Archive of Our Own

Although Kiyoomi should be used to how strange Atsumu can be by now, he’s still taken aback by how oddly he’s been behaving this whole trip.

The team has been due for some peace, and Atsumu’s disrupting it.

It’s been a long season, and between injuries, substitutions, and a run of bad luck, Kiyoomi’s shocked that they’ve somehow scraped by into the post-season. In recognition of their work, and to give them a chance to rest and relax before the brutal run of matches in store for them, Foster arranged an overnight outing to a hot springs resort.

“You mean,” Atsumu’d noted astutely, when this had been announced, sitting a little oddly in his seat as his bunny ears pricked backwards in suspicion, “the sponsors paid to buy out an off-season resort on a weekday, right?”

And he was right.

Doesn’t mean it hasn’t been fun, though. So far, Kiyoomi’s enjoyed the peace of the carefully manicured resort grounds, and the buyout means that they get to enjoy real quiet for once. It’s a couple of days of paradise: hot stone massages between their workout sessions, delicately arranged meals, a strict no-phones policy that forced Bokuto to go cold-turkey on the mobile game he’s obsessed with.

In other words, bliss.

Except, of course, for Atsumu’s decidedly odd behavior. Usually a social butterfly, he’s been sticking to his room, only emerging for meals and workouts. His scent is off in a way that Kiyoomi can’t quite place, though it keeps riling him up, and he always looks like he’s fidgeting. Especially his tail, which can’t stop twitching.

Worst of all, he seems to ignore Kiyoomi, when usually he’s desperate for his attention, any means necessary. Until now, he’s always done his best to get right in Kiyoomi’s space, raising his hackles with bold insults and bolder bets (which he loses, more often than not), and just otherwise being a friendly nuisance.

Kiyoomi’s grown used to it, that’s the problem; like Atsumu had grown from a parasite to a beloved hanger-on. The peace and quiet of the estate is almost too much for him.

He needs the boisterous bunny to bother him. But he has no clue why Atsumu’s been avoiding him, at least until the night before they leave.

That’s when Atsumu does the most suspicious thing: he elects to stay behind when the team goes to dinner.

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. Atsumu would never turn down a good meal, even if he’s sick. He once tried to pretend he didn’t have the flu when they were all planning to visit Onigiri Miya, but only the threat of his brother pummelling him for getting him sick, too, kept him curled up in bed.

(Well. That, and Bokuto sitting on him until he promised not to leave. That certainly helped.)

“Are you sure you’re alright, ‘Tsumu?” Meian asks, tilting his head to the side and touching Atsumu’s forehead in concern.

The bunny pulls away, and Kiyoomi’s mad that he didn’t think to ask first, to touch first, when he sees how Atsumu reddens.

Atsumu blushes with his full body, unlike anyone Kiyoomi’s ever seen. It could be a bunny trait, it could be an Atsumu trait, but watching the flush travel under the collar of his yukata, a little loose and haphazardly tied while he fidgets in place, draws Kiyoomi’s blood straight to his —

Tail. His tail. No other part of him.

Hinata shoots him a look when his wagging tail smacks him on the flank. The jaguar hybrid once unravelled Kiyoomi’s third favorite sweater while toying with the yarn, though, so Kiyoomi just counts it as payback.

“I’m fine, It’s just… you know. That time of year!” Atsumu laughs, and Kiyoomi frowns.

“What time of year?” he asks, his tail stilling behind him, as Atsumu’s face looks stricken and awkward, bright red.

There’s a hand on the small of Kiyoomi’s back, and Meian, jackal that he is, whispers into his ear. “It’s heat season, for rabbits,” he says, the warning twang of his voice raising shivers down Kiyoomi’s spine, predator to predator. “‘Tsumu’s good at handling it, though, ain’t that right?”

He pitches his voice upwards so Atsumu can hear him. He’s fiddling with the belt of his robe, like he wants to run, wants to be anywhere but here.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, still bright red. “I’ve got a plug and everything to help me out. I’ve been through this a bunch, I won’t be a bother!” He gets defiant by the end, like he’s had this argument before.

Pulling away from Kiyoomi, Meian laughs. “We know, Atsumu. Don’t worry; you know how much we need you to be in top shape for the rest of the season. Get yourself some rest; we’ll bring dinner to you.”

With those decisive words, he turns to leave, and the rest of the team follows.

But on the walk to dinner, through the well-tended grounds of the Ryokan, under fragrant cedar, Kiyoomi’s mind wanders back to Atsumu: the way he turned on his heel and stumbled back to their sleeping quarters as quickly as he could.

He trusts that Atsumu can take care of himself; he’s an adult, and clearly he’s been through this before. The team needs him, after all. A good and healthy setter is key to their success. If nothing else, Atsumu will make sure he’s what the team needs.

He wants to win, just like the rest of them. Wants to crush everyone.

This does, though, answer a question that’s been plaguing Kiyoomi’s mind — the way Atsumu’s scent has gotten sweeter, making him drool without thinking about it. The knowledge rewrites Kiyoomi’s understanding of the last week, when the scent of Atsumu’s peppy, musky arousal — constant, impossible to hide — has plagued him.

Because that’s what’s been drawing Kiyoomi’s attention, making him lose his mind, and why Atsumu’s been hiding from them all, not just him: Atsumu’s just a horny little bunny at the end of the day, as beholden to his biology as the rest of the hybrids are. Kiyoomi — a wolf by design, if not by nature — can only react to the sweet scent of prey.

And it’s driving him crazier than anything else Atsumu could ever pull; the bunny, a meal he can never eat.

Kiyoomi’s not a cat, like the tiger hybrid from Nekoma who thankfully doesn’t haunt the V-league because he has a knack for getting on the other side of Kiyoomi’s nasty serves — so curiosity has no impact on him..

