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Light Refraction (n). Refraction is the bending of a wave when it enters a medium where its speed is different. The refraction of light when it passes from a fast medium to a slow medium bends the light ray toward the normal to the boundary between the two media.

- HyperPhysics, 2005



Sometimes even people with control issues find themselves getting comfortable. Comfortable enough to make mistakes. That’s what happens when your life moves from fast to slow to fast again. You bend in ways you’re not always supposed to bend. You refract. 



Sakusa Kiyoomi got out of bed hours before the alarm clock went off. He had a lot on his mind today that wrestled him from his uneasy slumber. After he put on the clothes he wore over the evening before, he kissed the forehead of the man he woke up next to. 


“I’m leaving. I’ll see you at the shoot later.”


In response, Miya Atsumu mumbled something unintelligible into his pillow. He was not easily woken, something that obviously annoyed Kiyoomi like many things about the man. 


“Ugh, don’t be late to work or I’m going to have to punish you again,” Kiyoomi responded to the pretty-faced man laying in front of him. He was so pretty that it still annoyed Kiyoomi, but at least he could kiss him whenever he wanted now… well, almost. 


Atsumu smiled into his pillow. “Are ya tryin' to guarantee I’m late, Omi? Don’t say stuff like that ta me ‘fore ya leave.” He grabbed Kiyoomi’s wrist, pulling him back down for a kiss, which he hummed his approval into. 


It had been a couple of months since they started doing this, whatever this was. They had not completely figured it out yet. It was mostly a lot of sweaty, rough sex with oddly soft, uncharacteristic moments from either of them in between. 


Being the one in control, Kiyoomi was not used to the soft moments. Not since his last serious boyfriend right out of portfolio school, which had ended wistfully. Since then, he was used to being distant, cold, and one who got what he wanted and then left. He had been mired with trust issues which led to commitment problems in turn making sure he never had a steady someone in his life… but ever since he encountered the man who couldn’t get out of his head, things had been a little different. 


He had let down a few walls, which had in turn caused a few more to tumble, and then a cascade effect occurred and suddenly he was staying over at the model’s house, staring at him while he slept, and kissing him goodbye. It disgusted him. Who the fuck was he turning into? He was fucking soft and he hated it. What annoyed him the most was that these mushy feelings both got him into the predicament he found himself into today, as well as the original relationship that scarred him. It was like it was happening all over again and it scared him. 


Today looked like it was going to be a particularly stressful day though so Kiyoomi wanted to go home and get ready, physically and mentally. By ‘get ready,’ he knew that meant scrub every inch of himself and then the house and then himself again. Mostly because last night he had gotten incredibly dirty (read, sticky in more ways than one), but also because he was feeling anxious. The smell of bleach was the only way to calm his mind. 


The non-existent grime mocked him from the grout in his tiles as he knelt, feeling bruises forming in his knees, scrubbing the same spot back and forth, over and over, as he inhaled the sterilizer. It cleansed his stress more than it did the bathroom at this point. He threw the scrubbing brush in its bucket, barely avoiding the water spilling out, and moved to cleanse the actual grime from his body. If he didn’t get in the shower, he would be late. He could fixate on this all morning, and to be fair, he has in the past, when his tendencies were worse. 


He’d worked to overcome the worst of his germaphobia -- the parts that made him see and feel every germ in every room. Now cleaning just cropped up as a coping mechanism. Most times, he could control how he leaned into it. 


After finishing his routine, he planned to dress a little nicer than he would normally to go to the studio. Dressing well also helped him feel good. He needed to feel at his best today of all days because today, he would be photographing his ex. Not only would he be photographing his ex, but he would be photographing his ex and his new… well, they hadn’t defined what they were yet. 


The worst part, neither the ex nor the new idiot knew about this precarious relationship dynamic. It was eating Kiyoomi up inside. Thus, the cleaning and the outfit. 


Normally when he shot, he wore all black. A button-down or black tee, black jeans, and black boots. He didn’t like to distract from the models. While he was sticking to that today, he accompanied his signature black with a Stefano Ricci black leather jacket adorned with a mink collar rather than his usual overcoat. His hair, which he usually kept pulled back from his face with a thin hairband, fell in soft curls since he spent extra time diffusing it and adding his special gel, making it look more tamed than usual. All of this helped him to feel more so in control, for now.


When he arrived on set, one of the female models leaving the previous shoot whispered to the other how good he looked. Good.  


He was the first of their team to arrive, just how he wanted it. So he could remain in control for as long as possible. He began to set up his equipment when Atsumu walked in wearing one of his favorite gawdy pieces -- a black bomber jacket with gold arms and a large kitsune on its back surrounded by sakura petals, the tails wrapping around his shoulders -- and greeted everyone with an extra pep in his step. 


Since they had started fucking as well as working together more often, something about Atsumu had changed. He was still the loud-mouthed egotistical guy he always was, but he was a bit brighter and kinder to others around him. 


Just as he greeted everyone else, he approached Kiyoomi, but with an extra glimmer in his eye. “Mornin’, Omi Omi.” They had had a good evening the night before and it showed. It practically emanated off of him. As he slowly unzipped his jacket, he masterfully drew Kiyoomi’s eye to the tight t-shirt underneath. 


