Work Text:
Atsumu comes home from another grueling practice. He nearly falls right on his face as soon as he steps onto the genkan. His legs ache, and he can’t stop thinking about how he could’ve been faster, stronger, or better. He at least makes it to the couch before his knees buckle, and he falls face-first into the cushions.
“Hey, get up. You stink, and I really don’t want to disinfect that couch,” Kiyoomi says as he walks in from the kitchen. Atsumu grumbles into the cushion, hoping his husband will take the hint. “That bad, huh?” Kiyoomi chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. He moves Atsumu’s legs so he can sit on the couch as well.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Atsumu says as he finally looks up.
“Alright, we don’t have to talk. But you do have to shower,” Kiyoomi unties Atsumu’s shoes and tosses them towards the door, “Your musk is going to wilt my plants.”
This gets Atsumu to smirk a little. “I thought ya said something about ‘in muskiness and health’ in yer vows to me.”
“We both know I would never do that. Now get up, before I hose you down as you are.” Kiyo warns.
“I honestly don’t know if yer kidding or not, but please don’t. I seriously don’t have the strength right now to move my arms. Let alone my legs.” Atsumu whines, pushing his head further into the cushion. Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at the sight. Atsumu had his dramatic tendencies, but this was more theatrics than usual.
“How about this? You stay here and muster up all the strength you can. I will go and run a bath for you, and I will take care of you tonight,” Kiyoomi bargains. “All you need to do is carry your stinky ass from place to place.”
“You love my ass, stink and all,” Atsumu grumbles. Kiyoomi takes that as confirmation and heads off to the bathroom.
-
Atsumu already feels a million times better. He miraculously walks all the way to the bathroom. His back presses against Kiyoomi’s chest while he washes the blond’s hair for him. As all the sweat, hair gel, and suds roll down his back, Atsumu feels the ache in his shoulders wash away with them. With every scrape of Kiyo’s fingernails against his scalp, all thoughts of inadequacy melt into serene white noise.