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Tobio’s barely stepping out of the shower when the familiar sound of an incoming video call chimes in the other room. It doesn’t feel like it, but a glance at the shower clock tells him that it is indeed already 9:30. Say what you will about Miya Atsumu, but he’s always been surprisingly punctual when it comes to these video calls, even if Tobio isn’t quite so reliably on-the-dot.
He loops a towel around his waist and then runs another over his hair as he walks from the bathroom to his bedroom, by which point the call has timed out. Never one to give up, however, Atsumu dials back almost immediately, lighting up Tobio’s phone where it sits on the bedside table.
“Too good to pick up on the first ring, huh, Tobio-kun?” Atsumu says once Tobio accepts the call with the swipe of his finger. “And why do you have me lookin’ at the ceiling?”
“Because I just got out of the shower,” Tobio replies as he sits on the bed, towel still draped around his hips.
“Oh?” Atsumu says. Tobio still hasn’t positioned himself in the frame, but he can see a shirtless Atsumu lean in toward the camera. “Don’t tell me ya already got the job done.”
Tobio rolls his eyes. “No. Practice just went late and then my train was a little delayed.”
“Bummer,” Atsumu says. “The trains here in Osaka are always right on time, you know.”
“Save the campaign for someone else,” Tobio says, settling onto his pillow and finally picking up his phone so that his face is in the frame. “I’m not joining MSBY.”
Atsumu blows a raspberry. “Last thing I want is competition from another setter on my team.” His eyes lower to the bottom of the frame, where Tobio’s collar bones glisten with shower water.
“I’m competition?” Tobio challenges.
“You’re very wet is what you are,” Atsumu says, touching the nape of his neck to mirror where Tobio has droplets of water running down his own. “You really did just get out of the shower.”
Tobio shrugs. “That’s what I said.”
“Mm,” Atsumu says. “I like that visual.”
“Of me getting out of the shower?”
Atsumu gives him a look that says you’ve got to be joking. It’s a face Tobio sees him make fairly often during these calls. “Of you in the shower, Tobio-kun.”
“Oh.”
Atsumu breathes out a heavy, dreamy sigh. “You don’t have anything on, then?”
“Just a towel.”
“Mm,” Atsumu says again. “God, I’d kill to be there.”
Tobio smirks. “Even though the trains here aren’t as good as they are in Osaka?”
“Shuddup,” Atsumu says, almost slurring the ‘s’ sound.
“Are you already touching yourself?”
“Can’t help it,” Atsumu says. “Thinkin’ of you in the shower’s got me goin’ insane.”
Tobio sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Fuck,” he grunts, bringing one hand down to loosen the knot of his towel until the fabric over his abdomen falls to the side. He takes his hardening cock in his hand and begins lightly stroking himself.
“I’ll show ya mine if you show me yours,” Atsumu says, his head falling against the headboard of his bed with a dull thud.
“Okay.” Tobio flips his camera so that Atsumu can see.
“Goddamn,” Atsumu mutters. The screen goes black for a split second and then up comes the image of Atsumu’s hand around his cock, his thumb teasing the leaking tip as he pumps himself with steady strokes. Tobio finds himself unconsciously working at his own cock slightly faster to match Atsumu’s pace.
“Ah, that’s good,” Atsumu says, and Tobio braces himself for what’s coming next. “Fuckin’ love watching you touch yourself like that for me, Tobio. Your cock’s so fuckin’, god, it’s so fuckin’ nice. All pink and cute like that—”
“Cute?” Tobio wrinkles his nose.
“Yeah, it’s fuckin’ cute,” Atsumu says, unperturbed. “You look so good right outta the shower. Wish I could be there right now. I’d take you in my fuckin’ mouth until you’re hitting the back of my throat. Fuck, wanna feel your fingers in my hair, tight as shit while I suck you off. Wanna—”
Tobio strokes himself faster as Atsumu continues. It’s always like this—Atsumu’s poetic babbling while they each get themselves off was a little bizarre at first, but it’s grown on Tobio so much that he swears even more blood rushes to his groin whenever Atsumu starts it up. He rhythmically swipes his thumb up and down over his tip, bucking up his hips slightly as he feels warmth begin to gather in his abdomen.