“I’m feeling a little sick,” Kiyoomi says, calling on the spirit of his cousin to lie through his teeth. He adds in a weak little cough for good measure, which makes Meian glare at him. “I think I’m going to go to the baths to rest for a while. They’re meant to be restorative, after all.”

“Are you catching what Tsum-tsum has?” Bokuto smirks. “Do wolves go through heat, too?”

“No,” Kiyoomi snaps.

He does feel warm, though. It must just be Atsumu’s scent having an effect on him, still.

They’re in the middle of the meal — one of those magnificent kaiseki affairs that fills you up even though every course is just a gorgeous little bite — and Kiyoomi’s been wracked with curiosity over what Atsumu could be doing. It’s been swirling through his mind — the idea of the bunny reaching between his legs for his plug, his leaking hole — now that he’s finally understood why Atsumu’s scent has been so tantalizing the last few days.

The hunger and heat reeling through his body is a peculiar kind of sickness. Although there’s no medical cure, he gets the sense that a bunny’s slick — belonging to a specific bunny, of course — could heal him.

Ridiculous notion.

“The water will help, Sakusa,” Meian says, his voice soothing as it cuts through the ache in his head. He flags down a member of the staff to whisper in their ear before they scurry off. “Go have a good soak before the rest of us get back and ruin your peace, and get some sleep, alright?”

He gets sent on his way with a small box of foods that are soothing and healthy — stuffed full of goji berries and grains — and he almost feels bad about making everyone worry as he heads back to his room. He wants to drop this off to his room instead of taking it into the baths immediately, since even though he’s lying about being sick, the heat of the hot spring will definitely soothe him.

And it’s nice to get the chance to go in without the rest of the team. He might as well make the most of it.

Because their sponsors have bought out the whole venue, they each have their own individual rooms. It’s a luxury they’re rarely afforded, used to sharing on these bonding trips in order to maximize their time together. The only exception is Inunaki, who is sharing with Meian — as a dog hybrid, Inunaki has a stronger sense of a pack mentality than the rest of them, and as their de-facto pack leader, Meian’s bearing the brunt of it. Although they invited Kiyoomi to join, wolf hybrids are just a bit different from other canids.

And, of course, Kiyoomi likes his privacy.

The hallway’s scent is peculiarly inert, like no hybrid has been through it in a while. Didn’t Atsumu say he was going back to his room? There should be some of his lingering heat-musk in the air…

Scenting the air raises his hackles, but the scent doesn’t appear even when he starts to approach Atsumu’s room. It’s with a sense of trepidation that he opens the door to his room, which happens to be across the hall from Atsumu’s, so he’s already bracing himself when he gets hit with a wave of…

Something.

It’s not the light oakmoss incense that they burn through the Ryokan to gently perfume the suites, nor is it the scent of Kiyoomi’s favorite yuzu sanitizer that he always carries with him. It’s not the barely-there scent of his clean laundry, or the musk of his own body that always threatens to overwhelm his possessions if he doesn’t shower every single day.

No.

It’s something sweeter and physical; something that should be impossible, because this is his space, his private sanctuary. The moment it clicks, Kiyoomi’s eyes narrow and his senses sharpen, honing in on the source of that tangy, irresistible scent.

It’s the smell of sex.

Slick and desperation, sweat and need.

And the only possible source is —

“Miya,” Kiyoomi growls, suddenly, his instincts carrying him to his futon on the tatami floor, the comforter thrown away, the sheets messed up.

The scent is heaviest here, in his most private,personal place; his hindbrain calls it his den, no matter how temporary it is. He presses his nose into the futon and huffs, filling his lungs with the telltale scent of a bunny in heat; imagining it, Atsumu, his fingers shoved up his cunt, slick leaking out from around them, spraying the room.

He feels feral. Wild. Starts trying to hump his fist, tugging himself free of his underwear while he rubs his head around his pillow, when his skin touches something soft. Something that shouldn’t be here.

Kiyoomi’s eyes open, to see that one of his shirts is on the bed, too, buried in the tangled sheets.

When he pulls it out, he sees a dark spot on the silk fabric, and his mind empties of every thought except touch, taste, know, feel.

Claim.

Biting his lip so hard he nearly draws blood, he’s able to tamp down the strongest of his instincts — he’s used to holding back the wolf inside of him, the wildness — in order to focus.

He touches the dark spot, and his finger comes away wet, and warm.

It could be spit. It could be tears. It could be anything.

But when he brings his finger to his mouth, he tastes something musky and tangy and delicious.

Atsumu’s slick, clearly. The image in his head adjusts to accommodate — Atsumu, his feet thumping as he grinds against Kiyoomi’s softest shirt, head shoved in his pillow to stifle his moans. Kiyoomi smells his own arousal, mirroring the Atsumu in his mind. The bunny, making a claim to him and his belongings in his horny, heat-drunk haze.

Kiyoomi feels even warmer, but it’s no sickness. It’s lust, plain and simple.

Or perhaps it’s more than that — a predator’s desire, the urge to chase and catch and keep.

Looking around the room, he wonders if Atsumu might be hiding somewhere; everything smells fresh, like he’d just abandoned touching himself before Kiyoomi barged in. He sees no sign of life, but if his senses hadn’t been sharpened by Atsumu’s slick, if he hadn't been laser focused on the bunny, he would never have noticed something interesting.

A bright color catches his attention in the corner of his eye, and when he turns, he sees — under the low table where he took his breakfast that morning — a plug.

A familiar one.

He’s seen it before, he thinks. And when he reaches out to grab it — the slick on this toy all tacky and nearly dried, like it’d been cruelly abandoned — he remembers seeing it in Atsumu’s locker stall, just a week ago, before this whole thing began. Even back then, he’d been prepping.