Distracted, Kiyoomi watched the zipper slowly tug down. He tried to get out, “Hey, there’s something I wanted--” But because he was distracted, the thoughts didn’t come soon enough. Before he could finish his sentence, the person on his mind walked through the door. 


Bokuto Koutarou looked just as good as the day he and Kiyoomi broke up 5 years ago -- the last time they had seen each other. He was incredibly ebullient back then, warm, pleasant, supportive -- nearly the opposite of Kiyoomi. They were like water and oil. But that was something that got him to open up in his photography when they first got paired together, to take greater chances and risks; he was what led to some of his greatest breakthroughs. And yet, he also helped him build up so many walls the day they broke up.  


That day, he learned that Koutarou was not as in love as he said he was, or rather he had a different interpretation of love, one that Kiyoomi did not understand. That day, Kiyoomi lost all confidence in other people. That day he felt like Koutarou was just using him and it was one of the reasons that Kiyoomi had lost all trust in the world, all trust in others. It was part of the reason why he had such control issues now. That day he found out that Koutarou had cheated on him. 


Kiyoomi had successfully avoided being scheduled with him or seeing him at industry events since then. He knew that one day this would happen, but had hoped it wouldn’t happen like this.


As effervescent as ever, Koutarou greeted the staff and practically bulldozed his way over to the two of them, “Hey hey hey!” It was as if he was genuinely excited to see him again. He always had too much love to give that it spilled out of him, crashing into whomever he came into contact with. 


With a large smile on his face, practically ignoring Atsumu, he scooped Kiyoomi into a hug, “It’s been a while.” The warmth radiated from his voice, trying to penetrate the stiff board that became Kiyoomi in the hug. The sunshine rays bounced off of him with no effect as he shrugged out of the embrace. Atsumu looked on in mild amusement, bafflement, and ignorance at his friend’s discomfort.  


“That it has, Bokuto-san,” he said in a soft voice. Kiyoomi felt small in front of the other man, despite being two centimeters taller than him. His ex’s larger than life personality swamped him and that inferiority came out in his words. He hated himself for it. It was as if no time had passed since their break up. He was angry all over again, clenching his fists at his side. 


Koutarou always moved so fast for him. Whether it was how he pulled him into hugs, pulled him into a relationship, or pulled his heart into love. It all came rushing back to him at that moment. Fast. 


He had wanted to stand tall in front of him but found himself falling apart inside instead. Realizing that the walls he had built were some kind of joke. Something he had built to avoid his true feelings over all these years. He felt his fingernails digging in, making half-moon indentations inside the palms of his hands as if this would help keep the walls in place. He dug them in harder and breathed through his nose to ground himself. 


As dense and egotistical as Atsumu could come off, he did have a sense of emotional intelligence that began to be serve him well here -- it appeared that something was telling him that this guy wasn’t just any other person in the industry, or even on this shoot from the way Kiyoomi’s body language had changed. How he had closed his eyes, breathed to create a sense of calm, clenched his fists for longer than usual.


Atsumu looked between the two and stuck out his hand, trying to break the tension. Lightly he said, “I’m Miya Atsumu, the other model on set today! And you must be Bokuto Koutarou?” Whether he noticed it or not, Atsumu had been sizing up the guy. 


Atsumu was the opposite of Koutarou to Kiyoomi. He was slow. Not in the mental sense, but in the emotional sense. He kept Kiyoomi mellow. That seemed ironic when the sight of his face made him so fucking annoyed at times, but when he was kissing him, he found a serene sense of calm. Over these last several months, he had developed a sense of comfort, even if it had been one where he still had to instill a sense of control. 


“Yes!” The newbie on set turned to him and instead of taking his hand, he pulled him into a big hug, leaving Kiyoomi to gawk -- if you could call it that. An almost imperceptible look of terror passed over his face before it wiped into his signature deadpan. “This is the first time we’re modeling together! We should get used to getting closer,” his excitement came off of him in waves, his eyes big, as he pushed away from Atsumu slightly, but enough to still be close, holding his shoulders. “I also really love giving hugs! I can’t believe we’ve never had a shoot together before. I think we have a lot in common.” He gave Kiyoomi a side-eye, as he chuckled. Drawing Atsumu’s eye to the man who looked uneasy. 


Before Atsumu could respond, Kiyoomi cut in. “Miya, if you want to get changed, I have some things to discuss here.” 


Atsumu moved to the backroom to change. They would be shooting various pieces from the Fom Tord Ready To Wear menswear line. He nodded at Yachi and one of the costume assistants to follow him into the wardrobe room. 


After Atsumu had walked off, Kiyoomi looked at his ex, fingers pressed into the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing here, Bokuto-san?”


“You used to call me Koutarou,” the man huffed, reaching out to graze his arm, to create a connection between the two of them again. 


“Things change,” Kiyoomi snarled as he recoiled from the touch, the manipulation of his heart. “Again, what are you doing here?”


“The brand wanted to work with both me and Atsumu and it’s not exactly a secret that you two primarily work together.” The model crossed his arms and stared at him, his eyes still playful, shining. “It’s not like I could get just any other photographer, hmm Kiyo?” He leaned forward to punctuate the name as he raised an expressive eyebrow. 