“—wanna know what you feel like when you’re all loosened up,” Atsumu’s saying when Tobio tunes his attention back in. “Buryin’ my fingers in you, god. Bet you’d feel so fuckin’ tight. Wanna have you on your back, legs over my shoulders. Wanna—god, fuck—wanna sink into you inch by inch.”
“Who says,” Tobio says, his voice barely more than a rasp as he thrusts his cock up into his hand. “That you’d get to fuck me?”
Atsumu chokes out a laugh. “Me, Tobio-kun,” he says. “I’m sayin’ it. You close?”
“Yes,” Tobio hisses.
“Me too,” Atsumu says, his hand furiously moving up and down his length. “Gonna come—oh, fuck, gonna come—”
“Fuck,” Tobio groans as his cock starts to pulse in his hand, white spilling out of it and dribbling down his fingers. He strokes himself through it, watching as Atsumu does the same, moaning and whimpering out expletives and Tobio’s name all the while.
“Yeah,” Atsumu says, breathy as he’s coming down. “Yeah, that’s good.”
They each take a short pause to clean themselves up. When Tobio returns to bed and grabs his phone, Atsumu has turned the camera back on his face, so Tobio does the same.
“Goddamn, that was awesome,” Atsumu says. “Can’t wait for our match next week.”
“I can’t believe it’s so soon already,” Tobio says.
“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “You better clear your schedule afterward, Tobio-kun. I don’t care if you wanna catch up with Bokkun. Once we’re done crushin’ you in that match, I’m takin’ you in the locker room and fuckin’ your brains out.”
Tobio scoffs. “You’re making a lot of assumptions. Guess it’s true what they say about you being ‘Arrogant Atsumu.’”
“That was one website!” Atsumu says, indignant. “Fine. We won’t crush you. We’ll go into four sets, how’s that?”
Tobio sticks up his middle finger to show him what he thinks of that. “You’re also making an assumption about how it will go after.”
“After?” Atsumu says, furrowing his brows until he realizes what Tobio means. “Oh, about me fuckin’ you against the lockers?”
“You fucking me, period.”
“You wanna top that bad?”
“It’s not about wanting it either way,” Tobio says. “But you're just going off and… assuming it’s gonna be one way.”
For once in his life, it seems like Atsumu doesn’t have a retort ready to fire back. He scratches at the side of his head as he processes. “Okay, fair enough, Tobio-kun. Fair enough. How ‘bout we make a game of it then, like we did back in high school?”
Tobio narrows his eyes as he tries to recall what Atsumu is talking about.
“C’mon, you remember, don’t you? Whoever lost to the other at Nationals had to suck the other off.”
“Oh, yeah,” Tobio says. “Well, that only happened twice.”
Atsumu gives him that look again. “We only ever played each other twice, Tobio-kun.”
“Oh, right.”
Tobio’s struck then with the memory of Atsumu on his knees in a bathroom stall, prying Tobio’s shorts down his legs and taking him in his mouth. It was the first ever blowjob he received, and still one of the best. Not just because it was full of entirely new sensations, but because it was a blowjob he’d won.
After months of texting and, eventually, sexting after the All-Japan youth training camp, Tobio and Atsumu were eager for the opportunity to finally act out some of their steamier messages at Nationals. When the bracket was released and it turned out that they would be playing each other early on, Atsumu had suggested a bet: whichever team beat the other would determine who had to blow the other later that day. Atsumu had been smug as hell in the weeks leading up to the competition, ever confident that Inarizaki, as the second seed, would wipe the floor with Karasuno.
The look on Atsumu’s face when Tobio and Hinata blocked him and his brother’s copycat quick to take the match is pleasantly burned forever in Tobio’s memory for more reason than one.
Next year, they made the bet again, and it was Tobio who had to get on his knees for Atsumu. As disappointed as he’d been that Karasuno was out of the tournament, he at least learned that sucking dick is pretty fun.
“So, whaddya say?” Atsumu says, snapping Tobio out of his memories. “If the Jackals crush the Adlers—which we will—I get to fuck you until you’re cryin’ out my name.”
“And if the Adlers beat the Jackals, as we are predicted by several different sources to do,” Tobio says, to which Atsumu clicks his tongue. “Then I get to fuck you.”
“Deal,” Atsumu says. “Lookin’ forward to feelin’ that tight ass.”
