Work Text:
“I can't get these memories out of my mind
It's some kind of madness, it started to evolve
I tried so hard to let you go
But some kind of madness is swallowing me whole”
Muse ~ Madness
The way Aomine presents it makes it sound like a deal. A business transaction.
“Look,” he says, after he's pulled Kise aside during break and dragged him to the roof. It's a nice day, a little bit on the hot side. Kise can feel sweat forming between his shoulder blades, the white fabric of his shirt sticking to his skin underneath. But the sky is bright blue and nearly cloudless. A soft breeze tousles his hair.
In a shoujo manga, this would be the perfect setting for a love confession. But obviously, Aomine has never read any of those.
“I've been thinking about it for a while now,” he admits, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his slacks. He's looking at Kise, but then a magpie flies up from the fence around the roof and his gaze is dragged away to follow the black-and-white figure against the horizon.
“Anyway,” he adds, sounding almost bored, “I think we should have sex.”
There's a pause during which all of Kise feels strangely hollow. His heart seems to drop and the echo of it reverberates through his entire being. Shaken to the core.
“W-what?” he stammers, completely caught off guard. For a wild moment he wonders whether this is a confession after all and Aomine is only too stupid to do it the right way. The romantic way. The way that doesn't involve propositioning your teammate during lunch break as if there were nothing wrong with it.
“You heard me,” Aomine rolls his eyes, “It's about time. Middle school is almost over. You want to go to high school, not knowing what's what? That's pathetic.”
Oh, Kise thinks faintly. Not a love confession. Just a desperate attempt to lose his virginity.
“Why me?” he asks, still strangely light-headed as if all of this were just a figment of his imagination. Hell, maybe it is.
But Aomine merely shrugs, “Well, I asked Satsuki, but she only punched me in the gut.”
Kise cannot help but gape, “She's your best friend since childhood. Are you really surprised?!”
“Nah,” the bastard grins a little, somewhere between rueful and cocky, “But that's the point right? She's my best friend. It would make it weird. And I'd ask Tetsu, but I'm guessing his reaction would be just like Satsuki's. Worse probably, because he's a vindictive little shit.”
The other unspoken truth hangs silently between them. The truth that Aomine has changed, that he's become irate and bored and that when Kuroko looks at him nowadays it seems like he is grieving for a dead friend.
The team does not talk about it. On the court, their combined strengths are amazing. But none of their strengths is talking about feelings.
“So you come to me because I'm the only one who's left over?” Kise concludes, and he aches more than with just the implicated insult. Maybe he should feel honoured. It's not like Aomine would walk up to Midorima to ask this of him.
Aomine just shrugs again.
“Admit it, it's the perfect solution,” he points out, “I don't hate you, you're easy on the eyes, and we're not close enough that it would ruin our friendship or anything.”
Kise seems to have swallowed a ball of cotton. The insides of his mouth are completely parched.
I don't hate you – what a ringing endorsement. You're easy on the eyes – pretty enough for a quick shag. Not close enough – I don't care if I lose you over this.
“Well, what do I get out of it?” Kise wants to know, tossing his head back and his hair out of his face because he is proud and won't show how hurt he is by all this.
“Obvious, isn't it?” Aomine shrugs, “You get to lose your V-card, too, and if you're horrible at it, I'll keep mum. Imagine you'll sleep with one of your groupies one day and afterwards they immediately run to the tabloids to sell the whole story. Sucks, right? Not to mention...”
He trails off, drops his gaze to run a large hand from his chest down to his toned stomach, before he swiftly looks back up again to pierce Kise with an intense stare, “I'm pretty easy on the eyes as well.”
His grin is easy, he is easy, and Kise hates him a little for it, hates how this is so close to the Aomine he used to know, the one who got him interested in basketball, the one who'd sometimes make a fool out of himself just to make others laugh.
But Kise just purses his lips, not wanting to say anything, willing Aomine to understand just how messed up this is.
For a moment, they just look at each other like this, caught in a stalemate.
Then, there's a flicker of uncertainty in Aomine's eyes. His grin turns lopsided. Maybe he's realized what a stupid idea all this was after all.
“C'mon, Ryouta,” he says, shuffling on the spot in a way that betrays his age, his own inexperience in such matters, “You're the only one I can count on.”
Kise's mouth opens his mouth for a final, vehement No. But for once, his body betrays him.
“Okay,” he says and seals – if not his life – then at least his virginity away.
It's a Saturday and there's no training. Maybe Aomine had purposely timed it that way.
“Cool,” he had said after Kise had consented to his plans, clapping him on the shoulder as if they had simply agreed on getting lunch together, “Come by tomorrow afternoon. I'll have everything prepared.”
Now it is tomorrow afternoon and Kise is working up the courage to ring the doorbell. He's been here to visit a couple of times, not often enough to make it familiar, but not so rarely that it would feel awkward. Well, the rest of the set-up is awkward, but Aomine's family home has little to do with it.
Kise is holding on the strap of his messenger bag as if it were a lifeline. He spent hours trying to fall asleep last night, and hours in the bathroom getting ready this morning, unsure of what was expected of him. Hunger was gnawing at him because he'd not eaten since yesterday, afraid that he wouldn't be able to keep it down. Maybe they can order in. Delay everything a little. Make Aomine realize that they really shouldn't be doing this.
Suddenly, the door opens in front of him. For a frantic moment, Kise wonders when he rang the bell, but then realizes that his outline must've been visible through the milky window pane.
“How long were ya gonna stand there for?” Aomine grouches, giving him a weird look. Kise doesn't bother replying, instead allowing himself to subtly run his eyes over Aomine in order to find some answers to his many questions.
Aomine's hair is still damp and the musky scent of deodorant wafts over, so he must've just taken a shower. He's wearing shorts and a tight black tee-shirt that fits itself snugly against his upper body, highlighting the contrast between the breadth of his shoulders and his narrow hips. It's a get-up Kise has seen him in tons of times, but now the implications are different. Because now he knows that Aomine is planning to take those clothes off later and it won't be anything like getting undressed in the changing room at the gym.
“Well, what are you waiting for,” Aomine says, stepping back from the threshold to make way for him, “Come on in.”
Kise does, feeling somewhat unsteady on his feet as he takes off his shoes in the hallway and neatly sets them aside before stepping into a pair of slippers. Behind him the door falls shut with an ominous click. It shouldn't feel this foreboding. He can still get out if he wants to, just call the whole thing off. Aomine won't force him, won't even think badly of him. And yet...