He remembers thinking that it was particularly lewd, not knowing why Atsumu chose to keep it with his sporting equipment. Kiyoomi’s been poorly educated on heats then, it seems.

Now, though, he closes his fist around the toy. It feels comically small, like it couldn’t possibly sate the heat of someone with a personality as big as Atsumu.

Kiyoomi fills with resolve. He’s going to find its owner and teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.

It’s so easy to track Atsumu down.

The predator in him — his carnivore’s drive, hunger and desire mixed into one — have locked onto the bunny’s scent. Atsumu seems to leave a trace of his arousal anywhere he goes; the lingering slick on his hand clinging to the wall he must have leaned against — Kiyoomi licking away the patch — to his sweat dripping on the floor.

He follows the path his instincts set for him like this is a merry chase, like Atsumu wants to be found, leaving the sleeping quarters and exiting into the pleasantly cool night air. Normally weather like this would give him clarity, but instead it just sharpens his resolve.

He must find Atsumu.

Turning in the opposite direction of where dinner is held, he heads towards the hot springs. Doesn’t even stop to acknowledge the beauty of the landscape till he gets there, skipping right past the showers.

And of course, like a sitting duck at the back of the baths, nestled to his waist in the heated water, is his quarry. Atsumu, looking absolutely edible.

Then again, doesn’t he always?

“Ah, Omi!” Atsumu says, looking shocked to see him and even redder than usual. “Weren’t ya at dinner? What are ya doin’ here?”

“I was feeling sick,” Kiyoomi says, stripping off his robe and letting it drop to the floor, revealing himself completely nude underneath. “Like you.”

Atsumu snorts. “I hope not like me,” he says, leaning back in the hot spring. “Well, the water’s hot, if that helps.”

His nonchalance doesn’t hide the way his gaze involuntarily drifts down to between Kiyoomi’s legs; to the fat, chubbed up cock nestled between his thighs. He crosses his legs underwater, too. Kiyoomi catches the motion, like a shark to blood.

Good. Let him squirm.

“See something you like, Miya?” He murmurs it dangerously, his voice low enough to get lost in the trickling sound of water.

“What was that?” Atsumu frowns, but he doesn’t make a move to get closer.

In his silence, Kiyoomi steps into the water.

He knows what Atsumu’s expecting. That Kiyoomi would stay in the part of the bath furthest away from Atsumu, the way he usually does. Even all these years later, he still doesn’t like sharing the water with people all that much; still tries to claim the first bath in the sharehouse, even when Bokuto insists that they’re all clean anyway, before they go in.

There’s even a practical little alcove, tucked away, just out of Atsumu’s line of sight. It’s like the bunny had purposely avoided it, leaving it for Kiyoomi.

But Kiyoomi passes it, ignores it completely, his tail trailing behind him in the water as he charts a course direct towards Atsumu.

“You’re gettin’ pretty close, Omi,” Atsumu says, laughing a little nervously. “Wouldn’t ya rather be over there, where the water’s pouring in fresh?”

Unheeding of his words, Kiyoomi presses forward, stepping into Atsumu’s space. It’s a lovely section of the bath, surrounded by decorative rocks and a few deep green plants. He can see, through the clear water, that Atsumu’s sitting on a bench carved into the stone. The trickling sound of the water is muffled, but the croaks of hidden frogs are a delightful symphony to accompany what will surely be a feast.

“I quite like it here, actually.” Kiyoomi looms over him, his cock a dark shadow under the water, his tail starting to slowly wag in interest.

How must he look, towering over the bunny? Atsumu sinks low into the water; his arousal is strong in the air, but the instinctual scent of prey fear dances with it.

It’s the sweetest thing Kiyoomi’s ever smelled.

“Honestly, I figured ya liked your space,” Atsumu says, biting his lip to hide — something. Clenching his legs tighter as if that would do anything to hide the pleasure growing in his gut. Something must catch in his nose, as his eyes furrow. “What’ve you been hidin’ Omi? you’ve got your hands behind your back.”

“Oh, this?” Kiyoomi leans even closer, boxing him in — one hand on the edge of the pool. Atsumu’s ear tickles his chin as he lowers his head, so Atsumu can get a clear look at the intent written across his face. It’s wasted on him, of course; the bunny looks between Kiyoomi’s legs again, the outline of his cock so apparent at this angle. “Someone made a mess of my room, and left this behind.”

He holds the plug in front of him. Watches the color fade from Atsumu’s face.

“W-where’d ya find that?” Atsumu asks. His body pulls in on itself, like Kiyoomi’s accusation is the salt to the snail of him.

“Where do you think? I just said that you left it in there.”

Kiyoomi’d forgotten that Atsumu grew up with a sibling, and is thus used to splitting hairs over the minorest of quibbles. The Miya twins could pull a fight from thin air. The way Atsumu’s eyes widen with triumph like he’s found an escape hatch from this conversation is almost charming.

In another life, he would have made a very annoying lawyer.

“Nuh-uh, You said someone left it behind. I’d never be that careless; ridiculous that you’d even think it was me!”

Honestly, if Kiyoomi weren’t so tired —

If Atsumu’s scent hadn’t been making his pheromones act up —

He probably would have let this go.

But Atsumu has a tell when he lies, and no one’s told him because the whole team thinks it’s cute. His nose twitches, left-right-left, and the idea that Atsumu is lying to him right now in such an obvious way grates at him.

Grates at the carnivore buried deep in his wolf’s heart.

“Well then,” Kiyoomi says, pulling back enough to let Atsumu let out a premature sigh of relief. “There’s only one way to check, isn’t there?”

He tosses the plug onto the ground at the edge of the bath and in one swift motion pushes his hand between Atsumu’s thighs, pressing roughly at his swollen, plump cunt.