Tobio smiles smugly. “Likewise.”
The Jackals vs. Adlers match goes into the fifth set.
It’s grueling. Tobio had been so sure they were going to lock it down in set four; they’d been up three points and were only two away from twenty-five when his serve slammed down on the court just out of bounds, costing the Adlers a shot at match point. Right after, Atsumu sneered at him from across the net. To anyone else it probably looked like poor sportsmanship, but Tobio knew it meant far more than that.
The Jackals were ferocious after that and went on to claim the set. Some of the Adlers clapped a sulking Tobio on the back over on the sidelines in between sets, telling him not to blame himself for costing them the set. He hadn’t even really been thinking about that, though—while he certainly was focused on ensuring they won this next set, he was far more concerned that he wasn't going to best Atsumu.
And then Atsumu slammed his first serve of set five into the net just before Ushijima nailed two service aces in a row, and Tobio knew then, in his bones, that the Adlers were going to win.
It’s only twenty or so minutes later that he gets to see the look on Atsumu’s face when one of Hoshiumi’s spikes goes whizzing past Meian to land in the far corner of the court, claiming the match for the Adlers. Even as his teammates swarm the court to celebrate their victory, Tobio makes sure not to lose sight of Atsumu, who practically oozes frustration as he pants and half-assedly fist bumps his teammates to say ‘good try.’
The post-game lineup of events is the same as it always is: thank the crowd for coming, sign autographs for children in line (and occasionally Sugawara), and head back to the locker rooms for a short team meeting before everyone showers.
The shower is where Tobio differs from his usual routine. Typically he’s quick, just getting the sweat off of him and rinsing some product out of his hair in maybe ten minutes. Tonight, he takes his time, standing under the spray while keeping an ear out for each time one of his teammates finishes up. When he’s satisfied that he’s the last one still showering, he leisurely exits and, upon getting to the bench by his locker, pretends to be occupied with messages on his phone so he doesn’t look strange for not changing out of his towel and into some clothes.
“Nice playing today, Tobio,” Romero says. He’s seated a few feet down the bench, clasping an expensive-looking watch around his wrist. “You gonna come out for drinks with the team?”
“Not today,” Tobio responds evenly. He briefly holds up his phone, on which he has been pretending to fire off text messages. “Got a friend in town.”
“A friend?” Romero asks, eyebrows raised in surprise.
Tobio flushes. Is the flaw in this plan going to be that he underestimated just how unbelievable it is for him to have friends?
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Romero says in response to Tobio’s expression. “Just don’t hear you talk about friends much. I’m glad you…”
“Have some?” Tobio supplies when Romero trails off.
Romero laughs and stands up, slinging his Adlers-branded bag over his shoulder. “Have fun with your friend then, Tobio.” On his way to the door he passes Tobio, giving him two pats on the shoulder as he does.
It’s then, in the ensuing silence, that Tobio realizes there’s no one else left in the locker room. Holding his towel around his hips, he does a quick scan of the whole room, but finds no one. When he returns to the bench, he grabs his phone and sends his first actual text of the night: Coast is clear. Wait ten minutes or so and if you don’t hear anything, you can come in.
He finds himself antsy as he waits. His knee bounces up and down, partly because he’s a bit anxious, but also because he’s cold—the air in the locker room has grown cool without any other bodies in it, and Tobio’s still damp and naked, save for his towel. But there’s no sense in putting on clothes just to take them right back off.
It’s almost exactly ten minutes after Tobio sent his text that he hears footsteps approaching the locker room. He holds his breath, hoping like hell that it’s Atsumu and not one of his teammates who forgot something. Explaining why he’s sitting alone in his towel in the locker room would be uncomfortable, to say the least.
“Any assholes around here?” comes a voice that unmistakably belongs to Miya Atsumu.
“Yeah,” Tobio calls. “You.”
There’s the sound of a snort and some more footsteps, and then Atsumu materializes around the corner, hair wet and wearing a Jackals zip up jacket and black sweats. He rests his forearm against a locker and looks over at Tobio. “Guess I should say ‘good game.’”
“Thanks,” Tobio says. “You played well.”
“Save it,” Atsumu huffs, dropping his volleyball bag by his feet and reaching up to tug at the zipper of his jacket. “We lost. Gloat as much as you like.”