“My parents are out, won't be back until late at night,” Aomine explains, already marching down the hallway and up the stairs, expecting Kise to follow him, “So we have plenty of time.”
Again Kise finds himself wondering for how long Aomine had planned this. Did he just seize the opportunity that he'd have Saturday off and the house for himself? Or had he been impatiently waiting till all the stars aligned?
He glances around surreptitiously, although nothing has changed since the last time he's been here.
The walls of the hallway are lined with picture frames. There are photographs of late relatives and beloved family pets, but it's obvious that Aomine is a single child. His young face grins down from behind the glass and sometimes it's weird to remember that he's just a kid, just a teenager still in middle school. There's a picture of him just hours after his birth, of him as a toddler, chewing on a toy T-Rex. At the beach and first day of school and tooth gaps and scraped knees. And so many of him with a basketball, out in the park with Satsuki, or after a victory with the team. Aomine may not be the most studious or obedient son, but his parents are proud of him and it shows.
Kise got his pictures hanging on walls as well, but it's mostly in girls' bedrooms. He's not exactly jealous, but... well. That's not what he is here for anyway.
Aomine's bedroom is... not a mess, for a change.
There are no clothes strewn on the floor, no dirty plates standing around. Instead he brought up drinks and made the bed. Even the sheets look freshly laundered. Apparently he really put some thought into this. Kise feels even more queasy than before.
“You want soda or iced tea?” Aomine asks, falling down in the office chair next to the desk. Kise warily eyes the bed and gracefully kneels on the floor instead.
“Tea, please,” he replies, knowing that soda would only make him more jittery.
Aomine hands him the cup and Kise wills his fingers not to shake as he takes a careful sip, welcoming the cool flavour on his tongue.
“So...,” Aomine scratches the side of his head, “How d'ya wanna do this?”
Kise purses his lips, trying to keep his pretended calm, “Well, you said you'd have everything prepared, didn't you?”
“Sure do,” Aomine replies, leaning over to open the bedside drawer and then pulling out a packet of condoms and a bottle of lube. Kise nearly chokes on his tea.
“You're actually serious,” he manages to say, keeping his gaze down.
“What, you thought this was a joke?” Aomine frowns, “'course I'm serious. This is probably the best chance we'll ever get.”
“Wouldn't you rather do this with someone...” Kise falters. Talking to Aomine about love seems silly. “Someone you care about?”
“Pff,” Aomine snorts, “Let's be real. I mean, I know you got tons of girls flocking around you at all times. But how many people are there we actually spent time with? It's not like basketball leaves a lot of spare time for dating.”
Of course Kise's also got his jobs where there's always nice people around. And it's not like Aomine even comes to practice anymore. Technically, they could be dating other people. Technically, that should be a hold-up.
“What if it'll affect our teamplay?” Kise launches on last attempt, but Aomine just huffs.
“Schools almost over,” he points out, “The team will break up anyway.”
It's true, Kise knows. Half of the time, they aren't such a great team anyway. For the most part, they a lone soldiers. And even when they are not on the court, they are all just a little bit too different, too individual to grow really close. If it weren't for basketball, the notion of friendship would be laughable.
Ironically, that thought is what makes Kise swallow his objection. He's had good times with his team. They were what made Teiko not just bearable, but unforgettable. But Kise has always been a little bit greedy. He wants more than that.
“Fine,”he says finally, if somewhat petulant, throwing back his tea and wishing it were alcohol, even if has never had any before. Liquid courage sounded like a great thing.
As soon as he's said it, Aomine reaches over to his laptop and lets his fingers fly over the keyboard. A moment later the sound of music fills the room, some classic rock that Kise can't pinpoint.
“It's got nice rhythm,” Aomine says by way of explanation, but then he's standing up and pulling off his shirt in one swift movement, tossing it aside. Apparently, there's not going to much else to set the mood.
“Come on, get up,” he urges, nudging Kise with his bare foot, “I'm not doing it on the floor. Maybe later.”
It's mostly Kise's flight instinct that makes him surge up, nearly stumbling with the force of it, but Aomine steadies him with a hand to the elbow.
“A little overeager?” he teases and all of a sudden Kise wants to make him eat it.
He takes a deep breath, channels his modelling persona and then fixes Aomine with an intense stare.
Slowly, he begins unbuttoning his dress shirt. It's teal-blue, a colour that accentuates his hair and creamy skin. The fabric parts and reveals his naked chest underneath.
His heart skips a beat when he realizes that Aomine's gaze is following the movement, transfixed. He slips the shirt off his shoulders, down along his arms and lets it fall to the floor right where he is standing. Then he takes a step forward, leaving the slippers behind, and suddenly he is within breathing distance of Aomine.
It's strange to be standing so close with their chests bared. Strange and thrilling.
Kise tilts his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. Your move, it seems to say.
What he does not expect is for Aomine to suddenly grab his face between his hands and press his lips to his mouth. Kise makes a surprised sound and then there is already a tongue slipping in.
Kise's first kiss had been spent on a photo-shoot where he and another model had chastely put their lips together, barely even touching, while cameras flashed all around them. But in general he does not have a lot of experience.
Aomine doesn't exactly seem experienced either, but he makes up for it with enthusiasm. There's some teeth and spit and a lot of tongue, and the force of it all makes Kise reach out for something to hold on to. His hands find Aomine's hip bones, the waistline of his shorts riding low, and then they are already grinding against each other.
He doesn't know who initiated it, maybe it's instinct, maybe their bodies gravitate towards one another, but there's a spark of excitement when Kise realizes that this actually feels good.
Aomine pulls back a little, not enough for them to comfortably look at each other, but for them to catch a breath, for Aomine to run a thumb over Kise's cheekbone.
“We're so gonna do this,” he grins, obviously stupidly proud of what a great idea this had turned out to be.
Then his fingers are already fumbling to undo Kise's pants, lightly pushing at him to direct him over to the bed. They fall down together, Aomine barely catching himself on his elbow, but they are already kissing again.
“Gee, slow down,” Kise complains, pushing against Aomine's chest, but his fingers catch on a pert nipple. His own nipples are a rosy colour, like his lips, but Aomine's dark, darker even then the rest of his skin. Kise has seen him naked before, but he's never paid attention to it. Now he is mesmerized.
