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"You..." Kiyoomi's hand pauses mid-page turn, thumb tucked under a thin sheet. "You want me to step on you?"
"Just, like, a little bit."
A little bit is still a lot to consider, he thinks, but it looks like Atsumu's already done quite a lot of considering. His fingertips pick at the seams on the outsides of his thighs before smoothing over the threads as soon as he realizes he's doing it, as soon as Kiyoomi's eyes leave his book to follow the motion out of the corner of his eye. He drags his gaze down to where his socked feet rest on the hardwood floor, rolls his ankles and flexes his toes as if the motions alone will answer for him. "Do you like feet? My feet?"
The question seems to catch Atsumu off-guard almost as much as the proceeding squawk does Kiyoomi.
"No, not yer feet! I mean, not not yer feet, but not feet." Atsumu's being confusing. Misleading, even, considering he asked to be stepped on but is apparently not into feet. The wrinkle in Kiyoomi's brow must give him away, judging by how Atsumu follows with, "It's not a foot thing, I swear. It's like, a power thing? Listen, I know it's weird, we don't have to-"
"I'm thinking."
And think he does, because there's absolutely no way he could go back to reading after having this dropped on him. He supposes it isn't anything too outlandish, nothing that would necessarily take from him, so Kiyoomi gives a short nod and tries not to snort at the way Atsumu immediately perks up. "Kneel. Here," he says, tapping the ball of one foot on the floor in front of him.
Kiyoomi isn't sure where to step, at first. He looks pretty like this, he thinks briefly, eyeing the way Atsumu sits with his legs tucked underneath himself, hands on his knees. It's almost like the order to kneel shocked any sort of smart comment out of him, and that alone spurs Kiyoomi to drop the sole of his right foot onto Atsumu's shoulder.
It's weird. Awkward, since he doesn't know if he's supposed to apply pressure or let it rest there, but his book has been set to the side so it's too late to back out now.
So, he explores. His foot slides across to Atsumu's neck slowly, gently, just to touch and test the waters and watch for the way Atsumu shudders when he applies the slightest pressure to his windpipe. Right where he likes to be kissed. Bitten. Where Kiyoomi's put his mouth so many times before.
"Gross." The word leaves his mouth before he can even think it, his nose wrinkling up knowing that he'll probably remember this every time he goes to kiss Atsumu's neck.
He doesn't expect for Atsumu to blush at that.
He doesn't expect for Atsumu to whine at that.
He doesn't expect for Atsumu's knees to slide apart a few more inches, like he's trying to get comfortable, to ease something, like he's— "Are you hard right now?"
Another whine is all he gets in response, and it's enough of an answer.
"So, I take it this isn't just about power." Kiyoomi pushes past the initial discomfort— because he isn't actually uncomfortable, not really. The floor in their apartment is kept spotless thanks to daily mopping and a Roomba that patrols the floor, there's no doubt in his mind that if he were to look at the soles of his socks, there wouldn't even be a speck of dust. The flinch was purely reflexive.
It doesn't mean he won't milk it for all it's worth.
"Do you want to be degraded, 'Tsumu?" His voice is soft, and he searches Atsumu's eyes for any sign that he might be off the mark, that he's going too far, but finds none. Just slack-jawed, open need as he drags his foot down his chest. "You want me to look down on you?"
"I'm- I mean, it's-"
"Say it." A dig of his heel into Atsumu's sternum. A gasp.
"I want ya to-"
"Never mind. Shut up."
And he does.
It's a little surprising, because Atsumu has a praise kink as deep as the sky is vast. Still, he presses on. His cheek rests on his palm where he leans on the armrest of the couch, his other hand brushing over the wrinkles in his lounge pants. Lazily. Bored. As if he could hardly be bothered to sit up properly and give Atsumu his full attention while he trails a path down his abdomen with his toes.
Maybe Kiyoomi should do some introspection after this, because the way Atsumu sits with his eyes sparkling, waiting for another jab only fires him up. If Atsumu is weird for this, then Kiyoomi is absolutely freaky for how he's enjoying the game.
Finally, he presses his foot to where Atsumu is clearly rock-hard in his shorts. Finally, because Atsumu seems to barely be able to restrain himself at the simple touch of the ball of his foot and starts to roll his hips up, reaching for Kiyoomi's ankle.
