Chapter 1: First Lesson in Desire
The coffee had gone cold in Sakusa’s mug. He stared into the dark liquid, his brow furrowed, as if the answers to his deeply illogical problem were swirling somewhere near the bottom. The soft, golden light from Atsumu’s floor lamp carved shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the mole above his brow.
Atsumu sprawled on the other end of the leather couch, one ankle propped on his knee. “So. Ya texted saying ya needed to talk about something ‘critical.’ I’m assumin’ this ain’t about yer serve receive.”
“It’s not.” Sakusa placed the mug on a coaster with precise finality. He kept his gaze level, analytical. “I need you to teach me about physical touch.”
Atsumu’s foot dropped to the floor with a soft thud. He blinked. “Touch.”
“Yes.”
“Ya mean… like hugs?”
“No. Not like hugs.” Sakusa’s lips thinned. “Intimate touch. Specifically, kissing. And related activities.”
A snort escaped Atsumu, then a full-blown laugh that shook his shoulders. “Omi-kun, what the hell? Since when do ya have interest in that? I figured ya’d just hire a professional cleaner anytime ya had a decent thought.”
Sakusa didn’t flinch. “It’s a practical necessity. I’m… interested in someone. Romantically. And if the opportunity arises, I can’t be a sitting duck. My current skill set is insufficient. It would be inefficient and potentially embarrassing.”
“Someone,” Atsumu drawled, leaning forward, his eyes glittering with predatory curiosity. “Do tell.”
“That’s irrelevant. What’s relevant is that you are, by all accounts, excessively experienced in this area. I require a tutor. You are a viable option.”
“A tutor.” Atsumu scratched his chin, the smirk never leaving his face. The idea was absurd, hilarious. Teaching the fastidious, contact-averse Sakusa Kiyoomi how to kiss. It was too good to pass up. “Alright. Sure. Why not? Consider me yer professor of passion.” He waved a hand. “Lesson one. Atmosphere. Ya gotta set the mood. Ya can’t just declare yer intentions like a drill sergeant.”
“Noted. Proceed to the practical demonstration.”
“So impatient.” Atsumu shuffled closer on the couch, the leather creaking under his weight. The space between them crackled, the distant city murmur fading into the background. “Okay. First rule. Eye contact. Ya don’t stare at their teeth.”
Sakusa’s dark eyes fixed on Atsumu’s, intense and unwavering. It was disconcerting.
“Good,” Atsumu murmured, his voice dropping. “Then… ya move in slow. Let ’em know what’s comin’.” He brought a hand up, hovering near Sakusa’s jaw. “Can I?”
A curt nod.
Atsumu’s fingers brushed his skin, a light, testing touch. Sakusa didn’t recoil. Progress, Atsumu thought. He leaned in, closing the gap until their breath mingled. Sakusa’s was steady, measured. Atsumu’s own heart was beating a funny rhythm against his ribs. “Relax, Omi. It’s just practice.”
Their lips met.
It was soft, closed-mouthed, undeniably chaste. Atsumu kept it there for a three-count before pulling back an inch. “See? Baseline. Nothin’ to it.”
Sakusa’s expression was one of deep concentration. “The angle was acceptable. Your technique seems adequate.”
“Gee, thanks.” Atsumu laughed, the tension breaking. “Alright, again. This time, a little more… intention.”
They fell into a rhythm. Kiss, separate, analyze. Atsumu guided, narrating like a sports commentator. “A little more pressure here… part yer lips just a bit, yeah, like that… good.” Sakusa was a rapid, terrifyingly focused learner. His initial stiffness evaporated within minutes, replaced by a controlled replication of every move Atsumu demonstrated.
After about half an hour, Atsumu was feeling smug, in control. This was easy. Funny, even. Sakusa was just mirroring him.
Then, during a routine kiss, something shifted.
Sakusa’s hand, which had been resting passively on the couch, came up to cradle the back of Atsumu’s head. His fingers threaded into the blond hair, not roughly, but with a definite, grounding certainty. Atsumu made a small, surprised sound in the back of his throat—a muffled mmph.