Tobio stands up, hand still clasping his towel at his waist as he takes a few steps toward Atsumu. “I’m not interested in gloating,” he says, and watches as Atsumu steps out of his shoes and unzips his jacket, letting it fall to the floor along with his bag. “Not wasting any time?”
“You’re already fuckin’ naked,” Atsumu says, gesturing his hand toward Tobio’s towel before moving to take his shirt off.
“Don’t.”
Atsumu pauses with his hands crossed over his waist, fingers pinching around the hem of his shirt. “What?”
“Don’t take anything else off,” Tobio says.
Atsumu’s eyebrows crinkle. “You won, and now you’re getting cold feet?”
“No,” Tobio says, taking another step forward so that he’s close enough to reach out for Atsumu’s neck and pull him in. Just before their lips meet, Tobio adds, “I want to undress you.”
Atsumu shifts so that his back is flat against the lockers, Tobio’s weight pushing him against the metal as he seals their lips together. Heat blazes in Tobio’s abdomen, enough that he forgets he was ever cold while waiting for Atsumu to show up. In favor of wrapping his hand around Atsumu’s waist, Tobio lets go of his towel and it drops to the floor, leaving him completely and truly naked.
Tobio’s hand sneaks under Atsumu’s shirt, drifting upwards until his palm is flat against a pec, thumb ghosting over Atsumu’s nipple in a way that earns him a shuddered breath. Tobio breaks away long enough to pull Atsumu’s shirt off of him and then returns to kissing him, one knee coming up to rub against Atsumu’s groin.
“God,” Atsumu breathes when Tobio moves from his lips to place kisses along his neck and jaw. He reaches out his hand to squeeze Tobio’s ass. “I really wish I’d won that match.”
Something primal flares inside of Tobio. Here he is, having won the match and the bet, and yet there’s something arrogant in the way Atsumu holds himself, like he still thinks he has the power here.
Tobio snatches Atsumu’s wrist and slams it against the locker. “Well,” he says, leaning back to look Atsumu in the eyes. “You didn’t.”
Atsumu’s eyes light up with alarm, but not of the fearful sort. He looks almost like he’s had something awakened in him, and licks his lips hungrily. “This how it’s gonna be?” he asks, gesturing his head toward where Tobio has his wrist pinned against the locker.
“Yeah,” Tobio says, holding Atsumu’s wrist for another moment longer before letting it go. “Get on your knees.”
Atsumu’s eyes go almost comically wide. “Wha—the deal is you get to fuck me, not that I have to blow you.”
“Not everything has to be part of the deal,” Tobio says. “And you’re the one who said you wanted me to hit the back of your throat.”
“Jesus,” Atsumu murmurs. “You got a photographic memory or something?”
“Photographic memory?” Tobio repeats. “How can a memory look good in photos?”
Atsumu hits him with that ‘you’re kidding me’ look again. “That’s photogeni—you know what, nevermind.” He shakes the thought away, brushes some hair that’s fallen into his eyes to the side, and sinks to his knees.
Tobio sucks in a breath, watching eagerly as Atsumu brings his hand to curl around the base of his cock. “Mm,” Atsumu muses. “Fuckin’ love how pink it gets when you’re hard. So fuckin’ cute.”
“Stop calling it cute.”
“Stop havin’ a cute dick, then.”
Without warning, Tobio fists his hand in Atsumu’s hair and yanks, bringing his mouth a hair’s width away from his cock. Atsumu looks up with that same hungry look in his eyes, a wicked grin stretching across his face. “And you said you wouldn’t gloat.”
That’s the last thing he says before taking Tobio in his mouth. He doesn’t bother with kitten licks or sucking at the tip to start; he stretches his neck until he’s swallowing around Tobio’s entire length, then pulls back only to dive right back in.
It’s a sight that’s as satisfying as it is alluring: Atsumu on his knees, hand clinging to the bench behind Tobio for balance, mouth occupied by Tobio’s dick rather than snarky insults. His head bobs up and down along the length of Tobio’s cock, guttural noises filling the otherwise empty locker room as spit dribbles down the side of his chin.
“Fuck,” Tobio says, hand only tightening in Atsumu’s hair. “God, that’s good.”
Atsumu hums around Tobio, as if to say, “I know, right?”
