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#kuroko and kise. showers.

You have to be quiet, Kuroko says, a murmur barely louder than the hiss of the spray and the drum of water against tile, and there is a spark of mischief in his eyes. You don't want anyone to hear. That's all the warning you get before he steps into your space and sets his hands against your chest and strokes them down, following the water as it streams across your skin. For a second you think he's going to wrap them around your cock and stroke you off just like that, but really, you know better than that. Kuroko doesn't know how to do things by halves, not basketball and not this, either. He sets his hands on your hips and grips them tight as he sinks to his knees, and the thing about Kurokocchi is that he is, and always has been, much stronger than he looks. When he leans forward and runs his tongue up the line of your cock, one long torturous slide of his mouth over sensitive skin, you try to move. He doesn't let you and looks up at you, wet hair slicked back from his face and eyelashes gone spiky, and smiles just before he opens his mouth and wraps his lips around you.

In the end, you make a lot of noise anyway.

#Kuroko tops everyone


#Catholic/boarding school basketball boys...

"You know," Yukio says, leaning back on his hands and lifting his hips, "I'm pretty sure that we're supposed to be making sure that everyone's in bed—their own beds—and not wandering around after curfew."

Imayoshi hums something between his teeth and hauls Yukio's slacks and shorts down. "Do tell."

Yukio kicks them the rest of the way off and hooks his ankle around Imayoshi's hip, pulling him up close. "It has something to do with making sure no one's causing trouble."

Imayoshi hums again, something thoughtful, and leans in to mouth Yukio's throat, at least until Yukio thumps his shoulder to remind him about hickeys and their basic incompatibility with plausible deniability. "Seems like I may have heard a little something about that, once or twice." He nips Yukio's earlobe, because he's basically a bastard and knows that it makes Yukio's head fizz whenever he does that. "You have a reason for bringing that up right now?"

Yukio fights through the surge of hormones, because he does, actually. "Don't you think prefects ought to be setting a better example than this?" This, of course, being a chance to reach down and get his hands on Imayoshi's ass so he can give it a good squeeze.

Imayoshi at least pretends like he's thinking it over before he fits himself between Yukio's knees and rubs up against him, slow and deliberate. "We're setting a fine example," he says, rolling their hips together until Yukio gives it up and groans. "We're showing them that you can get away with whatever you want, long as you don't get caught."

"You are a terrible person," Yukio tells him, hitching himself closer and tracing his nails up Imayoshi's spine. It makes Imayoshi's breath stutter, just like always.

Imayoshi grins at him. "But can you say that I'm wrong?"

Yukio elects not to answer that and gets a hand down between them instead to stroke their cocks together. If the way Imayoshi groans sounds triumphant, well. It's all about plausible deniability, isn't it?

#basically I know nothing about boarding school


#Two of them run a coffee shop. The third becomes a regular...

Eventually they give up on trying to be subtle, turn the register and the espresso machines over to the minions, and frogmarch Kiyoshi into the stock room when he stops in for his usual. It says something about their clientele that no one really pays attention to this when it happens beyond giving them a couple of bored glances. Kiyoshi himself goes with a cheerful laugh and looks around himself with interest while Junpei locks the door behind them. "Is this where—?"

Heaven only knows what fresh bit of random chatter he's about to spot off, but Riko chooses that moment to take her shirt off. Even Kiyoshi can't misconstrue that; he stops short while she tosses it aside. When she unhooks her bra and takes it off, he goes bright red.

Junpei has to admire the fact that the guy only stares for a second or two before he jerks his gaze up and trains it on Riko's face. That's willpower, is what it is. Not that it's going to do him any good.

"Um, what...?"

"This," Riko says as Junpei begins peeling out of his own shirt, "is where you are going to help us commit a few health code violations." She begins advancing on Kiyoshi, purposefully.

"I am?" Kiyoshi asks, but it's a pretty feeble effort on his part—he doesn't look the least bit clueless this time, just gobsmacked.

"Yes," Junpei says Riko reaches up and pulls Kiyoshi down for a kiss. (He doesn't put up even a token resistance, Junpei notes; after a second, he lifts his hands and spreads them against the curve of Riko's spine to pull her closer.) "You definitely are."

And high time, too. All the free pastries they've showered on the man in their attempt to woo him have really been cutting into their overhead.

#not even Aida Kagetora gets free pastries from this place


#Kuroko/Kagami and snow

Tetsuya was laughing at him, but Taiga couldn’t bring himself to care. He bunched his shoulders and huddled deeper into the questionable comfort of his scarf and glared. “Shut up, this sucks.”

Tetsuya, who didn’t even have his coat buttoned all the way up, the jerk, folded his gloved hands together primly. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to say anything. I’ve met you, remember?” He knew perfectly well what Tetsuya looked like when he was amused, and Tetsuya was definitely laughing at him right now. It was all in the crease of his eyes and the way they gleamed, like they did whenever he was feeling particularly evil. “It’s cold, okay?” Cold, and slippery wherever the snow had begun to accumulate, and there were days when Taiga really missed California.

Tetsuya did laugh then, soft as the hush of the snowflakes drifting down and catching in his hair. “If you say so.” He lifted his face up to the sky, smiling at the snow, then took a step closer to Taiga that let him press against Taiga’s shoulder. “Perhaps we should hurry home so you can get warm again.”

With Tetsuya, it was all in the subtle things, like the tilt of his smile and the laughter in his eyes. Taiga glanced at him and cleared his throat, pretty sure that Tetsuya wasn’t suggesting they hurry home so he could find another sweater to put on. “Yeah, maybe we should.”

If Tetsuya was going to offer incentives like that, he thought as they lengthened their strides, perhaps he could learn to tolerate the snow after all.

#Kagami has opinions about cold weather


#MidoKise gift exchanges

Shintarou eyed the package in Ryouta's hands with a certain amount of trepidation. It looked innocuous enough; the wrapping paper was patterned with white on silver and both the creases in the paper and the profusion of curling ribbons at the top suggested that Ryouta had not been the one to wrap it. (Apparently Ryouta had never had cause to watch anyone wrap a present; certainly his own efforts in that direction had little but enthusiasm to commend them.) It was on the smaller side, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Ryouta had been modeling for years now and had substantially more money in his bank accounts than he did restraint or common sense. There could be any number of small but outrageously expensive items beneath that gleaming wrapping paper, because Ryouta loved to spend money on the people he cared about.

