lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
[personal profile] lysapadin
There's this picture of Hibari all dressed up in the 3DM gear from Shingeki no Kyojin going around, and I more or less promised Andrea that I'd write the one where Yamamoto and Hibari make out on top of a stack of dead titans. This isn't quite that, but close enough, right?

Note: Fusion with SnK, with all the attendant concerns that come with that. If you don't know what that means, uh. I'm sorry.

It's not that he doesn't know that this is fucked up. It's that honestly, he just can't bring himself to care. One in three—that's the number, the price they pay in blood every time they go out. Takeshi's not actually one for numbers; he prefers to act and leave the analytical stuff to those who—liked it. Come to think of it, he's not sure who that might be now that Gokudera's gone and given himself up for titan chow. Haru, maybe, but she doesn't say much these days, just sits and stares into space with a grim expression whenever they have downtime. Or there's Mukuro, but Takeshi isn't sure that he'd trust anything that guy might have to say. Anyway, that's all beside the point. Every time they go out, the odds against coming back in are pretty damn bad. They're all gambling with their lives, and the thing about gambling is that the house always wins.

So yeah, Takeshi honestly just could not give less of a shit how fucked up this is. If anything, he's kind of proud of himself for coming up with a coping mechanism as healthy as this is. He's not drowning himself in booze after the missions they run or starting fights with the civilians who cower behind the walls of the city. And he's not in denial about the path he's chosen or what his chances of seeing his next birthday actually are. Compared to all the unhealthy things he could be doing, letting Hibari slam him into the nearest flat surface after they've finished off a titan—or a pack of titans, whatever—or being the one who jumps Hibari first, not like they're picky about these things, this is nothing.

He could try and make it sound good, maybe—say that getting off together after a fight is just a celebration of the fact that they're still alive despite the overwhelming odds stacked against them. Or call it a way for life to beat death, affirmational bullshit like that, but Takeshi knows better than that. It's not about life at all—it's about death, and the fact that every time he touches ground again after a fight, the blood sings in his veins, hot with adrenaline, and his cock aches with how hard he is. Hibari's the same way—maybe even more so than Takeshi is. There's something feral about the way Hibari goes after titans, something viciously elegant about how he puts them down, no wasted motion to it at all. It's like this is the one thing Hibari was born to do. Stands to reason that Hibari gets the same kind of visceral joy out of it that Takeshi does himself, just taken to the next level.

Takeshi will say this much for himself: at least he generally waits to jump Hibari until after they're encamped for the night, if they're not safely back inside Wall Rose. Hibari, crazy fucker that he is, has no such compunctions. This is why Takeshi currently has his back pressed up against a tree and the taste of titan gore in his mouth from when Hibari grabbed him and hauled him down into a hard, demanding kiss with complete disregard for the blood smeared across his face. It's also why Takeshi has a prime view of a clearing strewn with the bodies of several extremely deceased titans—he and Hibari make for a pretty devastating team, if he does say so himself—while Hibari sucks his cock.

This would be a damned stupid way to die, the kind of thing that they'd warn future squads of rookies not to do. Takeshi just fists his hands in Hibari's hair and rocks his hips forward, fucking himself deeper into Hibari's mouth and hissing between his teeth with the hot rush of pleasure that's all the sweeter for the sharp edge of danger.

Hibari tightens his grip on Takeshi's hips, digging his fingers in hard enough that Takeshi knows he'll have bruises there later to match the marks that come standard with the 3DM gear, but he takes it when Takeshi pushes forward, growling around Takeshi's cock as he swallows it down. Takeshi can't help groaning, tossing his head back until it thunks against the tree. Sensation twists through him, building at the base of his spine until he's panting with the pressure of it, waiting for it to break into release. Just as it begins, tremors of pleasure begin to break over him like the first rolling, bouncing pebbles that presage an avalanche, he sees the titan peering at them from between the tree trunks on the other side of the clearing.

He gasps something out, the gods only know what, arching taut as orgasm slams into him like a ton of rock. He comes with the incoherent thought that they really are going to end up as some kind of horrible cautionary tale (remember, kids, whatever the hell you do to get off, don't do it in the field like these idiots did), but he hasn't reckoned on Hibari. Takeshi's entire body is still throbbing and his cock is still pulsing when Hibari rolls to his feet and anchors a line in a trunk halfway around the clearing. The titan isn't much, just a three-meter class if Takeshi's any judge, and it turns and looks at Hibari with the same brainless, empty-eyed stare of all its kind, watching as Hibari hurtles himself into the air like a bird taking wing. It doesn't have any idea that its doom is upon it. Chances are that it doesn't even know what hits it. As Takeshi subsides against the trunk, shaking and breathless, Hibari swings himself up and executes a turn in midair. He vaults himself over the titan's head and brings his blade down with surgical precision, and that's that—the titan goes down with a crash.

Hibari lands on top of it and gives it a disdainful kick as he reels his lines in. He still has a stripe of Takeshi's come marking his cheek, mixing with the titan gore.

Takeshi shudders again, another pulse of heat rolling through him at the sight of that. "Fuck," he says, hoarse, as Hibari jumps down from the titan's carcass. "Fuck, Hibari—"

Hibari shows his teeth, which is about the closest thing he has to a grin, and stalks toward Takeshi. "Your turn," he says, and that's all.

"Right," Takeshi says, breathless, though he pauses for a moment to kiss Hibari and lick the taste of himself off Hibari's lips. Then he drops to his knees and unfastens Hibari's pants.

They're probably both every bit as crazy as people tend to tell them they are, but Takeshi honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

#Kagami/Momoi, smut
#in which Kagami has hidden depths

So, Satsuki thought, gazing at Kagamin's bedroom ceiling and trying to catch her breath, this wasn't at all what she'd thought to expect after she'd finally coaxed Kagamin into offering to make her dinner.

Kagamin rubbed his thumb along the skin of her hip, a place that Satsuki had never thought of as being particularly sensitive or erogenous, but somehow the drag of his thumb back and forth made a thrill of response dance up her spine. Or perhaps that was thanks to the way he was cradling her hips in his palms, holding them gently as he knelt between her knees and mouthed his way up the inside of her thigh. His lips were so soft against her skin, contrast to the faint rasp of the first traces of stubble on his chin, that it made Satsuki shudder and gasp. She had already closed a hand on his pillow and was gripping it for dear life, trying to ground herself against the hot ache of anticipation as he moved higher up her thigh, even closer to where she was already wetter than she'd ever been. "Kagamin," she said, hoarse, wondering how he could have been so shy about asking her out and in asking her whether she'd let him make her dinner, and so brazen about this.

He paused, so close that she could feel the whisper of his breath against her, soft and warm. That just made her gasp, her hips moving restlessly against his hands as arousal throbbed and pooled between her legs. "Yeah?"

Satsuki whimpered when she realized that he was waiting for her go-ahead. "Yes," she breathed, and then the pattern of her thoughts flew apart as he took her at her word. He bent his head to lick his way between the folds of her body, one long, soft stroke to open her up and steal the breath from her throat. Satsuki whimpered again, barely aware of doing it, and twisted her fingers in his pillow and the sheets as he licked at her slowly, long strokes that teased over her entrance and dragged over her clit and short, light brushes that made stars burst like fireworks behind her eyelids as she dug her heels into his shoulders and shook in his hands. When he circled his tongue around her clit, the slow deliberate brush of it tore a cry out of her throat with the way pleasure twisted through her in response. He made a satisfied sound then and kept going, tonguing her slowly until it broke her apart and she came for the first time, straining up against his mouth as the pulses of her orgasm rocked her.

Her second orgasm came fast on the heels of the first, on another of those long, slow sweeps of his tongue, when he licked his way into her, teasing the tip of his tongue into her body. Satsuki cried out as he stroked his tongue against sensitive skin, first soft and then firm, and came undone again, tossing her head against the pillow as the shudders of pleasure rolled through her, as relentless as the tide sweeping the strand and washing away everything but the present moment.

She had barely begun to subside from that, breathing hard and trembling, when she became aware of Kagamin's cheek resting against her thigh. He was watching her, smiling, and his eyes were soft. Satsuki was not accustomed to blushing without cause, but the way he was watching her made the heat rise in her cheeks. She dragged an unsteady breath into her lungs. "I thought you were shy."