Instead of following his own command, he finds himself leaning up to put his mouth to the chest above him. Aomine's pecs tense up at the contact, but his nipple is curiously hard as Kise moves the tip of his tongue against it, rolling it between his lips, nibbling at it with careful teeth.
“I'm not a girl, y'know,” Aomine groans, pushing lightly at his head if he minds, but his fingers catch in Kise's hair and keep him in place instead.
“I noticed,” Kise pulls off long enough to say and then rolls his hips up and against Aomine's, and fuck, he's hard, Aomine's is hard, they are both hard and in a bed, and wasn't it less than five minutes ago that he was still thinking of an excuse to get away?
“Fuck,” Aomine breaths, grinding against him and pulling at Kise's hair to tilt his head back and start sucking at his neck.
Kise makes a little noise at the back of his throat, vaguely wondering whether Aomine can feel it against his tongue.
“Don't leave bruises,” he demands when Aomine starts sucking the skin, “I have a shoot on Tuesday.”
“They make you wear make-up anyway,” Aomine snorts, biting down on the juncture of his shoulder as if to proof a point, “They can just cover it up.”
They can, of course, but Kise is not sure whether he wants a reminder of this, whether he wants to look into the mirror for the week and watch the hickey turns purple and then green and yellow, until they have all faded away.
But instead his hands find their way to the back of Aomine's head to bring him closer, palming the curve of his skull, along the vertebrae of his spine, between his shoulders, down to the small of his back, finally coming to settle on his ass.
The fabric of the shorts is thin and leaves nothing to the imagination. Kise can feel Aomine's mucles tense underneath his fingers, hardened from years and years of training. He wants him naked, both of them, as soon as possible.
He lets his knees fall to the side, legs splaying open so that Aomine can settle more comfortably between them, pressing their bodies flush together.
Kise tries to remember what he's seen in pornography or read in the badly written erotica the older models sometimes leave lying around. He knows it's not the best source of information, but it's all he has when it comes to the finer details.
Last night, he read up on how sex even works between two guys, because he knew it was more complicated but he had had no idea that there were so many things to consider. He wonders whether Aomine did the same. After all, he had bought lube and said he was prepared. At least they weren't walking into this completely blind.
Or they would just jerk each other off and leave it at that. It's not like they had to go all the way. A little dry-humping seemed like a good alternative, especially with the way they were slowly rocking against each other.
Aomine chuckles against his ear and the warmth of his breath seems to fuel the heat within Kise.
“Good thing I had a wank in the shower,” Aomine says and the mental image of him standing under the stream of water and slowly jerking off makes Kise blush even more.
“Usually I think of Mai-chan,” Aomine tells him shamelessly, “But today I thought of you. About what we could do together.”
Kise swallows, licking his dry lips.
“Don't tell me,” he says, not permitting his voice to quiver, “Show me.”
So Aomine does.
He sits up and slips off the bed, hands on Kise's hips, urging him to lift them so he can pull his pants off. Kise resists the urge to cover his face or his crotch, instead reaching up to grab the headboard and arching his back a little in a way he knows will elongate his body and display his abs.
And he's young, but he knows how to be sexy. Unfortunately that's not what draws Aomine's attention. Instead his gaze immediately drops down to Kise's exposed groin.
“You shaved?” he smirks, “That's so American of you.”
Kise looks away, trying to hide the blush that sits high on his cheeks, but then Aomine hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and just pulls them down.
His happy trail runs down from his navel, ending in a thick patch of black hair. And then there's his cock, of course. It's as dark as the rest of him, and as hard as Kise's.
Words stuck in his throat, Kise just reaches out a hand towards him. For once, Aomine obeys.
When they press together now, it's even hotter than before. There a sort of wetness between them and it takes Kise a moment to realize that it must be pre-cum. They are also covered in a thin sheen of sweat, not from fatigue, it takes more to rob them of breath, but from the excitement of it all.
Because the room is cool, but their bodies are hot, and Kise lets his head drop back against the pillows.
“So,” Aomine begins, “Do you wanna bottom or should I?”
The question is so unexpected that Kise actually wheezes in surprise.
“I- I thought-” he stammers, eyes wide, but Aomine snorts, “What, that I'd be too scared to take it up the ass?”
“N-no,” Kise forces himself to calm down, “I just... I assumed you'd want to me to... so... I already, uh...”
For a moment, Aomine looks at him uncomprehendingly. Then realization dawns on his face.
“You saying you already prepared yourself?” he clarifies and without preamble his hand slides down to probe at Kise's asshole. He's not quite loose, but it's enough to take the edge off.
Aomine keeps watching him, carefully pressing the tip of his finger in and then licking his lips. A look of wonderment comes over him and then he's bending down again, so his mouth rest against Kise's.
“Did you clean yourself?” he demands huskily, “Did you finger your ass until you came?”
Kise turns his head away, refusing to reply even though it's obvious enough.
“Did you think of me while you did it?” Aomine continues, but when there is still no answer forthcoming his fingers close around Kise's cock and squeeze, “Did you?”
“Yes!” Kise cries out, arching into the touch, “I fucked myself and thought of you doing it!”
“Fuck,” there's a touch of desperation in Aomine's voice, a hint of exhilaration, “And here I thought you really didn't want this.”
And Kise hadn't wanted it, had spent a day thinking of how he didn't, shouldn't want it. And yet he had come here. Had shaved and washed and fingered himself as if a subconscious part of him already knew that he'd give in, despite all his protestations.
With another curse, Aomine dives for the lube he'd tossed on the bed earlier and coats his fingers in the thick fluid.
“Turn over,” he instructs curtly, “That'll make it easier.”
At least that answered the question whether he had made the effort to research things.
Kise gathered himself and rolled over onto his stomach with as much dignity as he could muster. He rested his cheek against his crossed arms and lifted his butt a little in a way that he knew would make him look alluring but also relax, praying that it would make him feel relaxed as well. If nothing else, he could at least fake his way through this.
Aomine settled down alongside him, one elbow braced against the bed. His other arm reached out, letting his hand glide down along the curve over his back, stopping at his ass and giving his right cheek a hard squeeze, nails digging into the pale skin.
The lube is sticky and cool, but all thoughts of that flee Kise's mind when two fingers dip into him. It's no more than what he did to himself this morning, but it's still foreign, because this is another person, this is Aomine of all people.