Most improbably, Shintarou was first among that number, which was something Shintarou still didn't quite understand.

"You didn't have to—" he began, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's your birthday." And so, it seemed, Ryouta felt that he did have to, even though Shintarou had insisted that he didn't want to be fussed over.

Ryouta was very good at showing only what he wanted to have seen, but the ribbons on the package rustled, the white and silver curls moving gently. Shintarou suppressed his sigh and took the gift from him, hoping privately that they weren't about to have a repeat of his twentieth birthday or something equally excessive, and turned it over in his hands, looking for the ends of the ribbons. "I still say you shouldn't have." It was solid in his hands, with some heft—a book, perhaps?

"I wanted to." Ryouta was watching him closely as he began working the ribbon loose. "I picked it out myself."

That explained the hint of nerves. Shintarou made a noncommittal noise and slid the ribbon off the package. He handed it to Ryouta and ran his finger under the flap of wrapping paper, ignoring the little whine of Ryouta's impatience, and folded the paper back to reveal the plain white box beneath. Not a book after all, hm. He tucked the box under his elbow and folded the paper, which made Ryouta dance in place—"Come on, you're not going to use it again!"—and was only fair given that he'd told Ryouta he didn't want any presents.

Then it was time to lift the lid of the box and peel back the tissue paper beneath to reveal—a book? A volume of some sort, bound in supple, fine-grained russet leather. Shintarou lifted it out of its nest of tissue paper, a part of him very relieved, and thumbed it open to see that the pages were blank paper, fine and smooth beneath his fingertips.

"I know you said you didn't want anything." The words came tumbling out of Ryouta's mouth as Shintarou blinked over his gift, which was nothing like what he'd expected. "But I saw that when I was out shopping and I remembered that the notebook that you write things down in was starting to get full and I thought maybe you'd like this for when you need a new notebook." When Shintarou looked up, Ryouta was twisting the ribbons through his fingers and showing his anxiety all too clearly. "Do you like it?"

"It's perfect," Shintarou said, touching the soft leather carefully, shocked by how perfect it actually was. "It's... thank you. Thank you, Ryouta."

As effusions of gratitude went, Shintarou wasn't sure that it was enough—but Ryouta smiled anyway, bright as sunlight, and stopped fidgeting with the ribbons. "I hoped you would like it."

"I really do," Shintarou told him, and did not say that he liked all of the gifts Ryouta gave him, even the most ridiculous, impractical ones that Shintarou could not bring himself to give away or throw out.

There was no point in encouraging him, after all.

#Midorima really is all tsundere


#Aomine & Momoi anytime before Teikou - Holiday celebrations

Satsuki wraps her arms around her knees and watches Dai-chan scowl at the tub of goldfish. He's concentrating hard; the tip of his tongue is sticking out. He squints at the water and the goldfish swimming in glittering swirls beneath the surface. When he moves, it's almost faster than Satsuki can track—he plunges his net beneath the surface and scoops up three goldfish at once.

Satsuki holds her breath as he lifts them out of the water. They begin to flop as soon as they hit the air, but Dai-chan moves fast, bringing them over to the waiting bowl.

He almost makes it when the thin paper shreds beneath the flopping fish and they drop back into the water.

Dai-chan says a word that Satsuki is pretty sure would get his mouth washed out with soap if their mothers were around. He glares at the fish some more, drops the ruined net aside. As he digs around for some more money to make another attempt, Satsuki says, "It's okay, Dai-chan. I don't really want a fish." It's a lie; she really does, but Dai-chan is really bad at this.

"Shut up," he says, shoving a fistful of coins at the stall-keeper and snatching the fresh net from him. "I said I would get you a fish, so I'm gonna get you a fish."

It was worth a try, anyway. Satsuki sighs and settles in for the duration.

(It takes several more attempts and most of the rest of Dai-chan's money, but in the end he catches two fish, and Satsuki has enough money to buy them both taiyaki, which they eat while the fish swim around and around in the bag hanging from her wrist, so it all works out.)

#Aomine is really bad at this


#Kuroko, Aomine, Momoi: pick two, give them a kid, first day of school

To absolutely no one's surprise but his own, Daiki takes it the hardest. Not that he lets on that it's bothering him. (Or so he would like to think, and if Satsuki and Tetsu are rolling their eyes at him behind his back, he doesn't want to know about it, okay?) When the morning comes, he manages to get under everyone's feet. He pops into the kitchen where Tetsu is quietly laying out bentos for all of them and criticizes his choice of ingredients ("Don't put the baby carrots in, geez, you know she hates those") and their arrangement ("Aren't you going to try to make it, I dunno, cute or something? Kids like that, right? You don't want her to stand out, do you?") until Tetsu swats him with a spatula and banishes Daiki from the kitchen altogether. Satsuki doesn't even allow Daiki into her presence; the moment he shows up at the bathroom door, she looks around from where she's putting on her make-up, grimaces, and shuts the door in his face.

The dog takes one look at Daiki coming and heads out the doggy door for the safety of the back yard.

That leaves Daiki with only one member of the household to pester, despite all his resolutions not to make a big deal of it.

He lasts maybe five minutes.

Shizuka is sitting at her desk, peering into her tiny little backpack with the same look of intense concentration that Tetsu uses, even though she takes after Satsuki in the looks department. ("Thank goodness for that," Tetsu says every time the subject comes up.) She looks up when Daiki taps on the doorframe and smiles.

Daiki pretends that it doesn't catch him right in the chest every time she does that and says, "All set, kiddo?"

"Just about." She buckles her backpack closed and sets it on the floor. "But it's good you're here. You can put my hair up for me."

"An offer like that, how can I refuse?" Daiki is already coming away from the door by the time she puzzles through that. "All right, where's your hairbrush? What are we looking at here, anyway? Something fancy for your first day of school?"

