Work Text:
Sakusa Kiyoomi was tired.
He had just finished preparing the last of his assignments for the week, pointless papers and presentations on the ideas of pompous pondering such as the idea of dignified death and one's autonomy of suicide.
He knew that he had to get grades for his classes, how else would they issue him a paper stating he had achieved a graduate-level education, but he was tired and the workload was irritatingly dull.
He had all next week off, thank fuck, and then finals. Luckily, this was the last shift before 3 consecutive days off wherein he could laze around and write even more pointless reports, but this time in pajamas.
He had taken this job for many reasons: the pay was decent (no one wanted to work a 1-star gas station on the edge of the highways at fuck-o'clock), it was easy (ring up people, bag shit, keep shit clean), it required customers to wear masks (that one is self-explanatory), and most of all -- the late nights meant no customer interaction and therefore more time to do school work.
Except that wasn't all true, as this shift at this particular gas station had one specific regular who came, without fail, every single shift.
Miya Atsumu. A loud, abrasive, curt, sleazy, chad-like boy of a man. He most definitely was a lowly drug dealer, probably serving the students on Kiyoomi's campus, as evident by him stating dumb things like:
"If the guy is going to buy a gram every week, you'd think he's just buy an eighth and save both of us the effort!" to Kiyoomi like he 1.) cared, 2.) asked, 3.) was fine discussing dealing drugs like it wasn't illegal.
He really was the embodiment of the type of person Kiyoomi hated the most. He was too comfortable with him, using his first name once he had (mistakenly) given it to him. He was well-kempt, platinum blonde hair always perfectly tousled and freshly shaven with newly washed joggers and t-shirts, but his attitude was gross enough to override all of it.
He had a smirk that curled across his mouth like a slug, boisterous and overly confident. And the way his eyes lidded when throwing greasy words and leaning into Kiyoomi's space made him wrinkled his nose in disgust. He may have smelt nice literally, but the stench of his coquettish personality was overwhelming.
And he always flirted with Kiyoomi. Dollar-store pick up lines and cheesy antics, it was infuriating. Atsumu would compliment his flawless black nail polish and eyeliner, his eyes and how his emerald uniformed looked in contrast and allude to wondering how he looked without the mask.
He knew Atsumu was fishing to see if Kiyoomi was gay, but he wouldn't give the man the pleasure of knowing anything more than his name (which had apparently already given him too much power). Nope. Kiyoomi never says a word other than the total of his order, ignoring any and all of Atsumu's feeble attempts at whatever he was attempting.
As usual, the door jingled open at exactly 1:13 AM.
Atsumu walked into his favorite convenience store with a skip in his step. He loved coming in, riling up the cute lil monster behind the counter, in fact preened under the dark gaze and disdain wafting from the man. Atsumu liked ‘em hard-to-get, and boy was Omi a prickly pear. He grinned to the shadow behind the counter.
“Heya, Omi!”
Kiyoomi’s glare deepened impressively. Atsumu snickered. It was really too easy.
He turned the corner and sauntered over to the food kiosk, truly a man of habit. Tonight was like any night, he had a few deliveries to the dorms and greek housing that would have him there and hungry til he got back home at sunrise. He hummed to himself, throwing his usual order of chips and revolving corn dogs unceremoniously onto the counter.
He swiped a plastic cup and pulled the lever to the slushy machine, mind filled with thoughts of tall, dark and handsome as the machine sputtered to life. Once the cup was full he pushed the lever back up.
But the slushy machine continued to drip. He furrowed his brow, lifting it down and up once more, but it just wouldn’t. stop. flowing.
He panicked, glancing towards the store front as he pulled and pushed the lever again, once, twice, three times. The machine continued to ooze blue slush all over the counter, then the floors, then his shoes.
He couldn’t tell Omi, the guy will actually kill him. So, he used one hand to scoop slushy into the nearby trash can, the other grabbing napkins in a poor effort to clean up the mess. His hands grew numb and cold as he frantically slid pools of ice-cold beverage towards the bin.
Of fucking course, it was weird Atsumu was quiet. Kiyoomi called out and Atsumu increased his frantic attempts of covering the evidence. Kiyoomi grumbled; He just wanted this over so he can go back to playing Animal Crossing and lamenting over his papers due next week. When Atsumu answered stilted and short his stomach dropped. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Kiyoomi rounded the corner to the aisle to see a soggy blue Atsumu, trying to use his whole wing span to hide the very obviously broken slushy machine and the river of mess.
Kiyoomi gaped, stunned. Atsumu stammered bullshit about how it wasn't his fault and don't be mad, I can fix this when suddenly Kiyoomi snapped. He took three large strides over to the big-mouthed, clumsy idiot before grabbing him by the collar, rattling his one brain cell in his skull.
"You. Are. So. Infuriating ."
Atsumu squawked as Kiyoomi shook him. When his world stopped rocking from side to side, he stuttered out another excuse.
"It wasn't my fault this time, I swear Omi!! I didn't, I just went to get my slush, and it jus’ kept flowin'!!"
"It Isn't a matter of fault, imbecile. I took this shift for easy money, to avoid people. Annoying stupid dumb people who have me cleaning after them. You kind of people." He seethed, vein twitching between dotted moles.
Atsumu floundered. On one hand, fuck Kiyoomi. He was not annoying, or stupid-dumb! And it wasn't his fault the ancient machine broke. On the other hand, fuck Kiyoomi. He was hot, and just a few inches away smelling like sexy and showing more emotion than ever before.
