EDIT: I am so sorry, the first time I uploaded this chapter, it came out completely marred with formatting and it was unreadable. I feel awful that it took me until now to notice. Here is this chapter. I am so sorry for the wait.
CW: some internalized acephobia and self-hatred in the first half of the chapter, so just be cautious.
The chilly winter air grows on the walls like moss, making Atsumu shiver under his covers, the comforter already pulled up high covering him and his phone like a protective shield. Three days ago, he and Samu graduated from Inarizaki; the setter had been scouted by some pro league teams and the tryouts were at the end of the snowy season, a few months away.
Atsumu has one painfully clear goal for this time: he would… try to masturbate.
Going through his last year of middle school and all three years of high school and witnessing his classmates explore romances and sexualities, it shocked him to realize that his lack of crushes and general interest in kissing, making out, and anything relating to sex is not the common mindset.
Atsumu is not one to care about what others think, a blessing and a curse at times, but he couldn't ignore the rising sense of confusion and isolation. In those four years, he heard not one male classmate say anything about feeling weird or put-off by sex. Even the boys in his class that weren't attracted to girls talked about sex. As far as he could tell, he was the only one who wasn't interested.
Soon enough, with the new explorations came discussions and comparisons, using first-hand personal experiences whenever possible. These were the most annoying ones, with cutting knives like: "it feels incredible" and "mind-blowing" and his personal favorite "there's nothing like it."
Hell, even Samu confided in him about his developing feelings for Suna Rintaro on their volleyball team- which Atsumu was /immediately/ flabbergasted by. Like, good for them, but also, HUH?!
Oh. One more knife. Now, it wasn't just sex with other people that his classmates couldn't shut up about… it was also sex with themselves that was suddenly a topic for discussion. How they did it. What they thought about. What they watched while doing it.
He didn't know what the big deal was when he was younger and it was just theoretical, but now that it was something tangible that he could watch and try? Would anything happen?
Would you keep being defective?
So now, deeply frustrated with others and himself, trying so much to see what all the damn fuss is about, Atsumu finds himself at 1 am in his bed, explicit porn loading on his phone, waiting to feel something. Anything.
Come on, horny. Come on, horny. Come on, horny. Come on-
He vaguely hears a snore coming from Samu on the bottom bunk through his earbuds and if that isn't a mood-killer, nothing is. Well, okay, the mood probably should have been alive in the first place to then actually die, but whatever.
He had had enough of the questions about why he never joins in with the conversations. About the worries if he 'needs help getting a chick' or something. He roughly brushed others' worries off enough times, too many to be a coincidence.
But not now. Not tonight. He decided to himself once his last year ended that he would give it a sincere effort. He would watch porn, get horny, and jerk it. He would have the feelings that everyone talks about. The inexplicable want and hunger for some supposedly delicious meal that he's never wanted to taste.
No no no, I want it. Everyone wants it. I need to… I will want it. Just start watching, it'll happen.
He starts the first video on the mildly sketchy site he found. It's a popular porno with thousands of views and many glowing comments. It features a man and a woman (the title says something about them being step-siblings but they look nothing alike, so Atsumu ignores it, even though he is deeply confused why someone would be sexually attracted to their step-siblings- what is this? Domestic Girlfriend?) going at it: blowjobs, fingering, vaginal penetration in like four positions, and finishing with a handjob and cum falling out of the woman's mouth.
Atsumu watches the eight minute long production, blank face barely masking a disgusted sneer. The faces are too exaggerated, the pounding looks more painful than pleasurable, and the whole ordeal just seems so tiring. Watching the guy's dick slide in and out of the woman's entrance only makes the setter feel nauseated.
This works on people? The positive comments and views don't lie, so why doesn't he find it attractive or appealing?
Defective broken defective broken defective bro-
OKAY, moving onto the next video. Maybe something less straight would get his motor revving?
