi heaves him up and takes a step back to steady himself. It’s not like Atsumu is heavy , but he’s still a six feet tall man and Kiyoomi’s arms and legs still haven’t recovered entirely from last night, his muscles aching when Atsumu moves around and looks up at him with a goofy grin. 

“What?”

“It was great, wasn’t it?” He asks. “Last night.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t want to admit it, but the question makes his heart beat faster and his cheeks burn. Of course it was , he wants to say, because it was with you and you have the ability to make everything better. It was you with your stupid, pitiful whimpers and the way you call my name. It was you with your gorgeous body and beautiful eyes. It was you and everything I see when I look at you and the things I never thought I’d get to see. It was great because it was you. He settles for a nod, the words stuck inside his throat, under a lump made out of everything Kiyoomi still hasn’t had the courage to say.

It’s funny, he thinks, how they’d stumbled their ways through thorny paths to end up safely wrapped up in each other’s arms like this. When Atsumu came up to him after practice one day with blushing cheeks and trembling hands, Kiyoomi couldn’t feel anything other than the hunger that boiled deep down at the pit of his stomach. And when he mumbled out a confession in such a low tone, almost in a whisper, something so not him , Kiyoomi almost felt his soul leaving his body because surely, this isn’t right. He wanted, wanted, wanted, even if he didn’t really understand what it was back then. 

Now he knows. 

He wanted, he wants Atsumu.

He wants his smiles and his tears, the tired sighs and the giggles under their blankets. He wants his touch and the soft whispers against his lips in the morning when Kiyoomi shakes him awake. Come on, we’ll be late , he says, and Atsumu smiles at him before answering that we can be late for once, Omi. I wanna look at ya for a little longer. Kiyoomi wants and wants and wants and he drinks him up, he offers everything he has and everything he is and Atsumu slowly crawls into his life, slowly makes space for his favorite shirts and his fancy coffee, for his expensive shampoo and that huge plushie they got at the arcade.

It’s sweet, the kisses Atsumu peppers on the skin of his neck, right where he placed purple bruises and bite marks. It’s hot and suffocating, the way his arms strangle him in a hug Kiyoomi has never wanted until hazel eyes were all he could think about, when his annoying Omi-kun had suddenly become the only thing Kiyoomi could think about.

“What’cha thinking ‘bout?” He asks with a yawn, blinking lazily at him.

“Nothing,” Kiyoomi lies. “Just stuff.”

“Mm, okay.”

Atsumu never inquires further.

He demands everything, from the first breath Kiyoomi takes in the morning to his last whisper. He demands the sweet nothings they whisper under their breaths and the chaste kisses they share when no one is looking. He demands Kiyoomi’s hands in his and the soft brush of his fingers against his skin. He demands his heart and his very soul - and Kiyoomi offers everything he is and even what he is not because Atsumu also pushes him to his very limit and he’s on the verge of breaking down and being reborn as someone else, as the person who’s worthy of holding a god hostage in a cage built out of flesh, in the safety of his arms and lulled to sleep by his voice.

But he never asks for more than Kiyoomi is willing to give.

The light shifts from dim and soft to bright and blinding as Kiyoomi takes the first step into the bathroom. Atsumu whines and hides his face on the crook of his neck, his arms tightening their grip on Kiyoomi’s neck. Too bright , he complains as Kiyoomi tries to come up with a way of getting inside their bathtub without having to let go of him. Juggling both their weights, Kiyoomi steps inside the warm, foamy water and slowly lowers both of them, soaking their bodies in warmth. Atsumu doesn’t let go, sighing softly when Kiyoomi presses a kiss to the side of his neck.

“This is nice,” Atsumu whispers.

It is.

Kiyoomi watches him, his eyelids fluttering up and down as he blinks the sleepy haze away, as he tries to get his mind to focus, as his muscles fall limp when Kiyoomi brushes his fingers against the sensitive skin of his thighs. They’d gotten home pretty late last night, and between the giggles and the I swear captain will kill us when he sees the mess Bokkun and Shouyou-kun made today, us included. They can’t stomach alcohol at all , can they? , between the you can’t either and the playful bickering, they’d slipped out of their clothes and into their pajamas, they’d kissed and touched foreheads and then.

I think I’m ready for us to do it , Atsumu told him. I want you. Is that okay?

They’d slept naked on each other’s arms, pressing kisses to their sweaty necks as they tried to regain their breaths. Atsumu had looked up with a sweet, sleepy and satisfied smile on his face, giggling softly as Kiyoomi arched an eyebrow. We did it.

Atsumu is resting his head on his shoulder now, his eyes closed and his lips parted as he breathes slowly. If Kiyoomi wasn’t feeling his fingers playing with his hair, he would’ve thought he’d fallen asleep. He looks beautiful like this, naked and vulnerable and everything Kiyoomi never knew he could have. His lashes are dark and long, casting a shadow over his cheeks, and his lips are still puffy, shaped into a sweet, shrewd smile as if he knows Kiyoomi is staring. 

Knowing Atsumu like this, completely at his mercy, knowing things about him no one else knows makes something pleasantly warm pool in the pit of his stomach as he strokes soothing circles on Atsumu’s thighs, as he kisses his forehead and closes his eyes for a second, too. The world is spinning around them, lights and sounds way too fast for his body to comprehend because the only thing he cares about is the body on top of his, the long, curled lashes and the beautiful golden hue of his presence. 

Atsumu, divine being who’s loud and obnoxious but who hides his heart under a thousand layers of steel. Atsumu, insecure child who trusts and loves too hard. Atsumu, the person who taught Kiyoomi how to love someone with every ounce of his being, with every flaw and imperfection, and who taught him how to be loved in return.

