Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Do you have someone you like, Wakatoshi-kun?” The question fell from Kiyoomi’s lips the exact moment his hands settled in his lap. It was hard to keep himself from shaking, so he pretended to be tapping the side of the tumbler with his fingers, hoping the nervousness in his voice wouldn’t give him in.

Ushijima Wakatoshi would be marrying volleyball for all he knows, but it’s better to be sure. Not that he ever heard of the latter being in a relationship; he was never even been rumored to have a partner, and he knew exactly why. But Kiyoomi wanted an answer straight from the older male’s mouth. He needed it, he needed his punishment. And he braced himself by holding his breath the moment Wakatoshi’s thin lips parted.

“I do,” Wakatoshi answered short, without as much as throwing him a look. He sucked on the tip of his water bottle, and Kiyoomi thought he did it more to evade the question rather than rehydrate himself.

Yeah, yeah. It’s that Oikawa Tooru, right?

Kiyoomi’s fingers tigthened around his own bottle, which looked exactly the same as Wakatoshi’s. He said he got them in a buy one get one promo, but didn’t need two so he’d let Wakatoshi have the other one, except the promo wasn’t true. In fact the tumblers were made-to-order, the large letters imprinted at the center were meant to represent their initials. U for Ushijima and S for Sakusa.

US. The two of them. 

Something that will never happen.

Kiyoomi wondered if Wakatoshi was dense enough to wear a shirt that bore the same letters. They could be wearing couple shirts without the latter knowing. 

“How does it feel like to have someone?” Wakatoshi asked, and the longing in his voice was a dose of pain bigger than what Kiyoomi had initially asked for. 

Then again, he had to be punished. As if walking into your boyfriend of three days kissing someone else wasn’t upsetting enough. But he had been a bitch so maybe he deserved it.

He called himself a cheater for not staying loyal to the man beside him, his unrequited love since high school (3rd year middle school, actually, as that was when he started going crazy at the possibility of not seeing Wakatoshi-kun for a good school year) and trying to date a random hottie with a pretty tall built, tanned skin, and a boring haircut that was exactly Ushijima’s after brushing with the back of the guy’s hand in the cleaning section of a grocery store on his last day off.

Initially, he would hiss at the contact, but the man apologized and slipped another hand into his tiny bag for his sanitizer (one that was exactly the same brand as Kiyoomi’s favorite). He realized he was reaching the same variant of Tide as well and it was in that moment that he thought maybe soulmates were real.

The man agreed to go out with him for some coffee, and after days of mindless flirting, he was still blaming the strong scent of bleach and powdered detergent for clouding his mind too much.

“Nothing fun, really,” Kiyoomi finally answered, eyes darting straight to the same direction as Wakatoshi’s. He had this ill wish that person using the treadmill ten steps ahead of them would slip on her feet, fall face first and run for the medicine cabinet to help her nosebleed because no one deserved to be in Wakatoshi’s vision for more than five minutes. 

Kiyoomi was someone who’d rather squeeze machine upon bulky machine into his house than waste at least thirty minutes of his life (and probably an entire bottle of Lysol) disinfecting every damn inch of the gym equipment he chose to use for his workout.

Yet here he was, in a place where large crowds gather, the gross smell of sweat heavier in the air than any volleyball stadium he had ever been. Because Wakatoshi was there, too.

“Volleyball is so much more thrilling and rewarding anyway,” he added, latching into the mouth of his drinking container just so he’d shut up. 

He watched Wakatoshi put his bottle down in between them, a plot to exchange the tumblers later for the nth time running in his mind. It had been a while (two weeks to be exact) since they had an indirect kiss this way. Good thing the bottles were identical Wakatoshi never noticed. He himself couldn’t tell which of the two was originally his.

“I thought so.” Wakatoshi sighed. “But my regrets had been eating at me lately. The person I like is already in a relationship and my head had been full of what-ifs.”

Kiyoomi nodded sympathetically.

It was no news to him but it must have been shocking to Wakatoshi. The soft display between Hinata Shoyo and the rival team’s setter could be more traumatizing to him than it could ever be to Atsumu.

That little tangerine head Bokuto was always so proud of just had to keep talking about a certain Grand King the first day he joined Jackals, giving Kiyoomi a hunch. Still, it was not confirmed until they embraced ever so warmly right before their match at the Japan Olympics.

Kiyoomi was annoyed at how the two fought each other so intensely while keeping their petnames. They were disgustingly sweet for his taste and all he ever wanted to do was receive each of the Grand King’s serves perfectly just for the heck of it.  

Just what was with that pretty setter to get all the attention? Just because he was a little gorgeous!