Her first day of school. Good grief, and he'd swear they'd just brought her home from the hospital the other day, too.

Shizuka thinks while he brushes her hair, still silky-soft and baby-fine in his fingers. "No," she decides. "Nothing very fancy. Will you braid it for me?"

"Sure, I can do that." And he can, too—he is a pro at this braiding thing, he knows five different ways to braid hair, it's amazing what kinds of tutorials a guy can find on Youtube. But nothing very fancy, that sounds like a french braid kind of decision to him.

Shizuka sits very still while he separates the sections of her hair, but she's always been a calm soul. No surprises there, really, considering. That leaves it up to Daiki to make the conversation. "So," he says, concentrating hard on what he's doing, "big day today, huh?"

"That's what they tell me." She's funny and grave, very solemn about the question.

Daiki has to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing. "Are you excited?"

Shizuka thinks the question over carefully while he works. "I think so," she concludes. "It sounds like it will be interesting."

Daiki doesn't remember school being all that interesting as a thing, but he keeps that to himself. "Yeah?"

She doesn't quite nod, but it's a near thing. "Yes, I think it will be. I'm looking forward to it."

"Good," Daiki says, because yeah, it is, it's good that she's anticipating school and not dreading it. If they're lucky it'll stay that way. He reaches the end of her braid and holds it. "You have an elastic for me?"

"Oh, drat." She sounds so dismayed that he has to laugh. "No, do you?"

"I have one." Satsuki startles at least a year off his life, speaking up like that; she's leaning in the doorway and Daiki has no idea how long she's been standing there, watching them. She's got her suit and make-up all in place now, and she's smiling at them both. And yes, she does have an elastic hairband, so Daiki can tie off Shizuka's braid and pat it into place.

Shizuka swings it back and forth and decides it's acceptable, because she hops down from her chair and looks up at him with another of those smiles that pretty much just reach right into his chest and squeeze. "Thank you," she says and hugs him.

"No problem, kiddo. My pleasure." Daiki hangs on as long as she'll let him—not long enough—and then she picks up her backpack and runs downstairs, where Tetsu will have breakfast waiting for her.

Daiki runs a hand over his face once she's safely out of the way, though that doesn't save him from Satsuki. She nudges him in the ribs. "Keep it together, Dai-chan," she murmurs. "You can cry after she's out the door."

"I'm not going to cry!" he protests.

"Of course not," she says, a knowing edge to her smile that puts the starch back into his spine.

"You are a terrible person," Daiki tells her.

Satsuki laughs and links her arm in his to pull him downstairs to breakfast.

For the record, Daiki is not the only one with misty eyes after they collect their hugs from Shizuka and she marches down the sidewalk to join the procession off to school—no, she had said, no, she didn't need to have anyone walk with her, she could do it on her own. Satsuki has to dab at her eyes, careful to keep from smudging her mascara, and Tetsu sniffs once himself before he clears his throat and drafts Daiki into helping him clear the breakfast table. "I guess that's that," he says as he stacks their plates.

"I don't know," Satsuki says. "I was thinking." It's her I have an idea tone; both Tetsu and Daiki stop what they're doing to look at her warily. "Do you think Shizuka would like a little brother?"

Daiki looks at Tetsu; Tetsu looks back. They might be thinking the same thing (night-time feedings, diapers, the terrible twos) or they might not (first words, finger-painted family portraits, spontaneous hugs), but when Tetsu says, slow and thoughtful, "I'm sure she could learn to appreciate the idea," Daiki couldn't agree more.

#the one where the three of them have formed a non-traditional family unit


#suimasendeshita #branch-and-root
#MidoTaka and hot chocolate

Life with Shin-chan was a many-splendored thing, there was no doubt about that, and it would have taken a far, far better man than Kazunari was not to appreciate the snits that Shin-chan could work himself into.

Kazunari was a horrible person at heart, had made his peace with that, and thus the highlight of many of his mornings was the Midorima Shintarou "They Call THAT A Lucky Item?!" shit show. Over the years, Shin-chan had accumulated a startling array of knick-knacks and odds and ends, all of which he kept organized and carefully catalogued according to some arcane system of his own, and he was often able to resort to this collection to satisfy Oha Asa's whims. However, and this was the part Kazunari really enjoyed watching while he lounged in their bed, before Shin-chan could bring himself to do that, he had to spend a few minutes in ritual exasperation complaining that the lucky items were getting more and more ridiculous every day.

And that, of course, was the fun part. Shin-chan could get very cutting in his comments, and watching him stomp around the bedroom was always a good time. Also, Shin-chan wasn't entirely wrong; Takao privately thought that the Oha Asa daily items were getting progressively more peculiar.

"I'm pretty sure Oha Asa is trolling you, you know." Shin-chan had paused to take a breath and had both hands in his hair. Tufts of it were sticking out from between his fingers at crazy angles, and Shin-chan was looking a touch demented. "No, really. I'm pretty sure they know there's a guy who actually does go to the trouble of collecting all the lucky items and now they just want to see how far you'll go. I bet they've got people with cameras following you around."

Shin-chan looked torn between aggravation and horror. "Don't be ridiculous."

Kazunari rolled over onto his stomach and kicked his feet in the air. "Shin-chan, I love you, but I am so not the person in this relationship who is ridiculous, and you know it."

"That is a matter of some debate." Shin-chan scuffed his fingers through his hair and let his hands drop to his sides. His hair continued to stand up, lending him a certain mad scientist je ne sais quoi. "This is completely ridiculous, you know. How on earth am I supposed to carry a cup of hot chocolate around with me all day?"

Kazunari grinned at him. "Pretty carefully, I guess."

"You are not helping," Shin-chan informed him before stomping out of the bedroom. He was heading for the bathroom by the sounds of it—yep, there was the creak and slam of the door.

Kazunari permitted himself a moment to bury his face in the pillow and just laugh before rolling out of bed and heading for the kitchen and the coffee pot.