He clicks onto a video entitled "gay college twink takes my 11 inch cock" and sure enough, it stars a young adult with glasses and suspenders- you know, the classic college gay- sucking and licking up a huge dick before taking it in his ass. He cries like he's utterly lost in pleasure and unable to control himself. Atsumu can reasonably guess this is part of the appeal of these videos; if it looks real, the lonely people watching might feel less alone. But in this case, it feels fabricated, again. This does nothing for him, again. His skin crawls as if there were bugs, not with arousal.
He harshly pushes away his faded yellow hair while clicking back to the main page. Something would work. It had to.
Two hours pass. He's clicked through more videos than he can count, trying something different and then some until he's seen it all: orgies, public, creampie, sex toys, solo, cosplay, and BDSM.
Nothing stirs in his body except the occasional shiver from the cold. He cringes more times- into his shoulder blades, the hollow behind his spine- than he cares to admit. His dick never so much as twitched.
"I don't care, everybody faps," the ghostly voice of an old classmate from two years ago whispers.
Atsumu grinds his teeth. His blood burns with irritation that had been growing during this waste of a night; not feeling anything is just the icing on the cake.
He leaves the site, shuts off his phone, rips out his earbuds, and palms his tired eyes.
Osamu keeps snoring below him, utterly unaware of his miserable twin.
Damnit. Was it the porn? Was it the night? Why can't I do this?
Stop kiddin' yourself. Did ya really think this would work? Ya think a few hours of porn can fix yer abnormality?
Abnormality: the mere existence of which is a complete question mark, an unknown, a fundamental, unexplainable glitch.
The feeling of being alone on the water. Perpetually left out. On the outside, always looking in.
"Who do you like," a different classmate's intrusive voice sings.
No one, ever.
"What do you mean you don't like anyone? Why not?"
I don't know. I was born like this…
During his last year, a classmate confessed to him— a kind girl named Emiyo. She held homemade chocolates and wore a pale orange scarf. Her confession was heartfelt and honest, the sweet affection in her eyes was unmistakable. Atsumu turned her down.
He didn't want her. He didn't want anyone. Everyone wants sex and he can't deliver. It's that simple.
Yer a broken product.
Abnormality: A defective clump of cells that can't do the one thing everyone craves.
"Just try it, I swear you'll be a changed man. No more of this prude-y shit," one final knife.
His breath hitches abruptly, halting the hurricane in his mind. Atsumu realizes his position: his skin blooming hot with shame, his knees tucked high, and his trembling hands digging into the damp skin near his eyes.
Fuckin' dammit no. I'm not cryin' over this. I can try again tomorrow, this doesn't mean I'm some type of freak who doesn't have crushes or get horny. I'm not a freak. I'm not a freak. I'm not a freak.
Atsumu repeats this mantra to himself for a while, crying silently into the pads of his fingers until he uncomfortably drifts off to sleep, wishing the whole time that he were born normal.
He doesn't sleep well. He knew he wouldn't but the lack of shock doesn't make him feel any better.
The morning sun shines brightly on him, despite the brisk breeze and patches of snow on the ground. Spring will bloom soon, and that means beautiful cherry blossoms and pro volleyball tryouts.
Atsumu munches on the shrimp onigiri that Samu made fresh that day. He completely forgot about his chore for this morning and Samu forced him to take a couple rice balls for the road for sustenance. He hmmmmed his lips in appreciation of the taste and his brother's gesture; Tsumu wasn't sure if his twin figured out that he did not sleep well last night, but he didn't mention it at all this morning.
The task for the next hour or so is rather a dorky one: hit up a local yard sale for anything of value. Their mom has a friend who lives a couple blocks away that is moving and selling some of their stuff, so she sent Atsumu early to see what he could find.
"I'll swing by after work, I'll send one of the boys to shop around until then," he recalls her saying into the phone receiver.
At 8:30 in the morning, nearly finished with the delicious shrimp onigiri, Atsumu arrives at the yard sale.
Only, yard is more figurative in this case. Atsumu punches the code written on his palm onto the grey buttons and the glass entrance begins buzzing. He walks through and up two flights of stairs, arriving at the open door to apartment 2f and the 'yard' sale.
"Hello?" he calls.