“Don’t call me that.” 


“Sure thing. I’m gonna get dressed for our shoot. I’ll let you know if we have any trouble.” He motioned to the changing room. He finished coolly and turned on his heel as if he owned the room, preening his spiked hair as if it was a crown on his head.


That was the thing about Koutarou. After he left -- both then and now, he made Kiyoomi feel -- and it was never on purpose -- like his life was out of control like he had taken it with him. Ever since then, Kiyoomi had been clawing to gain the control all back and then some. 


After he sent the assistants out of the room, Koutarou eyed the clothing rack, pulling out the pieces he’d be wearing in the first part of the shoot, as Atsumu was putting the final touches on his outfit before he would grab an assistant to help with the rest. 


Cogs were turning in his brain though. His face scrunched up whenever he had something on his mind. Koutarou caught a glimpse and laughed, using his eyebrows to say, Go ahead and ask.


“So you’ve worked with Omi-kun a lot?” He spat out all at once. 


“Omi-kun, huh,” his knowing smile was blinding as he leaned against the wall, holding his outfit and closing his eyes. “Yes, we go way back. You could say we used to help build each other’s portfolios when we were fresh out of school. I was his… muse,” he said, waving his hand around. “We were a team once, but he didn’t like the way I... worked.” He paused before saying ‘worked’ as if it was something he really had to think about, as if it wasn’t really work that Kiyoomi didn’t like about him. He began to get dressed, not noticing the self-consciousness hitting Atsumu as he stiffened. 


Atsumu both wanted to know more and didn’t at the same time. He was Schrodinger’s cat -- both alive and dead -- living in blissful ignorance at who this man was to Kiyoomi and at the same time dead inside knowing who he really was to Kiyoomi through his underlying meanings. 


“But now I guess you’re his muse, huh?” Koutarou smiled at him, a look in his eyes Atsumu couldn’t quite read. 


“Erm. I guess so?”


“Well, if we’re lucky. Maybe we’ll both be Kiyo’s muse today and these pictures will turn out amazing.” Koutarou winked, leaving Atsumu confused. 


Kiyo?! Atsumu’s brain short-circuited at the new nickname and its implications that were already feeding Schrodinger’s dead cat, swirling around its grave and the red spider lilies that lined it. What does muse even mean to ‘em now! What does this guy even want with Omi!?



As Koutarou left the changing room, bouncing in his Fom Tord perfectly tailored slacks to see the wardrobe assistants, Astumu shuffled out of the changing room, not making eye contact with Kiyoomi and thoroughly avoiding Koutarou. The color red that spread across his face when he finally did catch Kiyoomi’s eye created a weird feeling in the pit of Kiyoomi’s stomach, one that he’d barely ever experienced, tight and hot. Is this guilt because I didn’t tell him? Luckily, he didn’t have to experience it long. The set manager poked her head into the studio and indicated the crew should begin shooting to remain on schedule. The models should be coming back photograph ready any minute -- Atsumu, surprisingly, only mildly out of sorts. 


Today, they were shooting a pants collection -- slacks, chinos, skinny jeans, slim fit, low rise, boot cut, dark jeans, ripped jeans, acid washed, and everything in between. This meant changing and styling, rolling them up, pairing them with full outfits, and sometimes no other clothing at all with just underwear peeking out of the denim pants. 


Kiyoomi had a shot list that he had cleared with the client, along with the tone and mood the images needed to convey. Some of them he obviously didn’t like the idea of shooting between his ex and Atsumu, but it was what he was being paid to do. He’d do his best. He was still in control so far. 


After going through single model shots and a handful of ruggedly styled and business casual ones, he called out the next look he needed next -- these were a series of half-naked, practically lust-filled shots, the ones he was least looking forward to doing. He wanted to get them over quickly, probably quicker than Atsumu who was looking uncomfortable but handling the situation surprisingly well. 


These started out innocently with the pair alternating between masculine and feminine poses. Koutarou initially created a dominant, masculine presence as the client had wanted to balance Atsumu’s slightly slimmer build, despite his height advantage -- standing behind him, draping his arms over his shoulders. It was when Koutarou turned to complete the face-to-face shots that the tone shifted. He brought his hands up to Atsumu’s face and swiped his fingers across his jaw. Only a hint of a reaction came out of the blonde who continued to stay composed for the camera, and the sake of whatever his relationship with the photographer was. Clearly not the one the spiky-haired model wanted because he kept trying. 


Instead of just placing his hands into the next poses as directed, he’d slowly drag his fingers along Atsumu’s bare skin for each one, eliciting goosebumps. He’d whisper things to Atsumu that Kiyoomi couldn’t hear paired with smiles and giggles, playful waggles of eyebrows. 


The seductions became too much for Atsumu; one time even causing him to blanch. And Koutarou even had the gall to dig in and play with his underwear line, out of sight of Kiyoomi. When Koutarou quietly whispered to him how ‘Kiyo used to do this really fun thing with his wrists! We should try it together - I’ve always imagined it would be more fun with three people, ’ he felt pushed well past his point of being able to stay composed for the camera. 