By the time he emerged again, Shin-chan had passed through anger and into resignation. He had restored his hair to its normal order and was grumbling under his breath about finding a coffee shop on his way to campus. Kazunari grinned and tightened the cap on his coffee thermos. "Hey, Shin-chan." He waited until he was sure that Shin-chan was actually focusing on him and not his private litany of complaints. "Think fast."

The thermos wasn't particularly aerodynamic, but Kazunari was just that good. It smacked into Shin-chan's open palms precisely as he'd intended it to, and he leaned back against the counter to enjoy the look of open befuddlement on Shin-chan's face. Shin-chan looked at the thermos, then at him, and his internal debate was perfectly transparent—what was this? Did he want to know? Was he going to regret asking, or should he just open the thermos up and find out the hard way?

Kazunari grinned at him and waited.

The thing about Shin-chan was that really, he just couldn't help himself sometimes. It only took a few seconds for him to decide, then he unscrewed the thermos cap. The precise moment that he registered the scent of the hot chocolate wafting up from inside the thermos was clear in the way his eyes widened and his frown softened up and disappeared.

But only for a second. He immediately cleared his throat and screwed the lid on again. "I suppose this works as well. I'm surprised I didn't think of it myself."

"You're welcome," Kazunari told him fondly, and treated himself to a stolen kiss on his way past Shin-chan.

Shin-chan must have been feeling pretty sappy himself, because he didn't even protest Kazunari's coffee breath or complain about it afterwards. If that wasn't love, what was?

#tooth-rotting fluff


#Midorima and Takao, Takao reverts to being a cat every now and then

Shintarou gets home at the end of a day that has not, objectively speaking, been any longer than any other day, but from a purely subjective standpoint lasted approximately all week long. He steps out of his shoes and into his slippers, calling out his greeting as he does, and is terribly glad that his day is over and his vacation has officially begun.

He doesn't think anything of the fact that Kazunari hasn't come to greet him yet, because Kazunari's vacation started a couple days ago and he's been wrapped up in a new video game for most of it. He's probably still planted in front of the television and muttering dire imprecations at the zombies or the monsters or whatever it is he's so determined to defeat virtually. Chances are good that he hasn't even heard Shintarou come in.

But the living room is quiet and empty; so is the kitchen. Shintarou raises his eyebrows over this, because Kazunari's shoes were in their cubby, and heads for the bedroom, wondering whether Kazunari is planning to stage a reenactment of The Twentieth Birthday Incident. Hopefully there will be less glitter this time, if he is.

But it's not that, either.

Kazunari is in their bed, curled up in a hollow of the blankets, ostensibly sound asleep. He is also a cat again.

Shintarou looks down at the tight curl of him for a moment and then sighs. "You do this to spite me, don't you?"

Kazunari flicks one ear; Shintarou is fairly certain that there is a gleam of slit-pupilled eyes looking up at him, too.

Shintarou shakes his head and sits on the edge of the bed. "I really don't know what it is you get out of this," he tells Kazunari as he strokes his fingers down the curve of Kazunari's spine, skritching his fingers through the thick, soft fur there.

Kazunari uncurls himself and stands, stretching and yawning, and immediately pads over to drape himself across Shintarou's lap. He meows, imperious, until Shintarou gives in and strokes his fingers over the softer fur of Kazunari's stomach.

"You do realize it's going to be impossible to take you to the beach like this," Shintarou informs him.

Kazunari flicks his tail, manages to look like he's smiling, and begins to purr.

#Midorima knows perfectly well what Takao gets out of these reversions #He just doesn't want to admit it


#Aomine and Kuroko, genderbent, hands up skirts at inappropriate times

The mistake a lot of people make with Tetsuna is thinking that she's a nice girl. To be fair, she does a pretty good job of faking it, Daiko has to hand it to her—she's quiet, and polite, and always neatly groomed. But all that—that's all surfaces and doesn't have a damn thing to do with what Tetsu really is, which is pure evil.

The only reason they're getting away with this is because Kise is sprawled across two seats and is completely dead to the world. If it weren't for the fact that she's currently uttering a steady, ladylike snore, she'd be hanging over the back of the seat and chattering as fast as she could.

Of course, if that were the case, Tetsu probably wouldn't have slipped her hand under Daiko's skirt in the first place, either. Tetsu's evil, not stupid, and not inclined to share, either.

Tetsu shifts against Daiko's shoulder, burrowing against her; when she sighs, it rolls across Daiko's throat, hot and wet. Daiko presses her cheek against the glass of the window—it feels cool against her flushed skin—and grits her teeth as Tetsu slides her fingers up a little higher, tracing them against the inside of Daiko's thigh. It's close, too close and not close enough, and she could just about scream with frustration. But Murasakibara is sprawled in the seat across from them, staring dreamily at the passing countryside, and Midorima and Akashi are in the seat across from Kise's, their heads bent over a traveling shougi-ban, and the last thing Daiko wants is their attention.

Tetsu traces her nails against Daiko's skin. She keeps them short and filed smooth; the scrape of them makes Daiko shudder hard enough to rock Tetsu, too. Good thing the motion of the train is enough to excuse that. Tetsu draws patterns against the inside of Daiko's thigh, words maybe, but Daiko can't attend to them, not when she's fighting to keep her breathing even and when she's aching to grab Tetsu's hand and put it right where she's aching for it.

She shudders again when Tetsu laughs, soundless, and her breath stirs against Daiko's skin, across nerves that are already exquisitely sensitive. She grips the armrest of her seat, hanging onto the solidity of it like a life preserver in a rough sea, and sinks her teeth into her lower lip when Tetsu moves her fingers up, up a little further, and presses them against her clit. Tetsu utters another of those silent laughs when she feels how soaked Daiko's panties are; it's all Daiko can do not to moan out loud when she rubs her fingers back and forth. The fabric of Daiko's panties moves, too, and that's all the friction it really takes—she's done and gone, shaking helplessly as she comes and barely managing to stifle her whimper as the sensation of it wrings down on her. Fuck alone knows how she manages not to scream with it, and it feels like an eternity goes past before Tetsu takes her fingers away and the pleasure begins to ebb and subside again. She sags against the window, trying not to pant for breath, and has to bite back a groan when Tetsu lifts her fingers to her lips and tastes them.