"Miya-san! Welcome in," the red-haired woman named Nyoko coos. She walks from the kitchen to greet her first customer.
"Sorry fer the intrusion," he says, automatically, shucking his running shoes and closing the door behind him. "Mom will come later."
"Of course, she told me over the phone." Nyoko nods, pinching Atsumu's cheek, "please look around! If ya have any questions, let me know! I am going to set out more stuff so I'll be walkin' around!"
Atsumu bows politely and steps into the large room filled with furniture. The woman bows back and turns to stroll into a different room, her flaming red skirt trailing behind.
Atsumu scans the on-sale items and quickly realizes the staggering, mildly alarming, amount of red furniture there was: red pots and pans, red tables, red chairs, and a red couch. He understood liking a color, but does anyone really need red kitchen cabinets?
He carefully walks around the space, narrowly avoiding knocking over a cherry lamp atop a rust table. His family didn't exactly need anything here and it's not like the aggressively red-shaded objects would, you know, look good in the house, but he at least wants to find something to buy, out of courtesy.
Atsumu looks through everything set out in the living room, considering a basket or mini table, but nothing quite stands out as something he wants to purchase. After too many minutes of perusing and polite conversation with Nyoko, he has had enough.
He maneuvers to the middle of the room where there is some space for him to move. He closes his eyes and spins tightly on the balls of his feet, right arm bent and pointer finger resting gently on the tip of his nose as it points to the ceiling. Whatever his finger lands on is the thing to buy, without question.
Abruptly, he freezes mid-turn and extends his arm. He opens his eyes to find:
A chair.
No, a faded wine-red chair.
No no, a butt-ugly velvet faded wine-red chair.
This chair has a rounded base, is lower than normal 4-legged chairs, and is wide with a big cushion to fit maybe one and a half people.
Atsumu squints at his choice, already feeling the tinge of annoyance, and sees that it's detailed with giant silver buttons. An old velvet mockery of a loveseat with silver buttons.
Did he wake up in the 80s or something?
But whatever, just to spite himself some more, he would buy it.
He clasps his hands together and calls out to Nyoko, who emerges from her bedroom with fresh red lipstick. "Yes, Miya-san? Do ya have a question?"
"No question. I wanna buy this chair, please," he says, calmly, gesturing to the chair with bitter regret in his gut.
She lights up, surprise brightening her hazel eyes. "Oh really? What a great choice! It's about 800 Yen."
Atsumu smoothly brings out his wallet and gives her the money he received from his mother earlier, just for this purchase.
"If ya don't mind me askin'," the setter wonders aloud, "where didja buy it?"
Nyoko puts the money in her purse and grabs a pad and pen; she writes down the order record as she answers, "hm, I bought it years ago from a department store. It's just been sittin' in my guest room all this time! I haven't gotten much use out of it, but it's been victim to the sun's rays everyday."
That explains the fading. Atsumu nods, the exhaustion from his failure of a night of not jacking off and not sleeping seeping through.
"Thank ya very much." He bows politely at her, who bows back and wishes him well. He puts on his shoes and bends to pick up the chair, immediately discovering- through the sudden flexing of his arm muscles- that it is not lighter than it looks.
He groans internally and hoists it higher on his torso. Nyoko holds the door open for him and he's off, down the elevator and out the glass entrance.
He awkwardly staggers home, feet criss-crossing over themselves, keeping one eye on the sidewalk and one eye on his new ridiculously dated 'cheap porno' chair.
His skin feels clammy and his clothes stretch tighter than usual. Questions revolve non-stop in his mind, all invasive and judgmental, a ferris wheel of self-hatred that only picks up speed.
What was it about last night that didn't work?
It didn't work because you were born defectiv-
Atsumu kicks himself mid-step, forcing himself to think through the issue. It isn't like he never feels a weird prickle under his skin, it sometimes happens once every few months or something, but it fades pretty quickly. He never developed any distinct desire to kiss anyone or touch anyone beyond a friendly hug, but this prickly feeling gnawed at him like a leech whenever it arrived.
From what he's read and heard about arousal and attraction, it's supposed to be similar to that; the distinct longing, an itch he couldn't scratch.