Kagamin considered this and chuckled. "No, I just like to be sure before I commit myself to something important."

The implications of that made Satsuki dizzy, and so did the way Kagamin turned his face to kiss the inside of her thigh. "Come here," she ordered him, breathless, and Kagamin wasn't the least bit shy about obeying her.

#AoKuro, "Dai-chan said Kagamin was Tetsu-kun's true light and Tetsu-kun was Kagamin's fated shadow."
#and hijinks ensue

It began like this.

They had exchanged compliments and news of their respective teams, shared several interesting tidbits of gossip about their mutual acquaintances, and supplied themselves with a sufficient amount of sugar-laden confectionary and the tea with which to wash it down. There was no better time to launch into his purpose than the present, Ryouta decided. "Momoicchi, can I ask you something?"

Momoi turned a limpid smile upon him. "You can ask me anything you want, Ki-chan, you know that."

"But will you answer?" he countered.

Her smile deepened enough to show her dimples. "I think that depends on the question, just like it always does."

Ryouta heaved a sigh and gave her the most mournful look he could muster up. "You're a hard woman, Momoicchi." This only gave her cause to preen herself a bit and left her otherwise unmoved, so he proceeded. "Anyway. Tell me. What in the world is going on between Aominecchi and Kurokocchi?"

Momoi uttered an aggravated little huff and slumped in her chair. "Nothing," she said, disgusted. "Absolutely nothing."

He might have been tempted to ask her whether she was sure, but it was Momoi, the world's foremost expert on Aomineology. Also, he had eyes of his own. Ryouta also slumped, mirroring her posture. "Really nothing?" he asked, plaintive. "Even now?" The Winter Cup was well behind all of them, and even Akashi was beginning to put its hard lessons into practice. "What is he waiting for?"

Momoi drew her cup closer but simply traced a fingertip around and around its rim instead of drinking. "Dai-chan said that Kagamin was Tetsu-kun's true light and that Tetsu-kun was Kagamin's fated shadow."

It took him a couple of minutes to decipher this, translating it out of Aominese and into ordinary terms. "What, really?" he asked when he'd accomplished this. Then he shook his head, exasperated. "Wait, no, what am I even asking for, of course he said that. He's such an idiot sometimes."

"It's Dai-chan." Momoi shrugged, a woman long since accustomed to Aomine's many and varied quirks. "He's never been any good at doing things in moderation." And thus his descent into rampant assholishness after things at Teikou had begun to go off the rails, and then what sounded like a current bout of self-flagellation, or so her weary tones had suggested. She lifted her teacup and sipped. "Why do you ask?"

Ryouta heaved a sigh. "Have you tried playing basketball with them lately?" he asked sadly. "It's terrible, Momoicchi! You could cut the sexual tension with a knife! It was funny at first, but they just keep staring at each other when they think no one is looking, and they barely pay attention to the game." Even Kagami was beginning to pick up on this, if the eyeroll he'd shot Ryouta's way the last time they'd all met up for a game was any indication.

Momoi stared at him and then burst into giggles. "I should have known," she said eventually. "It's affecting their game, and that's why you care."

"I just hate to see my friends unhappy," Ryouta said, lofty, though it was clear that she wasn't buying his noble pose. "Okay, fine, it's affecting their game and therefore we need to do something about that. I don't suppose you would care to help me?"

Momoi had another sip of tea and regarded him over her cup. "Just what did you have in mind?"

Ryouta opened his mouth and then paused. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I hadn't actually gotten that far," he admitted. "Do you have any ideas?"

Momoi sighed and set her cup down. "This is probably going to end in tears," she said. "But yes, I do have an idea or two."

Ryouta beamed at her. "Great! Where to we start?"

And that was how Operation: Get Aomine To Confess His Undying Love To Kuroko began. As Momoi had predicted, it did end in tears—tears of laughter over the thing with the mime, the cake, and Kuroko's earnest attempt to throttle Ryouta when it came out that this had been his contribution to the cause. It also succeeded in its stated objective and Kuroko subsequently climbing Aomine like a tree, so all was well that ended well.

("Okay," Ryouta said to Momoi some time later. "Now how do we get them to stop eyefucking each other on the court and just play basketball?" But that is a story for another day.)

#Aomine/Kuroko/Kagami, the first time Kuroko and Kagami doubleteam Aomine
#you cannot convince me that Kuroko DOESN'T have a voyeuristic streak

So the thing is, Tetsu's actually kind of a voyeur, though he'll never admit to it out loud. Doesn't make it not true, and the fact is that Tetsu likes to watch. This is why he's currently leaning against the headboard, his knees spread to make room for Daiki to lie between his thighs, and why there are a stack of pillows under Daiki's hips, raising his ass into the air. Tetsu wants to see it every time Taiga sinks his fingers into Daiki, three of them right to the knuckles, before he slides them back out, leaving Daiki feeling aching and empty before he plunges them back in again.

Daiki can't see any of this for himself, of course, because Tetsu's hand weighs heavy against the back of his head, and he's busy running his mouth up and down Tetsu's cock. It must be a good show, though, because Tetsu is breathing fast and his cock is slick and wet from more than just Daiki's mouth moving over it. Daiki's okay with this, much more okay than he'd thought he'd be, and he groans as another deep thrust and twist of Kagami's fingers send a thick, heavy flare of heat up his spine. He'd shift against the pillows to get some relief or friction for his cock, which throbs and aches for more, but Kagami is holding him too still for that. All he can do is take it.

He's surprisingly okay with this, too.

That doesn't keep him from groaning, grateful, when Tetsu says, "I think he's ready now."

Taiga sounds ready too, because he sighs, "Thank God," as he curls his fingers one last time before dragging them out of Daiki.

Tetsu shakes with near-silent laughter as Daiki groans around him, feeling open and too empty, but Taiga is too nice a guy to keep him waiting for long. He has hardly any time to go wanting before Kagami closes strong hands on his hips, lifting him with the kind of ease that puts a twist of something hot in the pit of Daiki's stomach. Kagami pushes in on one hard stroke, burying himself inside Daiki, and his groan just about echoes off their bedroom walls. Daiki can't groan—he can't do anything in the first explosion of sensation, not when it feels so good to be stretched open around the thickness of Taiga's cock. The feeling draws out and out some more, and just when he's beginning to come to grips with it, Taiga begins to move.

Daiki loses his ability to think in that moment, reverting to pure instinct. There's nothing left of him but the way pleasure sings up his spine as Taiga ruts against him, driving in hard and deep, and the way it feels when Tetsu cradles his face between his palms and holds him for it as he rolls his hips up, fucking Daiki's mouth. Daiki groans around him and the pleasurable ache of his jaws, groans with the way his lips feel tender and swollen as Tetsu's cock moves between them and slides over his tongue, groans for the way Taiga holds his hips steady for each bed-shaking thrust, pounding into him until Daiki can't endure any more of the pleasure curling through him and comes. Heat explodes through him, searing him down to the bone with how much it is, until there's nothing left of Daiki to know anything with.

He comes back to himself slowly, rising from his daze with the taste of Tetsu still on his tongue and the ghost of pleasure still throbbing in every muscle he has. Tetsu is curled up to the left of him, Taiga to the right. "...okay," Daiki says once he can manage to string coherent syllables together. "Okay, you were right, that was pretty great."

"I told you so," Taiga says, justifiably smug, and Tetsu just laughs at them both.

#Aomine/fem!Kagami/Kise, double penetration
#I should write more fem!Kagami #her narrative voice is very distinctive

"Jesus Christ," Taiga says, her breath rasping in her throat. "Jesus Christ, how do I let you morons talk me into doing these things?" She digs her fingers into Daiki's shoulders when he laughs, because the rumble of it resonates through her, all up and down her body where she's draped against him, and sparks of pleasure dance after it as that grinds her clit against the base of his cock. Behind her, Ryouta uses that as an excuse to slide a second finger into her, stroking it in alongside Daiki's cock. Taiga shudders against the ache of her muscles stretching around his fingers, groaning with it, and she's crazy. She's got to be crazy to go along with this, because it's not like either of them is a small guy. Jesus.