And this way, Kise can completely concentrate on the feeling instead of how the angle made his arms hurt. This way, Aomine can reach deeper and start thrusting slowly. Kise lets out a soft mewl to encourage him and also because it feels great, but he knows there's so much more he can get from it.
He bucks his hips a little when he needs a change of pace, hoping Aomine will catch the hint. He does, but in a different way.
“Ready?” he asks, sitting up and adding a third finger, but only for a few moments before he pulls away.
“Stay like this,” he tells Kise and there is the rustling of foil as Aomine unwraps the condom, the sound of him slicking himself up with more lube.
Kise is breathing shallowly, closing his eyes. This is it. No backing out now. Aomine wants this. And Kise, Kise wants it, too.
There is a hot weight on top of him, not all of it, Aomine is mindful not to crush him, but the feel of his cock nestled between his cheeks is enough to push the air out of his lungs.
Then Aomine is pushing and cursing quietly, and Kise's hand jitter and grasp at the bedsheets. There's pain, as was to be expected, but he stifles a groan and transforms it into a pleased little moan instead. A couple of staggered little thrusts later and Aomine has bottomed out.
Kise feels filled to the brim, and it's uncomfortable, but also amazing, so he grinds against the mattress to distract himself from the lingering ache.
Aomine pauses, just breathing above him. Eventually, though, he pulls back slowly before pushing in a little more confidently.
This is sex, Kise realizes a little belatedly, a little hysterically. They are actually fucking.
This is more than just fooling around, not something they can just shrug off and laugh about later, not even a drunken mistake. They went into this willing, knowingly, even if it's just to get rid off their virginity as Aomine said.
The next thrust is a little more forceful and suddenly Kise becomes aware of the music that is still idly playing in the background. Aomine was right, the rhythm is nice, and his movements match the flow of the melody.
It's over embarrassingly quickly.
Kise knows that's pretty normal for a first time, but suddenly he is so overwhelmed by all the sensations, by the cotton sheets against his cock, by the thrum of the guitars and drums in the song, by Aomine in him, above him, and then he shudders and gives a little gasp and it's over.
He must've clenched down so tightly that it sent Aomine over the edge as well, because then Aomine is already rolling over to the side, pulling off the condom and tossing it into his trash can as if it were a three-pointer.
“Coulda been worse,” he decides with a little hum and closes his eyes.
Kise doesn't say anything, simply laying in the wet patch he left on the sheets and wonders whether it is possible to die from embarrassment.
Since 'Coulda been worse' wasn't exactly the highest sort of praise, Kise thought that the whole thing was a one-time deal only.
But on Tuesday evening he comes home after his shoot, smelling of hairspray and with his hickeys hidden under a layer of concealer, only to find Aomine lounging around the driveway.
Aomine had skipped practice on Monday and today Kise couldn't make it, and since they hadn't had any classes together either, this is the first time they've seen each other since their aloof parting on Saturday night.
“Aominecchi,” Kise greets, blinking in the kind of wide-eyed surprise that makes him look adorable instead of mentally exhausted.
“I brought sushi,” Aomine says by way of explanation, lifting a plastic bag, because neither of them can really cook and everyone knows that Kise isn't allowed any sort of fastfood.
Kise unlocks the door and lets them into the quiet house. No one's home, but he doesn't feel comfortable using the kitchen, so he beckons Aomine to follow him to his room.
He closes the door behind them with a quiet sigh and, out of habit, turns the key in the lock. A moment later he becomes aware of the possible implication of that move and it sends a rush of heat to his face. Aomine doesn't seem to notice, flopping down on the bed and dropping the bag of sushi next to him.
Kise disappears in the en suite bathroom to wash his hands and have a look in the mirror. They removed the make-up in the studio, but there are still dark smudges around his eyes. The skin around his nose is reddened and a little dry and he reminds himself that he'll have to moisturise more carefully.
He also regrets having shaved his private parts, because the stubble is growing back in and it itches like a bitch.
When he deems himself ready, he returns to his room. Aomine has taken out the container and helped himself to some sushi, but he's already tossing the other pair of chopsticks over.
Kise catches them easily, unwraps them and breaks them apart before slipping out of his jacket and sitting down on the bed as well.
“Itadakimasu,” he mutters. He's not really hungry, but he figures he should eat anyway. The guidelines for models who are still underage are especially strict. He can't afford to lose any weight.
They eat in silence. Aomine's never been the type to mindlessly chatter away. But he used to joke around sometimes, poking fun at Midorima or needling Kuroko for the answers to their maths homework.
“There's handkerchiefs in the bag,” Aomine tells him when they are finished and Kise has managed to get a bit of soy sauce on his fingers. So Kise sticks his hand into the bag, but along with the kerchiefs he finds the opened box of condoms they used that weekend.
Wordlessly, he stares at the package and then lifts his gaze to look at his teammate.
“What?” Aomine shrugs offhandedly, “You not up for it?”
And that's how they settle into a routine.
Aomine doesn't show up to practice anymore. He doesn't study for exams and falls asleep in class. He does show up at Kise's doorstep, though, every couple of days at least.
Kise, however, keeps playing, goes to work, pulls all nighters and uses concealer to cover up the bags under his eyes and the bite marks on his neck. Whenever Aomine comes over, he is too tired to turn him away. But not tired enough to not let himself be fucked again and again.
They are good at it. Kise, of course, it good at everything he sets his mind to, but Aomine's got more than his self-confidence and athletic build speaking for him. There's an intensity to him, a curiosity that allows him to put his mouth to places that make Kise blush if he even thinks about them.
Aomine knows no shame when it comes to pleasure. If it sounds like fun he'll want to try it.
He likes having Kise ride him while he can lie back and watch. Likes Kise on his knees, with his hands in blond hair and Kise moaning around his cock. Likes fucking Kise from behind, pulling him back by the hips with such force that the friction drives Kise crazy, makes him whimper in wordless abandon.
Kise likes all of that, too, but he also likes the quiet moments afterwards. He would have thought that Aomine would be the type to either roll over and fall asleep or immediately jump up to take a shower and get dressed again. Instead he always flops down on the mattress, arms crossed behind his back and closing his eyes with a content sigh. Kise can tell by his breathing that he never actually dozes off, so he allows himself to enjoy the silence.
