「 untold feelings 」━━━ sakuatsu

─ five

The sun was rising, along with the fog bathing the streets of Sendai on every morning of Winter.

Sakusa could feel the unwanted taste of remorse searing the buds of his tongue like the bitter heat of a coffee drink, eyes wandering between leather ropes and cuffs, still tied to the bed where Atsumu had been retained a few hours ago. The faded rose stood on his nightstand, loyal, albeit completely nude and shorn, tickling Sakusa's attention so that he peeked closer, curious about how pretty something this bare and destitute could be.

He stepped into his bathroom, not thinking of much besides last night's messy strips of lustful paintings dancing about his mind, refusing to make room for his usual composure at the end of each play. He stared at his heavenly silhouette through the nebulous glass of the shower stall, then turned on burning water, sighed in exhaustion. The liquid crawling down his porcelain skin allowed a soft hum to slip in between his red-bitten lips, a feeling of peace setting his gut free from the pesky twist of guilt he'd basked in ever since he'd put his hand upon him .

Restless eyes ran over his naked waist, belly and abdomen as it pleased, but suddenly stopped when he witnessed drips of cum, Atsumu's cum, stuck dry to his wet skin. The sight was mere and insignificant, nay humanely mediocre and low, and yet he was thinking, thinking since he woke up, not being able to see, hear or feel anything else aside from the divine chant of his leather whips against fragile skin, tremors and spurts of come splattering widely spread thighs and the oh-so forbidden tongue of a sinner spewing obscene moans like poisonous nectar dripping on divine lips - spinning in his head again and again.

Maybe he shouldn't have lost it and ended up getting off to Atsumu last night.

And maybe he shouldn't have ever raised his craving hand over him at all.

"Damn it."

Sakusa cursed that foreign flutter inside his stomach. He couldn't even think those were feelings, not for a second.

Sakusa Kiyoomi , sempiternal loveless creature, was falling in love?

For a guy that played hard to get, then got to play with his heart?

The flutter exploded as soon as the prohibited thought echoed through his mind, an urge to spit it out punching him to the gut. It was disgusting. Atsumu was a player, arrogant and smug and heartless, never looking at Sakusa with eyes other than of lust, eager to satisfy desires beyond flesh as despair for tenderness, or perhaps the everlasting, searing, absence of love. Oh, how unfair! Sakusa was at his mercy. Atsumu was his submissive and he wanted to laugh at the irony, at the sweet looking face painted in watercolour tones of heavens for the angel to put on beneath the sun's golden dew, but also at the devil who behind closed doors and when the moon wept its metallic tears upon the obscure skies, had control over everything like a puppeteer.

Sakusa might very well lose his mind in this game, after all.

His head started to ache from thinking unwelcomed thoughts, barricades about his mind once few could conquer bound to break. Sakusa already had a foot out of the shower when a throb of heat in between his thighs indicated him that he was, much to his dismay, rock-hard.

In his head was a blurry picture of Atsumu, shuddering beneath him. The young man hated that feeling of dependence, sucking up any image of Atsumu his mind would give up to him like a drug addict, but most importantly, Sakusa hated his dick. Yet despite impassive looks that could've fooled anyone who was unaware of his midnight activities, Sakusa Kiyoomi was a man, base and feral. Any man had needs, some just more unholy than others, right? That was what he repeated to himself desperately while his thumb started to rub soft, gentle circles around the tip of his shaft. His mind raced a series of obscene thoughts as he started to jerk his throbbing cock harder, guilty to the core — but sinning felt so good.

"Ah, Atsumu," he groaned, closing his eyes and feeling himself about to release.

Lips and thighs widely spread, one last throaty moan slipped in between his teeth as the air in his lungs melted in with the steam of the shower. Sakusa fell onto the tiled wall, spilling half-dry come all over his chest, chin and lips, spitting the loathsome taste out of his mouth as he was done.

Perhaps he was just fated to crave this man and his wild fantasies.

"Fuck," he cursed under his husky breath.

Oh, dear! Sakusa was losing himself. His demons already had their punitive teeth dug deep into his soft flesh, and carved disgraceful burns into his diaphanous skin a long time ago. Out of breath, weak and bare, the hostile rose finally had lowered her thorns.

And suddenly looked much more docile.