Daiki grins at her, lazy and hot. "If it's too much for you, baby, just say so," he drawls, even though he doesn't make that first move to take his hands off her tits or even stop stroking them. Sure, it sounds all solicitous and shit, like he just wants to be sure she's not being pushed past her limits or comfort zone, but come on, this is Aomine fucking Daiki. Taiga knows a challenge when she hears it, and that right there is reason number one that she's spread across his lap, thigh muscles straining with the stretch of it, and letting Ryouta slide his fingers in and out of her.

"Fuck you," Taiga gasps as Ryouta sinks his fingers all the way into her. "I'll show you too much, asshole."

Reason number two presses his mouth to her shoulder, dropping soft kisses along it that are wet with the brush of his tongue. "Don't worry," Ryouta murmurs when he reaches the spot just under her ear, the one he knows makes her bones turn to water when he mouths it just—like—he's—doing—now—fuck. "Gonna make it so good for you, you won't regret it." That's a promise Taiga knows she can take to the bank, because for one thing, Ryouta is just about as good as he thinks he is. For another, he's already spent half an hour by the clock with his face buried between her thighs, putting that pretty mouth of his to good use, and Taiga wouldn't dream of regretting that.

What? She's only human, and has never pretended to be above taking bribes when the right one comes her way.

Taiga arches between them as Ryouta mouths her throat and reaches a hand back to him, sinking it into his hair. "Promises, promises," she rasps, and then he slips that third finger into her. "Fuck... fuck..."

Daiki takes advantage of the way she tips her head back to drag his tongue up her throat, because he's a born opportunist, and his voice has dropped to a purr when he says, "Fucksake, Ryouta, you gonna take all night here or what?"

Ryouta presses another kiss to Taiga's shoulder; with her nerves as sensitized as they are right now, Taiga can feel the way his lips quirk. "Perfection takes time," he says, even as he's sliding his fingers out of Taiga and pressing up closer as she moans at the sudden lack of that stretching pressure. "Now," he says, husky against her ear, and Taiga moves when he sets his hands against her hips and coaxes her up. Daiki groans with her as she shifts her weight and he moves inside her, and grunts when Ryouta reaches under them, fitting himself closer to them both. A moment later Taiga recognizes why when she feels Ryouta's cock nudging against her. Her breath stutters in her throat at the pressure of it pushing against her—it really is going to be too much, she's not going to be able to take them both—and then the head of him slips inside her.

Taiga whimpers with the hard stretch, achingly full, and her whimper stretches into a whine as Ryouta gently coaxes her to settle again, sliding down around them both. Everything narrows down to how full she is, how big they feel inside her, hovering on the edge of what Taiga can stand.

Then Daiki licks the ball of his thumb and reaches down, stroking it over her clit, and that's it, she's gone, screaming as she comes and her body seizes tight around them, trying to wring tight despite the way they're holding her open. She's never come so hard in her life, and that's before Ryouta and Daiki start moving inside her.

Taiga surrenders any pretence of being in control of this and lets them get on with it while she hangs onto them and tries not to die from coming her brains out. Here's the thing: Daiki may be the avatar of arrogance personified, but he's also some kind of unholy sex god. On top of that, Ryouta's ability to mimic feats of physical prowess does not stop at the edges of the basketball court. She comes again while they're still figuring out how to move together and how much she can take, shuddering through it as they rock shallow little thrusts into her. Then they figure it out and Ryouta, who's been chasing Daiki for so long that it's like second nature for him to mirror everything Daiki does, syncs himself up to the way Daiki is moving.

Everything after that is one long blur as far as Taiga's concerned, and she gives up trying to keep track of whose hands are touching her where, fondling her breasts or sliding wet and messy over her clit to coax her through another wracking shudder of pleasure. She couldn't say whose lips are on her throat at any given moment, or even which one of them is groaning in her ear, mingling praise and profanity and prayers as the two of them rock up into her and one orgasm runs into another, and another.

It's probably just as well that neither of them manages to hold on for long once they're both moving together. Taiga doesn't have any objections to the idea of dying in bed, but she'd like to do it when she's in her eighties, say, not her twenties. She lolls between them, groaning breathlessly after they finally tense and shout, pretty much in unison, and come and come and come some more. Daiki leans his forehead against her shoulder after, breathing hard, and Ryouta whimpers against her nape.

It's a long damn time before any of them can even think about moving, and even longer before they actually manage to do it. Taiga refuses to bestir herself in the slightest, save to roll herself out of the wet spot, and leaves the clean-up to them—there's no sense in letting them get above themselves, after all. Well, that, and the fact that she honestly doesn't think she can move.

Daiki is (naturally) the first one to flop down next to her. "Fuck," he says, and even he sounds a little impressed. "Fuck, we have got to do that again sometime." He insinuates himself against Taiga and promptly begins to nibble on her ear, because the man never quits.

Taiga flails a hand at Ryouta and manages to drag him down to them. He lands on top of her, warm and comfortable, and immediately nuzzles against her shoulder. "Yeah," she says eventually. "You might be able to talk me into that."

#Kise and Takao have a surprise for Midorima
#personally I suspect the two of them have been overindulging in watching Mad Men

At the end of an excruciatingly long week which has drained him on every possible level, Shintarou lets himself into the apartment he shares with Kazunari and Ryouta with only one thought on his mind: food, a bath, and then bed. It is distinctly possible that he'll just skip the food and the bath in favor of face-planting on the closest flat surface instead.

His two idiots have other plans.

There are definitely moments when Shintarou wonders what on earth he was thinking when he first allowed Kazunari and Ryouta to cross each other's paths, because there is no denying that the two of them are what could charitably be called kindred spirits. (The uncharitable might be inclined to call them menaces.) But then again, he would like to know how he could have kept it from happening: for reasons best known to themselves, they each independently decided that he was the kind of person they wanted to claim as a friend, and with that in common, there probably hadn't been anything in the world that could have kept them apart for long.

At least he can say this much about them: his life is never in danger of becoming boring as long as he has the two of them around.

They meet him at the door before he can even get his shoes off, which is not actually that unusual. Honestly, neither is the fact that Kazunari is wearing a dress, the drapey grey one with the sweetheart neckline and the full skirt that gives him the illusion of having actual hips. That's just Kazunari, who argues that gender norms are unnecessarily and unnaturally restrictive and that a man has the perfect right to feel pretty if he wants to, and consequently suits his actions to his words. (Shintarou's life took a definite turn for the strange when fate threw him and Kazunari together in high school, and there is no doubt about that.) That Ryouta is also wearing a dress, something sleeveless and close-fitting in vivid blue—that's far less ordinary. Both of them are made up, the kind of subtle make-up that enhances and manages to seem as though they aren't wearing any cosmetics at all and just naturally possess smoky eyes and long lashes and delicately pink cheeks and full, pouting lips. (Shintarou knows about these things because of Kazunari and the fact that Ryouta still models, and they like to talk shop.)

He barely gets the time to get a good look at them both, the artfully styled hair and the long legs encased in silk stockings and the nearly identical demure smiles, before they're upon him. "Welcome home," they chorus, moving purposefully. Shintarou is still trying to process what he's seeing when Ryouta relieves him of his bag and Kazunari helps him off with his coat and then his jacket. While he's causing these to disappear, Ryouta kneels to help him out of his shoes and into his slippers, a feat that is really rather impressive given the fact that he is wearing heels. By the time he is rising from this task, Kazunari has, like magic, produced a drink on a tray—a silver tray that Shintarou hadn't even been aware they owned—and is offering it to Shintarou with a smile.

Shintarou finally discovers his voice. "What on earth?"

"We noticed that you were looking a little worn around the edges," Ryouta volunteers, smiling as he takes the cocktail and presses it into Shintarou's hand. "So it seemed like a good idea to do something about that."

Shintarou takes an absent-minded sip of his drink while he decodes that: it was probably Kazunari's idea to begin with, but Ryouta's enthusiasm that refined and expanded upon it. "I see."

Kazunari loops a hand through his arm and begins to draw him in the direction of the kitchen. "We have your dinner waiting for you," he announces, peering up at him from beneath long lashes. Now that he mentions it, Shintarou notices that something does smell good.