"I am gonna get you for this," she hisses to Tetsu when she feels like she can manage it.

Tetsu only smiles up at her, serene. "I look forward to your attempt," she murmurs, and cuddles close again.

#Kuroko is evil


#Midorima and Takao, all four seasons


"Oh my god," Takao groans. "Oh my god, please just let me die." He's flat on his back, spread-eagled on the porch, and only barely meets the minimum standards of decency. If he stands up without buttoning the cut-offs he's wearing, chances are very good that he'll end up flashing any innocent bystanders in the vicinity.

"It's not that hot," Shintarou tells him, nudging him in the ribs with his toe.

"I am roasting alive." Takao lifts a hand and waves it in a feeble attempt to generate a breeze. "Roasting, Shin-chan."

He doesn't look like he's roasting and Shintarou knows for a fact that Takao has played basketball through summer heat every bit as relentless as the current heat wave. If he says anything, Takao will only insist that that is somehow different. "I don't know what you expect me to do about it."

Takao turns a look on him that is probably meant to be piteous. "Put me out of my misery, Shin-chan."

Shintarou deliberates for a moment and empties his glass of ice water on Takao, who comes up shrieking and does, in fact, nearly lose his shorts while he sputters and demands an explanation for Shintarou's wanton cruelty. But even he cannot dispute the fact that he did ask for it.


Shin-chan really likes the autumn, though he doesn't really talk about it much. Wouldn't, probably, even if Kazunari went ahead and asked him about it, or would say something gruff about of course I find the cooler weather a relief after the summer or naturally a Cancer would find the change in seasons conducive because blah blah blah, but it would all be a bunch of bullshit. Shin-chan just likes the autumn. It's all there to see in the way his mouth softens when he looks at the changing colors of the leaves, and the way he pauses, sometimes, when he thinks himself unobserved, so he can turn his face up to the falling leaves and smile. It's in the way his mood changes and mellows, to the extent that he ever mellows out, and the way he smiles when the wind picks up.

Kazunari's not the fan of autumn that Shin-chan is, but he likes it for Shin-chan's sake, and he likes it for the way the nights turn cooler and make it practical to fit himself against Shin-chan and snuggle close beneath the covers. And really, those are pretty good reasons in themselves, aren't they?


Takao lets the curtain drop and turns away with a grin. "Yep, it's definitely beginning to stick. You're not going to be able to go anywhere tomorrow."

Shintarou frowns at him; his evident glee is unseemly. "I have a duty to my patients—"

"To not get yourself killed in a futile attempt to transport yourself through a blizzard just so you can check on their runny noses." Takao comes away from the window and plants himself astride Shintarou's lap. "Face it, Shin-chan, you're going to have to suck it up and take a snow day tomorrow." He winds his arms around Shintarou's shoulders and smirks down at him. "Oh, darn."

Shintarou hates it when he has to admit that Takao has a point, however small. "You shouldn't sound so happy about it."

"Why not?" Takao wriggles closer and plays with the fine hair at Shintarou's nape. "The snow is gonna trap me at home with my incredibly hot doctor boyfriend, and we're not gonna have anything to do but keep one another entertained. Damn right I'm happy about it."

"You are a terrible person," Shintarou tells him.

"And I enjoy every minute of it, too," Takao says, and bends his head to kiss Shintarou before Shintarou can tell him what he thinks of that.


He's always glad when winter begins to let go and the weather begins to warm up again, but Kazunari's favorite part of spring honestly is the cherry blossoms. Maybe that's stereotypical, but what the hell. He likes them and he likes going to look at them, and best of all, he likes that Shin-chan humors him and goes along in spite of the crowds and the drunken salarymen and the inconvenience.

And he likes the fact that when he turns to look at Shin-chan, Shin-chan is looking back and wearing one of those soft, private expressions that are just for Kazunari.

"You've got petals in your hair," Shintarou tells him, trying to sound gruff about it. "Come here."

Kazunari laughs and bends his head so that Shintarou can brush the petals away, and doesn't say anything about how long it seems to take before Shintarou is satisfied by the his work.

#shameless fluff


#Aomine and Kuroko, trapped by a storm

"Don't be stupid," Tetsu said when it got late and Daiki began to make motions in the direction of needing to head home. "You'll freeze to death in a snowbank."

"I would not," Daiki protested.

Tetsu looked at him and slowly lifted his eyebrows. "Yes, you would." Clearly he was not convinced.

Daiki started to say that he could make his way home just fine, snow storm or no snow storm, but Tetsu forestalled him by unfolding himself from his seat and announcing, "You'll have to stay here until it blows over."

"...okay." If Tetsu was going to offer, he wasn't going to say no. He could be a glutton for punishment, sure, but no one wanted to walk half an hour in a raging snow storm. "Thanks, Tetsu."

"Mm." Tetsu looked down at him, inscrutable, then gestured. "If you'd like the first bath, I can make up a bed for you."

"You don't have to do that," Daiki said. "Go ahead, I'll... just... yeah. Go ahead, it's fine."

Tetsu looked at him for a moment longer, but nodded and went. It was just as well; that gave Daiki the few minutes he needed to shake the stupid, crazy ideas out of his head and at least pick up the mess they'd made of Tetsu's kotatsu—the empty takeout cartons and the beer cans and the napkins and the spilled sauce from when Tetsu had made a truly filthy joke about Midorima and his buddy from Shuutoku and Daiki had laughed so hard that he'd knocked over the carton of lo mein. He needed it, too, because when Tetsu came back from his bath, wrapped up in a casual yukata and his hair still damp, Daiki's first impulse was to reach for him and lick the bead of water from his throat.

They weren't like that, he reminded himself. They never had been. Maybe they could have been, once, but they'd missed that chance, and then, well. A lot of things had happened since then.

"Thanks," he said when Tetsu gave him a stack of fresh towels and a pair of sweatpants that probably would get the job done, and was glad to flee into the bathroom, away from the thoughtful weight of Tetsu's gaze.