Rather than pull his foot away, Kiyoomi shakes off the clammy hands and pushes down with his heel until Atsumu yelps, sneering, "Did I say you could touch me?"
Well, if he thought Atsumu looked pretty earlier, he thinks looks downright gorgeous hanging his head in shame and digging his nails into his palms while Kiyoomi steps on his dick.
"Pathetic. I've hardly even touched you and you're hard already." Kiyoomi relishes in Atsumu's stuttered breath when he eases up and toes gently over the outline of his cock, basks in the trembling thighs when he pushes against the wet spot where his head is. "God, you're leaking? From being insulted and stepped on? You really are disgusting."
Kiyoomi tries to keep the awe out of his voice, he really does, but he isn't sure if he's done a terrible job at it or if Atsumu really is that whipped when he sees expectant eyes shining up at his own.
It's enough for a sharp, startled laugh to jump from Kiyoomi's chest, worsened when he can feel Atsumu's dick twitch at being laughed at, but a peek back down at the uncomfortable expression shying away from him is enough for his laughter to begin to die down.
"Color?"
It's an easy system they follow, pre-determined, simple to follow in any scenario regardless of how deep they find themselves and Kiyoomi's suddenly concerned he's taken it too—
"Green! God, green as the fucking tea you drink in the morning, please keep doing what you're doing babe it's so goodsofuckinghotIwantyoutokeep—"
The laughter is revived, then. It's not loud, or clear by any means. Kiyoomi's laughter is always awkward and full of snorts and hiccups and huffs in the few times it makes an appearance, but he can't help it at the fact that Atsumu likes this. Atsumu is enjoying being degraded, humiliated, and it's so far from what Kiyoomi knows of him that it's amusing.
"So, you really are getting off on this? What a joke," he sighs as soon as he regains his breath, leaning back against the couch so that he could bring his foot back up and tip Atsumu's chin up with his toe. To look at him, because he wants his next words to sink in. "I'm starting to wonder if you deserve even this much. You could probably finish just from the way I talk to you. Why should I waste my energy?"
There's a fire in Atsumu's eyes then, determined to prove himself and everything he could do for Kiyoomi, and suddenly this kink isn't all that surprising.
There's a pause, like Atsumu is wondering if the question is rhetorical, and he begins to shuffle forward only for Kiyoomi to keep him back with his heel pressed to his forehead.
Just the sight has him caught between a sneer and a smile. "Speak."
Atsumu's mouth closes, then opens, then closes again like he wasn't expecting to have to plead his case. He's always been better with the physical and Kiyoomi knows that, which is precisely why he's making him do this. Watching him flounder for an answer is entertaining, anyway, especially when he can see where Atsumu's knees spread wider again.
"Omi..." He's whining again, tilting his head and biting his lip and staring up at Kiyoomi with large, pleading eyes. It's ridiculous, what those eyes can do to him and what Atsumu knows they can do to him, but Kiyoomi reminds himself that he has the upper hand.
He's firm in his resolve, staring him down and pressing hard enough with his heel that it tips Atsumu's head back until he finally gets an answer. Even better than just an answer, he gets to watch Atsumu's shoulders slump and his palms land flat on the floor between his thighs, and his lips quiver deliciously around his answer.
"I'll be real good for ya, babe, I promise. Can I suck ya off?" Atsumu looks earnest in his pursuit, licking his lips as he eyes past Kiyoomi's leg to the tent in his sweats. "I'll make ya come 'till yer dizzy. Please touch me.”
Kiyoomi isn't sure he could ever get enough of this. Of Atsumu on his knees, begging just to be touched, to be considered.
"Cute." He clicks his tongue, dropping his leg back down to that Atsumu could shift forward and settle between his thighs. "Do all the work. I can't be bothered to take my pants off myself."
Something possesses Atsumu, Kiyoomi thinks, because it's only seconds before his hips are dragged forward and his underwear is yanked down to the floor with his pants. Only seconds before Atsumu is bringing his right foot back in place on his lap. Only seconds before Atsumu's tongue is dragging up the underside of his cock and lapping at the tip.