It's next to impossible for him to resist the two of them when they've got the bit in their teeth when he's not exhausted, so Shintarou gives in and allows the two of them to escort him to the kitchen, where there's mellow jazz playing and a single place laid at the table. The reason for this becomes apparent in short order. Ryouta whisks a covered plate out of the oven as Kazunari coaxes Shintarou into his seat; after he places the plate in front of Shintarou and uncovers it, Ryouta immediately takes up position behind Shintarou's chair and sets his hands on his shoulders. As he begins to knead them, Kazunari takes charge of the cutlery, doing everything but chewing the food for him.

Shintarou groans, because the steak is meltingly tender and Ryouta seems to know exactly where each and every one of the knots in Shintarou's muscles is and is apparently determined to coax each one loose. It's bizarre to be waited on like this, but not unpleasant, and he slowly begins to relax into a bemused reverie as the week's awfulness begins to receded under their attentions.

There's dessert to go with dinner, one of the fancy confections from the upscale bakery that Shintarou generally doesn't have the time to visit. Kazunari feeds it to him with his fingers, letting Shintarou lick the pastry cream from them with each bite as Ryouta strokes his thumbs up and down Shintarou's nape, slow and gentle. By the time Shintarou has accepted the last delicate piece of pastry from Kazunari, he's not at all surprised that they immediately coax him up from his seat and chivvy him along to the bedroom, where the bed is already turned down. Ryouta is the first to kiss him, sliding his fingers into Shintarou's hair and holding him as he strokes his tongue over Shintarou's lips, enticing him into parting them and then slipping it into his mouth. Kazunari presses himself against Shintarou's back, his hands warm and sure as he strokes Shintarou's chest. It actually takes Shintarou an embarrassingly long time to realize that Kazunari is undressing him. In his defense, though, he is very tired, and Ryouta mixes drinks with a generous hand. When he reaches back to them, thinking to return the slow caresses, Ryouta catches his hands and twines their fingers together. "Not tonight," he says into Shintarou's mouth. "Just relax and let us take care of you."

There really doesn't seem to be any point in arguing with them, so Shintarou submits himself to this without argument.

Eventually they guide him into bed, settling him against the cool sheets, and dispose themselves around him, pressing close and running their hands over his skin until Shintarou begins to feel as though he's floating in a warm current of pleasure, one that is bearing him away from the real world as he and Kazunari and Ryouta trade kisses back and forth. (It's just as pleasant to settle back and watch them leaning across him to kiss each other as it is to kiss either one of them, which is not something Shintarou would have ever thought to believe, once.) Shintarou lets the warm glow wrap around him until he can hardly tell where it ends and he begins. He groans when Kazunari eases his way down the bed, dropping soft kisses down Shintarou's chest as he goes, and traces his lips over Shintarou's cock. He's too relaxed to do more than make open, wanting sounds against Ryouta's mouth, and Ryouta simply hums back to him, pleased, gathering him closer. He cradles Shintarou against him while Kazunari runs his mouth over him, swirling his tongue over the head of Shintarou's cock and closing his lips around it, sucking softly while he strokes his palms over Shintarou's thighs, soothing the tension out of his muscles. The pleasure of it laps through Shintarou slowly, building almost imperceptibly while Ryouta runs gentle hands over Shintarou's shoulders and chest. Shintarou moans for them both, for the way Kazunari slides his mouth up and down the length of him, deliberately slow, and the way Ryouta holds him and kisses him as though he wants to taste Shintarou's very heart. The crescendo of pleasure builds so gradually that it catches him by surprise when it finally overwhelms him, running over him and singing in his very bones with its sweetness, and the only thing Shintarou can do is give way before it and allow his lovers to hold him safe.

He's barely aware of their hands on him after it finally begins to recede, the gentleness of their touch as they tuck him between the sheets and stroke his hair, and the last thing Shintarou is conscious of before he slips into a deep and dreamless sleep is how glad he is that the two of him have chosen him after all, and the softness of their lips against his forehead as sleep claims him.

#Aomine as the cat from hell
#all cats are bastards

Tetsuya remembers when Daiki was adorable. Sometimes he wonders what on earth happened.

Strictly speaking, he knows what happened: even the cutest of kittens, the ones that start out as tiny scraps of fluff, ninety-five percent fur and five percent giant eyes, cannot remain kittens forever. Kittens become cats, and therein lies the problem. The things that were adorable when Daiki was a little raggedy puff of black fur that fit in the palm of Tetsuya's hand are a lot less cute now that Daiki is a seven-kilo monster of a cat, sleek and rangy and made of solid muscle, fangs, claws, and bad attitude.

"You were so cute when I got you," Tetsuya muses. "How did you turn out like this?"

Daiki continues to roll around the pitiful remains of what had formerly been a rather handsome specimen of an areca. The pot lies in pieces and the soil is scattered in an arc with at least a meter radius; Tetsuya isn't sure, but he suspects that Daiki may have also made a deposit in the mess that is better-suited to the litterbox. The plant is a total loss. The leaves are scattered across the floor, and Daiki has been chewing on them in a desultory sort of fashion.

Cat-like, he ignores Tetsuya's presence altogether. Really, Tetsuya doesn't know why he bothers—Daiki never listens.

Really, they should have gotten a puppy. Puppies can be trained, but Tetsuya is fairly certain that there's no training a cat unless the cat cares to indulge you. Daiki has made it painfully clear that he does not care to do any such thing.

Daiki sulks when Tetsuya lifts him bodily out of the mess and makes a couple of spirited attempts to roll around in the dirt some more, disembowel the broom, and pounce on the sad remains of the plant when Tetsuya begins picking them up. Tetsuya refuses to engage, and eventually Daiki takes up a station just outside the reach of the broom and watches him clean up the mess. Occasionally he licks his chops, grooming the green slime and leaf bits from his chin. Daiki is not a tidy eater.

"I hope you're pleased with yourself," Tetsuya tells him when he's dumped the last dustpan of soil into the garbage bags. "I liked that plant."

Some cats have pleasant rumbling purrs, the kind that make a soothing background to one's reading, perhaps. Daiki's purr is as loud and growly as a truck engine with a failing muffler. He begins purring now and pads over to twine himself around Tetsuya's ankles, leaning against him so heavily that Tetsuya has to brace himself against his weight. He wreathes himself around Tetsuya's legs, slipping in and out of them and rubbing his head against Tetsuya's knees, purring with all his might. Tetsuya relents and stoops to rub his ears, because what else was there to do? Daiki's a cat, and that's all there is to it.

Daiki permits the caress for a moment, then eels away from Tetsuya's touch. At first Tetsuya thinks that this is because Daiki has had enough of being petted, but Daiki quickly corrects this assumption by assuming an all too-familiar position—hunched back, lowered head, gaping jaw—as the horrific ack-gack-ackk-ackkk-ackkkk noises of incipient puking erupt from his throat. As Tetsuya watches, resigned, Daiki proceeds to barf up a pile of sodden green plant matter all over the freshly cleaned floor.

"You are such a jerk," Tetsuya tells him, and goes to fetch the paper towels. The growling gargle of Daiki's purr follows him all the way to the kitchen.

He definitely should have opted for the puppy.

#AoKuro, music
#Kuroko has never claimed that he isn't evil

When Tetsuya let himself in, he could hear Aomine's music almost clearly enough to distinguish the lyrics, which, given that Aomine was wearing headphones, was just a little terrifying. Tetsuya shook his head over this, wondering whether Aomine was deliberately courting hearing loss or simply didn't believe that such a thing could happen to him, and considered the line of Aomine's back as he stepped into his slippers and set his bag down. Aomine was slouched sideways in his chair, propped up on one elbow with his legs sprawled out, and he was drumming his pencil in time to the heavy thud of the bass beat. At first Tetsuya thought that he was absorbed in his studying. Then he crept closer and saw that while Aomine did have his biology textbook open, this was simply serving as a pedestal for the magazine lying atop it. He peeked over Aomine's shoulder to be sure, but he needn't have bothered: Aomine's devotion to Mai-san was as eternal and unalterable as the North Star.

One song ended and another began; Aomine tapped his pencil faster, matching the tempo of the new song, and carefully turned the page of his magazine. He clearly hadn't noticed that Tetsuya had gotten home or the fact that he was under observation, being far more interested in Mai-san's day at the beach. Tetsuya watched for a bit longer, sipping his shake thoughtfully, and then set the cup against the back of Aomine's neck.