They don't ever cuddle, but sometimes their calves touch or their shoulders and Kise draws lazy circles on his own chest, imagining it were Aomine's brown fingers.
If any of the other's know, no one says anything.
Akashi has probably figured it out, and Aomine is not smart enough to keep anything from Momoi. Murasakibara isn't the type to care about teenage drama and neither is Midorima, but the later is perceptive enough to pick up on the subtle changes in their behaviour.
Kuroko is a bit of a mystery, though. He still looks at Aomine with that dreadful nostalgia as if watching a king riding off into a hopeless battle, but Kise can't decide whether he's being treated differently as well. Maybe there's pity in Kuroko's baleful eyes, or regret.
Maybe they are just a train wreck that no one can look away from.
Once, they run into each other in the school's bathroom, or maybe Aomine followed him on purpose. But then Kise is being dragged into one of the stalls and jerked off hard and fast, and Aomine leaves before Kise can return the favour. Kise has to go back to class, flustered and sweaty enough that his teacher inquires about his well-being which only makes him blush even harder.
It's easy to get a little lost in the sensations.
The rest of the school year is over in a blink.
The short break before high school starts will be filled with evening school and cramming for the entrance exams and more auditions and shoots. Before now, simply photo-modelling took up enough of his time, but now he's supposed to branch out into TV commercials and proper acting.
It's the very last week of school when Aomine is standing in front of his door again and Kise feels like crying from being torn in so many directions.
He doesn't want to go to a school were none of his friends, none of his teammates are. He doesn't want to play a role in some shitty soap opera. He doesn't want to keep wondering whether Aomine just views him as a convenient fuck.
“I'm busy,” he says bluntly and it's true, because he's got another exam in two days, but he also just wants to be alone.
Aomine shrugs it off, “I'm fine with a quickie.”
That answers that question then, Kise thinks cynically.
“But I'm not,” he replies, and knows his smile looks all wrong because the corners of his mouth are pulled too tight, “I have to study and so should you, Aominecchi.”
“You are starting to sound like the others,” Aomine groans, letting his head fall back, “I thought, apart from Murasakibara, you were the only one I could trust not to nag me.”
He'd said something similar when all of this started. The only one I can trust. The only one I can count on. It's sort of lost its meaning by now.
“Well, you better run and cry on Murasakibaracchi's shoulder then,” he says composedly, “Because I'm busy.”
“Fuck, Ryouta,” Aomine slams his fist against the door frame, “Don't be like that. If I'd known you'd start acting like a friggin' girl I wouldn't have asked you in the first place.”
“Well, that's what I've been trying to tell you from the very beginning,” Kise smiles, “Good night, Aominecchi. I'll see you at the graduation ceremony. If you do manage to graduate, that is.”
He closes the door in Aomine's stunned face and makes his way back to his room. He doesn't cry, but he also doesn't manage to properly study for the rest of the evening.
As it turns out, Aomine does manage to graduate. Kise still doesn't congratulate him.
Against his expectations, Kise like his new school. He likes his new team.
At first, people eye him curiously because he's Kise Ryouta the model and Kise Ryouta of the Generation of Miracles, and fans still follow him around and ask for autographs, but it's okay. He's made friends here. Sometimes they just sit around, playing video games for hours on end, or just talk about which players they admire. No one tries to become his fuck buddy.
It's comfortable. It's enough.
Whenever he happens to run into his former teammates, it's surprisingly okay. He puts on a happy front and it barely hurts. When Kuroko introduces him to Kagami Taiga, to his new light, Kise spares a wayward thought on wondering how it will affect Aomine, but then just dismisses it.
Aomine never cared about him. He won't make that mistake either.
But. But Seirin manages to beat Touou and suddenly Aomine has been knocked down a peg or two. Suddenly, Aomine enjoys basketball again. Suddenly, he's supposedly back to his old self.
Kise, however, has other things to worry about. For example about Fukuda Sogo and the fact that Haizaki apparently didn't give up on basketball after all and instead nursed an unhealthy grudge against Kise.
Kise almost loses. Almost. But Kuroko believes in his, and his team does, too, so Kise decides that for a change he can believe in himself as well.
So they win. And Kise's foot hurts and he's exhausted and still somewhat shaken from the overall unpleasant encounter that is the personality of one Haizaki Shogo, but they win.
He takes his time in the shower, washing off the sweat and anxiety, letting his muscles relax and telling his team to go on ahead without him. So he's all alone in the changing room when towels off and finally slips into a blissfully clean set of clothes. He knows his team plans on celebrating their victory, but all he wants is his bed. He feels like he'll sleep very well tonight.
When the door opens behind him, he expects one of the guys coming to look for him, but when he turns around he comes face to face with Aomine. Kise is floored, surprised he even attended the game. Maybe he's really returned to his old self.
When Aomine's gaze strays from his face and instead wanders along his body instead, Kise notices that his shirt is still undone. He resists the urge to turn away and button in up in a hurry, doing it casually instead as if he weren't bothered by the all too familiar presence.
Since he broke off their arrangement, he's been with two other people.
One was a girl who stammered and blushed her way through it in a way that made Kise wonder whether it was her doing or his that the experience didn't much appeal to him. The other one was a colleague, a little older than him, gentle and skilled. He had been good, but he... he had not been Aomine. The thought itself leaves a bitter taste in Kise's mouth.
“Can I help you, Aominecchi?” he asks politely, his trademark smile lighting up his face. His fans love it, but his friends would know how bland it is in comparison to the real thing. He wonders whether Aomine will still notice the difference.
“You alright?” Aomine only asks and it makes Kise pause for a moment, but then he just shrugs.
“We won,” he responds, his voice steady, almost flat, “I'm ecstatic.”
“He stepped on your foot,” Aomine points out and it makes Kise huff.
“Trust me,” he says, “I've had worse.”
He neatly puts his belongings into the bag, ignoring the fact that Aomine is silently watching him.
“Do you have to be so passive aggressive?” Aomine wants to know gruffly, so Kise feigns confusion, “Hm? What are you talking about Aominecchi?”
“Oh, fuck it,” the other grits out and with a dash forward he has slammed Kise into the lockers. Kise had seen him in action often enough, but the speed of it, the force and the surprise still make him gasp.
His mouth is half-open for an angry complaint, but then Aomine is leaning in to kiss him.
Kise could turn away, could grit his teeth, could yell and scream and shout, could just jerk up his knee and be done with it, but then Aomine's lips find his.