Daiki spent probably too much time in the bathroom, because the apartment was dark when he emerged again—dark except from the light from the bedroom. Daiki veered by the door to tell Tetsu goodnight and stopped short on the threshold.

Tetsu was already in bed, no surprises there, but he had the blankets thrown back and his back propped against the pillows and his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. He must have been watching the door, waiting for Daiki, because he looked Daiki straight in the eye as he moved his hand, up and down and up again to slide his fingers over the head, and his lips parted as he sighed. Daiki stared at him, rooted to the floor and helpless to even look away, and finally Tetsu said, "Are you going to join me or not?"

Daiki had to wet his lips before he could say anything. "Tetsu... what...?"

Tetsu's expression softened a little then. "I got tired of waiting, I suppose." He lifted his hand and stretched it out to Daiki, beckoning him closer. "Come here already."

Daiki found himself taking a step forward, and another, and one more to bring him within reach of Tetsu, who promptly seized his hand and pulled him down. "Tetsu, I—" He stopped when he realized he didn't know what to say.

"I wonder if you were ever going to say anything," Tetsu said after a moment, even as he pressed Daiki against the pillows and leaned over him. He looked down at Daiki, studying him as though Daiki were a book to be read and understood, and then he shook his head. "You wouldn't have, would you?"

Daiki looked up at him and finally shook his head, no. What could he have possibly said?

Tetsu's expression went even softer. "You idiot," he said, which Daiki could not dispute, and leaned down to kiss him. That was a relief, perfectly unambiguous, and so was the way Tetsu hummed against his mouth when Daiki reached up to flatten his hands against Tetsu's back. Tetsu's skin was cool beneath his palms, smooth when Daiki stroked him, and soft over the curve of his ass and the blades of his hips. Tetsu hummed again as Daiki hesitated there, murmured, "Go ahead," and groaned into his mouth when Daiki reached between them to fold his fingers around Tetsu's cock. This Daiki knew how to do, even if the angle was different and a little awkward, and he fisted Tetsu slowly, working his hand up and down the length of Tetsu's cock and figuring out what Tetsu liked best. Tetsu made husky sounds against his mouth and kneaded his hands against Daiki's shoulders until he jerked against Daiki's palms, gasping and arching as his cock throbbed and pulsed over Daiki's fingers, and then he let Daiki catch him and ease him down and hold him while his breathing stilled.

Daiki looked down at him, not entirely convinced that he wasn't dreaming, until Tetsu stirred again and lifted his head. He was smiling, small and satisfied, and leaned up to kiss Daiki again. "I've been waiting a long time for that," he said as he smoothed his hands over Daiki's ribs and shifted. Then he paused, a strange expression crossing his face, and shifted against Daiki again. He blinked and said, "Why are you not hard?"

Maybe it would be best if this were a dream. Daiki cleared his throat. "I... might have jerked off. Before my bath. And, um. After." Please, he thought, please, let this be a dream and not real...

Tetsu stared at him for a moment longer and then buried his face against Daiki's shoulder as he began laughing. "Only you," he gasped, after he had been laughing so long that he'd begun wheezing instead. "Only you, Aomine-kun."

Probably not a dream, then, Daiki concluded. Damn. "A guy has got needs, Tetsu, geez."

Tetsu lifted his face; he was flushed red and suspiciously bright-eyed. "Does he?" he asked. "It's a good thing that this storm is going to last until tomorrow afternoon, then, isn't it?"

All things considered, Daiki supposed that it probably was, at that.

#I have a low sense of humor


#Policeman!Aomine, gun malfunction

Eventually Kagami lifted his mouth away and propped his chin on his hand as he looked up the bed at Daiki. "I hate to tell you this, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to happen tonight."

Daiki covered his eyes with his hand, hot with embarrassment, and groaned. "Oh my god, this has never happened to me before."

He half-expected Kagami to snicker and make a joke—fuck knows that's what he would have done if the situation had been reversed—but Kagami was basically one of the better human beings Daiki had met and didn't say a word. After a bit, the mattress moved under his weight as he moved up the bed and doubled a pillow over. He jammed it between himself and the headboard and leaned back against it, and only then did he say anything. "Think there's a game on. Wanna watch it?"

Sometimes the fact that Kagami was as decent a guy as he was really got under Daiki's skin. "That depends, is it a real game or is it that basketball crap?"

Fucking Kagami just laughed and refused to rise to the bait, just like he didn't seem to be the least bit annoyed that he'd just spent a good half hour trying (and failing) to get a more literal rise out of Daiki. "Basketball is a real game, dumbass." He sounded more fond than anything else.

"For fuck's sake!" Daiki punched his shoulder and didn't bother pulling it, either. (It was sort of like punching a brick wall.) "Don't you ever get angry?"

Kagami glanced at him and raised his eyebrows. "When there's something worth getting angry about, sure." He rubbed his shoulder and made a face. "You know a reason why I ought to be angry right now?"

Daiki stared at him, stymied. "I hate you so much."

"Sure, sure." Kagami leaned over for the remote. "So, basketball?" He chuckled when Daiki growled at him and turned the television on anyway, and didn't say anything at all after that, not even when Daiki got caught up in the game in spite of himself and yelled at the screen when the Akita blew a three-pointer and Iwata took the game.

(Fuck, sometimes Daiki didn't even know what he saw in that guy.)

#I have a really low sense of humor


#Aomine and Momoi, cooking lessons

"This is a terrible idea, I hope you realize that," Tetsu-kun warns her when Satsuki makes the resolution and enrolls herself and Dai-chan in a basic cooking skills course.

As if she didn't already know that. Satsuki tosses her head at Tetsu-kun. "Yes, of course it is, but Dai-chan needs to develop some kind of life skills, doesn't he?"

And Tetsu-kun cannot dispute that, though it looks like he's biting his tongue to keep himself from saying what he really thinks of that. It doesn't matter; Satsuki can read him nearly as well as Dai-chan can, and his doubts regarding Dai-chan's capacity to learn how to cook anything more complicated than cup ramen are clear to see.

That's not really the point, though she doesn't tell Tetsu-kun that, and they move on to other topics.