At the first cold, wet touch, Aomine shrieked and jumped, flailing his arms. He overset his cup of coffee, spilling the dregs of it across the table, and immediately snatched his magazine out of harm's way. He left his biology notes and book to their doom, Tetsuya noticed as he took a prudent step back out of Aomine's reach. "I'm home," he announced as Aomine clawed the headphones out of his ears and tinny music blasted out of them.

He took another sip of his shake as Aomine slung himself around in the chair and glared. "What the hell, Tetsu, you know Mai-san is retired!" He cradled the magazine against his chest, stroking the cover possessively.

"I hadn't forgotten," Tetsuya murmured. "You mourned for a week and wore a black armband for months." It had been a touching, ludicrous spectacle, and really, that was Aomine all over. "Aren't you going to clean that up?"

Aomine made a face at him. "Should make you do it," he grumbled as he restored the magazine to Mai-san's shrine. "It's your fault, you know."

"I don't see how." Nevertheless he fetched a towel and began to mop up the mess. Fortunately the cup had only been about a quarter full, and honestly, a little cold coffee was the least of what he'd seen Aomine's notebooks and textbooks endure.

Aomine snorted, eloquent. "The hell you say." He switched the music off; the abrupt cessation of the blaring noise made the apartment seem loudly silent. He propped his hip on the table and squinted at the way Tetsuya was dabbing at his textbook. "I think it's too late, Tetsu. May as well pull the plug."

Tetsuya looked at the stained and damp pages, already crinkled from previous dousings. "Yes, but if we do that, how are you going to study?"

"Pfft, study." Aomine grinned at him. "You ought to know better'n that by now."

"I suppose I really should." Tetsuya set the book on end and fanned the pages out in hopes that they would dry faster. He started to head to the kitchen to rinse the towel and hang it up, but Aomine stretched out a long arm as he went past and reeled him in. Tetsuya raised his eyebrows at Aomine. "Was there something you wanted?"

Aomine twined his arms around Tetsuya, pulling him into the space between his knees, and bent down to kiss him. His mouth tasted like the coffee he'd been drinking, and he hummed when Tetsuya leaned into the kiss. "So hey," he said, leaning his forehead against Tetsuya's, staying close enough that Tetsuya could feel the movements of his lips shaping the words. "Welcome home."

Tetsuya smiled and dropped the towel so he could slide his arms around Aomine's waist. "Thanks," he said, and returned the kiss.

#AoKuro, hugging and sweet words
#so this one turned out like a punch right in the Feels

As awkward as this was, Taiga had to admit that it was pretty damn satisfying to have a long-cherished suspicion confirmed at last: Aomine and Kuroko were totally an item. "Just friends" his ass—he'd had a lot of friends in his time, but he'd never felt the need to shove his tongue down any of their throats. Unless Kuroko's definition of what being friends involved was radically different than Taiga's, the way he had one hand wrapped around the back of Aomine's neck and the other cupping Aomine's jaw to hold him for the way he'd all but glued his mouth to Aomine's wasn't the least bit friendly at all. For his part, Aomine had curled his fingers around Kuroko's arms, hanging on to him like a man going down for the third time who'd managed to catch hold of a life preserver at the very last second.

Clearly it had been a good call to duck out of the gym for a quick trip to the john while he was waiting for the two of them to show up for their game. Nevertheless, as satisfying as it was to have the were-they-or-weren't-they question settled, there were more important things to be doing, like playing basketball.

Taiga opened up his mouth to cough or clear his throat or something, whatever it was going to take to interrupt the festivities, but before he could make any noise, they separated of their own accord, and he stopped himself. Taiga had seen that expression on Aomine's face once before, right after Seirin had defeated Touou that first time. He looked just as stunned now, staring down at Kuroko as he settled back down on his heels. "Tetsu..."

He didn't let go of Kuroko, and Kuroko didn't turn loose of him, either. He just slid his hand around until it looked like he was holding Aomine's face between his palms. He had his game face on, gazing up at Aomine, and Taiga was suddenly sure that the two of them wouldn't have noticed a whole herd of tap-dancing elephants passing through, not when they were looking at each other like that.

Kuroko stroked a thumb against Aomine's cheek. "Stop holding on to what's past," he said. "It's over with. We can make something better now."

Taiga felt his eyebrows going up before he'd even had a chance to figure out what that meant—that kind of sounded like the two of them were—

It wasn't exactly a laugh, the sound Aomine made then. Laughter wasn't supposed to sound raw like that, or so full of broken edges. "How can you just say things like that, after—"

"Because it's true." Kuroko sounded sort of exasperated, which smart people would have taken as a warning sign. Of course, Kuroko was dealing with Aomine, but even so, Taiga would have expected the guy to know better. Then Kuroko's expression softened, maybe because the look on Aomine's face was pretty pitiful. He stroked his thumb back and forth along the line of Aomine's cheekbone, slow. "I forgave you a long time ago," he said. "Don't you think it's time you forgave yourself?"

"Tetsu..." Aomine didn't say anything but that; by the look of him, he didn't know what else he could say. Taiga could sort of sympathize with that, having come up against Kuroko's immovable resolve a few times himself—though never quite like this, to be sure.

"It's time," Kuroko said, gently inflexible, and he caught Aomine when the guy made a choked sound and wrapped his arms around him. Aomine buried his face against Kuroko's shoulder and fisted his hands in his shirt, and Kuroko raised a hand to stroke his hair. He was smiling.

Taiga backed away, lifting his feet and setting them down again with as much care as he could manage. God knew he didn't want to make any noise. People shouldn't ought to choose gyms where just anyone could wander through to have their big dramatic emotional breakthroughs, yeah, but even so, he was pretty damn sure that neither Kuroko nor Aomine would have cared to know they'd had a witness to their rapprochement. He managed to sneak out without disturbing either of them and made good on his escape while he could. He gave them a few minutes before texting Kuroko an apology and a claim that something important had come up to keep him from making the game after all. If his eyes were a little misty while he did it, well, fuck. His allergies were giving him hell this spring, and that was all there was to it.

#AoKuro, dealing with children

There were benefits to having learned to minimize his presence to the point of practical invisibility, and one of them was the fact that sometimes he was able to stand witness to things that would have otherwise been private. (This was, at the same time, one of the drawbacks of his lack of presence; there was nothing in life that did not have its counterpart.)

This time Tetsuya was watching a pick-up basketball game in a park, which was nothing that would have been worth remarking if he hadn't known one of the players. Aomine was at the heart of the game, undoubtedly the most natural place for him to be, and he was surrounded by opponents whose heads barely reached the middle of his chest. Most of them were barely even that tall; Tetsuya thought that they might have been ten or eleven years old.

Everyone was laughing, even Aomine, and it was for that reason that Tetsuya was lingering on the other side of the chain-link fence that surrounded the court, watching instead of joining in. It was obvious that they were playing six or seven against one—there were enough kids on the court in constant motion that Tetsuya couldn't get an accurate count of them—and it was just as obvious that Aomine could have won the game any time he chose, despite the number of his opponents.

He was not choosing to do so.

As Tetsuya watched, one of the kids stole the ball from Aomine and danced back a few steps to shoot at the net. The ball wobbled through the air and rebounded off the backboard; as his opponent scowled, Aomine stretched an arm out to catch the ball without even looking. His voice carried across the court clearly enough. "Here," he said, tossing the ball to her. "Try it again—no, wait." As she raised the ball, Aomine joined her and adjusted her form, nudging at her elbows and shoulders. "There, try it like that."

She screwed up her face, clearly doubtful, and made the shot. The ball described a much smoother arc through the air this time, hit the rim of the hoop, and rattled through the net. The girl whooped and Aomine grinned, ruffling her hair as one of the other kids pounced on the ball and the game resumed.

Without really thinking about it, Tetsuya set his shopping bags down and hooked his fingers in the fence. He was in no particular hurry to get home, and this was something worth seeing.

It was a while before anyone noticed him, and he saw Aomine stop the play several more times to show the kids a better way to shoot or to evade an opponent before they did. It gave Tetsuya an odd feeling to see Aomine like this, grinning as broadly as any of his opponents and enjoying the game with the kind of transparent joy that he'd thought was long since lost. It was rather like looking through a window and seeing the past come back to life. Even though it was good to see, it ached like a long-healed injury did when the weather changed.