But was Kiyoomi ugly? 

Fangirls had always commented on him being handsome though. Those are the kind of comments he hated the most. He’s a volleyball player, not an idol. He’d rather hear praises about his spikes and saves, but girls who knew nothing about the sports would focus not ona players’ skill but their adrenaline-flushed faces and sweaty bodies. 

Not like he never appreciated Wakatoshi’s exponential hotness in such a state but... damn fangirls. 

“What if I confessed?” Wakatoshi’s continuation pulled him from his thoughts. “What if I was able to convince them to go out with me instead? Would we be happy now? Now that they’re taken I could only think about the possibilities.”

“Relatable,” the comment spilled out of his mouth before his mind could process the word. 

Wakatoshi turned to him with a puzzled expression, and he felt like melting under his sincere gaze. He was never a narcisist, yet there was something about seeing himself being clearly reflected on the hazel shade of those eyes that turned his knees into the perfect softness of the silkiest pudding.

He chose to avoid his eyes, scared of making a mess in his pants after years of masturbating at the thought of that hot gaze piercing into him, undressing him hot like they were lasers that would melt every inch of his clothes. 

“Since we’re both single, what do you say about going out with me instead?”

“What?” The question had something more to it than the furrow between Wakatoshi’s brows, but his perpetual monotone didn’t help Kiyoomi understand. 

Years and years of studying the Adlers opposite hitter and he still couldn’t differentiate between the happy and upset voice, a quirk that must have been exclusive to his high school teammates whom he remembered speaking about how happy Wakatoshi must be to "smile like that" during a joint training camp when the only thing he could see in the other’s mouth was a grim line.

Kiyoomi’s face started to heat up. For the first time in his life, he wished for the ground to open up and swallow him to darkness where no one would see him and his embarrassing face ever again. Just what exactly was he talking about?

Did he think Wakatoshi would agree? Damn he’d be on top of his world had life been easy like that. But even he felt desperate at some point of his life that he almost lost the anal virginity he swore to keep for Wakatoshi.

And what? Was he hoping for the latter to fall from grace, be equally desperate to the point of holding onto him in place of the love he could never have?

“You’re single?” 

Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if he should be happy with Wakatoshi’s filter. Are they really not gonna talk about his suggestion of going out?

Again, he wished for the ground to open up and eat him.

“What do you mean you’re single?” Wakatoshi insisted on the question, absolutely forgetting about the second half of his sentence. 

Kiyoomi told himself it was better that way than get a straight no. That invite was disgustingly half-assed anyway, nothing legit playboys would ever sneeze at. 

Kiyoomi reached for the back of his head for effects, head looking down—glaring at the smooth floor that refused to open and throw him to somewhere like oblivion. 

“Well, I broke up with my boyfriend. It wasn’t anything serious anyway. I was just passing time.” 

“So...” Wakatoshi seemed to start, head moving the same way they did back when Kiyoomi asked him years ago why he was so strong. Rather than thinking the way he did back then, the movements made Wakatoshi look like the words hanging in his mouth were too uncomfortable to be blurted out. “Now you want to try passing time with me?” 

Yep, they were.

Kiyoomi was close to finding a shovel and and digging the ground himself. 

A rare blush bloomed about Wakatoshi’s face, as if suffering second hand embarrassment at the revelation of Kiyoomi’s thirst, at the alleged fact that he was dating random people just to pass time. Was that any different to admitting he was loose? 

Kiyoomi didn’t answer. He didn’t know how. He suddenly felt dirty and undeserving of Wakatoshi when all he ever did was kick his now ex-boyfriend to the face when he tried to put his tongue inside his very much unwilling mouth. 

“Okay, let’s try it,” Wakatoshi said, and for the first time, Kiyoomi heard the man’s voice shake. 

—

Forget about shower. Kiyoomi liked the way the sweat made their skin stick together, but not the muscle shirt that prevented him from feeling the heat of Wakatoshi’s chest.

Wakatoshi’s large hands were warm over his skin, breath hot against his neck. He pulled him closer, arms circling the huge body like snake suffocating its prey. 

He couldn’t wait to go home and get laid when Wakatoshi agreed to his silly idea of playing boyfriends with each other, so he grabbed his hand—their matching tumblers left behind the drinking area—to the locker rooms, shoving themselves to the farthest corner in hopes of not getting disturbed.

He just had to taste him before he changed his mind. But maybe Wakatoshi really needed to release the stress of Oikawa Tooru’s wedding announcement with his fluffy teammate (which was the reason Atsumu gained too much wait, saying his brother’s onigiri were his comfort food).

