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The street was wide enough that none of their fights could escalate to throwing objects and breaking each others’ competitively decked out display windows, but only just. There had, however, been multiple occurrences of shouting from their respective curbs, making flagrant, obscene gestures at each other on an almost daily basis and putting up bigger, brighter, and gaudier signs every few weeks so that by now, the two tattoo parlors directly across from each other glowed like a pair of offensive, neon beacons, illuminating the street better than the streetlights and showcasing the bitter, long-standing, obsessive rivalry between the owners of the shops themselves.


Aomine Daiki had occupied one of these shops for almost three years, having claimed it when he was still just starting out, practically unknown and unmarked; only bearing a set of complex, colorful, elbow-length sleeves sprawling up the dusky skin of his arms at the time. It had been a modest little parlor then, not too flashy, but for a single brightly lit sign proclaiming the place “The Blue Panther”, and a few demonstrations of his work blown up into posters on the windows. For a year or so, business was steady, and his little shop slowly gained recognition and favor, as he was pretty skilled with intricate detail and abstract design, and didn’t charge too much. That was until the boarded up place labeled “For Lease” across the way was taken up and refurbished by the biggest pain in the ass that he’d ever had the misfortune of running into to date.


Kagami Taiga must have seen an opportunity to either incite a laugh or a grudge when he decided to name his own tattoo parlor “The Red Tiger”...which was totally plagiarism or something and Aomine was definitely going to sue him for it someday, he just hadn’t gotten around to digging up the paperwork and revisiting the specifics of copyright law just yet... He got the latter, and his arrival and blatant mockery -- or lack of creativity, perhaps -- sparked the beginning of a skirmish that quickly morphed into an all-out war. They stopped short of blackmail and actually, physically sabotaging each other’s businesses, but aside from that, nothing was out of bounds.


When they caught each other setting up signs announcing new discounts or later business hours, the street would ring with profanity and outrage and screwdrivers or rolls of masking tape being flung across the stretch of pavement separating them in aggravation. Neither had quite managed to bean the other in the head with one yet, but they weren’t far off, and Aomine believed his aim and trajectory were improving remarkably over time. And his swearing was also becoming much more colorful as he repeatedly ran through almost his entire arsenal of insults and obscenities in a single afternoon, having to become increasingly more creative -- to the point of nearly making Kagami’s spiky red hair curl -- in order to keep up with his rival’s relentless, but comparatively less diverse stream of curses and threats and jabs at everything from Aomine’s looks to his intelligence all the way down to his fashion sense. The thing they both gloated over the most, and held over each other’s heads, was their success rates with customers. When Aomine had a particularly good week, or month, he would cross right over into Kagami’s territory and stroll into his shop like he owned it, only to smugly rub the sales he’d made or the positive reviews he’d gotten in his face, and then leave. Kagami had been known to do the same, when his fortune was good and he was rolling in tips from the satisfied patrons who left his shop significantly more decorated than when they came.


To an outsider, it would have been difficult to gauge which of the two was more successful, or more popular. Their styles were very similar, and of equally high quality, but while Aomine was most skilled with complicated abstract shapes and word art, Kagami had a special knack for realistic imagery and creative designs for the objects and characters he imprinted into his customers’ skin. Aomine had the reliability factor of having been around longer on his side, but with his likeable personality and network of connections spreading his name around, Kagami was catching up fast in recognition, and now received around the same amount of business as his darker neighbour and rival. So even though they competed ruthlessly against each other and made every effort to be the brightest, flashiest, most renowned tattoo parlor in Tokyo, for two years solid they had remained at a stalemate; neither of them able to completely surpass the other.


