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"How was work?" Kiyoomi asks from the kitchen counter, when Yume strides in and heads straight to their parents' liquor cabinet.
His older sister sighed, "Dreadful. One of the board members - you remember Miya, from the Christmas party?" He nodded. "Well, his wife came by the office, totally freaked out. It took us ages to deal with it, and she was a total nuisance."
Kiyoomi feigned a look of mild suprise - one that depicted him as uninvested but curious, like his sister would presume him to be, "How come?"
"She found out he was cheating on her with a younger guy," Yume shook her head and poured herself a large glass of their dad's tawny whiskey. "I don't know what he was thinking. I mean I didn't expect better, but I expected more subtlety. At least it wasn't his assistant. When that happens we can never get those wives out of the office."
His sister's second long suffering sigh tugged slightly on Kiyoomi's heartstrings as a tinge of guilt flooded into him. He knew his sister worked hard after all, and clearly the disruption had been strenuous. She had other things she needed her Board to be dealing with, she had other things she needed to be dealing with.
There was silence for a minute or so, broken only by the sounding of the strong drink being gulped down by his sister. As it built, Kiyoomi resisted the urge to fidget - he wasn't an anxious individual by nature, and he knew his sister would pick up on such an act immediately. And he didn't want her to press him for details. He'd just barely been able to escape Motoya's interrogations.
"Whatever," She muttered, unbuttoning her blazer, and wiping the side of her mouth with the sleeve, "How was your day, Kiyoomi?"
-
Maybe a decent person would bring up the situation with Miya in such a scenario. But the only person who wouldn't categorise Kiyoomi as a 'jerk' was oblivious Wakatoshi and his protective older siblings.
So when Miya followed him around the back of the bar, perhaps a bit quicker and more desperate than usual, Kiyoomi didn't care.
As he leant against the wall of the alleyway, waiting though he wouldn't say that out loud, his form-fitting black top the only thing between the naked skin of his back and the filth of the street, he lit a cigarette and brought it to his lips, breathing it in. He didn't smoke often, but it did have some benefits, if you asked him.
"Hey there, pretty boy," Atsumu murmured into his ear. He watched as Kiyoomi blew out the smoke slowly, a hand snaking its way around his thin waist. That was the benefit, Kiyoomi supposed. Atsumu liked the look of it. He found himself often doing stuff because Atsumu liked the look of it. He wasn't even wearing a top with sleeves, for God's sake, because Atsumu liked admiring his lean muscles.
"What do you want, old man?" Kiyoomi sighed, even as he internally smiled. He loved taunting Atsumu like this, loved the way snarky comments riled him up. That was the difference between Kiyoomi and the woman Atsumu went home to, the one who had never understood that Atsumu didn't want someone to play along with him, but someone who could push and pull with him.
Atsumu bit into his lobe and he gasped.
"What happened to respectin' yer elders, Omi-kun?" He plucked Kiyoomi's cigarette out of his loosened grip, and chucked it behind him carelessly.
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, and pulled Atsumu by the belt loop of his trousers, so that the older man was pressed against him.
"Hah," He whispered breathily, "Why should I respect you? Using little boys to get off... what a disgusting snob. Maybe you should stick the office, grandpa."
Atsumu growled, a leg slipping between Kiyoomi's and pressing up. The pressure aired just on the side of pain, and Kiyoomi couldn't help but throw his head back, letting out an airy whine.
Their lips met in a clash of teeth, slightly desperate whimpers and turned on grunts. Kiyoomi had kissed a lot of guys, admittedly, but even at the beginning of their affair, he had known it was different with Atsumu. They moved in sync, as if what one's desire was simply a reflection of the other's. He'd tried to find that passion in a hundred other men, but it had all turned out the same way. They'd kissed, he'd taken them home, and then kicked them out before either of them had managed to get off, entirely unsatisfied by their performances. If Kiyoomi was in the kind of financial situation where he needed to be aware of such things, he would've notice the spike in his phone bill, as he was forced to call Atsumu, phone on his pillow, two fingers stretching himself out and the other clasping onto his own warm cock, desperate to get off. There was no one for him like Atsumu.
Kiyoomi couldn't help but smile against the fervent movement of the greying man's lips. And now he didn't have any competition in Atsumu's life either.
His train of thought was abruptly cut off by one of Atsumu's hands grasping onto his ass and the other reaching up and getting a firm hold in his curls. The other man lifted him, pulling him onto his leg and Kiyoomi moaned unabashed at the way the denim of his jeans rubbed against his blood-fat cock through his soft boxers.
Atsumu's biceps bulged, muscles flexing even through his silky shirt, and Kiyoomi ghosted his slim hands over the physical implications of Atsumu's grip on him, the burden of his weight on the older man.
The grin he got in return was fox-like, showing crooked canines.