Atsumu turned red and broke away. “Omi -- changing room, now.” 


Koutarou tried to happily follow, but Atsumu turned to him with a glare that says stay put and bit out, “Alone.” The other model stared at the pair as they left the room, pouting. 


As Atsumu entered the changing room, the door barely closes before his outburst began, “Wha’ the fuck was that? What’s going on witcha ‘n him? I feel like I’m caught in the middle a something. Cantcha see he’s all over me!” His anger made him lapse into an even worse version of his kansai-ben accent that he usually tried to hide, that only came out after trips back home. 


Calm and collected, Kiyoomi stepped closer to Atsumu, “First off, calm down. You know you’re not supposed to talk to me that way.” He placed his finger on Atsumu’s lips, “Second, you’re absolutely right. I’m --” he sighed, “Sorry, Tsumu.” 


As he should be, Atsumu looked surprised to hear the apology. For as long as they’d been fooling around and even before that -- for as long as they’d been working together, Kiyoomi had not apologized for anything. In fact, he had not apologized for much since Koutarou and him had broken up. But he felt like he messed up here and needed to explain. 


“Bokuto-san is… my ex.” 


“...wha’? Why didncha tell me!? Whydya agree to this shoot then?” 


“It’s been a long time. I didn’t think he’d act like this,” he hissed. “My hands were tied. The client wanted it. Something about your body complimenting his, and his unique eyes and eyebrows or something,” he rolled his eyes. “I pushed for Kuroo, but they had their heart set on him.” 


Atsumu sounded exasperated, “You coulda said no. You coulda told me, so we coulda figured it out. So I wasn’t ambushed in the changing room earlier!” Kiyoomi has nothing to say -- he had already apologized. He stared back, crossing his arms and raising his shoulders, showing his clear daftness for Atsumu’s emotions and his own lack of emotional intelligence. 


Kiyoomi’s response caused him to snap. “So should I ‘spect this of’en? How many exes ya got out there, Kiyo ?” The use of his nickname on Atsumu’s lips seared through Kiyoomi’s mind. It was unexpected and painful. 


Kiyoomi’s eyes narrowed in hearing those biting words. He growled, “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Miya. We can talk about this later when you’ve cooled down.” 



Back on set Atsumu hadn’t calmed down despite being left alone for a little bit longer when Kiyoomi abandoned him and the changing room. In fact, he was more worked up than ever. It was great for the photos -- the chemistry between him and Koutarou could practically be seen on film. It made Kiyoomi even more enraged. 


When Koutarou would lean in to flirt with Atsumu, he would now reciprocate. Koutarou was eating it up. They would even touch each other more than necessary between poses and shots. It was making Kiyoomi’s blood boil. It wasn’t helping that the rest of the set was up in whispers about what had happened behind closed doors and the change in attitude between the models. The tension was palpable. 


Kiyoomi remained tight-lipped as he provided them instructions on their poses, helpless and lacking control. Unable to change the situation, he wanted to complete the shoot as quickly as possible and get off the set yesterday. Instead, he was stuck watching Koutarou run his hand in his down the side of Atsumu’s face, angling it inwards, gazing at him seductively. Atsumu bit his lip in response. He bit his fucking lip. He knows what that does to me. Fuck him. Fuck this shoot. Fuck Bokuto. 


Then he had to watch Atsumu holding Koutarou’s chin. He could tell he was doing his best to imitate Kiyoomi’s dominance and he loathed him for it. Koutarou couldn’t get enough, leaning in further. Goddammit. I hate it here. 


Finally, after he tried his best to create as much distance between the two of them to no avail, the shoot was over. 


When his ‘fast’ past met his ‘slow’ present, he had not realized it was something he was not prepared to deal with. He thought his control would have prepared him. However, his emotions were bouncing between the two of them, bending him to their will, refracting when he realized his boundaries were pushed past normal. He just wanted it to bend back again. His head spun -- he knew of only one solution to this feeling. 


“Kiyo, are you sure the three --” 


Before Koutarou could finish his sentence, Kiyoomi gathered up his things and left immediately, doing his best to appear as if he didn’t just storm off set. It probably didn’t work though. It definitely didn’t work. 



Over the course of the next three days, 23 phone calls and 67 text messages from Miya Atsumu to Sakusa Kiyoomi went unanswered and ignored. As far as he was concerned, based on his shitty behavior, Atsumu deserved to be ghosted. 


He hadn’t gone as far as getting their sessions together rescheduled; he hadn’t thought that far ahead since the next one wasn’t for another week or so. However, for their personal communications, he was not planning on doing any kind of conversing with that man that he had relations with. That man who had disrespected him. That man who was so fucking pretty that he couldn’t stop thinking about that fact and it was driving him to fucking misery. No, he couldn’t return his calls. Not after all of that, even if he was so bloody miserable. 


Instead, he scrubbed his apartment for hours on end each day, organized his spice rack, groomed his plants, sorted his piles of Photography Monthly magazines, did laundry even though he had just done it several days before. He might even have been falling back into old patterns, becoming obsessive at times. It was fine. It was totally fine. Even though his therapist would definitely think it was definitely not fine


He did anything and everything to keep himself busy, to keep his mind off of his phone, off of the incessant pings. He finally had to silence it, not having the heart to block him. Yet. 