Fuck, even this much is enough to make Kiyoomi feel a little wild. So does the shaky, breathy gasp that escapes from Atsumu’s throat like it’s almost stuck in there. The pressure is just too much for his sensitive, worn pussy — it’s been through so much during this mating period, if the state of Kiyoomi’s room and the slick he could smell scattered everywhere had anything to say about it.

“Look at that, wet and ready,” Kiyoomi chides, tutting like Atsumu’s a schoolboy getting chastened and not his very adult, professional teammate with Kiyoomi’s fingers probing at his cunt. “Someone’s been a messy little bunny, and lying on top of it? Shame, shame, Atsumu.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry!” Atsumu whines, squirming down on Kiyoomi’s fingers and pushing them deeper inside.

Atsumu’s cunt is like a vice around him, a searing heat under the water. It makes his mouth water, and he realizes that he was right: there’s no way the plug was big enough for Atsumu’s needs. The bunny needs a knot, and the plug he found in his room was basic and lacking.

He tries to scramble up onto the ground, but the water makes the rock all slippery. When he falls, the motion pushes Kiyoomi’s fingers deeper into him, a searing heat under the water.

Atsumu whimpers, his lower lip wobbling from the sudden pressure, the sense of being filled. The rapid and harsh burst of pleasure so unexpected, so warm. It must break him, a little.

“Look, I’ll put the plug back in, we can change rooms, I must’ve fucked up and opened the wrong door, they all look the same — “

“But you must have known, Atsumu. You must have realized.” He scissors his fingers, feeling a little cruel and a lot powerful as Atsumu gasps from each minute action. The bunny’s so open for him — does he even notice the flush flooding his cheeks? How he’s so easy for it? “You had enough time to ruin one of my nice shirts, to stain my bed.”

“W-what are ya tryin’ to say?”

“I want you to admit it, Atsumu. Tell me you smelled me, tell me you knew it was my room and you were doing something bad. Confess to your sins — maybe I’ll go easy on you. Be a good little bunny for once in your life.”

Atsumu struggles with it — it’s clear on his face. He’s a bad liar but he loves getting away with shit, and maybe the team’s been too lenient with him recently. Letting him skive off of cleaning duty and blaming bunny troubles, stealing Bokuto’s favorite energy gels, hell, even Osamu’s been complaining — he’s eating the special ingredients for dessert at Onigiri Miya, just like he used to steal his puddings back when he was young.

But Kiyoomi knows a special trick.

He stills his fingers inside of Atsumu, closes them tight so there’s no more pressure at his walls, no more friction, no relief. Revels in how wide Atsumu’s eyes go, the way his pussy starts twitching and pulsing, desperate for something, Atsumu’s legs trying to close — and failing, because Kiyoomi shoves a leg between his, just enough to stop it in his tracks.

There’s a moment of stillness, interrupted only by the sound of the water dripping into the bath, the slight breeze in the night air.

It’s like he watches Atsumu’s resolve crumble in slow motion, a crack spreading across his face, until — “Alright, fine,” he groans, covering his hands with his face and throwing his head back in frustration. “What are ya, a detective, Omi? I admit to it. I got off in your room.”

He looks at Kiyoomi suddenly — a leap of alertness, that bunny-cleverness pinging all of Kiyoomi’s wolf senses to watch for every minute motion.

A smirk spreads across his face.

“I made a mess of your stuff,” he teases, clearly delighted by the idea of it. “Rubbed my slick and scent all over your clothes, got your stuffy wolf ass all turned around. So what are ya gonna do about it?”

“Punish you,” Kiyoomi says, pulling his fingers out of his cunt and grabbing his ears with a swift instinct he’s long forgotten. It’s easy to pull a smug bunny up and out of the water, the searing hiss of pain music to his ears. He can tell Atsumu’s shocked, “I don’t take kindly to insults, you know that.”

Though he does love to draw them out of Atsumu. The push and pull of their relationship has nothing on now.

Atsumu’s scent is full of fear and arousal. Kiyoomi’s turned him around so he scrambles for a hold on the edge of the pool — that rock is too smooth, that one too small — but Kiyoomi’s patient.

He takes the extra time to admire Atsumu’s ass. The damp little tail wagging right at the top of his, his plump cheeks, soft little hole and wet, weeping cunt. The scent of this, too, fills his nose.

Makes him hungry enough to lick his lips, like prey between his teeth.

“Ha! Is that all?” Atsumu taunts when he finally finds a steady stance, turning his head defiantly. “Just a little ear-grabbin’? That’s no worse than a schoolyard scuffle. I just knew Itachiyama boys were soft. Wait, fu-”

In the same instant that Kiyoomi tightens his grip to something cruel, he tugs Atsumu’s head back and pulls his whole body with him, until the bunny is pressed against him.

Kiyoomi’s bare, thick, interested cock between his thighs, the strong line of Atsumu’s body taut, his rabbit heart racing. It shuts him up, too, and Kiyoomi tracing his fingers down his chest — resting briefly over his heart, chest heaving, claws out and dangerous, like they could pierce his skin if Atsumu looked at him wrong — keeps him quiet.

His laugh is a mean little thing that breaks the piece of the night.

“You have no idea what we got up to at Itachiyama, little rabbit,” Kiyoomi murmurs; he doesn’t need to yell to be threatening, doesn’t have to raise his voice to be a predator.

Honestly, predators and carnivores like him — the wolves, the tigers, the sharks among them — are at their most dangerous when they’re quiet.

That’s how you know they’re in control.

Atsumu shivers; fear and the natural chill of the air interwoven in him. Good — he’s learned not to doubt what Kiyoomi can do to him.

Loosening his grip a little, he lets his hand fall to Atsumu’s shoulder to hold him in place, squeezing that junction between his neck and collarbone, making his whole body flex.

