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Nov 25
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skts, semi-public sex It's weirdest FWB situation Atsumu's ever been in. Their competitive streak on the court has carried off it—loser does whatever the winner asks, and the stakes have escalated quickly. But he's fine with being a freak if it means seeing Sakusa like this:

On his knees in the gala's broom closet, fist wrapped around Atsumu's cock as his mouth hovers over the tip. His gaze is simultaneously cautious and determined, like a baby bird before its first flight. It's as endearing as it is thrilling, heat licking up Atsumu's spine.
It's not even outlandish, all things considered, but Atsumu has learned a lot about Sakusa over the course of this affair: One, he hates being vulnerable—always choosing to fuck in his bedroom, where "no one can find out I'm hooking up with /you/, of all people." Rude.
Two, he hates giving anything that doesn't also benefit himself. Meanwhile, Atsumu's sucked him dry, eaten him out, fucked him to hell and back without so much as a thank you. Fuckin' most entitled, youngest child bullshit Atsumu's ever seen. So for this win, he decided to knock
Sakusa down a peg. Maybe two. The bastard's lucky he didn't make him wear lingerie under the suit for three. (Wait, actually, that is a /great/ idea, he's noting that down for next time.)
"This cock ain't gonna suck itself, Omi," he goads, just to be an asshole. "I will leave you here to die," Sakusa says, his breath warm against Atsumu's skin. "Sure ya will." He can't even take Sakusa's threat seriously—the satisfaction of leaving Atsumu blueballed in a closet
would never make up for the blow to his pride. They came up with this twisted competition, and they both know that whoever yields first loses—forever. Sakusa huffs out an irritated breath before inching forward. Atsumu licks his lips, subconsciously leaning down to get a
better look. He finally gets his mouth around the tip, hesitating a moment before closing his lips. Atsumu's breath stutters as Sakusa moves his tongue slowly, experimentally, against the underside of his head. His eyes are still open, and the single, focused gaze turns Atsumu
on more than he'd ever admit. "If I'd wanted to get cock warmed, I'd've asked for it. Start suckin', Omi." His voice comes out more steady than he feels. Fuck, it's /embarrassing/ how into this he is when nothing's even happened yet. Sakusa glowers up at him, though the effect
is dampened by the fact that he's got a cock down his throat. Well, 25% of it, at least. He'll get there, patience, Atsumu. Sakusa doesn't listen, instead electing to swirl his tongue around in circles, wetting every last centimeter of Atsumu's head in his saliva. He starts
slow—the fuckin' pattern of the night, it seems, Atsumu thinks. He makes Atsumu eat his words thirty seconds later, the sloppy, wet sounds filling the small space striking Atsumu with a wave of arousal so strong that it's nauseating. Sakusa doesn't give him a second to breathe
after that. He lowers himself down further, working that sinful tongue until he can't any longer, too close to the back of Atsumu's throat. But instead of swallowing him down like Atsumu wants, /now/ Sakusa decides to suck, and Atsumu's moan is /loud/, too loud.
Mother hen that he is, Sakusa glares up at him again. Atsumu gets his sleeve between his teeth before Sakusa does it again, and the cloth does shit all to muffle it. With a roll of his eyes that twists sharply in Atsumu's gut, Sakusa continues—taking Atsumu deeper with each
inhale. He starts using his free hand to play with Atsumu's balls, smoothing the spit that's dripped down the length of his dick over the soft skin in a scornful, knowing imitation of comfort. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Atsumu whispers into his hand, then bites down on his thumb.
Sakusa stills when Atsumu just begins teasing his throat, so close that he swears he can feel when he swallows. Atsumu's about to call him out for it—play dirtier than ever before to make him sink home—when he hears it: footsteps. "Where the hell did they go?" he hears a voice—
Bokuto's—ask. "I dunno," Hinata says, "but Foster's not starting the final speech without them, so let's find them quick!" Bokuto groans. "They've definitely been sus lately. They either killed each other and are bleeding out in the bathroom or, like"—the footsteps pause, right
in front of the door—"are happily alive and fucking in the closet." Atsumu feels Sakusa's breath stutter on his cock. Hinata laughs. "Please, Omi-san would never have sex in a closet." This time, Atsumu feels him nod. /Then what's this?/ Atsumu mouths, and Sakusa narrows
his eyes as if to say /your fucking fault/. "You never know with Tsum-Tsum, though..." And Sakusa raises his brows. /Take that, bitch./ "C'mon, Bokuto-san, we'll check the closet on the way back if you're /so/ sure, but let's start with the bathroom." After a long, agonizing
pause, the footsteps start up again, fading into the distance. Atsumu turns his gaze back towards Sakusa, cocking a brow. "Hear that Omi? You better make me come in the next two minutes, or we're gonna find ourselves in a tricky situation." He curls his fingers into the back of
Sakusa's hair, scratching mockingly over his scalp. "And if that's gonna happen, you're gonna need my help. Tap my thigh twice if ya need me to stop." With that final warning, Atsumu thrusts, sheathing himself fully in Sakusa's throat. Tears instantly spring to Sakusa's eyes as
he forces back a wet keen. Atsumu doesn't give him any time to adjust, pulling out before slamming back in. And Atsumu would love to say that Sakusa takes him like a dream, but it's the opposite—he chokes, gags, drools, unable to keep Atsumu down for more than a second.