It felt like he was in the middle of this weird feelings/no feelings tightrope. He didn't feel the unexplainable attractions that others did- the idea of just being thirsty for anyone walking down the street caused pure confusion.
But if that's the norm, then the other side is feeling nothing… and, he doesn't exactly feel nothing either. Learning about sex and attraction felt gross when he was younger, and to an extent, it still feels very uncomfortable, but not completely so. Once in a while, this gnawing feeling and a fluttering of his heart make him think that he could be attracted to someone. Maybe. If they didn't care that he couldn't put out.
So he's somewhere there, suspended in between wanting nothing and wanting everything. There's some type of longing emotion in him, but it's not enough that he could relate to everyone around him and because it's there, he couldn't make peace with not feeling anything.
Even if it's the smallest amount of ? possible, it's in him. He vaguely can feel it on the briefest of occasions.
He just needs to find a way to induce it.
Because if you can, then you're normal, you aren't a freak, you aren't defective. If this doesn't wo-
Atsumu kicks himself again and turns onto his street, grumpily speed-walking despite his unbalance.
He has a day of volleyball practice and an appointment at the hair salon ahead of him. He would figure out what was stubbornly causing certain difficulty later.
The setter arrives home and knocks on the door with his elbow. "SAMU! Open up! It's me!"
Sed twin opens the door, an annoyed frown creasing his brow that only creases more deeply when he sees what his brother is holding.
"Tsumu, what the hell is that?"
"It's a chair!" Atsumu chirps, easy-going nature taking over like a mask as he takes off his shoes, "whatdya think?"
"It's hideous. How much didja pay fer it?"
Atsumu shrugs. "800 yen."
Samu considers this. "Cheap, where are ya gonna put it?"
Atsumu drops the chair in the entryway, blocking about three-quarters of the hall, and rolls his shoulders. "Uh, how 'bout right there?"
Samu huffs and turns to walk away.
"Wait, Samu, seriously where do I put this?"
The grey-haired twin hums and answers without turning around. "I dunno, the storage room down the hall?"
The storage room! That is actually a pretty good idea; ever since they were little, there had been one room in the house specifically for extra stuff like clothes and furniture they meant to donate or sell. It's on the first floor of their home, next to the guest room (which already had furniture).
"I thought that room was full already," Atsumu asks.
Samu shrugs. "Oh, when yer done, I have more breakfast ready," his twin says casually.
Atsumu gasps with comically wide eyes, "Samu!" Atsumu declares lovingly, ready to keep eating.
He re-hoists the pathetic excuse for a loveseat and staggers to the door at the end of the hallway.
The room itself is decently plain, white walls adorning the sides, the carpet filled with mismatched amenities. The setter shuffles on a haphazard trail through the space and spots a free area near the back corner. He arrives and drops the chair behind a short bookcase filled with paperbacks. Seems like as good a place as any.
He leaves the room- closing the door behind him- and eagerly waltzes towards whatever Samu had finished cooking.
Night falls and with it, Samu goes to sleep.
Atsumu, on the other hand, has plans.
Once again underneath his comforter with his earbuds tucked tightly in his ears and the most generic porn he could find, he waits. He watches men and women fuck each other this way and that way. Nothing happens. No itch, no weird feeling, no fluttering of his stupid heart.
Just discomfort and disgust.
The irritation that languidly built the previous night is quicker this time, clawing sharply at his skin and demanding that Atsumu get angry, furious.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can't I feel this way? Why don't I understand what others see in this?
The setter shuts off his phone and breathes hard. His body is uncomfortably hot and tense, as if nearing an anxious meltdown. After last night, ending in another crying session sounds like the absolute worst outcome.
Why the hell was he even doing this? For his dumb classmates? For the sex ed teachers that didn't answer his questions? For the people who used "virgin" as an insult?
Does he even want this?
Just breathe.
Atsumu puts his fingers to his temples and presses gently. The room is chilly and serenely quiet, which helps his body relax and untense. He wants to try again, but not like this. Not for anyone that isn't him.