On the fourth day of this same monotonous routine, it was interrupted by a knock at the door. He opened it, expecting a delivery, and instead saw a disheveled Miya Atsumu, who got a face full of air as the door slammed in his face. 


Atsumu would not have gotten to where he was today by giving up easily when doors were slammed in his face. “I’m not going to leave, Omi!” He continued to pound on the door for several minutes, which felt like hours before Kiyoomi finally opened the door. He didn’t want him to make a scene in his hallway, so he hauled him in by the scruff of his shirt, slamming the door behind him. 


Once inside the foyer to his apartment, he slammed Atsumu up against the wall, grabbing his neck, putting pressure on either side with his fingers so he could still breathe and talk. “What do you want?” he growled.


“To apologize,” the blonde whimpered. 


“I know that already. I got your messages. There’s a reason I didn’t answer. That shit you pulled - I don’t play games like that, Miya.” 


“Ya don’t play games? Really?” He laughed and grabbed the wrist holding him, “We both messed up. I shouldnta reacted that way, but ya shoulda told me.” 


Omi’s grip on his throat tightened slightly. “I already apologized.” He growled. 


“You’re right,” Atsumu choked out. “I overreacted. I deserve this punishment.” He looked at Kiyoomi seductively through half-lidded eyes, licking his lips. Oh fuck, he’s trying to turn me on. It’s working.   


“You disgust me.” He spat on Atsumu’s chest. “You don’t deserve shit if you’re going to act like that.” 


“I promise I won’t behave that way again. I’ll make it up to you. Please, Omi,” he groveled. 


Kiyoomi wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe those big and round eyes full of hope, searching his face for a hint of an answer. 


“Just so you know,” Kiyoomi whispered, pressing up against Atsumu so he could feel the model’s erection, “models aren’t my type. I’d rather not shit where I eat. I just happened to have dated one before you and it ended badly. He’s why I have trust issues. So if you decide not to be good anymore, I’ll go out and find someone who can be.” 


Kiyoomi could feel Atsumu swallow against his hand and felt the strain in his voice as he said, “I understand. I’ll make it so ya won’t want ta leave. I’ll be better than good. I’ll be perfect for ya.” His eyes shone with determination. 


Omi loosened his hand but kept it in place, stroking his lips with his free hand, “And if you’re not?” 


Atsumu stretched his neck and whined a little. Kiyoomi knew from their experiences together this meant he didn’t like how he had loosened his grip; he wanted more. He added just a little bit more pressure, causing a groan to escape Atsumu who did his best to press his body against the other. With a flushed face and heavy breathing, pushing against the hand on his throat for more pressure, his voice came out gravely as it strained against the hand at its throat, “You can spank me.”


“I think that maybe you deserve a spanking right now for all the trouble you caused this week.” 


Atsumu hummed quietly, “That’s only fair.”


Kiyoomi released his grip and walked into the living room with Atsumu trailing closely behind. He could hear the model’s footsteps padding behind him as he sat down in the middle of the couch. The almost-unwanted guest looked at him expectantly, not sure what to do next. He sat down next to Kiyoomi who gave him a look of incredulity. 


“You’re wearing far too much clothing to be bent over my lap like that. You won’t be able to feel any type of punishment. Is that what you want, puppy?” He reached his hand up to caress his jaw. When Atsumu shook his head, he patted his cheek. “Good. Get undressed and get back here.” 


Atsumu eagerly stood up and shimmied out of his clothes, until he wore nothing. Kiyoomi’s eyes traced across his sculpted body, admiring every bit of him that he couldn’t capture properly in the shoot this week, every bit that he’d wanted to rake his nails across and bite. 


Nearly bouncing, the model got on his knees beside Kiyoomi, excitement in his eyes. 


“Don’t look so fucking happy. You’re being punished,” the photographer growled.  


“Right.” He nodded his head, pulled his hand down his face in a dramatic fashion, and came up with his lower lip stuck out and eyes scrunched, looking up through his eyelashes with large eyes like a puppy’s. It was one of the reasons why Kiyoomi liked that particular nickname, among his various pet names he had earned. 


“Ugh, just bend over.” 


“Yes, boss,” he said subserviently crawling over Kiyoomi’s lap on all fours with a small, hidden smile as he had done a couple of times before. “Go easy on me, okay?” He smirked. 


“Not a chance in hell.” Kiyoomi wanted to wipe that smirk off of his face, but he knew he wouldn’t accomplish that right away. Atsumu was surprisingly a glutton for punishment and had a high tolerance. 


Upon the first smack, Atsumu yelped, not expecting it. On the second, he moaned, smiling even more, pressing up into his touch. With the third, Kiyoomi put a little bit more force into it. That annoying smirk was literally smacked right off his face, but he still groaned in pleasure. I’ll take it. 


Making sure he wasn’t actually hurting him was important to them in the boundaries they’d set up before. So he rubbed the red cheek in front of him to bring back some feeling to the area and then smacked the other cheek, repeating the process. Beneath him, the man shivered and whined. He loved seeing him like this; it excited him as much as the actual spanking excited Atsumu.