And it's too soon, too sudden, yet Kise's body still remembers this and gives in with a voiceless little sigh.
Aomine has always kissed with his whole body and now is no different. He undulates against Kise, chest and groin and chest again, and Kise can feel himself being swept away in a tidal wave.
But he's been here before, in public toilets and his shower stall and on the old rug in Aomine's room that had rubbed his back raw. He's been there and he's learned from his mistakes.
He braces a forearm against Aomine's chest and pushes him away.
“My team is waiting for me,” he half-lies, avoiding Aomine's eyes. He grabs his bag and walks out the door without looking back.
Later that evening he gets a text message from Momoi.
OMG, it reads with several emojis, Dai-chan beat up Haizaki!
Kise doesn't quite laugh, but he does smile a little.
When you are at university, middle school seems impossibly far away.
Kise doesn't exactly feel like an adult, but he has grown in many ways. It's good, he likes it.
He enjoyed high school more than he ever thought possible. With its baseball matches and tentative dating and joint study sessions. He's going to enjoy university, too, he's decided.
That is until he manages to run into Aomine.
It happens in the library of all places. When did Aomine ever pick up a book? How did he even into uni? Maybe he's the janitor?
Kise knows those thoughts are unreasonably petty. It's not like he hasn't seen Aomine during the past few years. There were matches, great ones, and Teiko get-togethers where they acted like nothing had ever happened between them.
He knows that Aomine eventually got his shit together, that he put some effort, both into his team and into school and his future in general. Of course, it's entirely possible that he got here on a sport scholarship. The uni has a formidable reputation, after all. Kise wouldn't really know. He doesn't play anymore, not officially at least.
One way or another, he's in the library, looking for a book he needs for his next assignment, when suddenly there is someone leaning against the shelf.
“Hey,” Aomine says casually as if the campus weren't fucking big and it's damn near impossible to to run into someone on accident.
“Aomine-kun,” he replies calmly. He dropped the -cchi thing a while ago, only using it occasionally to annoy a select few, but Aomine doesn't know that. To him, it must seem like an obvious slight. And his eyebrow does twitch, but he doesn't give away more than that.
“Photography?” he asks instead, indicating to the book title in Kise's hand.
“I won't always be pretty,” he smiles self-deprecatingly, “I figured it might be a good idea to view things from the other side of the camera.”
Aomine frowns a little as if he has something to say about that, but then changes his mind. Kise doesn't wait for him and instead makes his way over to the check-out machine, pulling out his wallet and student ID, before scanning the book's barcode, trying to ignore that Aomine has followed to stand in his peripheral vision.
“Which dorm are you in?” Aomine asks easily as if they are still close enough to share that kind of information, “I'm down at West Block. 's closest to the gym.”
“I don't live on campus,” Kise replies curtly and wants to leave it at that.
“Pff,” Aomine lets out a breath between his teeth, “Figures. I guess you got some money saved up, yeah? Fancy apartment and all that?”
Kise smiles mirthlessly. He's been modelling since his childhood, but now that he's of age, his salary is being paid directly to him. The moment he got his acceptance letter, he moved out and chose the first flat he found close enough to campus. It's a one-room apartment, nothing special, but it's his, and he won't have to endure annoying room mates or family members.
A part of him wants to just tell Aomine to fuck off, but even at uni plenty of people recognize him. He's a promotional tour scheduled for his first semester break and can't afford to cause a scene.
“Satsuki told me your in the music business now,” Aomine continues, following Kise towards the exit, “I listened to your songs. What's the one? Glory Glory? I liked the intro. When did your English get so good?”
“I don't write the songs, I only sing them,” he points out, trying to keep calm, “So neither the lyrics nor the melody is mine.”
“I didn't even know you could sing,” Aomine adds, shaking his head.
There's a lot of stuff you don't know about me, Kise thinks, but that's a little too cliché to say.
“I'm sorry, I have an appointment with my professor now,” he excuses himself, ducking into the nearest office, not caring that the secretary looks at him in confusion or that he's in the linguistic department which Aomine surely knows.
He comes home from a late grocery run, only to find Aomine leaning against the wall of his apartment complex. This setting is so different, they are both so different, but it causes such a déjà vu that Kise feels almost dizzy.
“How do you know where I live?” he asks, annoyed and a little uneasy. Aomine lifts his shoulders, drops them again, looks to the side.
“I followed you after classes,” he says, and lifts the carton tray in his hands, presenting two cups, “Coffee?”
“Fuck,” Kise only says, unlocking the door, and if he opens it wide enough for Aomine to slip in at the last possible moment, then that's purely a coincidence.
“Silk sheets on the bed and no proper food in the fridge,” Aomine concludes after he's snooped around a bit, “That was to be expected. The rest... a bit boring, to be honest.”
Kise is artfully arranging his fresh fruit in a bowl because he just had a lecture on photographing still-lives, so he doesn't bother with an answer.
His apartment is small, but clean. He's got all he needs, though a balcony would be nice, but it keeps him from smoking, an nasty habit he picked up on various parties. Walking down five flights of stairs for a cigarette is just not worth it.
Aomine is standing in front of his photo wall now, hands in his pockets and leaning forward to inspect the dozens of pictures. There's some he took himself since he first picked up a camera, but most are of his friends.
He's not picky. Some of these people he barely knows, got slightly drunk with at an acquaintance's place or went to the amusement park at a group outing. There's photographs of his Kaijo class and the basketball team. A one of the Generation of Miracles, a guilty memento he couldn't bring himself to throw away. No family portraits.
“So, you seeing anyone?” Aomine asks, doubtlessly wondering which of the many people on the wall he has fucked. But Kise doesn't keep reminders of his ex-lovers around. Aomine is, as always, the only exception.
“I want to concentrate on my studies,” he says and leaves it at that. Let Aomine think what he will.
“What a waste,” the other man laments, “I bet you still have tons of girls throwing themselves at you. And some are probably even of age.”
Kise lets out an exasperated breath.
“Aomine-kun,” he forces out, closing his eyes for a moment, “Maybe this comes as a surprise for you. But I am gay.”
When he looks up again, Aomine is still blinking a little bit at the blunt confession, but then just shuffles his feet, “Yeah. I mean, I guess I figured.”
“What about you then?” Kise cannot help but pry in retaliation, “Going by bisexual or denying your shameful gay past?”
