the smell of saliva clings to their skin and, god, when shoyo opens his eyes he can see the menagerie of marks across atsumu’s back and neck, only a sample of the mess he’s sure he left over the rest of atsumu’s body.
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dread and excitement and arousal swirl in his gut like the world’s worst cocktail as he remembers how easy it was to take advantage of his drunk friend, even if atsumu seemed all too awake. eyes sliding back shut to shut out the headache, shoyo can try to pretend nothing’s amiss
atsumu’s frozen in place, unable to tell if shoyo is awake or not. the body beneath him feels too still, not even daring to breathe, stopping too suddenly to be anything but wakefulness, but maybe that’s just the way shoyo sleeps (it’s not).
still, atsumu refuses to open his eyes, wanting to chase his desire and squeeze shoyo in close while also wanting to crawl into a hole and die. reliving memories of the prior night, he flicks between elation and despair like a ticking clock, counting the seconds until his life implodes through
riptides of emotion. shoyo might like him, he definitely loves shoyo, and they’ll have to address this mess when they’re both ready, but if he pretends to still be asleep, maybe he can enjoy laying together like this a little longer, take what he wants one more time.
embrace, shoyo doing the same to atsumu after a few seconds, and they can relax. everything is okay. both know the other is probably awake at this point, but it’s easier to delay things just a little longer, let this thing between them remain nameless a little longer,
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atsumu’s frozen in place, unable to tell if shoyo is awake or not. the body beneath him feels too still, not even daring to breathe, stopping too suddenly to be anything but wakefulness, but maybe that’s just the way shoyo sleeps (it’s not).
atsumu wraps shoyo in a loose
they fit together nicely, comfortable with each other but not themselves. how could this be a mistake?