"What ya tryin' to say there, Omi-Omi?" Atsumu teased, "For all yer talk, I think you like it. Ya like knowing that a strong, older guy wants ya like I do, that I want ya over someone with experience, or brains. Ya love it when I pick ya, and no one else."
"You... fucking egoist," Kiyoomi forced out before he wrapped his arms around Atsumu's neck and pulled their hips flush. He could feel Atsumu's boner rubbing against his own, the blonde ends of his salt and pepper hair tickling Kiyoomi's forehead, and his breath that came with the sudden gasp at his ear.
The force of Kiyoomi's embrace had Atsumu stumbling to the other wall of the narrow alleyway, hitting his back with a muffled thump. Kiyoomi's shoes brushed against the ground, and he scrambled for purchase on the pavement that would allow him to grind more into Atsumu.
Thankfully, the other man had the same idea, and he squeezed Kiyoomi's ass before letting go of his hair and slipping his large hand to his hips.
Then, he began to guide Kiyoomi's movements, forcing him to frot against Atsumu at the businessman's pace.
"Come on, Kiyoomi," Atsumu cooed, "Don't ya want to make me feel good too? Ya can't just use me to get off. Or do ya just wanna come for me, baby? Want me to do all the hard work for ya, yeah?"
He could feel his orgasm creeping up on him with the subtlety of a parade of pink pandas, and all he could do was nod, if a little reluctantly. He knew it didn't matter. Atsumu usually liked to wring him out for two, three, even four orgasms, claiming that was no point to go after a silly kid if he couldn't make use of his stamina.
"There ya go, baby," Atsumu laughed, "I knew ya could do it. Tell me how ya want me. I'm old enough ta be with yer ma, and yet yer here rubbing against me in a grimy alley instead of runnin' around with some yer own age."
This was an exaggeration, of course. Kiyoomi's mother was older than even Atsumu, but Atsumu knew he couldn't think reasonably like this, that he couldn't give a pedantic debate. All Kiyoomi found he was able to do was let out a long, desperate whine and claw at his lover with a, perhaps unnecessary, ferocity.
"Atsumu," He begged, gasping and crying out between words, "Please! I'll do anything... No one can satisfy me like you can. No boy fucks me like you do... gets me off like you do... Please! Please, please, please, I need to cum. I need you so bad, Atsumu."
He was sure everyone in the bar could hear them, everyone in the street, in the surrounding buildings, and the cars driving by the distance other end of the alley, as well. But he didn't care. The only things in the world right now were him, Atsumu and the cruel fabric keeping them apart.
Tears welled up in his eyes, from his own uncontrollable desperation and then, suddenly, the overwhelming relief, when Atsumu sighed, "Okay, Omi-Omi, I guess ya can come. Go on then, brat." He jerked their hips together, pushing away from the wall and rubbing their hard cocks together avid through the flimsy barrier their clothes provided, the eagerness he disguised easily in his voice obvious in the passion and matching desperation in his movements.
Kiyoomi saw white, as he finally came. He wasn't sure what it was about Atsumu that made it easy for him to have strong, overwhelming orgasms, maybe it was the way he kissed along his collar bone and left marks over all the moles on his pale neck, or the way he made sure his lips were left swollen and slick with spit, so that when Kiyoomi licked them or breathed in, he could taste Atsumu's mouth on his.
He could Atsumu's breathy chuckles as he held Kiyoomi up with a practiced ease. Kiyoomi blinked away the stars in his eyes, and looked up from where his head had come to rest, nuzzled in Atsumu's neck, taking in the sight of sweat dripping down the tanned man's thick neck.
Sinking out of Atsumu's comfortable hold and onto his knees was almost second nature to Kiyoomi at this point. Even though Atsumu was insistent Kiyoomi didn't have to, he knew Atsumu enjoyed it.
And if Kiyoomi was being honest, he liked it too. Sometimes he lay in his bed, knowing Atsumu and the rest of the board were in a meeting and wishing he could be there, that he could spend the hours under the table, suckling on the pretty head of Atsumu's cock.
He wasn't an honest man though, so when he began to undo Atsumu's belt and pull his trousers down, he chose not to soothe Atsumu's comments with the admittance of his own secret desire, but with a soft stroke of the large tent in Atsumu's boxers.
Atsumu gasped, staggering back against the wall a couple of steps, and Kiyoomi leaned forward, following his every movement more carefully than he'd like to admit.
He could smell the musk of Atsumu's dick, and the harsh minty smell of his obnoxiously green bodywash, and he breathed in deeply. Then he gathered the saliva pooling in his mouth onto his tongue and licked a long line along the shape of Atsumu's hard-on through his underwear.
As he mouthed at the steadily moistening fabric, Atsumu's Herculean hands once again grasped at his inky black curls. He thought, distantly, that he'd probably have to define them again - he knew from experience how frizzy and dreadful Atsumu tended to leave him looking.