Finally, Aomine seems to be the one who's caught off guard.
“Uh, well,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his head, “I'm mostly with girls. Nothing really long term, though. And I've sort of tried other guys, but it's just not the same, y'know?”
“So you're going with the 'just a phase'-excuse?” Kise snorts and shakes his head, “Suit yourself.”
“What? No,” Aomine hurries to say, “I mean, it's not that I didn't like the guys because they weren't girls. I didn't like them because they weren't you.”
And just like that, Kise's resolve breaks.
When you are at university, middle school seems impossibly far away. So far, in fact, that you might find yourself repeating the same mistakes you did back then.
As it is, Kise has at least learned to improve the quality of his mistakes. He's taken up yoga to battle off the constant stress of everyday life. He knows how to deep-throat and can bend his body into positions that don't even have names. If nothing else, the past few years were useful in that regard.
He drags out Aomine's orgasms until he's literally begging for release, until the neighbours complain about the noise, until he forgets the reasons why he swore to never do this again. But he does do it and it's like those last few months of Teiko all over again.
He sets down unspoken rules so he won't lose control about the situation, though.
They only do it at Kise's apartment. He never goes over to Aomine's dorm. He doesn't meet Aomine's new friends or teammates, does not go to watch any of their games. They don't hang out on campus or meet up for quick wanks in quiet corners. They certainly don't go on dates.
Kise doesn't reply to any of the inane text messages Aomini sometimes sends him, only sending off a curt 'ok' when it's a request to meet at his place later.
It's just sex, he tells himself, a convenience, just like it was back then.
One day, Aomine is over again, but just lounging around on the bed without initiating anything. Kise's not in the mood to get him in the mood, so he goes to the bathroom to take a quick shower instead. When he comes out again, his skin still partially glistens with drops of water and he's wearing nothing but the small fluffy towel he uses to gently dry his hair.
Aomine, however, has migrated to the kitchenette and is standing at the stove. Kise had barely eaten anything all day, so the smell is heavenly, but he ignores his growling stomach, casually sauntering over.
“Can you dry me off?” asks faux innocently, offering his back and towel, coyly glancing over his shoulder, “I can't quite reach.”
Naturally, it's a big fat lie. Kise can hook both his legs behind his back, of course he can reach his back.
But Aomine just takes the towel and rubs him down in with slow, methodical motions. When he reaches the dimples above Kise's butt, though, he stops and just presses a kiss between his shoulder blades before turning back to the pan on the stove.
Kise's breath catches and he makes himself walk over to the closet to pull out a yukata. It's a rich royal blue which is Aomine's favourite fucking colour, and he ties the sash loosely around his waist. He doesn't bother with underwear and the fabric slips enough to reveal his chest. His hair is still damp, single strands sticking to his forehead.
“Dinner's ready,” Aomine announces, coming over an pressing a bowl and a pair of chopsticks in his hands, before settling down on the slightly ratty sofa in the corner because Kise doesn't have a kitchen table.
He looks down at the bowl in his hands. It's fried rice with an egg on top.
“Can't,” he half-lies, marching off to set the bowl on the kitchen counter. When he turns around, Aomine is staring at him incredulously.
“Why the hell not?” he asks.
“Carbs,” Kise replies flippantly as if it were obvious.
“Don't fuck with me,” Aomine sighs impatiently, putting his own bowl aside, “You had classes all day, you don't know how to make a bento and you won't eat the crappy cafeteria food. Just... forget about your diet for once and have dinner with me.”
Kise takes a moment to collect himself and decide on the next course of action. Then he strides over to where Aomine is sitting, coming to a stop in front of him and smoothly sinking to his knees.
“I'm hungry for something else,” he purrs and that line is so cheap he inwardly rolls his eyes. Aomine's eyes narrow, but then Kise is already working the button of his jeans open and pulling out his cock. He's completely soft, but Kise takes him in his mouth anyway.
“Fuck, Ryouta!” Aomine jerks, pushing him away, and tucking himself back into his pants, “God damn it, I just want to eat. The food's getting cold.”
“I got something hotter for you,” Kise tells him, sliding out of the yukata, before starting to stroke himself on full display. He once fleetingly dated a guy who liked having sex with Kise stark naked while he himself was fully dressed. Maybe Aomine will get off on the same thing.
But he just keeps on staring with that weirded-out frown of his.
“The hell?” he makes an aborted hand gesture, somewhere between rude and helpless, “Are you some some sort of nympho?”
“I just want to get you off,” Kise points out, eyes half-lidded, “That's what you're here for, right?”
Aomine is poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, looking like he can't decide on what to say to that.
“Fine,” he says eventually, and absurdly Kise is reminded of a different time many years ago when he was kneeling on the floor as well, and those same words came out of his own mouth.
Aomine pulls him up and flips him onto the threadbare cushions, the springs of the sofa digging into his back.
They fuck, right then and there, but Aomine seems angry the whole way through. That's okay, though. Anger Kise can deal with. It's pity and sympathy he hates.
Afterwards, Aomine leaves without a word. Kise throws away the food, even the leftovers he could have had for breakfast the next morning. He never much liked fried rice anyway.
Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Kise can feel his control slipping away.
One day he walks into his apartment, only to find Aomine doing push-ups in nothing but his tight, black underwear. It's a nice enough sight, but how the hell did he get it?
“I got tired of always having to wait around for you to let me in,” the bastard says, not stopping in his exercise, barely out of breath as his biceps keep bulging, “So I made some copies of your keys.”
Kise is so furious that when they have sex later, he doesn't let Aomine come, and eventually just rolls over to feign sleep, letting the idiot rub on off all by himself because that's never quite as good. It's the only way Kise knows how to punish him, though, so it has to be enough.
But that's another thing. Aomine starts to sleep over more and more often. Usually, Kise has classes in the morning and manages to slip away before Aomine even properly wakes up, but on weekends he has to think of different excuses.
“You're gonna run yourself into the ground like that,” Aomine warns him when he's about to leave for an appointment with his agent at eight am on a Saturday.
“Gotta pay the rent somehow,” he shoots off easily, because instead of a part-time job Aomine has parents who support him in all things.
But mostly, it's because he can't stand to wake up next to Aomine's sleeping face, can't bear to see him shuffling around in the kitchen to throw together some breakfast, can't endure another long hot shower during which Aomine will offer to wash his back.