He sighs heavily, evening out his breathing.
Just figure out why this isn't workin'.
Logically, he can't control how he feels or thinks, so perhaps the key lies in controlling his environment? That helps him on the court, it may as well help him now.
Wait... actually, you're onto somethin'.
Samu could wake up at any time and find him like that. Last night, there was a constant tickle digging into his neck. Atsumu assumed it was nerves, and granted it could have been those, but maybe it was just plain fear.
All of this is terrifying. Exploring something supposedly normal when you're anything but is just plain horrifying to think about and try. Even worse, the idea of trying it in his bed where Samu or his mom could catch him sounds like the absolute worst possible event that could ever happen.
So that begs the question: where should he try it?
The bathroom seems safe, but what if Samu or mom got up to use it in the night? He knew neither of them really did that in general, but the 'what if' is too vulnerable to ignore.
The living room is too open, the guest room is too pristine, and Samu would personally murder him if he tries it in the kitchen or dining room.
Atsumu's eyes shoot open when a faded wine-red idea pierces through his mind like an arrow.
No one goes there. It locks from the inside. It's on the first floor and not directly underneath one of the bedrooms.
Before his brain can say anything to scare him off, Atsumu moves, shoving his phone in his sweater pocket as he stealthily climbs down the ladder; Samu doesn't so much as stir. He tip-toes out of the room and slowly closes the door behind him. He continues these hushed movements through the hallway, down the stairs, and through the first floor hallway.
He arrives at the door to the same room he was in earlier in the day. His palms are sweaty and his fists clench and unclench. He doesn't remember ever being this nervous before a game, even at Nationals. So why does this rattle him so deeply?
Don't hesitate. This is just a new experiment. Something to play with.
And Atsumu is never one to back down from a challenge.
He opens the door.
He strolls in and locks the door behind him, without bothering to turn a light on. He vaguely retraces his steps from earlier, stepping around the obstacles until he reaches the short bookcase and sure enough, there it is.
He leans and falls into the chair.
Wait….. this is kinda comfortable?
Atsumu settles in, snuggling a bit into the inviting, luxurious velvet. It's softer and more supportive than it looks and he can feel it begin to trap his warmth. Atsumu takes a deep breath and runs his fingertips on the plush surface.
Let's try again.
He grabs his phone again and re-applies the earbuds. He opens the site and narrows his eyes at his device.
Learn from what didn't work on you. Find something that appeals to you.
Well, that's discounting like 80% of the content, but sure, why not look for something new?
He taps into the videos and begins to scroll. After some minutes, he finds one from a channel called "consent is sexy." Atsumu clicks onto it without a second thought because this sounds immediately different from the rest of the "oH wOw YoUr DiCk iS oUt?!" content the site has.
The video loads. It features two adults in their 20s, a man with a buzz cut and another man with curly, black hair sitting on a clean white comforter in a bright room.
Buzz-Cut starts: "hey fuckers, how's it going?"
Curly-Hair answers, a shy smile on his cheeks: "it's going well."
Buzz-Cut retorts: "well? It better be going well. It's our anniversary!"
"Woohoo," Curly-Hair says, loose fists dancing in midair. "Happy anniversary to us!"
"And to celebrate these long, hard years, we are gonna fuck-"
"Obviously."
"Obviously! We are gonna do the deed in our favorite positions and using our favorite toys. We will link the toys below if any of you fuckers want them, as always," Buzz-Cut says, with confidence.
"Um, aren't we the fuckers here?" Curly-Hair teases.
"Yes, my dear, but it's everyone who watches these that if-so-fact-to becomes a fucker too."
"How do you figure that?"
"I don't know, osmosis?" Buzz-Cut shrugs, throwing his hands up in confusion.
"Our eyes are semi-permeable membranes but they can only work with fluids already in the eye."
Buzz-Cut smirks at his partner before leaning in, stealing his lips. Curly-Hair cups his partner's jaw tenderly, clearly enjoying the slow, controlled kiss, even though he interrupted the lecture.