"Kiyoomi," Atsumu moaned, craving his mouth but not begging. Maybe if they were in one of the hotels they stayed at when Atsumu had conferences Kiyoomi might tease him. But Atsumu had been merciful, and really no blow job could keep him on his knees in a squalid alley for longer than strictly necessarily.
He pulled down the damp boxers with a little effort, and let Atsumu's hard cock spring up, hitting him in the face.
Looking up, he made eye contact with Atsumu, watching his honey brown eyes carefully. He had crow's feet framing them, Kiyoomi thought, as he frequently did when they met eyes, but it didn't look as bad as his mother claimed they did. On Atsumu, they looked handsome, the signs of a life well lived. A bitter feeling overpowered him for a moment, the idea that Atsumu lived this life without him, that he existed on the outskirts, a single thought every so often.
Atsumu looked back at him, pupils swallowing his iris as he gazed back. Kiyoomi relaxed, and opened his mouth, simply sitting back onto his heels and relinquishing himself to the older man.
A low groan echoed against the brick as Atsumu clasped one hand onto the base of his own cock and placed it onto Kiyoomi's tongue. The heavy weight was almost comforting, and he allowed his tongue to stroke against the underside, along the pulsating veins he could feel, that he could map, even blind.
Atsumu's hips jerked forward, and the tip hit the back of Kiyoomi's throat, leaving the younger man spluttering and choking. More beautiful, horny sounds fell out of Atsumu's full lips as he threw his head back. Kiyoomi mourned the loss of their eye contact, but he didn't have long to think about that, as he found himself scrambling to find anchorage on Atsumu's powerful, athletic thighs as he found a harsh, unforgiving, and rapid rhythm. He knew the other man wouldn't last much longer, and so he did his best to relax, relishing in the way his eyes stung with unshed tears and he could feel the forming ache in his throat.
"Ya like that, Omi-Omi?" Atsumu muttered to the sky, and Kiyoomi hardly caught his words. "Ya wanted this, yeah? That's why ya been sending all your filthy nudes to my home phone, right? Ya wanted her to catch us, ya wanted me to come here, looking for ya for something ya know she could never give me."
Kiyoomi could only whimper, Atsumu's unrelenting hold on his head unchanging and his mouth otherwise occupied. He knew Atsumu was getting off on, not only the vibrations, but from the control, the way he had his boss' little brother on his knees in an alley, acting obscene, corrupted and trained to do whatever Atsumu wanted.
"Yer sister always talks so good about ya. Wants ya to come work with us, and I could show ya the ropes... She doesn't know yer out here, does she, baby? She doesn't know ya'd rather get on yer knees for the entire board. Yer just a cockslut, aren't ya? But it's okay, baby... ya know I treat ya how ya deserve, Omi-Omi..."
Kiyoomi allowed his hands to trail up Atsumu's thighs, to weave through the dark hair that thickened as he got closer to his goal; until he'd reached it, and long, pale fingers began to gently fondle Atsumu's heavy balls. Maybe Kiyoomi was imagining it, but he felt as though he could feel them churning, feel the build up, yet another physical manifestation of Kiyoomi's effect, how much Atsumu desired him. His vision was coming, his head throbbing in a way that elicited an delicious feeling, but it didn't matter to Kiyoomi, the sensation of Atsumu against him, the concrete through his jeans, and a thick cock in his mouth grounding him in reality.
And then Atsumu was coming, spilling thick, warm, salty seed down Kiyoomi's throat and leaving him without a chance to properly taste it, or even the option to spit.
As abruptly as his first thrust into the warmth of Kiyoomi's mouth had been, Atsumu was then pulling out, hand holding Kiyoomi in place by his hair even as he tried to follow.
The younger man closed his eyes, savouring the feeling and coughing and spluttering as he gasped and involuntarily gulped in all the air he'd been missing.
By the time his head had calmed and his vision was back, Atsumu was sat opposite him watching, legs framing his. He'd pulled up and buttoned up his trousers, even his belt done back up.
"Hey, baby," Atsumu said, and Kiyoomi rolled his eyes at him.
"You know I hate that stupid nickname," he lied, and Atsumu grinned, as if he knew.
"Come on, up, let's get ya home before ya ma starts to worry about ya or ya start complain' about me making ya stay here in the dirt, city brat," the brunette said, clambering to his feet and taking Kiyoomi by the arm.
The younger man let himself go limp, knowing Atsumu would help him up and support him home if he did. Knew that he'd be able to savour the press of Atsumu's hip into his, the way he'd swing Kiyoomi's long arms around his broad shoulders, and tuck his hand into his opposing pocket. Even if Atsumu had bared both of their truths in the heat of the moment, this was still routine. Kiyoomi knew he could trust Atsumu to get him home. He let himself be guided to his feet and down the alley.
Atsumu could call a car, he didn't care, he thought as he rested his head on Atsumu's shoulder. He just hoped he could remain in this moment even as the world kept spinning.