Aomine buys food, too, after complaining about how Kise never has enough to cook something proper. Kise never eats any of the meals, grabbing an apple or an energy bar instead.
Eventually, however, enough is enough.
“Why's.... why's there a second toothbrush in the bathroom?” he demands to know after he's gone to wash up the last bits of make-up from today's photo-shoot.
Aomine glances up from the sports magazine he's reading, “Uh, because I thought you'd freak out when you noticed that I've been using yours?”
At that, Kise does want to freak out, but he's tongue-fucked this man's asshole, so what the hell.
“This is my apartment, Aomine-kun,” he hisses, “You can't just move in here because you don't like your dorm room.”
“What's your problem all of a sudden?” Aomine frowns, “I sleep over eight nights out of ten. I've had some of my stuff here for ages.”
And he has, there's a drawer full of his clothes, his textbooks squeezed in next to Kise's on the shelf, a couple of weights under the coffee table. But that's not the point.
“This is starting to feel much too domestic!” Kise half-shouts, because this was never the plan and he can feel himself slipping.
“'course it does,” Aomine scratches his stomach, obviously unaffected by all this, “We're dating, after all.”
It's as if someone pulled the rug out from under Kise's feet.
“We're not dating,” Kise grits out, “There've been no dates. I would have noticed.”
“Well, yeah,” Aomine admits, “I tried to ask you a couple of times, but you're always so busy.”
And he did ask, Kise suddenly realizes. Casual mentions of his next game or of that movie he wanted to see, some restaurant they should try out, or just a walk in the park. Kise always found a reason to decline, though.
“We're not dating,” he repeats vehemently, “This is a mature relationship between two consenting adults, based on mutual pleasure, no strings attached.”
“Wait, what?” Aomine's stare turns into a glare, “You saying we're fuck buddies?”
“I'm saying we're definitely not a couple,” Kise insists.
There's a beat and then Aomine lets his head hang, “So, this is awkward.”
“Good. Because the two of us? Officially very much single,” Kise turns around with a huff, willing down the heat in his cheeks, “Glad we cleared that up. Please call again.”
“Geez, can you just stop acting for once?” Aomine sighs and when Kise glances back he is running a hand through his short, black hair.
“Hm?” Kise hums, finally again in possession of himself, coquettishly tilting his head to the side.
“Stop acting!” Aomine suddenly bursts out and jumps up from the couch, “Stop pretending! Stop thinking about how your moans sound or what your face looks like when you come. When I fuck you I want to know how you feel, not have some prostitute put on a cheap show.”
A breath escapes Kise, an offended frown on his brow, “Are you calling me a whore?”
“I'm calling you a fake,” Aomine retorts and that actually hurts even more, “You're constantly on guard when I'm around. Have been for almost as long as I can remember. Can't you let loose for a change?”
“I only do that around people whom I trust,” Kise replies coolly.
At that, Aomine stares dumbly, mouth hanging half-open.
“Man, you're so fucked up,” he observes and a trilling laugh escapes Kise, “Don't act like that bothers you.”
“... What?”
“Don't act like you care about how I'm feeling,” Kise clarifies, “It's alright. I'll keep myself in check and you won't have to give up your fuck toy.”
“Give up my... Ryouta, is this the reason why you broke up with me back then?” Aomine wants to know, and Kise feels like laughing again, even though it's verging into hysteria.
“I didn't break up with you,” he reminds him, “We were never together in the first place.”
“Fucking...” Aomine's eyes are wide and somewhat desperate as he looks at him, “Ryouta, are you really that dumb? I'm in love with you, okay?!”
He says it with such force that Kise has to take a step back before the words even fully register.
“I've been in love with you for the past five years and I've been trying to make it stop all the fucking time because you're never fully there!” Aomine continues, stepping closer in turn, “There's always a part of you missing, and back then I thought, it's alright, maybe he just needs to find himself first. But now you're still the same, no, you're worse even. But I'd rather just have fragments than not have you at all!”
Kise is crying. He's faked crying to get his way sometimes, but he's given up on the real thing when he realized that it never made his sorrows go away. Instead it only makes his eyes red and puffy and his nose runny, it gives him a headache and make him sob pathetically. So he's not cried in years. Maybe now it's all just breaking lose.
“B-but why?” he stutters, utterly confused, “Why would you...?”
He trails off, unable to even say it. It's ridiculous. Why would anyone, why would Aomine...? And why Kise of all people?”
“I love how you're a klutz when no one is looking,” Aomine says now, “I love how you are smart and conniving when people least expect it of you. I love you sometimes fall asleep in the shower like a friggin' horse. I love how you always try to be strong even though you have every reason to just be weak for once.”
Aomine is biting his lower lip, voice dropping to barely a whisper, “I love how when you're already asleep and I kiss you, you make that little breathy noise and snuggle up to me. I love you so much, I didn't go to my last game, even though there was a scout watching, because it was you first day off in ages and I wanted to spend it with you.”
“You... you fucking stalker,” is what Kise finally manages to say, hiding his blotchy face behind his hands.
“... It's not stalking if you say you love me, too,” Aomine grumbles and Kise huffs a laugh.
“Five years?” he repeats in disbelief.
“Five years,” Aomine confirms, nodding solemnly.
“So you never even asked Momoi-san back then?”
“'course not,” Aomine makes a disgusted face, “She's like my sister. That'd be wrong on so many levels.”
“Did... did anyone know?”
“Well, everyone but you, apparently,” Aomine rubs his hands in an awkward gesture, “I thought I was being pretty fucking obvious.”
“Not obvious enough,” Kise chuckles weakly, “Five years.”
“And that's a long fucking time to have an unrequited crush on someone,” Aomine says, “So, could you hurry up and say it back, or just kick be to the curb in the least painful way possible?”
“It's not,” Kise replies quietly, wiping a hand over his wet eyes.
“What?”
“It's not unrequited,” he explains, “Never was.”
There's a second of silence.
“We're two big fucking idiots, aren't we?” Aomine surmises in a flat tone and Kise nods in agreement, “Pretty much. But... I guess I love you anyway.”
“You better,” Aomine says, shuffling closer and gently pulling him into an embrace, “You're still really messed up, you know that, right?”
“Yeah,” Kise mumbles against his chest, “But I think I might be getting better now.”
“I'll cheer you on,” Aomine promises, and this time it's a deal of a different sort.