Buzz-Cut speaks against his partner's lips, "we get it, you went to college. Can we fuck now?"
Curly-Hair nods, excitement playing at his lips. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Buzz-Cut gives him a quick kiss before turning to the camera. "He thinks I forgot about what gave this channel the name. He thinks! But I remembered!"
Curly-Hair rolls his eyes, affectionately.
"As usual, we operate under the pat system. If we need to check in with each other to see how we're doing at any point during the fucking, we can ask for a pat check. One pat on the ground means we're good. Two pats means wait or give me a minute. Three pats means hands-off, stop immediately," Buzz-Cut turns back to his partner, "Seeeeee? I didn't forget," Buzz-Cut says, lightly bonking his partner's forehead with his own.
Curly-Hair chuckles. "Clearly. Could you fill me up?"
"Absolutely," Buzz-Cut says with one final kiss before he pulls out the lube and starts slowly working his partner open.
A plane could crash into the house and Atsumu would not tear his eyes away from the screen.
Last night, he watched every random video through, even the ones that he was immediately put off by. But this? Atsumu wants to watch this.
He watches the anniversary celebration as the partners have sex and come once or twice together in between. He still isn't feeling wholly interested in the act, but the general tone and feel of the video is notably softer. They feel like a real couple who truly love each other; there's trust and care and affection in every touch. The sex seems like something they love doing with each other, instead of using each other, and that distinction keeps his focus through it.
Once the video ends, Atsumu automatically clicks onto the next installment. He vaguely notices that his heart is racing, his mouth feels dry, and his overall disgust is lowering by the second, but he doesn't spare the attention to think about what it means.
The next video begins similarly:
"Hey fuckers! It's that time again!"
"Thank you for joining us."
Buzz-Cut shows off some new accessories: a black blindfold and a fabric rope; there's an excited twinkle in his eye whenever he looks at his partner and he can't stop himself from stealing a kiss in the middle of the intro. Soon enough, the actual sex begins, but they, once again, make time for the signal system, consent, and a sweet kiss.
Atsumu watches as they fuck, both men kissing each other's favorite spots. They patiently try out the new toys and do pat checks often. Not once do they take their eyes off the other; lust and fondness in their gaze.
The feelings of irritation and confusion from earlier in the evening are a faint memory by now. It doesn't seem so weird and uncomfortable if there's that connection between the two people. The inherent trust and knowledge that your partner will treat your body with respect and would never do anything to betray that.
Atsumu clicks onto another video of theirs, eyes glued to the screen and breathing heavier, deeper than before, adrenaline overpowering in his veins. He sheds his sweater, the cold of the room doesn't register on his buzzing skin.
The third video follows the same routine:
"Welcome, fuckers! We're on vacay!"
"We're having a lovely time."
"You should have seen it, we strolled on the beach earlier and I made the coolest fucking sandcastle," Buzz-Cut says, gesturing with his hands the dimensions of sed sandcastle.
"It was really cool, until the ocean washed away part of it," Curly-Hair says, looking fondly at his partner.
"The ocean was jealous, 'kay?" Oh! And we found a sex shop in town and check out these toys!"
Buzz-Cut brings out a bag and slides out some toys: a ribbed, green dildo, a g spot stimulator ("why?" "cause why not?!"), and a spiked ball gag.
Curly-Hair grabs the toys and puts them to the side. "But first…"
Buzz-Cut goes over the pat check system. Curly-Hair looks adoringly at his partner throughout, stars in his eyes.
"Am I forgetting anything?" Buzz-Cut asks, an edge to his voice when he sees the blush on his partner's cheekbones.
"Yeah," Curly-Hair breathes, leaning in for a kiss.
Shortly after, they ask for consent and begin. Buzz-Cut takes Curly-Hair's shirt off and begins kissing up his stomach and chest, causing a shiver. He seems to love focusing on the man's skin and all its little imperfections.
Atsumu smiles at this. The tender, intimate action. He wouldn't mind doing that with someone, kissing his sweetheart's body, showing them how beautiful they are.
…
UUUHHHHH WHERE DID THAT THOUGHT COME FROM?!