Kiyoomi could feel the semi-soft erection against his leg grow fully hard, as Atsumu became more and more turned on with each spank. His own erection strained against his pants by the time Atsumu was trying to catch his breath. 


Red handprints outlined the porcelain ass and slowly the entire snow-white landscape turned pink. A trembling, huffing and moaning man laid squirming in his lap. The entire scene had unraveled him. He was no longer on all fours; his face was smushed into the couch cushions and groin against Kiyoomi’s leg. 


“How are you doing, puppy?” He lightly rubbed the pink bottom in front of him. 


“G-good,” Atsumu huffed. 


Leaning down, Kiyoomi murmured, “Good. You’ve done such a good job taking your punishment. I think you should be rewarded. Would you like that?”


“Mhm.” He nodded into the couch and instinctively his butt pushed out against the hand against it. 


To his right sat a side table with a lamp on it. Just for these occasions, there was a stash of lube kept in its drawer, an inconspicuous side of the table that had no latch. Leaning over, with one finger, Kiyoomi masterfully opened the drawer and pulled the bottle from its hiding spot. 


Liberally coating his fingers with the lube, he worked on opening him up with the lube and his thumb. Atsumu groaned as the finger penetrated him, circling him, rubbing in and out. Another groan erupted from deep within him as another finger went in and slowly began to stretch him. 


Removing his thumb, Kiyoomi switched it for another finger, getting bored with just stretching him and making him ready. He wanted to play. He wanted to see Atsumu underneath him writhe and pant and tremble. 


Kiyoomi began to rub him in and out, building up tension, eliciting moans, and hitting that special bundle of nerves that made Atsumu groan deeper, more gutturally than before. He rocked back and forth on the fingers inside of him, breathing heavily as his head was pushed into the couch cushions by Kiyoomi’s free hand. His legs shook, ankles crossed, and toes curled as he was about to reach his peak. Kiyoomi relished the look of him coming undone. 


“Omi, I’m so close-” Atsumu pleaded, pushing into Kiyoomi’s fingers to try to get them to cause that burst of searing white light through his mind. He wanted to come more than anything at that moment. 


Kiyoomi removed the fingers from inside of him causing a strangled sound to come from Atsumu. “Wha? I said I was so close!” He whimpered. 


Hair disheveled and breathing heavy, his blown-out pupils and flushed face looked up at him from the couch cushions. The look on his face was tempting, turning Kiyoomi from the vindictive man he wanted to be tonight. Instead, he now wanted to kiss those pretty lips, even if they had made him so fucking upset. 


“I said you’d be rewarded, but I don’t think you deserve to come yet. Not like this. Get up.” He gave a light smack to his ass, causing him to involuntarily shake from the missing orgasm, the sexual tension that he had built up rippling through him. The blonde slid from the couch, stumbling a little as he regained his balance and the blood flowed back to his head. 


“Dontcha think yer a lil overdressed for this, Omi,” the naked man smirked at his dom while Kiyoomi could feel his dick twitched in his tight pants as he stared at him. 


“A little too eager now. Hm?” He spread his arms out across the back of the couch, “I wanted to look at you. I wanted to look at my slut.” As Kiyoomi’s eyes raked over him, Atsumu blushed and his throat bobbed in response. “Tell me, Tsumu. Tell me you’re my slut. That you’re only my slut.” 


“I’m only yers.” He said just over a whisper, looking down, grabbing his elbow as if to hide. 


He cocked his head, inquiring, “My what?”


“Slut.” He blushed, his ears tipped red. 


“Say it like you mean it, Tsumu. Do you mean it?” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, looking Atsumu up and down through his curls. 


“Yes. I mean it. I’m only yer slut,” he said with more conviction this time, looking Kiyoomi in the eye, clenching his fists at his sides. Determination. That fire in Atsumu’s eyes twisted Kiyoomi’s gut.


“Good boy.” He got up from the couch, grabbing his chin and pulling him closer, so he was forced to come to him, right up to his face. Then he whispered close to his lips, “That’s what I want to hear.” With that, he closed the gap between them, kissing the man he found so pretty and so infuriating. 


If he had wanted a soft kiss, Atsumu wouldn’t have given it to him; he was thirsty and passionate, sexual energy built up, and needing a release one way or another. He wrapped his arms around Kiyoomi’s waist as soon as hands roamed his blonde locks. 


Continuing his dominance, even if Atsumu was going to add a bit more passion to their kiss, he pushed their bodies towards the bedroom. Arms roamed, kissing continued as they shuffled, one mass together, towards the dark room. 


The bed called their wanting bodies and cushioned Atsumu, as he was pushed onto the mattress, bouncing slightly. Lust filled the atmosphere between the two as Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened for his prey. 


He ripped off his shirt and lowered himself on top of the man who shivered under his gaze and breathed heavily with desire. He captured his bottom lip in his own, raking his teeth across it, sucking it into his mouth, nibbling on it before opening the kiss up, deeper than before. An aggressive tongue shot into his mouth. Hands wound around Kiyoomi’s back and slid down onto his butt. Atsumu pulled himself closer, rubbing his erection against Kiyoomi’s leg. 