Kiyoomi can't even bring himself to snap at being manhandled.
What he can bring himself to do is grab a fistful of Atsumu's hair to maintain some semblance of control over the situation while Atsumu swallows his cock down like he's been starving for it his whole life.
"You're so hungry to suck me off, aren't you the least bit ashamed?" It's a miracle he can get the words out, even if they're hissed, but the garbled moan around his length can hardly be deemed as a proper response. Just for kicks, Kiyoomi grinds his foot down onto Atsumu's cock and revels in the resounding whimper when he pulls off. "Don't forget, you're lucky I'm even letting you put your mouth on me after how gross you've been."
Kiyoomi watches Atsumu's throat bob, flushing with the way a tongue curls to catch a bit of drool dripping from his lip. "Sorry baby, 'm just trying to show how grateful I am." He doubts it, but the apologetic kisses peppered along his cock are sweet nonetheless. "Thank you, Omi. Fuck, thank you so much."
That is an entirely new rush. It's dizzying and rolls Kiyoomi's eyes back, knocking the air out of his lungs by the time Atsumu's lips have wrapped around him and sunk to the base of his cock again. Fire shoots through his veins and licks out of his fingers where they curl tighter in Atsumu's hair, lighting him up from the inside out as another breathless leaves him.
To have Atsumu, Miya Atsumu, the most prideful man he's ever met beside himself on his knees and thanking him for the opportunity to suck his cock, is the greatest gift he could ever receive.
Kiyoomi's power rush is short-lived. It builds and swells with each dedicated bob of Atsumu's head, each well-timed suck in of his cheeks while Atsumu commits himself to give his all to Kiyoomi's pleasure.
"Atsumu, 'Tsumu—" He manages to gasp out before everything flips.
Or rather, before he flips.
There's no warning when a hand tucks itself behind his left knee and lifts it up and to the side, turning him until his cheek is pressed into the cushions, one leg held up in the air with the other still pressed up against Atsumu in a now-complicated angle.
All Kiyoomi can do to keep from slipping off the couch or tumbling over the side is grip. Knuckles going white where his fingers are curled around the back of the couch to keep himself steady, he holds on to what little dignity he has left while Atsumu spreads him open and buries his face in between his legs.
It's obscene. After all they've done together, this is still something they only tried once before, but still somehow more shameful than all the rest. It's obscene, it's still new, it's- "Filthy. Ah- 'Tsumu, you're fucking filthy-"
The tongue licking sloppy stripes over his hole suddenly flexes and dips in, wrenching an embarrassingly shrill moan from Kiyoomi that he tries to bite back to no avail.
The first time they did this, it wasn't as successful.
He was too tense, too wound-up with anticipation and nerves for it to feel any good or for them to feel comfortable enough to continue. But now? He was far too lost to give a damn.
The awareness of how dirty the act is is something far-off in his mind. Present, but not a concern. No, what Kiyoomi is concerned about is still trying to maintain any semblance of power, which was slowly beginning to prove difficult with the way Atsumu was working him over.
Kiyoomi could feel his tongue sliding in, curling and fucking him open. Drool slips down over his skin, between his thighs, and Kiyoomi shuts his eyes in some irrational attempt to ignore the sounds of Atsumu's lips smacking and slurping.
"God, you sound disgusting," he pants, because steady breathing is something long gone for him now. "I can't- I can't believe I let you kiss me with that mouth."
Maybe Kiyoomi thinks that might get Atsumu to back off and brush his teeth for half an hour, but it only gets him manhandled once again, flipped over the rest of the way for both knees to be pulled onto the couch.
(He won't admit he's glad for the outcome.)
A hot mouth lets him go with a 'pop' and Kiyoomi can hear Atsumu catching his breath while hands grab onto his ass and spread him open, his nose wrinkling at the cold air. He was supposed to be the one humiliating Atsumu, not the other way around— but here he is, on display, bent over, flushed and sweating and clinging onto the couch as tight as he can.
Just as he's gathering his bearings and gearing up to turn and tell Atsumu off for not just giving him head like he was supposed to, he can feel the warm drag of a tongue from his balls all the way up to his ass, a circle around his hole, and-
Khwh, phtoo.