Touching him is always an adventure and it always manages to leave him breathless, clutching at his own chest and gasping for air as Atsumu looks up at him expectantly, a sparkling star inside his eyes as hazel mixes with brown and whatever else the gods wished to paint him as. Having him smile after a kiss, before a kiss, during a kiss made Kiyoomi’s knees lose their support, made him take a few stumbling steps towards the nearest surface to steady himself because this is unfair .

And having him whining and tugging at his shirt as he asks for something, having the image of him smiling softly first thing in the morning, looking down at him with a did ya sleep well, Omi? made his heart flip around inside his chest like a fucking pancake. Sometimes Atsumu woke him up as he tried to detangle himself from their sheets and he’d giggle in embarrassment, cheeks red as he whispered sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya. Sometimes he’d wake him up with kisses all over his face, sometimes he’d bring him breakfast in bed and sometimes Kiyoomi would wake up with the fire alarm yelling at him: danger, danger, danger because Atsumu always managed to burn his eggs.

Ah.

No, no, no.

“Omi?”

Absolutely not.

My heart isn’t beating faster. It’s not.

“Your heart is beating faster.” Atsumu comments with a chuckle.

It is.

Goddammit, get ahold of yourself, Kiyoomi.

“No, it’s not.”

He laughs softly before looking up at him. “It’s okay. Mine is, too.”

Kiyoomi freezes when Atsumu sits up and cups his face with his hands. Dark hazel burns him as Atsumu stares at every inch of his face, as his eyes slowly slide down, down, down, and a blush spreads through his cheeks when his eyes catch a glimpse of the hundreds of reddish purple spots all around his neck and down his chest. Kiyoomi watches the bob of his Adam’s apple as he gulps down, watches the way he bites on his bottom lip before he stares up and into his eyes again. 

It feels like being burned alive, the way his blood rushes through his veins and floods his cheeks in a red tint he’s sure to be teased about later. No one ever told him love was supposed to be long, calloused fingers playing with his hair as he read a book late at night. No one ever told him love was supposed to be pillow fights and giggles at 5am. No one ever told him love was misunderstandings and crying and sulking in silence until they didn’t remember what they were fighting about anymore. No one ever told him love was shaking as you hold someone because you’re afraid you’ll break them. And no one ever told him love was Miya Atsumu, with all the giggles and snarky comments, the stupid nicknames and the whining, the golden hair and strong eyes, the sweetness in his voice as soon as he woke up and the yawns drowned by a kiss. 

“I love this,” Atsumu whispers as their foreheads touch, as he closes their eyes and leaves Kiyoomi staring at dark, wet lashes. “I love you. So much I think I’m losing my mind. So much I wake up in the middle of the night with my heart in my throat only to see ya sleeping so peacefully next to me, Omi. I love ya so much I can’t breathe sometimes.”

Kiyoomi is the one who’s not breathing now.

His hands tremble as he slowly places them on Atsumu’s waist, as he brings him closer and closer, as he closes his eyes and takes a shaky deep breath, as he presses his lips against one another and feels the tears welling up in his eyes. Atsumu is shaking now, he notices, and he might be, too. No one ever told him love was supposed to be bubble baths and tears as they held each other tightly after learning the arches of their backs and the moans they drank up, silenced with hungry kisses and an unspoken confession as they stared at each other for seconds or maybe minutes or hours as their hips met with soft slaps.

“I love you,” Kiyoomi tells him.

He repeats it once and then twice and a million times after that until Atsumu’s back is resting on his chest and they’re both giggling when Kiyoomi presses a kiss to the top of Atsumu’s head. He smells like home and comfort, like the fancy shampoo and Atsumu , because there’s no other way he could describe it.

Their fingers intertwine over Atsumu’s stomach, Kiyoomi’s chin resting on his shoulder as the water eases the ache in their muscles, as Atsumu lifts up one of his arms and plays with the wet curls on Kiyoomi’s head, as he muses and tells him have ya ever considered letting yer hair grow, Omi?, you’d look adorable with pigtails. Kiyoomi pokes him in the stomach and soon they’re both laughing, wheezing and gasping for air as the water splashes around and all over the bathroom floor.

Atsumu touches him as he’d touch a work of art.

Atsumu touches him softly at first, curious eyes with dilating pupils as he slowly inches closer to analyse the brushstrokes, the details no one else but him pays attention to. He tilts his head and rests his chin on the crook of his neck when he finally turns around in the bath, his legs promptly wrapping themselves around Kiyoomi’s waist in a way that makes this whole thing feel right . There are the pokes to his cheeks and the giggles Atsumu can’t gulp down when Kiyoomi scrunches up his nose and then they’re laughing again. 

Slowly, Kiyoomi brings his hands to his hips, to the curve of his ass, sliding up his back until his fingers dig into his hair, until Atsumu leans back and lets Kiyoomi do whatever he wants with him, from kissing his lips and all the way around his neck to marking him with a few more bruises in the shape of his fingerprints on his hips. 

And this, Kiyoomi finds out, is how love should feel like; so unreal, even though it’s all real. So unreal, he sighs, as Atsumu traces his jawline with chaste kisses and whispers of loving words Kiyoomi couldn't even believe he was hearing. So unreal, he whines, as they take the time to trace the outlines of each other’s bodies with their fingertips. So unreal, he hums, as they kiss like madmen, like the taste of their lips is the antidote for all kinds of poison.

It’s a phenomenon, like all the stars across the galaxies are exploding in supernovas for Kiyoomi as Atsumu whispers his name, as he whispers that I love you , as he whispers that ah.

The world melts away by his feet now as Atsumu grabs his hair and pulls him in for yet another kiss — can we at least get out of the bath first?

(They didn't.)