mari ☆ space cowboy

mari ☆ space cowboy



fluff, idiot to lovers (atsumu sole idiot) // “Oh,” Atsumu looks over at Kiyoomi ordering drinks for them at the bar, “we’re just friends.” Bokuto almost spits out his drink laughing. “He’s at the bar! Buying drinks for both of you!” Inunaki yells, high pitched and whiny.

“So?” There’s not more discussion on the matter as Kiyoomi slides back in next to Atsumu, clutching his drink and sliding Atsumu’s on the table. “I don’t know how you drink that stuff.” Kiyoomi all but shudders as he lowers his mask to sip at something fruity and sweet.

“It’s a sour, it’s not even real beer.” Eyeing the glass suspiciously, Kiyoomi manages to pull a chuckle out of Atsumu and an eye roll from everyone else. “It got awfully quiet when I arrived,” Kiyoomi eyes their teammates who all shrug. “Just bullying Atsumu.”

“Without me?” “Yer fuckin’ awful,” laughter echoes through his glass as he takes a sip of his beer. “Not quite as awful as you, Miya.” Conversation moves on quickly, the crew easily picking up the topic of slandering Atsumu. He’s willing to take the heat though.

How could he not be when Kiyoomi seems to smile more, cheeks all rounded as his eyes squish into crescents. It’s those lovesick puppy dog looks that eventually have their group dwindling down until it’s the two men. The two “just friends.”

“So,” Kiyoomi twirls the melting ice in his glass with a straw, “what were they really talking about when I showed up?” Though he never much cares what was said, Kiyoomi is always concerned about whether people are talking about him behind his back.

It’s a distinctly human crack in his stoic visage that Atsumu hates to admit he adores. “Nothin’—raggin’ on me for sayin’ we’re just friends.” “Just friends?” Kiyoomi’s eyebrows furrow in the way that Atsumu has grown to find terribly cute—another human crack in his stone face.

“Yeah.” Atsumu thinks it’s a perfectly normal response. They are /just/ friends. Friends who spend the night in each other’s beds. Friends who may have kissed a handful of times with others present. Friends who stare at each other longingly, as if there might be something more.

Just. Friends. “Hm.” Looking back into his drink, Kiyoomi seems to think for a moment. It’s easy to just watch as the gears turn in Kiyoomi’s head, a plan of sorts coming together that Atsumu isn’t privy to. When Kiyoomi’s eyes stray from his drink, Atsumu is helpless.

They’re always so dark, so overwhelmingly striking. And now they burn, something smoldering under the surface. “You think we’re friends?” “I mean, yeah,” Atsumu lets out a nervous laugh, breathy and shaky, “we are, right Omi?”

“Mmm.” Kiyoomi blinks slow, like a cat. “You trust me, then, right?” “Course I do.” Whatever is smoldering turns to a flame as Kiyoomi shifts, moving to straddle Atsumu, chests narrowly touching each time they breathe.

“Good.” The breath from Kiyoomi’s words sends goosebumps along Atsumu’s skin. Unconsciously, Atsumu adjusts them, sitting up straighter with a hand falling to Kiyoomi’s lower back to keep him in the same position. A faint smile has Atsumu’s heart slamming in his rib cage.

“I like when your hands are on me.” Struck dumb, Atsumu searches for more than a simple sound, scrounging up a single “Yeah?” “Yes,” confident as ever, Kiyoomi tucks a strand of hair behind Atsumu’s ear, “I like it a lot.” “Like it too,” Atsumu swears he’s seeing stars.

“What else do you like?” The answer comes embarrassingly fast: “Yer kisses.” The smile that blooms on Kiyoomi’s face creates a familiar heat in Atsumu’s core, similar to being told one of his sets was perfect. “Is that right?” Atsumu nods, too lost in that smile.

“When I kiss you here?” He presses a quick kiss to Atsumu’s forehead. “Lower,” it sounds too much like a plea, but Atsumu can’t seem to care. Another kiss to the space between his brow. “Here? Atsumu whines in earnest now, “Omiii!”

“Fine,” the man in his lap can’t mask his laugh. “How about here?” Another quick kiss to his nose. “Here?” His left cheek. “Maybe here?” The right. “Am I getting warmer?”

The last question follows a kiss pressed to the corner of Atsumu’s mouth. One in which Kiyoomi quickly pulls back from to avoid Atsumu turning to kiss him like he so desperately wants to. “Kiss me fer real, Omi.” “Mm, do friends kiss each other, Atsumu?”

“Yeah?” Kiyoomi lets out a sigh, “Do friends kiss each other /like this/?” Without Kiyoomi having to gesture to their current seating situation, Atsumu thinks for a moment. “Maybe not…” “Maybe,” Kiyoomi smiles, leaning in close, “I don’t kiss my friends like this at all.”

Leaning forward, Atsumu rests their foreheads together, “But ya kiss me like this. Aren’t we friends?” “Friends, yes. But not /just/ friends.”

Like the final piece of a puzzle snapping into place, Atsumu finally sees the whole picture—late night cuddling, heated kisses on the couch, the stares. “/Oh./“ “Yeah,” Kiyoomi laughs in earnest, “oh.” “Well, can we still kiss?” “I don’t know—are we /just/ friends, Atsumu?”

Atsumu smiles, threading his free hand into Kiyoomi’s curls, “Don’t think so. Think we’re a lot more than that.” “Just what I wanted to hear.” Finally Kiyoomi gives him what he wants: the softest of kisses in a dingy bar, sweet lingering kisses that have Atsumu nearly blushing.

Distantly, their teammates swap money, bets made and wagers won. But neither pay much attention to that. Instead, they focus on the soft lips of someone who is definitely more than /just/ a friend. //

gay gay homosexual gay :-) been thinking about this for a few days now,, himbo atsumu?

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