When the day of the first class rolls around, Satsuki manages to collar Dai-chan (not quite literally) and drag him away from his magazines by promising him that they're going out to get something to eat. Dai-chan isn't as bad as Kagamin when it comes to thinking with his stomach, but it's a near thing, and he goes along willingly enough. He looks confused when she leads him straight to the kitchen store and the long workbenches in the back, and even more confused when she hands him an apron. "What the hell?"

Satsuki pulls her own apron on and ties it in place. "We're going to learn how to cook, Dai-chan."

The thing is, Dai-chan's known her for years. She sees the thoughts as they occur to him—The hell you say quickly followed by Wait, is she serious and then Shit, I think she is.

When he realizes that, he settles on a fairly meek, "Why are we going to learn how to cook?"

There are two ways Satsuki can answer that. She elects the one that is easiest: "Because Tetsu-kun will never marry you if you don't have something more than basketball to bring to the table, of course."

Daiki immediately begins to sputter, as she had expected he would. "Satsuki!"

She laughs at him and his embarrassment, because it's funny that he thinks she hasn't noticed. "Put your apron on, Dai-chan. Just think of how impressed he'll be when you can make breakfast for him the morning after."

He flushes dark, but something about that thought seems to strike him, and he loops the apron over his head and ties it while she giggles, and that's pretty much that.

The other reason, the one Satsuki doesn't mention aloud, is this: they're in their third year of high school, and she's already submitting applications to universities, some of which are overseas. It's not exactly clear what Dai-chan is planning on doing with himself, but there are scouts who come and watch him play and look thoughtful as they mutter amongst themselves. He has options, not all of which overlap with the ones she's considering herself. If it should happen that their paths do diverge after graduation, Satsuki wants to be sure that he won't die of malnutrition in her absence, and that she has managed to get as much quality time with him as possible beforehand.

It's distinctly possible that Dai-chan has a vague inkling of that second reason himself, because he settles in for their first lesson (knife skills) without any further complaint and laughs at his first clumsy attempts to slice an onion properly, and does not try to avoid the follow-up lessons either.

#beware of feels


#Momoi and Kise, bitching sessions

It is their second year at Teikou, and it's becoming very clear that there is something magical happening in the basketball club. There's a name going around in the whispers; Satsuki hears it in the mouths of their opponents and in the mouths of the third-years: kiseki no sedai, the generation of miracles. It's in the way Dai-chan has suddenly turned into a basketball monster, practically overnight, and the way the rest of them have followed him, honing their particular geniuses against one another and against their opponents. Akashi-kun deploys them on the court like a lord sending his warriors into battle, and they conquer everything in their paths. It gives Satsuki a sense of gathering momentum, as though they are running downhill, and she does not know whether they will end by taking flight or crashing.

Sometimes, when they are caught up in the moment of triumph, she doesn't know whether she even cares.

She does know that she welcomes Kise-kun's arrival in the basketball club, because it is immediately clear that he has the potential to displace Haizaki. It's more of a relief than Satsuki quite knows how to deal with, because she does not like Haizaki, and it has taken all of her considerable skills to keep from betraying this fact to anyone else.

(Haizaki has never touched her and rarely speaks to her, but that is because Satsuki has taken great pains to keep herself out of his way and close to Dai-chan, who may or may not realize what is going on but definitely manages to ward Haizaki off for her without even trying. But sometimes Haizaki looks at her. Besides, she's heard all the stories and has been the one to warn some of her classmates away from the basketball club, which takes some doing to accomplish without giving away her intentions.)

She thinks that she's been wholly successful in keeping her opinions to herself until the afternoon that she has to do some pretty quick footwork and talking to avoid having to let Haizaki help her carry the box of water bottles out to the fountain for refills. Instead she ends up with Kise-kun instead, thank goodness, and the unpleasant, sticky feeling of Haizaki's smirk following after her.

Satsuki does her best to banish that feeling by chattering at Kise-kun about his job as a model—it's been very fortuitous that he's come to the basketball club; she's managed to recruit a lot of his fans into her network of informants thanks to their desire to help him succeed—and how demanding it must be to balance his work and basketball and school. For his part, Kise-kun chatters back just like he does with all his fangirls, bright and silly and charmingly insincere. Yes, he says, the schedule is demanding, but really he enjoys the challenge, and he gets to meet such interesting people, and of course the exercise is really very good for his figure, etc. etc. etc., while they take turns refilling the team's water bottles.

Then, as Satsuki is screwing the lid onto the last of them, he drops his voice to say, "You don't like Haizaki very much, do you?" When Satsuki looks up at that, sharply enough that the muscles in her neck protest, Kise-kun isn't smiling anymore.

She takes a breath and says, lightly, "I suppose he's not my favorite member of the team."

Kise-kun nods. "I suppose I can't blame you for that." He looks back in the direction of the gymnasium. "He's not mine, either."

"Imagine that." Satsuki sets the last bottle into the box and nibbles on her lip. "I do try not to show that I have favorites, though."

Kise-kun is good, very good, because he shrugs and answers the question she has not asked. "You don't." The smile he slants her way is a very different thing from the broad, friendly smile he shows his fangirls. "I just know what it looks like when someone is faking it, is all."

Satsuki blinks, absorbing that and assimilating it into the rest of what she knows of him, and nods. "I suppose you would, at that."

He shrugs and gestures at the box of water bottles, and grunts when he picks up his end. Satsuki makes a mental note to tell Akashi-kun to consider upping his strength training regimen, and thinks no more of it until they're almost back to the gymnasium. Then he says, quiet, "He's not going to be around to bother you for very much longer." He looks serious. Determined.

Satsuki smiles at him and reaches for the door. "Thank you, Ki-chan," she says as she wrestles it open, and takes satisfaction from the surprised look that nets her as they carry the water bottles inside.

#this went a little darker than I expected


#Midorima and Takao, secret agents

Midorima Shintarou is a highly trained operative; he speaks and reads five languages fluently and can make himself intelligible in four more; he is a crack shot with any kind of firearm that comes to hand; he is conversant with the intricacies of electronic espionage and with the elements of disguise. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of the underworld and can insinuate himself into any country or company with a minimum of fuss, and what is more, extract himself again without messy explosions.