Eventually the ball escaped one of the player's hands and bounced over to the fence, and that was when Aomine turned and caught sight of him. He never had been all that great at concealing his reactions: first his eyes went wide with surprise and a moment of something that looked like hesitation, then his grin (if possible) stretched even wider than it had been before. He raised a hand and waved. "Hey, Tetsu! Come and join us!"

Tetsuya wasn't dressed for basketball, hadn't even thought that a game of pick-up basketball was in the offing, but he picked up his bags and came around the court anyway. Aomine's opponents—part of Tetsuya wanted to call them his playmates—eyed him with curiosity, but they didn't seem to mind his joining the game all that much. One of them did cock his head as Tetsuya took his coat off and left it with his shopping. "You know this guy?"

"Do I know this guy, he asks me." Aomine dropped a hand on the kid's head and scruffled his hair. "Of course I know this guy. We used to play together on the same team."

It was amazing how easy it was to sum it up like that, though it hardly dealt with all the things that meant. Not that the kids seemed to care either way, because they accepted that without question.

Aomine scooped the ball out of the hands of the girl who had retrieved it and set it to spinning on his finger as he cast a look Tetsuya's way, one part the arrogance that he'd learned to wear since Teikou and two parts teasing and maybe, at the back of all that, a part that was uncertain and hopeful. "Whaddya say, wanna be partners again?"

What it meant when Tetsuya looked at him and said, "Yes, I do," probably went right over the kids' heads, but that was okay. They were too young to know about that kind of thing anyway.

#Yakuzaverse, AoKuro after getting tattooed
#so I kind of have thing for tattoos and this prompt hit me where I live

They go together whenever they've scraped up the money and have the time for a session. It means a lot of time spent waiting and watching, because the man only has two hands and one apprentice. They have to take turns stripping off their shirts and submitting to the needle. It ought to be tedious, these sessions, which can stretch out to occupy a whole evening. They are often nearly silent but for the sounds of the needle as the artist etches his designs into their skin and fills them in with detail and color. Occasionally he murmurs instructions to his apprentice or whichever one of them is being worked on; sometimes one of them grunts when the needle bites deep. Tetsuya would not care for anyone else to overhear him in such circumstances, but Aomine is different. Aomine is and always has been his exception.

Tonight he sits out of the way, his shoulder throbbing where the artist has been adding fine detail to the sweep of a wing against the clouds. He watches as Aomine stares up at the ceiling and holds still while the man traces the first outlines of the scene that will sweep down from Aomine's shoulder and cross his pectoral muscles. He grunts occasionally, but no one pays any attention to that or the way his cock presses against the front of his slacks, straining against them and completely ruining the tailored line of them. These sessions take him like that, and so Tetsuya sits and smokes and watches until the artist finishes the last curving line that follows the sweep of Aomine's ribs. He sets his tools down and settles back with a sigh.

His apprentice immediately produces a cloth for him to wipe his hands on, and then the ointment to wipe over the lines he has engraved into Aomine's skin. After this has been done, the two of them nod to Tetsuya and slip out, closing the door after themselves.

There are certain benefits to the habits of routine and paying generously, Tetsuya reflects, rising and padding over to Aomine to look him over. His chest gleams in the light, slick with sweat and the shine of the ointment, and the lines of ink show up vividly against his skin. He grins at Tetsuya and stretches a hand up to him. "Gimme."

Tetsuya passes his cigarette down to Aomine, who promptly takes a long drag and groans with his satisfaction. "Fuck, that's good." He's a shameless sensualist, Aomine, but then, so is Tetsuya. He kneels between Aomine's legs when he draws his knees up to make room, and that is why the artist and his apprentice have left them this privacy.

He's been watching for long enough that he knows precisely what he wants, and so he unfastens Aomine's slacks without hesitation and draws Aomine's cock out. Aomine groans as Tetsuya handles him, leaning his head back against the tatami as Tetsuya runs his thumb up the underside of his head and through the smear of slick beading at the slit. He groans again when Tetsuya leans down and wraps his lips around him, sliding his tongue over the soft skin of him and sucking slow and hard before he runs his mouth down the length of Aomine's cock. It slides over his tongue, heavy and hot, and the scent of Aomine's skin and sweat fills his senses, wound through with the acrid edge of the cigarette smoke and the ink and the ointment shining on his skin.

Tetsuya groans too, reaching for his own fly as Aomine lifts his hips and fucks into his mouth while he smokes the rest of Tetsuya's cigarette. Tetsuya moves with him, half drunk on the way Aomine looks when he's spread out like this, and the first outline of the ogre glares at the world from Aomine's chest. He closes his hand around his own cock, moving it in time with the way Aomine's cock slides over his tongue, filling Tetsuya's mouth with the slick, bitter taste of him.

It never takes long for them to bring each other off after a tattoo session. Aomine hasn't even stubbed the cigarette out before he tenses and groans, his hips jerking as his cock throbs between Tetsuya's lips, flooding his mouth. Tetsuya closes his eyes, swallowing and tightening his fingers on his cock as he moves his mouth over Aomine. He laps Aomine clean and suckles delicately at the head of him until Aomine groans again and pushes him away. Tetsuya pushes himself up then and moves his hand harder, faster, stroking himself off, and comes over his fist when Aomine props himself up on his elbows to watch.

Aomine grins, watching Tetsuya hunch over himself and gasp with the punch of sensation. "Fuck, that looks good on you." He finishes the cigarette and reaches a long arm over to stub it out in the tattoo artist's own ashtray, wincing a little as he flexes his new tattoo.

"I'm so glad you approve," Tetsuya tells him as he wipes his hands clean. He does up his slacks and pushes himself to his feet, and kicks Aomine's ankle lightly when he doesn't move to follow. "C'mon."

Aomine spends a few more moments watching him silently before he tucks himself away and stands. Tetsuya lights up another cigarette while he waits for Aomine to finish dressing himself, wondering a little about the look in Aomine's eyes, but he thinks no more of it when Aomine looks around, plucks the cigarette from his lips, and kisses him. "You hungry, Tetsu?"

"I've already eaten," Tetsuya says, bland, just for the way it makes Aomine crack up, and steals his cigarette back. "But I’m not full yet, I suppose."

"Then let's get the hell out of here," Aomine says, and they do.

#Ordinary People: MidoTaka, the game of looking and not touching

"Don't you think you're being ridiculous?" Shintarou asks. Try as he might, he can't help the way his voice rasps over the question.

"I'm being ridiculous? Oh, Shin-chan." Kazunari shakes his head, pity in every slow movement. "Not to descend to the level of the schoolyard here or anything, but if we're going to talk about people being ridiculous, all I can say is that you started it."

There's a bead of sweat working its way down Kazunari's throat; it catches and pools in the hollow between his clavicles as Kazunari lifts his chin and sighs out a breath from between parted lips. Shintarou licks his lips and tells himself to look away as sternly as he can—there is no good to be found in indulging Kazunari's freaks—but he can't bring himself to do it. He doesn't even know how Kazunari manages to have this kind of effect on him, but Kazunari contrives it somehow. Admittedly, just now it probably has something to do with the way Kazunari is kneeling astride him, naked as the day he was born, with his hand wrapped around his own cock.

Kazunari passes his fingers up and down his cock again, throwing in a little twist and flourish of his wrist that makes him hum, low and open. Shintarou is intimately familiar with that satisfied little sound and has even made a modest survey of all the ways to elicit it. He has to wet his lips again while he tries to reassemble the scattered lines of his thoughts. "What do you mean, I started it?" It certainly wasn't his idea to let Kazunari fasten his hands down or for Kazunari to climb on top of him to make such a wanton display of himself once he'd had Shintarou well and truly at his mercy. That was all Kazunari—as usual.

Kazunari continues to jerk himself off slowly, breathing deep and even and uttering those small, satisfied sounds, just barely louder than the quiet, obscene sounds of flesh sliding over flesh. "Oh, you definitely started it, Shin-chan." He smiles down at Shintarou and changes the pitch of his voice. "Not now, this is more important," he sing-songs.

