「 untold feelings 」━━━ sakuatsu

─ one

High-school Atsumu never thought he'd end up, someday, trapped in such a hellhole.

The faded rose Sakusa had bought and put on the nightstand earlier released its last breath, petals swaying melancholically, in a drunken waltz as the moon cast silvery light upon the lovers' craving bodies. Something of a theatrical atmosphere, nicely complementing one of those intimate moments the two young men shared on hardly-occurring nights. One would tell, a common refrain, that the syndrome of love hanged upon their young hearts like a sword or Damocles, because their deceitful embrace would've fooled anyone. It looked as though they were lovestruck - but it was just as brief and ephemeral as a breath.

"Sweetheart," resonated a velvety tone through the stifling air of the bedroom. "Shall we start?"

Atsumu shuddered. Sakusa's words might have been a mere quiet, breathless whisper, but each of his sultry words felt like an August thunderstorm to the other man's brittle, broken and stitched up and then broken again, heart. Sakusa watched the ethereal creature beneath him struggle, eyes unreadable, lips curled.

Enjoying these private shows he'd been putting on for him.

Atsumu never wanted to end up here for the seventh time, blindfolded and tied up to Sakusa's bed. Playing such a role in his lustful games was a reluctant, unspoken fantasy, yet, the curve of his awfully horny manhood - trapped in between Sakusa's punitive spreader bar, stuck - said otherwise. Adrenaline soaked through his veins like dopamine shots at each play. Craving for Sakusa's deadly sins, his poor attempt to protest broke down in a cry.

"It's alright," the ravenette murmured, "I'll give it to you."

Impatience leaked from Sakusa's fierce tone. He was merciless, sadistic borders barely sealed - nay fully untethered. He wanted Miya Atsumu to writhe, scream for his touch, beg for his attention until nothing existed outside the four walls of his student bedroom. Vulnerable and needy, blushing from being on display for such degrading eyes.

Impassive, Sakusa slid a chair in between his clothed legs, next to the bed, propping himself up to get a better view. With no warning but a content sigh, he tightened gloved fingers on each side of the other man's throat, restricting his airflow with each action. Atsumu's lips shaped around broken moans. He tugged at the leather ropes, relentlessly maintaining his wrists and ankles bound to each side of the bed, albeit aware that these wouldn't let him go.

Sakusa was cruel of a man. His gaze, his voice, his actions, everything beyond his lewd plays and sick inclinations seemed animated by acknowledged disgust, hatred, or perhaps untold feelings towards his submissive, howbeit never letting his very feelings enter the bedroom, rather as though his purpose was purely to show this man, who reeked of arrogance and pride, what Shame and Fear truly were.

"Why the squirming?" asked Sakusa dryly. "You don't think I'm done with you yet, do you?"

The echo of a smack reverberated around the walls of his god forbidden one-room studio, ringing in Atsumu's ears like the laughter of some vengeful god. Strands of black hair rested damp on Sakusa's forehead, concealing the atramentous flame of his midnight pupils but not quite shedding its cosmos-wide presence. He was beautiful above the helpless being, cold and insensitive, corrupted and pitiless, and if it was for this mere sight, anyone, men and women, would've dropped to their knees.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was a bit like a rose - a winter-cold creature, venomous charms ready to seize your mortal soul in between its alluring thorns and drag you through the deepest cracks of the Underworld. Atsumu wondered how, in the first place, he could've let the roots of his pretty flowers wrap around his nude figure and trap his body into blooming agony.

But only Heaven knew how he loved it.