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“Omi-kun.”
“Mrf.”
“Think you can look up at me?”
Kiyoomi lifted his head from where it rested atop his knees, looking up at Atsumu with the coldest glare he could muster. Furled brows, stoic eyes, lips in the angriest pout. It didn’t work, his annoyance quickly melting with the heat of the day. Atsumu’s hands were on his own knees in an attempt to reach the other eye-to-eye, his head tilting to the side in amusement.
“Are ya drunk, baby?”
Oh, how Kiyoomi wished his head weren’t spinning. He shook his head, still gripping onto the meat of his legs. It made Atsumu chuckle.
“Yer sure? You downed every shot Bokkun gave ya. Moonshine’s pretty strong.” It looked like he had a halo surrounding him, or maybe his hair was just glowing from all the treatment. Everyone said Shoyo was the sun, but it seemed like he had a competitor today.
“I dun— I don’t think I can handle the sand without a little alcohol.”
Sure. Yeah. That made sense. Atsumu knew Kiyoomi struggled with certain textures (as did the blond, Kiyoomi learned, that one time he had to walk through wet grass to get his belongings from the patio).
Atsumu contemplated this before extending one hand. His shoulders were pink. “Let’s get’cha in the water. Or at least the showers. I don’t think I’ve ever seen ya in the sun—“
“I’m in the shade.”
“These fronds are gonna leave ya with zebra stripes if ya don’t move once in a while.”
Now it was Kiyoomi’s turn to contemplate. They’d arrived at the beach much too early, and the only one smart enough to bring a rash guard instead of some measly swimming trunks was Shoyo the Brazilian Sun, himself. But Shoyo was busy beating everyone’s ass at beach volleyball. And Kiyoomi didn’t like the sand in his toes, so he’d stayed beneath a shady palm tree with a book and the cooler, sitting on an old blanket Meian brought along. Drinks were shared, and Kiyoomi was enjoying the space everyone was giving him (as well as being the one to pick the music playing from the speaker), but he hadn’t realized just how long it had been since the others started playing.
“Lemme look at’cha.” Atsumu retracted his hand and crouched to get closer to Kiyoomi, cupping his chin with one of his hands. Just like at home, on the rare occasion they felt like doing their bedtime routines together. “You’re all hot. And pink. The water’ll help ya cool down, I promise.”
“Will you carry me there?” The question was muffled, lips still puckered from Atsumu’s squeeze.
“Maybe,” the other replied, sounding clear as day. He didn’t like moonshine. “Tax is a kiss. You gonna pay?”
“Positively not.”
Both men stared at each other, the wind rustling the fronds above them. Atsumu stood back up and removed his shirt, throwing it beside his boyfriend before stretching his arms to the blue, blue sky, groaning at the strain.
“Well? Up and at ‘em, c’mon. Can’t carry ya if ya stay on the ground.”
Ah. Kiyoomi pursed his lips, giving the white sand another stare. He’d tackle that beast one day; his current problem was far more pressing.
“Whoa—!”
“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi cut him off, gripping onto Atsumu’s arms because he was certainly about to drop right back to the ground. Three rounds and a couple beers. Moonshine was strong, Atsumu said so.
“Yer fine,” he echoed, smiling like a sly little fox. A sun fox. He was gripping onto the other’s elbows, steadying him. “I’m gonna turn around now. Please just jump.”
The easy part. Atsumu was hesitant in letting go of Kiyoomi, but once it seemed like he was stable on his feet, Atsumu positioned himself, holding his arms out behind him. Kiyoomi removed his own shirt and threw it on the blanket as well, hopping onto the other’s back in one clumsy motion. After some quick accommodating, they were cool, starting to walk out into the water.
Atsumu smelled like sunscreen, and there were droplets of sweat at the nape of his neck, like after practice. Kiyoomi was swaying, yet unmoving in his arms.
The music slowly became distant, as well as their teammates’ banter in the small court. Kiyoomi was hovering, but he could still feel the heat of the sand beneath them, and he wondered how Atsumu could dig his feet into it without complaining about it burning. So he asked,
“Isn’t the sand really hot today?”
And Atsumu answered, “Yep. But I don’t mind. ‘S kinda like when you get the pickles off my food.”
Kiyoomi’s brows knit together again. Maybe he was too drunk to understand exactly what that meant. His arms wrapped a bit tighter around Atsumu’s neck. His feet touched the cold water as they walked right into it, and his chin rested on the crook of his neck.
“You smell like sunscreen.” The water did feel nice, soothing; it was Atsumu drawing him a bath after harsh practices.
“It’s the one ya bought. Found it in the bathroom.” Atsumu stopped walking when the water touched their shoulders. “Ya feel okay?”
“Mhm.” His fingers were touching along Atsumu’s chest. He wanted to see, but he felt stuck to his back. It wasn’t a problem. “I think I drank too much.”
His boyfriend barked a laugh. “Never thought I’d hear ya say that. I can take ya back to the hotel room. If ya want.”
“I’m not paying your kiss tax.”
“Not a problem. You can walk yourself out of the water, then.”
“I hate you,” Kiyoomi said, pressing a kiss to his neck afterwards.
“Good. I love you.”
“Good.”