Shintarou recognizes that tone as Kazunari's approximation of his voice and frowns, trying to think of what Kazunari is driving at. This is difficult to do when what he really wants is to stroke his tongue over the hollow of Kazunari's throat and kiss his way down his chest and stomach before pinning Kazunari's hips to the bed and lapping the slick of precome from the head of his cock. "What...?" It comes to him slowly—he'd said something like that earlier in the evening, when Kazunari had interrupted his review of the nervous system to nibble on his ear and suggest they go to bed. "I was studying."

"It's Saturday night, and school is out for the next two weeks," Kazunari retorts, his smile edged. "And we've talked about this." He leans forward then, until they are nose to nose and Shintarou can feel the soft brush of Kazunari's cock sliding against his chest, wet and hot. "Remember that? When you promised that you weren't going to let yourself forget I exist?" He traces a finger along Shintarou's lower lip and smiles again; when Shintarou follows it with the tip of his tongue, he tastes salt and flat and shivers with the way heat twists in the pit of his stomach. "Consider this a friendly reminder."

Ah. Yes. That talk, the I'm your boyfriend, not a toy you take out of the box and play with when it suits you talk, the one that had come when Kazunari had been on the verge of walking out. Shintarou swallows hard. "I'm paying attention."

"Good." When Kazunari sits up again, he has the lube in his hands and is busy slicking his fingers. As Shintarou watches, he reaches back and arches a little over him, hissing softly. Shintarou can't see what he's doing, precisely, but he can imagine it all too well—Kazunari pressing his own fingers into himself, sinking them as deep as he can and sliding them in and out of himself. His expression goes distant as he does this, and he catches his lip between his teeth as he begins to move over Shintarou, arching his back and making quiet sounds in his throat to go with the wet sounds of him fucking himself on his fingers. "The thing is, the studying—it's not something I mind," he says presently, low and breathless. "I know all about the studying, even if I do think it's crazy not to take at least the first day of a vacation off." He's beginning to rock his hips now, moving with the stroke of his fingers and panting; the words tumble from his lips in breathless spurts. He's so gorgeous that it hurts a little to watch him. "It's the part where you look through me like you don't even see me standing there. That's hurtful, Shin-chan, it really is."

He might be smiling as he says it, but that's Kazunari's way. He smiles through even his most serious truths. Whatever else Shintarou can say for himself, he's learned at least that much. "I see you now."

"I should hope so," Kazunari tells him, but the edges of his smile soften some at that. "And just think, if you'd been paying attention earlier, you could be inside me right now." He shudders then, groaning as he does something that Shintarou can't see, and it underlines and punctuates his point with excruciating clarity.

Shintarou groans too, aching with the way he's tied down and pinned beneath Kazunari's weight, helpless to do anything about it. "Kazunari," he breathes, staring up at him. "Kazunari, please..."

Kazunari shudders and goes taut over him, groaning again as he comes all over Shintarou's chest and stomach. Shintarou's breath catches in his throat with how Kazunari looks like this, his throat gleaming and pale when he throws his head back, and the clear, bright look on his face as his pleasure sweeps through him. It's almost enough just to see Kazunari like this, to watch him come undone and listen to the sounds he makes as he does, and Shintarou can't help the way he pulls against the restraints and Kazunari's weight, desperate for anything that will let him reach that edge and follow after Kazunari.

Kazunari settles in time to hear the frustrated sound that Shintarou makes when he can't find enough purchase to bring himself off. He leans over Shintarou, panting and flushed. "Have I made my point?"

There are times to stand on one's dignity, but this is not one of them. "Yes," Shintarou says, meaning it devoutly. "Kazunari..."

He is not expecting the way Kazunari leans down to kiss him, or the way Kazunari shifts over him, reaching for Shintarou's cock and guiding it against himself. Their groans mingle together as Kazunari sinks down on him, hot and incredibly tight, and Shintarou trembles beneath him, panting for breath against the way raw sensation sings through him, already almost more than he can bear. Kazunari balances himself over him and barely moves, grinding against him slowly, and the weight of him keeps Shintarou from being able to rock up into him. He watches Shintarou, his eyes all but glowing as Shintarou gasps and groans beneath him, and he smiles when the thread of Shintarou's desperation finally snaps. Shintarou comes hard enough that he can't make any sound at all as pleasure tears through him, long aching shudders that leave Shintarou feeling almost bruised after they finally cease.

Kazunari bends over him while he's still breathing hard and kisses him again, and if Shintarou tries to put his apology into the movement of his lips against Kazunari's, then Kazunari tastes like forgiveness. Kazunari releases his hands while they're still kissing and hums against his mouth when Shintarou settles them against his back. Shintarou hums back, and after that, there is nothing more to be said.

#Ordinary People: Aomine/Kuroko/Kagami, the first time Kuroko and Kagami doubleteam Aomine

Daiki has no idea how he gets himself into these situations, really he doesn't. They just seem to happen to him somehow, and that's all there is to it.

(This is a lie: Daiki knows perfectly well how this came about, and his name is Kuroko Tetsuya. Like Satsuki, all Tetsu has to do is ask—or hint loudly—and Daiki knuckles under. He's just lucky that neither of them uses that power for evil—much.)

"I don't know why I'm doing this," he mutters, pressing his forehead against Tetsu's shoulder and trying not to tense when Kagami strokes his hands down his sides and over his hips. He's been doing that for a while now, just running his hands up and down Daiki's back. Fuck knows what he thinks he's going to accomplish by it, though at this point Daiki could probably identify every callus on the guy's hands while blindfolded.

Tetsu doesn't say anything at all, but he tightens his fingers against Daiki's nape and rubs his thumb against Daiki's hairline. The slow back and forth of it plucks at Daiki's nerves, though he'd rather die than admit to the fact that this is working for him on at least one level. Not that Tetsu could miss how hard he is, really.

Kagami doesn't say anything either, but he runs his hands down Daiki's back again and curves them around his ass, and at last, finally, they're going to get on with it—no. Apparently not. Kagami just starts kneading, working his hands against Daiki's ass like he thinks he's some kind of massage therapist.

Daiki loses the last of his patience. "What the fuck are you waiting for? Would you just get on with it already?"

Kagami doesn't even miss a beat and squeezes his ass again; Daiki gets the distinct impression that he and Tetsu are doing that thing where they commune silently over his head. "Pushy," Kagami says after a moment or two of this, and the asshole just sounds fond about it.

Daiki could just about scream with frustration, because he hates when Kagami uses that tone on him. It runs counter to everything that an orderly, just universe ought to permit.

Kagami tightens his grip before Daiki can do more than draw a breath and spreads him open, and finally—

The first touch of Kagami's tongue punches the air right out of his lungs. Daiki flinches away from the wet, intimate slide of it, or tries to. Kagami has a firm hold on him and Tetsu still has an arm around him and a hand on his nape; there's not really anywhere he can go, not when he's caught and held between the two of them like this. "Fuck!" he gasps when Kagami does it again, holding him spread open for the indescribably obscene lick of his tongue and the feel of his breath against Daiki's skin. The intimacy of it jolts him free of his moorings and everything he'd thought to expect when he'd finally agreed to this threesome, so sure that he and Kagami were both doing it to humor Tetsu. "Fuck—fuck, what are you doing?"

Kagami doesn't answer him, not with words, but he licks against Daiki, soft-wet-firm, licks into him, and he makes a sound as he does it that's like the rumble of a pleased cat. Daiki has heard him make that very sound with Tetsu—or overheard it, anyway—and the only sense he can make of it when he's gone all light-headed from panting with the rush of sensation is that Kagami is actually into this. Kagami is acting like this isn't about Tetsu at all.

The thought rocks him and he trembles, even after Tetsu tightens his arm around him and strokes his hair, murmuring to him, yes and it's all right and we have you, Daiki. It's the perfect assurance of that last, the possessive we of it, that finally undoes him. Daiki groans as everything he knows dissolves beneath Kagami's gentle onslaught and Tetsu's reassurances, shaking between them as he goes to pieces.

They're still holding him when the storm passes. When he's ready for it, they both help him to put himself back together again, though maybe not quite the same as he was before.