Their contempt and utter dislike for each other was painfully, tangibly obvious, to everyone who stepped into either of the shops, or even walked past them and took the time to look at the lengths to which their extensive, ritual pissing contests had gone. It had become something of a famed rivalry, in fact, to the point where certain patrons had loyally taken sides, vehemently claiming that one artist was inherently better than the other and refusing to waver, while others switched back and forth between both places, to get the best of both worlds or to compare, depending...either way accidentally (or not so accidentally) inciting one or both of them to blow into a silent, simmering rage as they recognized the other’s work.


Yes, it was clear that Aomine and Kagami butted heads frequently and vigorously, and seemed to hate each other’s guts with a vengeance...but there was something else to the pair of parallel parlors and their pugnacious proprietors. Something more to them than what initially met the eye.


“How long has this...rivalry of yours gone on?” One sparsely inked, rather pretty man with light blond hair and an elbow resting on the arm of the comfortably cushioned chair asked curiously, eyes closed and head tipped back as Aomine pressed the set of sterilized needles attentively, repeatedly, into the ridge of his tricep, dispensing a cartridge of deep blue ink into the skin at the time.


Narrowing his eyes with tempered hostility as well as focus, Aomine didn’t look up from his work as he answered, in perfect monotone, “Over two years, since that dickhead decided to butt in and set up his shitty little shop right across from me.” Putting his tongue between his teeth, he finished the sweeping edge of the elegant character he’d been etching, before withdrawing the needle to switch colors and examine his progress.


“So, you hate each other, right?” The customer asked, squinting open his tawny, cat-like eyes and glancing at him sidelong.


Aomine snorted, starting to unscrew the ink caps from the applicator absently, “He’s a stupid, copycatting arrogant asshole and a thorn in my fucking side…but no, I don’t hate him.”


“You said his shop’s shitty, though?” the man pressed interestedly, “Seems just as busy as this place to me, why’s that?”


Aomine paused a moment, thoughtfully, and reached up with his free hand to lower the collar of his shirt in the back, revealing the beautifully detailed head and front paws of a prowling black panther that stretched from the base of his spine all the way up his shoulder blade. A relatively new addition to the myriad of inky artwork that covered his body, which held a distinctly Kagami-like flair.


“It’s not that he sucks or anything; in fact when it comes to precise imagery, I’d say he’s better than me. ...We’re a lot alike, and we might even get along if he would just keep his stupid mouth shut and stop interfering with my business all the time.”


“Which probably isn’t gonna happen any time soon,” the man guessed, leaning his head back again.


Fitting the new needle tips into the machine, and tilting the arm he was working on to his liking, Aomine shrugged with a small smirk, “Yeah, probably not.”






The neon sign in the window said The Red Tiger was closed for the night, but Aomine strolled confidently through the door in spite of it, disregarding the chime of the bell as it swung open, cheerily announcing his intrusion to the only person that remained in the place. Kagami was leaning over the table where he prepared his ink and needles, wiping it down with a clean rag, the flexing and bunching muscles of his back hardly concealed by the tight-fitting tank top he wore, practically molded to his skin. Aomine caught a glimpse of the interweaving patterns of feathers that peeked out from under his shirt on both sides, extending down his shoulders and prominent triceps, seeming to flutter in preparation for flight whenever he raised his arms -- the enormous, intricate wings that covered the redhead’s shoulder blades and upper arms were Aomine’s own handiwork...up there with his best, in his opinion; finally healed after a month of Kagami’s bitching and complaining and reluctance to wear sleeves or even shirts of any kind, which had been an interesting turn of events -- before he whipped around to face him with a scowl.


“What are you doing here, asshole?” he snapped, tossing the rag down on the table and storming up to him, the abstract, somewhat geometric designs outlined on his throat and collarbone with particularly delicate needlework standing in high relief as the muscles of his neck tightened.


“What, a guy can’t drop by for a polite visit anymore?” Aomine asked sarcastically, folding his arms on the counter at the front of the shop and roving his eyes over him leisurely, taking in every fierce, vibrant detail.