The bunny is silent while he pets down his body — gropes him, really, squeezing his chest and sides and skin, his nails dragging and leaving faint reddened marks on his tan flesh. Though the hot spring is warm, the air is a little cold — they’re just barely into the offseason, when tourists don’t want to risk the outdoor baths — and he can see the gooseflesh on Atsumu’s skin as he starts to cool.

Time to warm him up.

Kiyoomi tugs at his tail, and Atsumu jolts; body arcing into Kiyoomi, and a fresh gush of slick leaking out between his thighs.

“Oh, that’s a good thing?” He pushes Atsumu onto rocks again, lets him scrabble for purchase. “I thought bunnies hated it when big bad wolves tugged at their tails.”

He squeezes, and he can see Atsumu’s pussy react, twitching in pleasure despite Atsumu’s faint protests, the way he squirms in this trap.

“All my life they told us not to tug bunny tails, not to tease them like that. Bunnies hate it, they said. But you love it, don’t you, Atsumu? It goes right to your sweet cunt, you little slut, you love the pain.”

It’s impossible to stop playing with Atsumu like this, squeezing and tugging at his tail, watching his pussy gush, slick dripping down his thighs and into the water, his pleasure wasted. His other hand holds Atsumu in place so he can’t try to buck back against him for any friction, any relief from Kiyoomi’s absolute command over his pleasure.

When Atsumu’s legs start to shake, Kiyoomi allows himself a smile; weak little thing, isn't he? Who knew this was an erogenous zone for bunnies? Sure, it feels nice when you pet Kiyoomi’s tail, but he’s not going to come from it.

No wonder he was always warned against tugging at a rabbit’s tail; it would be disastrous if anyone knew how easy it was to tease them and make them cum, to control their pleasure.

“F-fuck, Omi, please, have mercy —” Atsumu murmurs, biting his lip as his ear go flat, shaking his ass so Kiyoomi knows exactly what kind of mercy he wants. “I’m so, fuck, I’m so close, just need a little more —”

“All this from your little tail?” Kiyoomi asks.

“Y-yeah… please Omi, please.”

He lets Atsumu whimper and whine, all of his wanton little cries of desperation loosening from his throat as he gets closer and closer. Body tensing, so close, on the lightning edge of his pleasure, just a little more and he’ll come —

Kiyoomi lets go of his tail and slaps his pussy, the wet sound echoing across the hot spring.

“Mean!” Atsumu wails. He'd collapse if Kiyoomi didn't still have a hold on his body, reeling from his ruined orgasm. “I was — I was so close.”

The way Atsumu sounds — close to tears, breathy, desperate — is music to Kiyoomi's sharp ears. Bringing the great Miya Atsumu down to this level, debasing him, making him desperate for Kiyoomi's touch no matter how cruel, how mean…

Anyone would grow heady with power from it.

Atsumu's legs are shaking; poor thing is trembling and pouting, slick dripping from his pussy, red from the slap and the heat.

“That's what a punishment is, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi chides, rubbing the slick between his fingers. “You're not supposed to cum from it.”

“But I — ah!”

Kiyoomi smacks his cunt again and the wet sound rings out across the baths.

“You made a mess of my room,” Kiyoomi says, punctuating it with a spank as he pushes Atsumu's legs further apart, forcing him off balance. “You left your plug behind.” Another spank, slick spraying from him as Atsumu jolts. “And you're losing yourself to your heat.”

A fifth, a sixth. Each harder than the last, as Atsumu's protests turn to actual, wracking sobs but his cunt stays wet.

Fuck. He still wants it.

Such a good little bunny, but he doesn't deserve the praise yet.

“Look at you,” Kiyoomi sneers, tracing a line with his claw up his swollen lips, feeling him shiver from the knife point pressure. “Lost to your heat.” A spank and a wail. “Such a wanton little slut for the first predator who pays attention to your cunt. What use would a whore like you be in a game? In this state?”

He smacks him again, pulling his hand so far back that when he makes contact with Atsumu's pussy, the force of his slap pushes his thighs against the wall of the bath, and Atsumu's legs give out

“M-mean, Omi,” he lets out, his voice weak, as he tries to scramble back up.

Kiyoomi gives him a hand by tugging at his tail, pulling his ass so high he's on his tiptoes in the water, body pitched forward.

He's so open. So hungry. So desperate. His cunt is an angry red now, flushed with blood, swollen with need.

“You haven't seen mean yet,” Kiyoomi snarls, but inside he's preening.

He's loving this, and the thrill of punishing Atsumu for his transgressions, both real and imagined. Atsumu is strong but a brat, stealing their snacks and shirts, treating his heat carelessly. Resting his hand on his cunt for a moment, a thick finger wedged between his lips, he can feel his whimpers, feel his ache and the heat from his burning pussy.

It makes him feel powerful.

And he thinks he can make Atsumu cry like this. Imagine that? The great Miya Atsumu brought to tears

He salivates at the thought.

Running on instinct and adrenaline more than anything else, he swiftly manhandles Atsumu up against a rock, bent over and legs spread even wider, to get a better angle. He doesn’t care that his claws leave tiny red scratches up Atsumu’s surprisingly tender flesh, but he does register the way Atsumu shivers when his fingers graze against one of the marks.

Of course the bunny is a little painslut. He’s going to enjoy this very much.

Without a warning, Kiyoomi pulls his hand back — channeling Wakatoshi — and spanks him hard on his cunt. Flecks of water and slick splatter through the air, some lingering on his fingers.

Atsumu’s shocked yelp of pain echoes through the night and all Kiyoomi can do to that is smirk. “Oh, did that hurt, little rabbit?”

He spanks the bunny again before he can answer, this time on his ass. Watches the soft, fat meat of his cheek jiggle in reverberation.