Before it became a battle between the two, Kiyoomi pulled back. “You’re overstepping your bounds.” He reached over and pulled his hair, so his head fell back a bit. 


Atsumu let out a pleasurable ahh before replying, “I thought ya liked it when I let ya know what I wanted.” 


“I already know what you want.” 


“Oh yeah?” Atsumu raised an eyebrow. 


Kiyoomi ignored him, getting up on his knees, unbuttoning his pants, shimmying them and his boxers down and off. Atsumu propped himself up on his arms watching, licking his lips as an erection freed itself from the constrictions of the tight black jeans that confined it. 


When the pants came off, Atsumu reached over to grab at Kiyoomi’s hip, his mouth slowly falling open, as if he hadn’t even meant for it to. As if he was just that much in awe. As if his mind had automatically begun to prepare him for the task it knew to expect. 


He licked his lips again and looked up into dark, hungry eyes, set on fulfilling their lust that peered at him through a curtain of curls. Keeping his eye contact, he opened his mouth more to officially welcome him in. That pretty fucking face and those eyes alone were doing something to Kiyoomi’s stomach like never before. He swallowed heavily as he thought about what would happen next. 


Kiyoomi reached down to grab his head and guide it to his cock. Atsumu groaned when he took it in, reverberations sending a chill down Kiyoomi’s spine. He licked up and down his dick several times before he took the entire length in his mouth, letting the tip hit the back of his throat, opening deeply, burying his face in Kiyoomi’s lap. 


Eyes still trained on Kiyoomi, he liked to watch to see the microexpressions flit across his face, see exactly what he liked. By now, he had figured out what Kiyoomi liked and part of that was the eye contact, so he kept it up. This time, he also wanted to do all the work to make up for this week. He was eager to please and it showed as he worked his way up and down the shafted. 


“Stop, I’m going come,” Kiyoomi commanded, but Atsumu didn’t let up. He really wanted to please the boss tonight. Kiyoomi wouldn’t have him disobeying, however, and grabbed his hair dislodging him from his cock. “When I say stop. I thought you wanted a reward tonight?”


Atsumu pouted, “I just wanted you to feel good.” 


That bastard, Kiyoomi thought. Despite the precedent, it didn’t have it in him for any more punishments tonight. He just wanted to fuck this pretty boy silly and he knew Atsumu knew it. He’d finally gotten a one-up one him. 


Kiyoomi grunted, “I’ll feel plenty good after this. I want to fuck you and I won’t have it in me to go again so soon if you make me come now.” 


A cheeky grin then spread over the blonde’s face. He wiped his mouth knowing he did well, knowing Kiyoomi was just as close to coming as he was earlier. Fuck, he’s cute. 


Kiyoomi reached over to the bedside table for a condom and lube. After rolling one on himself, he grabbed that pretty face for an impulsive kiss before growling, “Turn over.” 


“Yes, sir,” he flopped onto his stomach eagerly, turning his head to smile. A smile that shot right into Kiyoomi’s gut, it made him mad at how pretty he was, mad at how this man affected him. He carded his hand through his hair and grabbed Atsumu’s hips, quickly pulling them up towards him. 


He dick began to ache as he anticipated what was to come when he popped the top of the lube with his free hand and sent shivers through Atsumu as he dropped the cold liquid on him unexpectedly. 


Keeping one hand where it was on Atsumu’s hip to steady them, he guided his cock to Atsumu’s entrance, teasing his hole.


“Ommmmiiii,” he pleaded again for the second time that evening, as Kiyoomi reached around to stroke his cock, hand dotted with a touch of lube, and slowly entered Atsumu. The fullness consuming him. 


As Kiyoomi pulled out and thrust back in, Atsumu cried out, gripping at the sheets, knuckles going white. Kiyoomi’s hands slid along Atsumu’s back to grab at his neck and pull him up, holding him by the throat as he pumped into him. Atsumu’s breath was jagged, as he stretched his neck pleasurably against Kiyoomi’s long fingers. He moaned as he bucked his hips to meet thrusts that slapped loudly in the quiet room. 


Atsumu’s head tipped down as his vision blurred. “Kiyoomi, I --” 


Kiyoomi grabbed the head of his cock to control his orgasm and stop him from coming. He leaned on his back and whispered into his ear, “Baby, it’s not time yet.” 


When he leaned back up, he pulled out, causing Atsumu to shiver, feeling empty and craving to be filled again for the second time that afternoon. He whined and whimpered again before Kiyoomi used his upper body strength to flip him over. 


Atsumu had previously been able to hide in the sheets, but now Kiyoomi could admire him -- his panting, how he was fully flushed from his ears, cheeks, neck, to the top of his chest, and his hair was sprawled out messily around him, part of it stuck to the sweat of his forehead. He could see exactly what he had done to him, and he reveled in it. It made his dick twitch.  


“What did we say last time about whining?” Kiyoomi loomed over him. 


“That you’d f-find something to fill my mouth if I c-couldn’t control it,” he stuttered out. 


“So can you control yourself?” He stroked again. 