Atsumu keeps the video running while they undress and finally takes notice of himself: his prickly skin, his heavy breathing, and the way his legs are shaking a bit.
Is this discomfort? No, not quite. He feels… itchy.
? IS IT HAPPENING?
He looks down, no boner but it doesn't feel like it's out of the question.
He keeps watching. Curly-Hair uses a thick butt plug on his partner, who quivers under the sensation and begs for more. Buzz-Cut grabs a bullet vibrator and runs it around Curly-Hair's nipples and throat. He moans under the sensation and Atsumu shifts on the seat at the sound. Buzz-Cut licks his fingers and begins playing with his partner's hole, who nods desperately, his curls bouncing. A digit sinks in and he cries while pushing his hips against the welcomed intrusion.
"This okay?" Buzz-Cut asks, his voice gravely and low.
"Yes, god yes. You always treat me right," Curly-Hair cries, fingertips pressing into his partner's arms.
Buzz-Cut leans forward and peppers featherlight kisses along his partner's neck as he starts moving his finger. He whispers the faintest "I love you" into his skin as he curls his finger. Curly-Hair gasps.
It clicks for Atsumu then, why he has always felt weird. Sex, to him, is the most vulnerable act possible. Bearing yourself to another and them knowing every inch of your skin. So much of that makes Atsumu tremble in fear and disgust. But if there's this, this level of trust and safety, it doesn't seem so scary anymore.
Oh.
Oh.
He feels it.
The itch is getting stronger, more difficult to ignore or dismiss. It's begging for attention and Atsumu is too curious to let it slip away.
Too… intrigued. How could this feel if I really wanted it to happen?
He reaches down to palm his half-hard cock over his sweats and he jolts at the intense feeling. He's had boners before, sure, but they fade away and he's never had much interest in making them go away. But now that he's touching himself with purpose in the security of the spare room and feeling the hum under his skin, he can see the appeal.
He watches Curly-Hair take Buzz-Cut's dick in his hand and begins working his partner slowly, deliberately. He strokes the whole of the cock, paying attention to the tip and the underside.
Atsumu flexes his fingers and tries the tip first, reaching with his thumb to play with the head. It sends another wave of intense pleasure up his spine, the feeling strangely comforting. Not incredible or life-changing, but good.
Curly-Hair moves faster on the cock, using his other hand to cup his partner's balls. Atsumu places his phone on the bookcase against some paperbacks and keeps stroking himself. The friction from the fabric of his sweats, now over a fully hardening cock, feels hot but incomplete. He wants more.
Atsumu rises a bit and shoves his pants down, leaving his boxers in place. For tonight, leaving a bit of physical distance in between him and his skin feels a bit easier to digest, especially since it's his first everything.
He palms himself again, a bit faster than before, and he cups his balls carefully. He groans in his throat at the feeling as his legs jolt.
Buzz-Cut finishes fingering Curly-Hair's hole and spins him around to slowly enter with his dick. Curly-Hair mewls under the pressure, arms outstretched to hold onto his partner's hips as he bottoms out.
"S- ah- so good," Curly-Hair whimpered.
Buzz-Cut kissed along his shoulder, stopping at the juncture of his neck and biting softly, leaving a red mark.
Atsumu tightens the hand on his cock, relishing in how it might feel to do that: to have someone you trusted enough to let them enter you. How would it feel to be inside someone? How did Buzz-Cut feel?
Suddenly, Atsumu's mind conjures the scenario of himself fucking into his boyfriend, his partner loving it and telling him how amazing he feels.
"At- Atsumu" they moan, breathily.
Funny, he has the same curly, black hair as the man from the video. His slender figure. His beautiful imperfections. Atsumu wants nothing more than to kiss him all over and tell him how loved he is; how Atsumu wants, no, needs to make him feel incredible and that he already knows how.
"I'll make ya feel so good, baby."
His hands speed up, the friction causing sparks as he strokes and massages himself. The soft groans in his throat get louder and more difficult to contain as the pleasure gets stronger.