Sakusa took it as encouragement.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping in, exploring with a confident thoroughness that stole the air from Atsumu’s lungs. The earlier, textbook kisses were gone, replaced by something raw and startlingly adept. Atsumu’s own instincts fired, a sharp, hot thrill shooting down his spine. He kissed back, a soft groan escaping him. Mmm.
But Sakusa was in charge now. He leaned forward, pressing Atsumu back into the couch cushions. The weight of him was solid, unyielding. One of Sakusa’s knees slid between Atsumu’s, pinning him in place. Atsumu’s hands came up, flattening against Sakusa’s chest, a feeble push.
“Omi— wait—”
The words were swallowed. Sakusa’s mouth was everywhere, hot and demanding. He mapped the line of Atsumu’s jaw with his lips, nipped at his bottom lip, then recaptured his mouth in a deep, wet kiss that made Atsumu’s head spin. Sounds filled the quiet room—the slick slide of lips shhht, sharp intakes of breath hah, low, involuntary groans unngh that Atsumu didn’t even recognize as his own. It felt too good, a dizzying overload of sensation that short-circuited his brain. He tried to turn his head away, gasping.
“Sakusa— I can’t—“
Sakusa merely adjusted his grip, his hand tightening in Atsumu’s hair, holding him still. “Breathe through your nose,” he instructed, his voice a dark, rough scrape against Atsumu’s wet lips, before diving back in.
Atsumu shuddered, the fight draining out of him replaced by a weak-limbed, buzzing surrender. He was drowning in it, in the skill of it, in the shocking realization that Sakusa had not just learned the lesson—he’d mastered it and was now writing his own curriculum. After what felt like both an eternity and a single heartbeat, Sakusa allowed him to pull away.
Atsumu slumped against the couch, chest heaving. His lips felt swollen, tender. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the frantic drum of his own pulse.
Sakusa sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His own breathing was only slightly elevated. He looked calm, assessing. “Was that sufficient for a first lesson?”
Atsumu could only manage a ragged, breathless laugh.
A few days later, they were back on the same couch. The air was thicker this time, charged with what they hadn’t said.
“Alright,” Atsumu said, trying to recapture his casual swagger. “Lesson two. Makin’ out. It’s… less about individual kisses and more about the… flow. The build.”
“Understood.” Sakusa’s gaze was steady, waiting.
Atsumu initiated, just like before. He cupped Sakusa’s face, kissing him slow and deep, trying to set a languid pace. Shmm. He used his tongue, coaxing. A soft sigh escaped Sakusa—hhah—and for a minute, Atsumu thought he had the reins again.
He was wrong.
The shift was even faster this time. One moment Atsumu was leading, the next he was being guided backward, Sakusa’s body a firm, warm weight covering his. He was pinned, thoroughly, the hard line of the couch arm digging into his back. Sakusa’s mouth was relentless, a hot, wet onslaught that left no room for thought. Atsumu’s hands fisted in Sakusa’s shirt, clinging.
The sounds were messier, louder. Gasping breaths huh-hah, the wet, open-mouthed noise of their kissing schlup, low grunts of effort hnngh. Atsumu moaned, the sound broken and desperate. Ah— fuck— It was a feedback loop of pleasure, each touch sparking another, building to a point where his lungs burned. He needed air, his brain screaming for oxygen.
He tried to push against Sakusa’s shoulders, a real push this time. “Kiyoomi— stop— can’t breathe—”
Sakusa eased the pressure on his mouth but didn’t let him go. He moved to Atsumu’s throat, lips and tongue tracing the frantic jump of his pulse, sucking gently. Atsumu cried out, a sharp, punched-out ah! His struggling ceased, his body going pliant under the expert attention. Sakusa kept him there, on that dizzying edge, for several long minutes, before finally lifting his head.
Atsumu gulped in air, his vision spotting. He was wrecked—hair a mess, lips shining, shirt twisted. Sakusa hovered above him, his own curls disheveled, a flush high on his cheeks. He looked down at Atsumu, his dark eyes unreadable.
“The build,” Sakusa stated, his voice low and even. “I believe I comprehend the concept.”