The longer he’s enveloped in the warm wetness of Atsumu’s mouth, the harder it becomes to resist thrusting his hips forward. In a moment of particularly acute pleasure, when Atsumu’s hand abandons its position at the base of Tobio’s shaft and begins to massage his balls, he finds himself unable to resist. His hips buck forward, and Atsumu whines, but doesn’t back off. Instead, he stops moving his neck altogether except to nod his head slightly, as though encouraging Tobio to continue.
So he does. He thrusts without reserve into Atsumu’s wet mouth, and Atsumu takes it beautifully. It’s damn near addicting, watching his cock slip in and out past those glistening lips. Atsumu’s hollowed cheeks and his big brown eyes gazing up at Tobio are mesmerizing, and it takes every ounce of willpower that Tobio has in his body to pull Atsumu off of himself once he feels pleasure beginning to spike.
Atsumu wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then smirks. Voice a little rough, he says, “Thought you were gonna jizz down my throat for a sec there and ruin the whole deal for yourself.”
Collecting himself, Tobio looks down at Atsumu. “Get up here.”
Atsumu raises his eyebrows briefly but obliges, and he isn’t upright for half a second before Tobio is pulling at the string at the front of his sweatpants to loosen his waistband and then just as quickly whisking Atsumu around by the shoulders to push him up against the lockers.
“Whoa,” Atsumu says, letting out a little laugh of surprise.
Tobio reaches around Atsumu to dip a hand beneath his waistband, where Atsumu’s cock is hard and wet with precum. There’s a sigh of pleasure from Atsumu as Tobio begins stroking him, while using his other hand to push down Atsumu’s sweatpants until they fall to his ankles and he steps out of them.
Taking advantage of the fact that they’re both now fully naked, Tobio presses Atsumu up against the lockers with his body, continuing to pump him while kissing and nipping at the junction of his neck and shoulder. He rubs his cock against the flesh of Atsumu’s ass and grinds against him.
“Goddamn, Tobio-kun,” Atsumu says shakily, fingers splayed out against the lockers on either side of his head. “Did—did ya bring the lube?”
“I did,” Tobio says, continuing to rock his hips. “You want me to get it?”
“I’m not gonna beg, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”
“I wasn’t even thinking that,” Tobio says. “I kind of want to hear that now, though.”
“Fuck no,” Atsumu says, though the last syllable cuts off into a sharp gasp when Tobio brings the hand that isn’t jerking off Atsumu between his legs and brushes a finger over his entrance.
“You sure?” Tobio says through a grin.
“It’s your fuckin’ victory,” Atsumu slurs, pressing his cheek against the lockers so he can see Tobio out of his periphery. “I’ve got nothing to gain from—ah!” Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut when Tobio runs his finger along the same spot again, applying slightly more pressure this time.
“I don’t know,” Tobio says. He slows his strokes over Atsumu’s cock until they’re so slow, each one seems to bring Atsumu more pain than pleasure. “Kinda seems like you want me to do more than this.”
“Jesus fuck,” Atsumu says, one of his hands curling into a fist. “Where’d ya learn to be like this? Ya watch some fucked up porn, Tobio-kun?”
“I’ll be nice about it,” Tobio decides, ignoring Atsumu’s questions. “I just need to hear you say ‘please.’”
“Shoulda known you’d be this annoying,” Atsumu mutters. “Fine. Please, Tobio-kun, will ya go get the lube and fuck my brains out against these lockers?”
“Oh,” Tobio says, the hand around Atsumu coming to a complete stop. “Didn’t expect all that.”
“Just go get the fuckin’ lube.”
With some degree of reluctance, Tobio does as Atsumu says and steps away from him to search through his bag for the lube, returning to the lockers once he has it and a condom in hand. He drizzles some lube over his fingers while Atsumu watches with a quietly eager look in his eyes.
“Ready?” Tobio says, setting the lube down next to the condom on the bench behind him.
“I already said ‘please,’” Atsumu says with a generous helping of petulance.
Tobio brings his hand, now lube-slick, to Atsumu’s entrance once again, and delights in the whine he pulls from Atsumu as he pushes his finger in, softly massaging the opening before working his way in further. Atsumu’s hands keep scrabbling against the lockers, looking for anywhere or anything to grab onto, but there’s nothing but smooth metal. After a while, Tobio brings a second finger to join the first, then a third when Atsumu tells him to hurry up.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you’re glad that you ended up losing,” Tobio says in response to the long, drawn out moan that his third finger entering Atsumu earns.