But, fuck, is it better than any fantasy. Atsumu can tell that he's stretching Sakusa's limits—stretching that tiny, tiny mouth as far as it can go. Tears stream down his cheeks even with his eyes closed, damp lashes shimmering in the low light. His nails dig into Atsumu's skin
even through his dress pants, but he doesn't lift a finger, doesn't tap out. It's the staggering realization that he's got Sakusa on his knees in a closet at the fucking annual fundraising gala—crying, slobbering, and suffocating on his cock—that tips Atsumu over the edge.
"Omi—" is all the warning he gives before he's coming, at least having the foresight to pull out of his windpipe. But the power trip still courses through him: he's shooting his dirty, nasty come into Sakusa's pretty little mouth—down his tight, sore throat.
Sakusa doesn't let him relish in his bliss for long, though. As soon as Atsumu's wrung dry, Sakusa turns and spits into the mop bucket behind him before standing to full height. His cheeks are flushed—his hair mussed and his lips red—but he doesn't seem to notice or care as he
reaches out, tucking Atsumu into his pants and pulling up the zipper. "Let's go," Sakusa says, brushing invisible dust off his knees. (He was literally kneeling on a folded towel, because Atsumu's a /benevolent/ individual, thank you very much). "Omi, I don't think you realiz—"
"Either they see me in this closet with you and the whole team knows by tomorrow, or they see me unruly at the table with no evidence to support their suspicions. Let's /go/." He grabs Atsumu by the wrist and tugs open the door. Atsumu chuckles as they fumble into the hallway.
His laugh is cut short upon a squawking noises from the end of the hall. "There you guys are!" Hinata says, pointing a finger. Atsumu feels Sakusa's hand stiffen around his wrist before dropping it entirely. "Where'd you go? Foster needs you back at the gala!" "Oh, Omi was just
cleanin' me up for the main event. Isn't that right, Omi-kun?" "We're not in the closet anymore," Sakusa murmurs. "I really /will/ kill you." "Save fear play for the bedroom, sweetheart," Atsumu teases. Sakusa turns on his heel and hightails it back to the main room.
Atsumu waits for Hinata and Bokuto to catch up, flashing them a smile before getting ready to follow Sakusa. Just as he's turning, he sees Hinata's gaze dart down to his crotch, and, shit, did Sakusa's mouth not catch it all? With a glance, he sees the culprit, worse than any
come stain: Sakusa forgot to do his belt. "He really covered all the bases, didn't he, Atsumu-san? 'Cleaning you up,' that is." Hinata asks, eyes sparkling with mirth. Atsumu just shrugs it off. "Can't tie a tie, can't buckle a
belt. Where would I be without Omi-kun?" Bokuto's jaw slackens when he catches on. "You? Omi-Omi? Oh my god, I /knew/ it—" "We'll chitchat later, Bokuto-san, back to the gala we go!" With a hand on each of their backs, Hinata shoves them forward, back towards the main event.
And if he wasn't weird enough already, the delight that flips in Atsumu's stomach upon getting caught—knowing that this is going to be /talked/ about, spread through MSBY like a virus—is the final nail in his twisted coffin. Oh, he can't wait for Sakusa to wake up tomorrow.
//fin HAPPY THANKSGIVING INSTEAD OF A TURKEY FEAST, KIYOOMI GOT A TASTE OF COCK😌aka i recently realized ive never written him giving head + that needed to change asap. thanks @kels 4 the extra spice of the semi-public sex idea😘 More threads!:…


your local fic writer ✍️ & atsumu clowner 🤡 - hinata shouyou, my beloved 🧡 - nsfw🔞 - @kagehinabigbang mod - pfp: @xeno_veno - banner: @natelette+@thanhuki
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