“Omi, please. I--” Whether Atsumu remembered the consequences or just couldn’t keep it together, Kiyoomi wasn’t sure. What Kiyoomi was sure about was how good it felt to have Atsumu suck on his fingers. It would shut him up too.


Long, slender fingers fit inside Atsumu's warm mouth. Lips surrounded each one as he watched him take in one finger after another. He rubbed his thumb across Atsumu’s lower lip as his spit-slicked fingers slid in and out of his mouth. 


“Good boy.” 


He leaned down, kissing Atsumu as he entered him again, swallowing his moan. As he slowly thrust, he let the blonde wrap his legs around his back as he carded his hands through his hair, grasping at it as if it would help ground him.


They continued languidly kissing until their thrusts became too fervent. Their mouths remained open, lips touching, sharing the same hot air. Foreheads slid together as the momentum shifted, increasing. 


Soon, too much to hover, Kiyoomi near-collapse reached between the two and stroked Atsumu to completion with his spit-slicked fingers. As Atsumu was near his peak, Kiyoomi leaned over and whispered, “Be a good boy, and come for me now.”


Atsumu’s vision blurred white and he passed out. 



After they got their sexual frustrations out of their system and cleaned themselves up, they laid together, holding each other in bed like they often did after a scene. Exhausted, but blissful. Simple. Normal. Slow.


It was this bliss and comfort that loosened their tongues. 


Nearly a whisper, Atsumu breathed into the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck, “Omi, ya know I’m really sorry.” His arm draped across his partner’s chest almost protectively. He squeezed. 


Looking up at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused, Kiyoomi responded in another fit of honesty for the week, “Yeah I know, Tsumu. I’m really sorry too. At least, I should have told you. At most, I could have said no to being the photographer.” 


Atsumu propped himself up against the headboard, using his eyes to pry what words could only hope to do. “Omi-kun, I still don’t know what happened.” There wasn’t an immediate answer. Atsumu continued to search the unexpressive face in front of him for answers. Eventually, they came. 


“We were very close for a long time as our careers started. He wanted to be a model and I was an aspiring fashion photographer. We were fresh out of school. We helped build each other’s portfolios and somehow we started dating. For a while. Or what I thought was dating. He was my first love. Anyways, long story short, he met someone else -- several someone elses -- and cheated on me,” Kiyoomi sighed. 


He turned away as Atsumu’s arms surrounded him and pulled him closer. He didn’t want to see the pity on Atsumu’s face. He didn’t want to see the reaction he would have when he said what he was about to say. He hated himself for what he was about to say. He did not want to open himself up like this, but he knew he needed to so that shit like this didn’t happen again. Maybe it was the post-sex high or maybe it was just something about this dumb blonde made him want to say it. 


He sighed and took a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see Atsumu staring at him encouragingly, but he couldn’t make eye contact as he continued or he wouldn’t be able to speak. “I-ugh, I caught him. It really fucked with my head. Particularly because he tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal. He invited me to join them. He thought he was opening me up to a new kind of relationship. He said he had too much love to give to just one person. It turns out when he said we were boyfriends, that to him it didn’t mean we were exclusive or even monogamous. It’s why seeing you… with him… during the shoot… was hard. I told myself I’d never let that happen to me again.” It’s why I want you all to myself.


Kiyoomi felt more vulnerable than he had been in a long time as Atsumu held him and kissed the top of his head. The man holding him finally spoke some reassuring words, “I’m really sorry. I won’t do that to you.” He paused for a bit, “But Omi, are we datin’ if we never leave the bedroom?”


Without any bite, he shot out, “Fuck you. You better not be seeing anyone else.” He meant it though. He’s not sure he could take going through that again. 


Quick to clarify, Atsumu responded as he raked his hand nervously through Kiyoomi’s curls, “I’m not! I just... dunno what we are. What’re we doin’? Don’t get me wrong. I like it. I’m just… I’m confused about us.” His voice faded out as if he didn’t know what else to say. He continued to play with his hair and let the strands drape elegantly around his fingers. 


Kiyoomi intertwined his fingers with that of Atsumu’s free hand, “Let’s not fuck up a good thing,” he said and kissed the other’s knuckles. 


“Look, if we’re not sleepin’ with anyone else, we’re spendin’ the night at each other’s places, an’ eatin’ takeout together, let’s call a fox a fox. We’re datin’, Omi.” His eyes bore into Kiyoomi as he looked down at him. 


It was that look of determination again from that pretty fucking face that made him both annoyed but enthralled at the same time. Not to mention the fact that somehow he ended up being the one being held. And yet, it made him feel safe. He hadn’t felt safe in a long time despite all the controlling he had been trying to do in his life. He didn’t want to lose this idiot (even after his stupid mishaps at the shoot), so he made it another time he acquiesced this week. He found himself continuing to make concessions for this bleach blonde jerk who waltzed into his life and clouded his judgment with his pretty face. 


“Whatever you say,” he said in between kisses of each knuckle. He looked up and noticed Atsumu’s face caught in a look of surprise. Eyes alight, cheeks pink, and ears tipped red, picture-perfect at least to Kiyoomi. The model then grabbed his face and kissed him, smiling against his lips. 


Kiyoomi felt as if this normalcy, this slowness, had mended him. He no longer felt refracted.