#Ordinary People: Kise and Kasamatsu, getting what you want after all this time

There was a time when Ryouta knew, or thought he knew, exactly what he wanted out of his life: the sky stretching out before him, endless as eternity itself; and the chance to follow the wind wherever it went and see the world moving beneath his wings, distant enough that all its imperfections became invisible and its beauty could shine forth; and someone to return to when he grew tired of the stretch of the sky and the sight of strange horizons who would welcome him home and be ready to hear of all the wonders he'd seen.

There for a while, he'd thought that the last of those things was the product of too much daydreaming when he'd been too young to know the difference between the fantasies in movies and the cold truth of reality. Wanting things like that was what came of wishful thinking and was the root of a lot of pointless suffering, so Ryouta closed that chapter of his life with a resolute hand. He still had the sky and the way the world looked from thirty thousand feet up; a man who had those was wealthy indeed.

Ryouta told himself this over and over and convinced himself that he believed it and that he was happy. He was happy once he'd gotten enough distance between himself and his biggest mistake and the hurt of it had finally healed over—how could he not be when he kept himself busy and made friends wherever he went and was a good enough pilot that he could command his own salary wherever he went? He was on the top of his world and anyone who wasn't happy with all that just had to be an idiot.

"Not just an idiot," Yukio said after Ryouta had explained all of this to him, unfolding it for him like a chart and slowly surrendering each of the keys to decode it. "The world's biggest idiot, I swear."

When it came to Yukio, a lot depended on how he said the things he did. That could have been gruff and impatient, but it wasn't. Maybe it was a little bit exasperated, but then, exasperation was pretty much Yukio's ground state of being. Besides, the hand he had cradling Ryouta's head against his chest was gentle, and so was the way he was circling his thumb against Ryouta's palm. "I swear that you are the hottest mess I have ever met."

"Someday I am going to introduce you to a guy I used to know," Ryouta told him. "And you are going to eat those words."

Yukio snorted as though he didn't believe this, but Ryouta didn't mind that. Aomine was the kind of guy that was impossible to believe was real, even after meeting him. Sometimes he could almost think he'd hallucinated the whole thing, if not for the tactful gaps in his conversations with Midorima and in the occasional phone calls from Momoi, the moments where the two of them carefully routed the subject around the places that would have been marked here be dragons if their conversations were maps. It was kind of them to make the effort, though Ryouta could almost supply the things they didn't tell him from the shapes of their silences.

Yukio sighed and flicked his ear, just firmly enough to get his attention. "Whatever it is you're thinking about, knock it off. You're dwelling again."

"I'm not dwelling!" Ryouta protested, laughing a little.

"Don't bullshit me." Yukio flicked him again. "I can tell when you're dwelling, and you were definitely dwelling just then."

The really startling thing about Yukio was that he really didn't want to be bullshitted, which was something of a novelty in Ryouta's experience. "...there's a lot to dwell on," he said after a moment. "Sorry."

Yukio threaded his fingers through Ryouta's hair, stroking it. "You don't have to apologize," he said presently. "You can dwell on what you want, I guess. Not really my place to stop you."

Ryouta was good at hearing the gaps and places where people weren’t saying things even though they wanted to, and Yukio had left something unsaid just then. "But...?"

"...I don't like seeing you make yourself unhappy."

Ryouta frowned and lifted his head so he could actually look at Yukio, who met his eyes steadily. "Do you think I'm unhappy?" he asked, surprised.

Yukio didn't hesitate. "When you're thinking about that guy, yeah, you are." He slid his hand down and squeezed the back of Ryouta's neck. "I know I'm not—"

Ryouta knew—knew—how he was going to finish that sentence and refused to allow it, so he stopped Yukio by the most direct route possible. Yukio grumbled against his mouth, inarticulate, which only permitted Ryouta to slip his tongue past his lips. Yukio tightened his fingers against Ryouta's nape and kissed back, loosening his grip on Ryouta's hand to wind his arm around him instead. He shifted closer willingly, fitting himself against Yukio's frame, warm and so pleasingly sturdy beneath him, and poured himself into the business of kissing Yukio breathless, until their mouths were tender and swollen with it and they were both rousing again. Yukio groaned beneath him, running his hands down Ryouta's back and closing them on his ass, gripping it when Ryouta pressed against him, spreading his thighs across Yukio's and rubbing against him. Yukio groaned again, pulling away from his mouth. "What do you think you are, some kind of teenager?" he demanded, breathless.

"You're hard too," Ryouta retorted, kissing the underside of his jaw and rolling his hips against Yukio's to demonstrate the point. He traced his lips along Yukio's jaw and nuzzled against his ear. "Don't you want to fuck me some more?"

Yukio groaned again and Ryouta felt the way his cock jumped between them. "You are going to kill me," he said, but he was reaching away to slick his fingers anyway.

Ryouta kissed the corner of his jaw, sucking on it. "There are worse ways to go," he said, right before Yukio pushed slick fingers into him, opening him up again. He groaned, rocking back against the sweet-sharp stretch in his muscles, savoring the way they ached pleasantly around Yukio's fingers and how his cock throbbed in time to the beat of his pulse, which jumped every time Yukio drove his fingers deeper. "Fuck, Yukio..."

"Yeah," Yukio breathed, low and breathless. "Yeah, c'mon..." He drew his fingers out of Ryouta and nudged at him until Ryouta lifted himself up, letting Yukio position him until he could feel the head of Yukio's cock nudging against him and could press himself down on it, groaning with the first burning stretch of it. Yukio pulled him down, kissing him again as Ryouta settled against him, his muscles trembling, and kneaded a hand against his back, relaxing him into it. "I've got you," he murmured, shaping the words against Ryouta's mouth. "I've got you, Ryouta."

"Yeah," Ryouta said, bracing himself over Yukio. "I know you do." He fanned his fingers against Yukio's jaw and kissed him again as he began to move, fucking himself on Yukio's cock and groaning against his mouth with the way each slow roll of his hips made sensation twist through him, groaning with the way Yukio slid his hands down to hold his hips, steadying him and guiding the slow grind of their bodies together. Yukio groaned too, low and deep, lifting his hips up to drive himself deeper into Ryouta. Each long, slow thrust caused Ryouta's cock to slide against Yukio's stomach, until he was trembling with the way the build of pleasure had him hovering on the verge of coming again. "Yukio," he gasped, desperate, "Yukio..." When Yukio shifted a hand from his hip and clasped it around him, Ryouta cried out, shaking at the sudden firm pressure of his grip. He rocked himself down onto Yukio's cock, hard and fast, and Yukio gasped into his mouth, stroking his fist over Ryouta until Ryouta tensed, pleasure breaking over him like a cloudburst, sudden and so wild that it stopped the breath in his throat as he striped Yukio's belly with his come. Yukio groaned beneath him, bucking up against him and fucking him through the way Ryouta's body tightened around him. Each hard thrust shook Ryouta with another burst of raw sensation, until Yukio shouted, arching beneath Ryouta as he came, his expression swept open and blank with his pleasure.

Ryouta leaned over him, muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself up, and watched Yukio sprawl against his pillow, going lax as he came down from the edge again, eyes closed and his lips parted as he panted for breath. When Yukio finally opened his eyes again, that was when Ryouta said, soft, "I don't want you to be him. If I'm unhappy when I think about him, it's because I spent five goddamn years of my life, and then some, wanting to have something like what I've got with you right now with him and not realizing that it wasn't going to happen, not with him like he was and me like I was." Kuroko had tried to tell him that, once, but back then Ryouta hadn't wanted to hear it, which was just too bad all around.

Yukio stared up at him, eyes gone wide and startled. "Ryouta..." he said, softly, almost uncertain.

Ryouta cupped his face between his palms, stroking his cheek. "I'm not unhappy with you," he said. "I am the very opposite of unhappy with you, and I wouldn't trade you for him. Not for the world. When I'm with you, I’m home. Do you understand? I'm home."

Yukio reached up to him and drew him down, gathering him close, and kissed him, mouth soft against Ryouta's. "Then welcome home," he said, murmuring the words against Ryouta's lips, and caught him when Ryouta pressed himself even closer.

Date: 28 June 2016 10:10 (UTC)
vonuberwald: (Default)
From: [personal profile] vonuberwald
I absolutely adore your KnB Ordinary People AU, (your Aus in general, tbqh), and I love that Kise got there in the end ♥


lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
Lys ap Adin


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