(Would that he could say the same of his fellow agent, codename Blue, who positively revels in blowing things up on his way out of a mission whether the explosions are necessary or not.)

Midorima Shintarou (codename Green) knows how to mix any drink you care to name and how to dance; he has moonlighted as a jazz pianist and a concert violinist; he can deliver a delicate compliment or a fist to the jaw with perfect equanimity. He has killed men and women, but never children, taken prisoners and been taken prisoner (but has never been kept), and has been shot exactly three times. He no longer keeps count of the bones he has broken, and his skin carries a roadmap of scars that commemorates a hundred missions that he will never discuss with anyone but his handler. In short, he is a consummate secret agent.

He is currently deeply, deeply embarrassed.

The reason for his embarrassment pouts red-painted lips at him and sets a hand on the hip that is bared by the thigh-high slit in a silky red dress. "I'm sorry that I don't meet your expectations, Agent, but I'm your contact and you need to suck it up." She—he?—Midorima has no idea which pronoun to use here—narrows kohl-lined eyes at him and taps lacquered nails against that bare hip. "You didn't seem to object to getting to know me a few minutes ago."

That, Midorima would like to say, is because a few minutes ago, the world had seemed a lot simpler. "I apologize for the confusion," he says. It comes out a bit stiffly; he's never liked being caught wrong-footed. "It will not happen again, Agent Hawk."

"Oh, that would be a shame. I was rather enjoying myself." Hawk smiles at him, quick and wicked, and glances down, pointed. "I like to think you were, too."

Midorima ignores that ruthlessly, pushes his glasses into place, and decides that it is high time that they talked about the mission. "About the Kirisaki syndicate...?"

His contact laughs, open and bright, and it occurs to Midorima then that this is going to be a very long mission indeed.

#Takao likes to feel pretty


#any of the Miragen, choosing their high school

Once Akashi tells them that they must go to different high schools, Shintarou applies himself to the task of researching and scouting the different possibilities as systematically as possible. He prefers not to look outside the Tokyo area, which narrows his search down, but even so, there are a great many choices to sift through. He doesn't know how the rest of the team approaches their decisions, but he sits down with pamphlets and websites and an astrological index and begins comparing amenities and scholastic records and the schools' philosophies against one another. He compiles careful lists of their basketball teams' statistical records (it goes without saying that he is not considering any school without a basketball team) and studies the patterns they make, seeking insight into their fortunes, and he works tirelessly to discern how those fortunes will mesh with his own.

In the end, he narrows it down to a couple of possibilities and has to think long and hard about which to pursue. The three kings of Tokyo all have excellent reputations and excellent fortunes that seem compatible with his own. Their scholastic programs are roughly equal, as are their amenities.

It's not an easy decision to make, but he chooses Shuutoku, not because it's necessarily any better than Seihou or Senshinkan, but because he likes the philosophy of their club the best. Shuutoku emphasizes hard work and training and diligence over all, and that, Shintarou thinks, is a philosophy he can embrace.

In the end, he has no regrets about his choice at all.

#Midorin is my favorite basketball boy


#Imayoshi/Susa, study session

Classes have been over for a while now, and it is definitely the time for all good third years to be buried in their notes and books in preparation for the exams that are looming on the horizon.

Susa would like to be doing that, really he would, but there's a definite problem getting in the way of being able to concentrate on his literature notes, and his name is Imayoshi Shouichi.

Clickety-clickety-clickety—that's the sound it makes every time Imayoshi depresses the button on the end of his pen. Tap-tap-tappety-tap goes the drumbeat of his fingers against the table, which is in turn juddering with the way Imayoshi is drumming his heel against the floor. Every once in a while, Imayoshi punctuates the whole performance with a sigh so deep and heavy that it must be coming all the way up from his toes.

No one else is sitting at their table; hell, no one else is even sitting in this corner of the library. Susa can't blame them in the slightest. No one in the world could possibly study under these circumstances.

He reaches across the table and pins Imayoshi's hand and that stupid pen flat against the table and waits until Imayoshi is giving him a startled look to say, enunciating each syllable, "Stop. That."

The table stops rattling and Imayoshi stops drumming his fingers, which is a blessed relief. Imayoshi himself looks confused more than anything else; it's a rare enough occurrence that Susa takes a moment to savor it. "Stop what?"

It figures. "Fidgeting," Susa says, and watches Imayoshi gather himself for a denial. "If you don't knock it off, I am going to throw you out of this library myself."

That's when it seems to sink in for Imayoshi that they're got an entire table in this sunny corner all to themselves, which is unusual given that every third year not otherwise preoccupied with club activities is embroiled in exam prep these days and that this is prime library real estate. Imayoshi never permits himself to look abashed, but he does clear his throat. "Ah," he says. "I see."

Susa squints at him, decides that he probably does see, and nods. "Good." He gives it a moment's more consideration, and figures they might as well address the root cause of all this while they're at it. "They're going to be fine. Wakamatsu's got a good head on his shoulders. Stop worrying."

Imayoshi's just about as good as a cat is at passing off embarrassment in an air of I meant to do that, so he only sniffs at that. "Of course they will. I trained them all, didn't I?"

"Of course you did," Susa says, not bothering to keep the dryness out of his tone. "So obviously there's nothing to be concerned about."

It's not really that easy, of course; the first round of the Winter Cup is barely behind them and Susa feels the absence of basketball and club like a missing tooth. Imayoshi has poured his heart and soul into the club for the past year—how much more keenly must he feel it now that he's retired from the club and given over that duty to Wakamatsu?

Nevertheless he smiles, careless. "Not a thing," he agrees, and then glances down, pointed. "I don't reckon I might be allowed to have my hand back now?"

"I suppose," Susa says, but permits himself a moment to squeeze Imayoshi's hand before he releases it.

"Thank you," Imayoshi says, airy, but that's all right. Susa knows what he means and smiles as he returns his attention to his literature notes.

#not really my pairing but I did my best


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