“You’re a well-fed little glutton of a rabbit, aren’t you,” Kiyoomi murmurs, running his fingers over the reddened cheek before spanking it again, lighter this time. Atsumu just whimpers against the rock, clutching at the smooth stone for dear life.

When he tries to squirm out of his hold — slippery little bastard — Kiyoomi braces his forearm across his back, pinning him to the rock and trapping him in place. “You’re not going to escape your punishment that easily. You haven’t learned your lesson yet, have you, Miya?”

He spanks again, on the other cheek this time, watching it shake, watching Atsumu’s hips jerk against the rock, before slapping his upper thighs. There’s no specific pace he sets; sometimes, when he wants to brutalize one side, getting it nice and red and pretty pink in the lantern light, he slaps a cheek over and over and over, unrelenting even to Atsumu’s desperate pleas and cries for mercy.

But other times, he lets his fingers linger, almost tenderly, against the swollen heat of his cunt, rubbing at his folds and teasing him for finding pleasure in this, even though Atsumu can’t help it; it’s just his heat. And only once he’s lulled the bunny into a false sense of security does he reel his hand back and slap his cunt with a sound that resonates all through the baths, stealing all the voice from Atsumu’s throat so all he can do is weep silently against the rock.

Fuck.

Kiyoomi loves this. Loves punishing this little brat of a bunny, loves how red his ass gets, how quickly it colors. He loves the little scratches his claws leave as they scrape against the tender skin of his inner thighs, leaving shallow bloody cuts that he wants to lave over with his tongue once Atsumu has proven that he deserves a touch of sweetness and mercy, though he hasn’t earned it yet. Salivates over how his cunt twitches in anticipation, Atsumu bracing himself for hits that may or may not come depending on Kiyoomi’s whims, how much of the sweet music he wants to rend from Atsumu’s throat.

He’s no cook, but he sure feels like one now. If he’s caught his prey, then now he’s tenderizing the meat; getting Atsumu’s flesh all hot and soft for him to sink his teeth into, his tail wagging through the water in delight and anticipation of the feast that lay in front of him. But Kiyoomi has to be patient; to the victor go the spoils, and once Kiyoomi has him all punished and perfect and paint for him, then he's going to devour Atsumu .

But not with his teeth, no.

“What, are those tears?” Kiyoomi asks, scenting the air and smelling salt over the musk of Atsumu’s arousal for once, and when he looks — sure enough, tears are running down Atsumu’s face, so steadily it’s like he’s not even aware of them. “Are you crying?” His tongue curls with disdain around the word.

“It hurts, Omi,” Atsumu gasps out, fresh tears springing from his eyes. “It hurts so bad.”

Music to his ears, he thinks, as Atsumu devolves into sobs. It’s like the pain has caught up with him — and worse still, the embarrassment. Atsumu is a proud man; he cares about his image. His legs spread, cunt and ass spanked, so thoroughly humiliated; god, this must be a nightmare for him.

Kiyoomi’s always wanted to get him like this; always dreamed of turning Atsumu into a sobbing little wreck of a bunny. Whenever Atsumu got on his nerves, invaded his space, insulted him or teased him, he’s always wanted to retaliate but he never had the guts or a way to do it that would matter. But now he’s got Atsumu right where he wants him.

Cornered.

Trapped.

At his every will and whim.

“Do you understand yet, Miya,” Kiyoomi coos, making his voice cloyingly soft as he leans forward, up against Atsumu’s ear, “that you’ve been a very bad bunny? That you’re getting just what you deserve?”

With his other hand he taps against Atsumu’s cunt, his claw pressed just so against the fat, swollen lip, so tender. It must sting, he thinks, the proof in the way Atsumu weeps.

“Y-yes,” he blurts out, between wet, fat tears. God. Kiyoomi wants to lick them away. Wants to clean him off; he’s so messy, but he has to be patient.

They’re so close.

“Do you know how much of a nuisance you’ve been to me? To the whole team? Flaunting your scent around the locker room and this resort, refusing to let someone just fuck the heat out of you, like everyone else. It’s a distraction, is what it is. You’ve made us worse. You’ve made yourself worse.”

The cries feel stronger this time, and there’s true regret that leaks out of Atsumu’s voice when he response with a desperate little -”yes, yes.”

This time, Kiyoomi feels a little bad about it; Atsumu’s a good player, a great player. He just made a little mistake that escalated into a big one, and the mistake had such an easy solution. Kiyoomi hates people who don’t take care of themselves, and Atsumu’s been neglecting himself and his nature most of all.

That’s a cardinal sin, and one that needs to be corrected.

Luckily, Atsumu is in great hands.

“Do you understand that you’ve made a mess, inconvenienced me, and proven that you can’t be trusted to handle your own heat? You know what happens to bad bunnies who can’t control themselves, right?”

He waits for Atsumu to answer, but the only sound he hears is his tears. Frustrated, suddenly, he spanks Atsumu's cunt again, hard and sharp and fast. “Answer me.”

“They g-get punished,” Atsumu replies, and Kiyoomi grants him a moment of sweetness.

“That’s the first time you’ve been good all night, Atsumu,” he says, feeling Atsumu relax, seeing a small smile grace his face, smelling his pleasure as he preens. “Let's see if you can rectify your behavior.”

He starts slapping his cunt again, feeling him in earnest. Feels the slick splash and gush out of him when he aims right for his clit, his hand soaked and not from water. “God, and your slutty little hole has been enjoying this. Despite your pathetic little tears, you’re clearly loving this, isn’t that right, Miya?”

“N-no.”

Pathetic to the end.

“Oh come on,” Kiyoomi scoffs, teeth bared and pressed against his neck before he stands up again, his tail dipping down into the water as his ears flatten in concentration. All he can hear are the spanks and the sound of Atsumu’s tears. “Just say it, Miya, tell me what you are.”