Kiyoomi was hot when he was angry. (Well, he was always hot.) Those deep dark eyes burning with life, unlike his dead bored usual self. Atsumu definitely liked mad-Omi more than annoyed-Omi.
Shit, Atsumu was getting turned on. Woops. Not like that was unusual, though. Or had shown to do much of anything with the sexy, goulish, vampiric man. Atsumu considered his options for one moment. He could get a rise out of Omi like this, and he looooved shenanigatin'.
"You know not everyone can have it all," His lip curled in a mischievous smirk. "Not like you, Omi."
Kiyoomi scoffed, put-off that the man was still on his bullshit even when his hands were blue and trembling. He shoved Atsumu away, stomping to the machine to try to dig it out of the wall and unplug the never ending flow of blue freeze.
Flattery never worked on Omi, but hey can't blame the man for tryin.
Atsumu, never one to be deterred by petty violence, moseyed back over. He ran his hand through nasty, sugar-sticky platinum locks and leaned against the counter. He watched Kiyoomi fuck with the dispenser, sighing dramatically when the man didn't take notice of how hot he was.
"Ya know, God had to nerf me somehow."
Kiyoomi didn't show any indication that he heard Atsumu, pulling with all his weight at the plug that was practically fused to the dust caked outlet.
"Wouldn't be fair if I was super hot, sexy, cool, amazing, funny, and smart." Atsumu continued on, unbothered.
Kiyoomi gave a low growl of frustration under his breath, pulling, yanking, and praying the wire would yield. Atsumu pouted as his lines were ignored (once again) before wrapping his own hand around a length of cord and yanking with finality. They both fell with a yelp, feet slipping against blue as the plug detached from the wall.
Kiyoomi lifted himself off Atsumu with a groan, curls littered with slush and dripping blue and cold onto Atsumu's face. The shitty fluorescent yellow lighting casted a halo-like glow around him, blurred at the edges and sharp in the face. Or maybe his vision was tittering from the fall.
Atsumu's head pounded painfully at that realization. He winced as he tried to pick himself up off the floor by the elbows before plopping back into the frozen lake of blue.
"Come 'ere often, Omi-Omi?" He offered weakly, eyebrows wiggling pathetically between pinched pain.
"Shut. Up." Kiyoomi seethed, grabbing him forcefully by his throat the moment Atsumu opened it to argue. Kiyoomi's lip quirked, happy that Atsumu choked as his words were shoved back into his big stupid mouth.
Atsumu's breath caught. He was going to die here on the floor of a shitty 7-11 by a sexy, handsome, stuck-up demon. He supposed all his flirting and idiocy would be the end of him, leading him to his demise -- to Sakusa killing him. Not a bad way to go. He was kinda hoping they'd bang first, though.
“You’re so infuriating.” Kiyoomi pressed Atsumu to the ground.
“So you said,” He rasped, ever the brat.
They stared at each other for a long second before Kiyoomi eased up, hands on either side of Atsumu. Atsumu cleared his throat, uncomfortable as the cold seeped into his back from head to heel. He could practically see the gears moving in Kiyoomi’s head, eyes darting minutely as if trying to run the math.
“Ya know,” Atsumu smiled weakly, “looks like you should just -- shut me up.”
He expected the roll of the clerk’s eyes, but what he did not expect was him to pull the edge of his mask down to rest under his chin. Atsumu’s eyes widened at the sight: Omi with a long hooked nose and strong jaw, his lips looked soft even as taut as his mouth was.
Atsumu opened his mouth to spew the first thing that came to mind, as per his MO, but was silenced as lips found his.
Kiyoomi's kisses were as sharp as his glares, all teeth and bites. Atsumu groaned as his lips were pulled, pinched, and plucked. Today was fucking awesome.
Kiyoomi rolled his tongue into the fray shortly after, grazing Atsumu’s own teeth and shoving saliva inside. They huffed short breathes into each other’s mouths, not lifting apart for long before coming together once more. It was wet, it was messy, it was gross -- it was completely different than the man himself. And Atsumu loved it.
He tried to hold Kiyoomi’s face, cradle it with the palm of his hand and angle them to deepen the kiss, but Kiyoomi wasn't having any of it. He squeezed the offending hand by the wrist painfully, slamming it back down to the soaked tile, and pinning it into submission.
Kiyoomi lifted his own hand, gripping Atsumu by the jaw and forcing his mouth open obscenely. It kind of hurt, but it was a welcome soreness that had Atsumu melting like putty. A low moan crawled out of the back of his throat as he relaxed into the violent kiss.
And just as fast as it began, it had stopped.
Atsumu fluttered his eyes open and Kiyoomi was gone, off the floor and rummaging in the hallway closet for a mop and bucket. He would have definitely thought he dreamt it up if his lips weren't a bit swollen and throbbing.
They cleaned up the mess in silence, for once. Kiyoomi ordered him this way and that, to which Atsumu followed. Atsumu’s head was reeling, he hadn’t planned for this and, honestly, his advances had never come to fruition before (A surprise, he knows. He is incredibly fine.)
Afterwards, Kiyoomi checked him out as usual, mask-on both figuratively and literally.
“$9.59.” He stared into Atsumu’s eyes blankly.
Atsumu paid and then he left. No flirtatious farewells. Nothing ー stunned and confused.
He exited the doors and stood at the entrance. He sipped his slushy and wondered how likely it would be that the nacho cheese dispenser was on its last leg.