“Shuddup,” Atsumu says. “I hate losing just as much as—oh, fuck—just as much as you.”
Tobio smirks. “You don’t sound like you hate this.”
“Oh, fuck off and fuck me already.”
Tobio huffs a laugh but obliges Atsumu, pulling out his fingers and grabbing the condom from the bench. He rips it open and puts it on quickly, then lubes himself up while Atsumu once again watches. With all that taken care of, he stands behind Atsumu, but makes no move to do anything.
“What are you waiting for?” Atsumu says.
“Hm,” Tobio says, and takes a moment to survey the locker room. “Let’s go over there.” He cocks his head to indicate a counter on the other side of the room, one that’s got a mirror on the wall behind it.
“In front of the mirror?” Atsumu says, sounding skeptical even as he starts to walk toward the counter. “You definitely watch some weird porn.”
“I like seeing your face,” Tobio says simply. He waits until Atsumu is walking ahead of him so that he can follow him to the counter.
“How sweet,” Atsumu says, standing in front of the mirror. Tobio comes up behind him and, without warning, grabs hold of Atsumu’s hair and forces him forward until his chest is against the counter. “The fuck—”
Tobio lines himself up with Atsumu’s entrance and begins to push inside. “I like seeing your face,” he says, pulling on Atsumu’s hair until he’s sure he can see himself in the mirror. “When you’ve lost.”
Atsumu can’t say anything in response, because Tobio pushes all the way inside, and doesn’t let a second go by before he’s drawing his hips back to slam back in. Spurred on by the whine Atsumu lets out and the immaculate heat enveloping his cock, Tobio continues like this, setting a brutal pace that he doesn’t intend to let up on.
Beneath him, Atsumu is a moaning mess, eyes wide and mouth ajar as he watches himself get fucked in the mirror. His hands curl into fists that he occasionally slams against the counter whenever Tobio angles his cock just so that it hits his prostate. Tightening his grip in Atsumu’s hair earns Tobio a dazzling whine, and he can start to see saliva dribbling down the side of Atsumu’s mouth as he continues to whimper.
“Talk,” Tobio says, abandoning Atsumu’s hair in favor of pushing his shoulder down so that his chest is flat against the counter. The other hand holds onto Atsumu’s waist with a bruising grip. “Talk like you do on our phone calls.”
“So good,” Atsumu pants out. “Fuck, Tobio, feels so fuckin’ good.”
“Still think my dick is ‘cute?’”
Atsumu’s groan sounds exasperated, so Tobio slams in a little harder on the next thrust to make sure he knows that answering isn’t optional.
“No, not cute,” Atsumu says hurriedly. Words begin to spill out of his mouth the way that they do during video calls. “It’s—it’s fuckin’ amazing, so fuckin’ big and thick, fuck, feels so good in me, can’t fuckin’ get enough, the way you’re fuckin’ me, jesus christ—”
Tobio bites his lip as warmth begins to blossom low in his abdomen. He’s not going to last much longer at this rate, not with Atsumu’s filthy ramblings in his ears and the tightness of his ass taking Tobio so well. Feeling control slip away from him, he pulls Atsumu’s head up again by his hair and then quickly moves his hand to his neck, applying a pressure that’s light but still enough to have Atsumu’s eyes get impossibly wider.
“Fuck,” Atsumu whines. Though his lower body isn’t visible in the mirror, Tobio instantly catches it when Atsumu reaches forward to touch himself. He abandons his grip on Atsumu’s hip and wrenches his arm back.
“I’ll do that,” Tobio says in Atsumu’s ear.
Atsumu nods eagerly—as much as he can with Tobio’s hand around his throat. When Tobio doesn’t move to touch him, his brow furrows.
“If you ask nicely,” Tobio says.
Atsumu looks beside himself. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”
It’s a dangerous game that Tobio’s playing, because he’s getting close to his breaking point, and who knows how long Atsumu is going to resist here. But while he’s got Atsumu writhing underneath him, he wants to milk this opportunity for everything it’s worth.
Tobio gives Atsumu’s neck a small squeeze of encouragement.