He keeps spanking, his pace quickening the longer Atsumu doesn’t answer, refuses it. He needs to break the bunny down to basics, strip him away of his ferocious pride before he can take care of him, give him what he needs. He’s practically jackhammering his cunt, and he can tell by the way he’s tightening up that he’s on the verge of cumming.

Cruelly, he squeezes Atsumu’s clit, making him yelp and cry from pain, and killing the orgasm in its tracks.

“Atsumu, once you tell me what you are you can come, alright? I promise. Have I ever let you down before? The soft words of the promise elide over the fact that Kiyoomi’s hand is beating at his cunt, cruel and strong and relentlessless. Atsumu’s kicking up a froth in the water, his body braced against the rock by his chest, Kiyoomi’s strength the only thing keeping him upright.

And his whole ass is this pretty, perfect shade of Pink that Kiyoomi’s never seen before, that’ll be a bitch to sit on for the ride home, but that’s okay — Kiyoomi will keep him in his lap, Kiyoomi will take care of him, Kiyoomi's gone from hunger to desire to need, wants the bunny for all his mess, and —

“F-fine,” Atsumu cries out, into the lonely, echoing night, loud enough to wake the dead. “I’m a bad bunny. That’s what I am!”

But before Kiyoomi can praise him, before he can even stop his spanking completely, a low whistle cuts through the air.

Both of them freeze.

Neither of them want to turn; Atsumu’s tears have totally stopped in their tracks, and Kiyoomi’s hand has frozen in mid-air.

“Oh come on,” a familiar voice calls out, cruelly mimicking Kiyoomi’s words. “Don’t stop on our account.”

There are footsteps, and only then do they turn to the entrance of the baths. There's the whole team, ears all pricked up in interest, faces red from the sake at dinner, yukata half tied. Bokuto’s hand is sneaking into the folds, while Hinata’s dick is tenting at the thin fabric.

Kiyoomi must have lost track of time.

The only one missing is their captain, who spoke, and —

“You have been a bad bunny, haven’t ya?” He hears, so close, and when he turns, Meian is tilting up Atsumu’s chin, wiping away some of his tears. It fills Kiyoomi with a perverse envy; he wanted to do that. That was his job. His honor. There’s a cruel smirk on Meian’s face as he takes in Atsumu, their position, Kiyoomi’s wet, slick-stained hands. “Luckily Sakusa’s here to train ya up right.”

Then their captain directs the full force of his attention on him, his dark gaze piercing Kyioomi like he’s pinned in place. “You’ve got a little somethin’...” he says, gesturing to Kiyoomi’s lips.

Drool, he thinks. He’s been drooling like a stupid, desperate carnivore, all over Atsumu, marking him with his scent. As his own, his hard-won trophy.

Instead of leaving, instead of going back to the team, he sits in front of them. Leans back like he’s watching fireworks in the summer time, legs spread so Kiyoomi can get a glimpse of dark hair, his thick cock under the folds of his yukata, gesturing as if to say go on.

“Doesn’t he smell a little too sweet, Sakusa?” Meian asks, a leading question.

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes but scents the air, anyway, and he gasps as he realizes Atsumu’s entering another, desperate wave of his heat. There’s no more time for teasing; he needs a good plug or something else, and if he doesn’t get it the heat will burn him from the inside out. There’s no time for teasing, just his pussy clenching around nothing, so wide and desperate and hungry.

Atsumu’s plug is useless, but Kiyoomi could be that something else.

He knows the team is watching, but he pays them no mind. Atsumu’s the one with the raw and bloody ass, shaking legs, twitching tail; Atsumu's the one who needs something that Kiyoomi can give.

And Kiyoomi’s cock is so heavy between his thighs, his knot tingling with the desire to breed and the knowledge that there’s a willing, sweet and needy thing in front of him.

He’s never felt so feral. Never felt so animal and mortal.

“Give ‘em what he needs, Omi,” Meian says, and Kiyioomi scoffs, as if he needs permission.

This time, when Kiyoomi leans forward to coo into Atsumu’s ear, it’s with anticipation and true sweetness.

“You’ve been punished enough, haven’t you?” He whispers, licking Atsumu’s neck and tasting his fearsweat and exhaustion, his arousal and need all at once. “You’re just a needy little bun, eager and ready to be fucked. I’ll give you what you need, Atsumu.”

But everyone watching can see that Kiyoomi needs it too.

Gripping his hard, neglected cock for the first time that night, Kiyoomi’s still feeling ready for a little fun. He teases Atsumu, rubbing his cock against his cunt while he shakes and moans, measuring it against his back to see how far deep it’ll be buried inside of him. “Gonna mark you from the inside out, aren’t I?” he says, in wonder, spreading precum and his scent across his skin, his little tail.

This is a different kind of cruelty; painting his folds with the head of his cock, the heat so tantalizing. He doesn’t imagine the eyes watching him, though his eager ears can hear the folds of their yukatas getting pulled aside, though his eyes can see Meian’s hand disappear between his legs.

He feels so heady with it, so powerful.

Atsumu is soft under his touch, but he can be softer.

“All you have to do is ask for it, Atsumu. You just have to ask nicely if there’s something you need.” One final lesson to impart. Not a punishment; just a test. “That’s what caused all this in the first place, right? You didn’t tell us what you needed and made a mess of yourself instead. Just tell me what you need, I know you ca-”

“Need your knot,”Atsumu says, a broken, desperate thing. “Need ya to breed me, to fuck me through it, please. Need ya to take care of me, Omi-omi, I’m sorry for makin’ a mess, I just need it.”

He bucks his hips, arching his back and standing on his tip toes to present his eager, desperate, bruised cunt to Kiyoomi.

And it’s enough for him.