And maybe Kiyoomi could help by spreading his legs. 

Wakatoshi finally claimed his lips and Kiyoomi swore the super ace must have had his share of fuck boys to be this good at kissing. The way he dominated his mouth, flicking his tongue here and there like he owned the place, made him weak on the knees. There was no way an amateur could do this. 

And Kiyoomi wasn’t jealous. He was mad. Fuck whoever the first person who tasted Wakatoshi’s mouth, whoever taught him to kiss until his partner become wet (or in his case, hard). They could die for all he cared for staining the innocence of his Wakatoshi.

The kiss was really good though.

Wakatoshi carried him, hands catching the cheeks of his firm ass, when he slipped in between the hard locker doors and the massive body crushing him, and he willingly wrapped his shaky legs all over his hips, arms clinging harder around the warmth of Wakatoshi’s neck. 

The kiss could go deeper, and he moaned into that hot mouth. Fuck, he shouldn’t have done this!

He shouldn’t have dragged him there but out of the gym instead, out in the roads to hail a taxi that would drive them to the nearest hotel, so Wakatoshi could also drive his heavy cock inside his virgin hole. Fuck into him. Make him crazy. Claim and own him because he always did. 

The sensation was too much and Kiyoomi broke from the kiss. Wakatoshi’s face was flushed—he was sure his was, too—eyes glassy with need and mouth parted, panting for air. He pushed his face in the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck, his words were needy whispers close to his burning collar.

“Go out with me for real, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi tried to process the words, his ears refiltering the soundwaves to make sure they were interpreted properly by his brain. But the words were exactly as what he heard of them the first time. Go out with me for real.

“What?” 

“I mean, let’s date. Not just for fun or to pass time. I wish to have a serious relationship if that wasn’t too much to ask. I want you to be my boyfriend, Sakusa.”

“Wait...” Again, his ears refiltered everything but he really wasn’t hearing things. “Wait,” he said again, louder this time as kicked his legs so Wakatoshi would let him stand in his own feet. He almost fell, knees still feeling like wobbly servings of egg pudding, but Wakatoshi was fast to catch him by his waist. 

“Wakatoshi-kun... are you serious? Are you sure you want to date me?”

Wakatoshi sighed, eyes averting his and blush glowing deeper cross his cheeks. “Well... yeah. I know that’s a selfish request, but I was frustrated with myself when I heard from Hoshiumi that you were dating someone. So when you asked me if I want to try dating you, I just had to accept. I can’t lose you again. I know you were never mine to begin with, but I thought that if I let this chance slip, I would just lose you again.”

“I... I thought you liked Oikawa?” was all Kiyoomi could say, still skeptic. There’s no way Wakatoshi was confessing to him right now. That’s more impossible than killing 100% germs!

“Oikawa is someone whose skill and passion for volleyball I deeply respect. He was a tactian that I have always wanted to play along with, but that was all.”

“But you always talked to me about him,” Kiyoomi argued, eyes still reflecting his unbelief. “You talk about him more than you would yourself or your teammates.”

Wakatoshi hummed as if in agreement. “But, I think I listened to you more than I talked about him. I was just frustrated that he never went to Shiratorizawa is all.”

Kiyoomi sighed, finally feeling his legs. Despite this, he let his head fall on Wakatoshi’s shoulder, leaning in like he couldn’t support his own weight.

“But since when? Why am I only learning about this now?”

“The spring of my second year in high school, probably, ” he said. The revelation made something stir in his heart.

That long? 

The blush had faded into Wakatoshi’s skin and his voice had gone back to its deep monotone. His next words came out more naturally compared to the struggle he suffered by the first half of his confession. “It was something my teammates pointed out. They said I always look happier when I’m with you. Whether it’s an official match, a practice game. They said even a small talk with you would put a smile in my face. I thought they were just being silly to think that, but I soon realized they were right. Volleyball or not, I’m happier when I’m with you.”

Kiyoomi snuggled his face harder into that chest, face hot and brain still trying to word a proper response. But it was making him speechless, over the edge and just breathless.

“You could have said that sooner,” he finally managed to say, arms enclosing around Wakatoshi’s body. He lifted his face and appreciated the admiration in his eyes. It took him this long to realize, but that feeling had always been there, always awkward and silent, and maybe it was his fault for not noticing.

“Your answer?” Wakatoshi asked, 

He rested his head in his chest once more. “I love you, Wakatoshi-kun. I’d go out on a date with you anytime.”

He felt the press of Wakatoshi’s lips on the top of his head. “I... I love you, too, Kiyoomi-kun.”