“Please,” Atsumu rasps. “Please fuckin’ touch me, Tobio. I need to feel you, wanna feel you so bad, don’t make me wait any longer, please—”
Tobio lets go of Atsumu’s wrist and reaches forward, closing his fist around Atsumu’s cock. The moan Atsumu lets out is long and loud and brimming with relief. He pumps Atsumu in time with his own thrusts, snapping his hips increasingly faster as he chases release.
“Fuck, gonna come,” Atsumu says. Seconds later, he’s whimpering into the counter as he spills over Tobio’s fist. The combined stimuli of his cum dribbling over Tobio’s hand and the tightening of his ass pulls Tobio’s orgasm from him as well; he groans as he pounds into Atsumu, his hips moving of their own accord until he’s completely spent.
When Tobio pulls out and peels off the condom, Atsumu stays hunched over the counter, panting. “Fuck, Tobio-kun,” he says. “That was unreal.”
Tobio disposes of the condom and then grabs a few pieces of paper towel, running them under the sink before returning to Atsumu’s side. Atsumu turns around and lets Tobio wipe the remaining cum off of his abdomen.
“Seriously,” Atsumu continues. “It’s been a long fuckin’ time since I’ve been fucked like that.”
Tobio pauses. Obviously he’s not in the dark about the fact that Atsumu’s got experience, and it’s not like Tobio’s especially virginal himself. He may not be the best at forming connections with people, but being a star athlete and the spokesperson for several fitness brands does wonders for a man’s fuckability. Still, he can’t help the unpleasant feeling brewing in his gut at the thought of someone else doing anything like that to Atsumu.
Up until now, he’s never really thought about Atsumu and himself being anything more than rivals who fool around with each other. But he’s also never thought about what Atsumu might be doing when he isn’t lending Tobio his attention—and though he has no right to be jealous, the thought of it stings.
“What’s going on with your face?” Atsumu says, leaning against the counter with his arms folded in front of him.
“What’s wrong with my face?”
Atsumu shrugs. “You look like you’re thinkin’ about something too hard.”
Tobio shakes his head as though to rid his mind of the thoughts plaguing him. “Nothing,” he says, and steps away to throw the damp paper towels in the trash.
When he turns back, Atsumu has a skeptical brow arched. “You know,” he says. “Maybe you should come out to Osaka some time for real. And not just ‘cause our trains are always on time.”
Tobio huffs a laugh at the callback, but finds himself perplexed by the suggestion. “What for, then?”
“So we can do this again,” Atsumu says.
Tobio’s heart clenches. “You want that?”
Atsumu pushes himself away from the counter to step toward Tobio. “Did you just see how hard I came? I don’t wanna have to lose more games to get that again.”
“Oh,” Tobio says, feeling dumb. “Does that mean you want to, like, date?”
Atsumu’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his skull. “Jesus christ.”
“Fuck,” Tobio says, averting his eyes. “I completely misread that—”
“No, Tobio-kun,” Atsumu says in a surprisingly soft voice. His hands come up to either side of Tobio’s arms. “I was just thinkin’ that I was gonna have to spend the next week or so comin’ up with a way to ask you out, and you just… went and did it.”
“Oh,” Tobio says again, lighter this time. He can’t help but smile as he looks Atsumu in the eyes again. “Well, okay then. Let’s go out.”
“Jesus,” Atsumu says with a light-hearted eye roll. “You’re so straightforward. It’s kinda awesome.”
Later, when they’ve gotten dressed and are walking out of the gym together, Atsumu nudges Tobio in the arm. “I just have one condition for the whole goin’ out thing.”
Tobio looks at him. “Yeah?”
“I don’t have to win games just for the chance to fuck you.”
Tobio hums. “Sounds like the words of someone who knows he’s never going to win.”
“Bullshit,” Atsumu scoffs. “The Jackals are gonna destroy you next season, mark my words.”
“If you’re so sure,” Tobio says. “Then maybe we should bet on it.”
Atsumu makes an exasperated choking sound. “All that winnin’ and losin’ business aside, that’s way too far away. Can’t I just take ya out to dinner first?”
Tobio can’t help but smile down at the pavement. “Okay,” he says simply. When he looks at Atsumu, he’s smiling too. “Looking forward to it.”