He realizes as another spike hits that he's working towards something. All of this, his imagination providing him with a personal show, the audio spurring him on with real sounds, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, and his skin burning and sweating.
He is going to come. He is going to come very soon.
The most shocking feeling of that night is the realization that: he wants it. He wants it for himself. No one else. He wants to know how it feels.
The tightening in his gut, like a string pulled taut, only winding further as he groans, barely holding out.
He isn't alone. Buzz-Cut and Curly-Hair are approaching the first of their climaxes- they had had three in the last two videos, so this is just the start. Buzz-Cut pounds into his partner at a very fast pace. Curly-Hair grinds against him, picking the pace up even more quickly, groaning with effort and pleasure. It feels and sounds so genuine.
Atsumu can't hold on anymore. He feels the string so close to breaking. He fists his cock, following the unforgiving pace that Buzz-Cut sets and feeling himself-
Curly-Hair shouts, his eyes shutting and his hips bucking into Buzz-Cut's body as cries, cum shooting out of his dick.
The version in his head yells Atsumu's name like it's the only word he's ever known.
I want this.
His hips take off, thrusting into his fist as he comes into his underwear. A shocking amount of pleasure radiates through his body, a fire that spreads; comfort as he's known but with something new. He moans unevenly, his breathing scattering as he sweats. His vision breaks into spots, unable to focus on anything besides keeping his fist moving through the high.
He comes down and gasps, loosely pumping his cock through the aftershocks until it stings to hold. He looks back at the video; Curly-Hair removed the butt plug from Buzz-Cut's hole and is now licking it and a fat lime green dildo. Round two is going to begin. Atsumu reaches over with a weak arm and pauses the video.
He did it.
Holy fuck. He did it.
It didn't feel the way everyone said it would, but he liked it. He really liked it.
There's something there for him. He is capable of wanting sex, even if it's just with himself like this, that's more than good enough.
And maybe, just maybe, one day, he can think about trying it with someone else.
It just takes a lot of trust and a feeling of safety.
Atsumu sighs, his tired cheeks perking up into a smile, relieved in more ways than one. He closes the site, puts on his sweater, and pulls his pants up, only to twitch at the slimy feeling in his boxers.
I need a shower.
He grabs his stuff and leaves the room as he found it- with no evidence of his exploration.
He walks back up the stairs and ducks into his room to put his phone down and grab some fresh underwear. In the bathroom, he cleans his mess up and wipes down his sweaty skin. He splashes water on his face, cooling his heated skin and accenting the relaxed look in his eyes.
Once he feels a bit cleaner, he returns up the ladder to bed. He taps his phone on to double check that he left the site. He had, but something piques his interest.
He doesn't actively want sex. Until tonight, he couldn't make himself feel horny. While this feels like a weird sort of win, he still isn't part of what's common.
Maybe he's the only person at school who feels that way about intimacy, but there's no way he's the only person on earth who feels like this. Couple channels like what he just watched exist and they must have an audience.
A quick google search and the word "Asexual" pops up, the definition making Atsumu do a double take. He quickly finds forums and posts on social media sites that talk about people's experiences. He learns of cake and garlic bread and dragons, as well as the whole spectrum.
Some aces are sex-repulsed. Some aces like masturbation. Some aces have sex with their partners. Some aces do neither. And all of them are valid as fuck.
Under the umbrella term of "asexual" is the word "demisexual" meaning someone can experience sexual attraction to someone once a strong emotional bond has been formed. Atsumu pauses on this definition. This word reminds him of what he just watched: the two men who love and trust each other so much; the mental scenario of Atsumu and his sweetheart, sharing that bond and exploring sex together.
His eyes prickle, wetness painting his cheeks. It feels like Atsumu is finally being seen.
As if he were a ghost and someone finally notices him.
As if he speaks in another language and someone finally understands him.
I'm not alone.
I never was.
This is what I am. Demisexual. Maybe one day, I'll fall in love and we can try having sex. But even if not, it's alright. Knowin' myself is enough.
He sleeps deeply and well that night, dreaming of a flag of black, gray, white, and violet.