"...Did you just fucking spit on my asshole, you bastard?"
"Yeah, and I know ya like it."
This was not fair. It was not how it was supposed to go, but Kiyoomi couldn't even deny it aside from burying his face into the cushions. Thankfully, Atsumu isn't even waiting for an answer and presses the pad of his thumb against the wet, slippery mess of Kiyoomi's hole, and it's embarrassing that Kiyoomi can hardly help the way it twitches in response.
"See? Ya love it. How's it feel knowin' someone as disgustin' and filthy as me's got ya like this?" Kiyoomi can feel the thumb rubbing circles around him, his thighs tremble with the effort to not grind back against it, especially when Atsumu's teeth sink into the juncture between his thigh and ass because he apparently wants an answer this time. "Hm, Omi? Ya want me to make ya just as much of a mess, right?"
Silence, and Atsumu bites into the back of his other thigh. "Say it."
"I..." He weighs his options, knowing Atsumu isn't capable of leaving him high-and-dry, but too tired and desperate to risk it. Not when they've finally done this with some success. Some success being knee-shaking, muscle trembling pleasure.
"I want you to-"
"Mm, never mind. I know already."
That's it. That's all Kiyoomi gets and the thumb pushes in, hooking and pulling to the side and Kiyoomi is ready, so ready for that sinful tongue to fill him again, but what he gets is cool air blowing over him.
He's not whiny, never whiny. But in that moment, he lets out a groan that just happens to be high in pitch and drawn out. "'Tsumu, if you don't put your tongue back in-"
"Yeah, yeah. I know 'm not supposed to play with my dinner." He says that, but Kiyoomi sits there (kneels, really) for a moment before his hips begin to squirm impatiently, and there's a low chuckle from behind him. "Thanks fer the meal, darlin'."
He spits again, much to Kiyoomi's chagrin, but he can't complain when it's immediately followed by a hot tongue licking back into him while Atsumu moans as if Kiyoomi's ass is the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.
Which is improbable, it probably tastes awful, but that's hardly at the forefront of Kiyoomi's mind as he jolts forward before rocking back onto his mouth for more. His pride is thrown out the window, at least for the moment. A hand releases its vice grip from the couch to fist his cock, only to get swatted away and replaced by Atsumu's free hand.
Atsumu must have been hiding Pop Rocks under his tongue, surely, because firecrackers shoot up Kiyoomi's spine with every stroke of his tongue. It's so much, too much. Almost better than getting fucked, he thinks, because he's leaking onto the couch and tears are gathering in his eyes and it's a tongue that has him writhing and sobbing into a pillow as he fucks forward into Atsumu's fist.
And now he's the pathetic one, coming all over the couch and immediately slumping down on top of his own mess, unable to do anything but weakly claw at the cushions at the way Atsumu milks his orgasm all the while.
It's relentless, the pumps of his hand and the punches from his tongue, and Kiyoomi has nowhere to run. Forward or back, he's at Atsumu's mercy, jerking even as his muscles protest because he just wants to melt into the couch.
"'Tsumu-"
Even the name is barely there, a whisper of a plea as Kiyoomi's head cranks back.
It's overwhelming.
Kiyoomi's eyes screw shut. His knees flinch towards each other and his back arches down, toes curling until he finally gets the sense to reach back and at the very least slap Atsumu's head for him to let up.
It's only then that he's released and allowed to flop down completely, free to curl into himself while he rides the aftershocks.
A few minutes pass when he opens his eyes again, judging by the way the come is still wet on his sweater, where there's a damp patch from Atsumu having cleaned the mess he left on the couch. There are warm hands on his shoulders guiding him to sit back up then closing his still-trembling fingers around a glass of water, and a paper-y kiss to his cheek.
After a sip, when he looks up, he notices Atsumu's wearing a face mask over his mouth.
"I'm in no state to take care of you now. It's what you get for suddenly flipping the tables on me like that," he mumbles, letting Atsumu push back his curls from his sweat-slicked forehead.
Atsumu's full of surprises tonight, it seems, because there's another one of those paper-y kisses to his head accompanied by a telling crinkle of his eyes. "Ya already took care of me, Omi, don't even worry 'bout it."