He hadn’t realized how close Atsumu was to giving in, how well he learned his lesson.

Locking his eyes with Meian, he kisses Atsumu’s neck, licks at his scent gland. “I’ll take care of our little rabbit,” he says. “I promise.”

MSBY isn’t really a pack, not in the traditional sense; there are too many different kinds of hybrids, too much energy, but they’re as close to one as Kiyoomi’s ever known.

It’s nice to get Meian’s approval, sends heat straight through his body, pride and pleasure all in one when Meian nods his head.

There’s no more time to waste, not when he’s got a pretty rabbit all open and sweet for him.

Without a warning, without another moment’s hesitation, Kiyoomi stops playing.

Shoves his cock deep inside Atsumu’s waiting hole, and nearly loses his mind.

“Fuck,” Kiyoomi moans out, already buried half-way, his thick cock spreading Atsumu’s cunt even wider than before. He’s never fucked a prey hybrid in heat before, never understood what the big deal was, but now?

Now he gets it. Understands why there’s a mating season, why people go out of their way to fuck bunnies; Atsumu didn’t have to parade around the team and try to make it through on his own. He’d be the main course at any of those sketchy predator bars Kiyoomi always thought about stopping into.

But the way his cunt seems desperate to suck him deeper, the velvet walls closing around him, Atsumu’s hips bucking against him because his body knows it wants —

If every bunny’s cunt was as perfect as Atsumu’s, the world would stop spinning.

Atsumu’s taking him beautifully, even as Kiyoomi’s hips start jerking his cock in deeper, spearing him. His bruised and aching cunt is so wet for him, so hot, and his yelps and whines fill the night when Kiyoomi’s fingers grip at the tender skin of his ass. He can’t help but stare in awe as his cock buries deep between those puffy, perfect lips, stretched wider than his imagination.

Kiyoomi isn’t small, by any means.

He’s not being modest; he’s always had to be careful during sex, avoiding smaller targets, finding alternative ways to get his pleasure. There’s a reason his fellow players would stare at him in the locker room, eyes hungry, teeth bared, like Kiyoomi was something meant to be conquered.

He never wanted to be a challenge; always just wanted someone to take him as he is, and Atsumu’s taking him perfectly.

And when his knot finally kisses Atsumu’s cunt, soft and waiting as he pushes and pushes needing to go deeper, to sink in, to tie them together, Kiyoomi howls. Right at the watching moon, and he can hear Meian and Inunaki, the hounds they are, join in.

After that, he loses his mind a little as he fucks desperately at Atsumu, pressing his fingers in his mouth because he wants to fill every hole, uncaring of the teeth biting at his skin or the way Atsumu gags and drools around him. He’s already dreaming of Atsumu’s ass, the pert little hole all neglected under his tail, but first he has to knot his bunny, help sate his heat just a little bit. He keeps pounding, pressing his hips in further, deeper, unwilling to pull back far.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he murmurs as Atsumu’s cunt spreads for him, as his knot gets closer, as the slick drips onto it and almost seems to suck him deeper. “Just a little more, you can take it, you can take it Atsumu —”

Mouth all stuffed, all Atsumu can do is grab at his wrists, holding on for dear life, as Kiyoomi lets out a mighty roar and pulls both of their bodies up. His mind is too clouded to realize it, but this gives Meian a perfect view of Atsumu’s chest and body, his pussy stuffed with Kiyoomi’s cock. With his other arm wrapped tight around Atsumu’s chest, he can hold him up like this, his feet scrambling to touch the bottom of the pool but never quite reaching them.

Breathe, he thinks, willing Atsumu to follow the rise and fall of his heaving, panting chest.

Breathe.

And between one heartbeat and the next, gravity pulls Atsumu down onto his knot, fully seated as Atsumu screams around his fingers.

He doesn’t register when it catches, not until he snarls and tries to pull Atsumu up to fuck him again and find himself stopped; his cunt has, for once, stopped stretching, wrapped tight around his knot which is already swelling, filling with blood and desire.

The only thought that fills his mind is the desire to breed, and he pulls his fingers out of Atsumu’s mouth, lets him pant and yell, knows his eyes are rolling back in his head. He brings that hand down to toy with his clit, rubbing and spanking it knowing Atsumu likes the pain until he draws a sudden, cruel orgasm out of him — making him scream loud enough to worry the staff — and the heat from it, the way his body tightens like a vice, just does it for Kiyoomi.

He follows, falling down the same path as Atsumu, collapsing once more against the rock as his cum bursts inside of him, painting his soft walls, filling him deeply. Atsumu must smell like him now, he must, but he’s exhausted too.

Can't figure out how to fuck Atsumu more, just riding out the orgasm, fingers idly toying with his clit as Atsumu twitches below him.

He comes to in waves, as Meian steps into the water to carefully adjust them so Kiyoomi is seated with Atsumu in his lap; his knot will come down in time, and — he thinks this sadly — his cum will slip out of Atsumu, but being joined will give it time to take.

As he regains his senses, he finds himself lapping at Atsumu’s scent glands, rubbing at his stomach all swollen with his knot and cum, bulged in a way that’s so lewd Kiyoomi will dream about this for months.

And he realizes — “Oh,” he murmurs in disappointment. Atsumu’s heat hasn’t broken yet. He’s still in it, and Kiyoomi’s exhausted.

Bunnies will outrun him, every time.

A warm hand on the back of his neck — Meian cupping his scruff, smirking at him. The rest of the team in the water, surrounding them, naked now with the shadows of their hard cocks visible through the water. They’re hungry, jackals they are.

“Don’t worry,” Meian says, a smirk on his face as he reaches down to cover Kiyoomi’s hand with his and press, making Atsumu whine. “We’ll all help break his heat, too. We’re a team, after all. We can’t let our best bunny down.”