Kagami’s slightly lighter, golden skin carried just as much ink in it as Aomine’s did; laid out in various convoluted, labyrinthine expanses across his chest, back, arms, and even his neck...though he favored more blacks and greys and subtle tones than Aomine’s bright patterns and colors. He also sported a fair few piercings; a good deal more extravagant than Aomine’s, admittedly. Several silver helixes and orbitals and other such rings adorned his ears, a pair of modest gauges through the lobes that were a little bit wider than they had been a month ago, as well as a barbell through the top of one of his ridiculous eyebrows, and a simple cobalt tongue stud that to this day remained Aomine’s favorite.


“It’s after closing,” Kagami pointed out irritably, slowing his furious advance and leaning on the same counter on the opposite side, facing him head-on, “And don’t give me that, bastard, you wouldn’t know polite if it bit you in the ass.”


“Says the douchebag who practically stole my trademark and invaded my strategic location,” Aomine said, uncharacteristically lightly and teasingly, waving a hand to dismiss him, “I think I have the right to barge in on your little flower shop since you kind of barged in on my life.”


Kagami looked at him for a moment, and opened his mouth as if to shoot back something indignant, before shaking his head with an exasperated chuckle, “Never going to let that go, are you?”


“In your dreams,” Aomine replied, baring his teeth in what could easily have passed for either a grin or a snarl, “And I’m still gonna file a lawsuit for the name thing, you just wait.”


“Suuuure you are,” Kagami drawled, resting his chin in his hand -- bringing attention to the gauntlet of ink spread like a spiderweb across his wrist and tendons and long, limber fingers; a design he’d done on himself a couple of months ago, supposedly out of boredom and to test his ambidextrous abilities, which had turned out surprisingly well. “You’ve been saying that for two years straight, and besides, there’s not a single word in the name of my shop that’s shared with yours.”


“What about the ‘the’?” Aomine retorted, jabbing a finger accusingly at the redhead and ignoring his rolling, equally red eyes, “Anyway, it’s the principle of the thing...The Blue Panther, The Red Tiger; they’re just too similar.”


“Uh-huh,” Kagami muttered, sounding unconvinced as he started to step away from the counter, “...So what are you really here for?”


Aomine blinked, losing his train of thought and fumbling the argument. After a moment he huffed a sigh and jerked his thumb over his own shoulder, “I need a touchup on the panther. I looked in the mirror this morning and the lowlights are all faded; I told you Dynamicz ink is crappy when it comes to permanence, if you used Kuroo or Pitchbrite it’d stay much better.”


Kagami lifted his odd eyebrows slightly, likely not expecting the legitimate excuse from the person who had waltzed into his establishment for little to no reason countless times in the past; just to try to piss him off and get under his skin -- whether figuratively or literally -- for the most part.


“I should make you set up an appointment and wait in line, or at least fucking pay me like I would anyone else,” he groused, crossing his arms to better illustrate his displeasure.


“Hey, we’ve got an agreement,” Aomine argued. Actually it was more of a desperate, last-ditch attempt at a peace treaty that had only sort of worked...but that was semantics. “I don’t charge you if you don’t charge me, and we don’t cut into each other’s business hours.”


It had taken a year of complete chaos and anarchy for the arrangement to even come about, but at some point Kagami had pointed out -- in a rare show of inspiration -- that they could both conceivably save some money and time if they did each other’s tattoos where they couldn’t reach themselves, such as their shoulders and backs and, in Kagami’s case, necks. It hadn’t exactly been an olive branch so much as...a mutually beneficial service, and at first Aomine had balked, because it would mean essentially wearing blaring advertisements of his competitor’s talents...but then it occurred to him that the reverse was also true, and Kagami would be wearing his talents too. Then the idea had seemed much more appealing, and he’d cautiously agreed.


Kagami let out a long-suffering sigh and tilted his chin toward the back of the parlor, “Alright fine, Ahomine...but you owe me.”


Aomine sniffed haughtily, “I don’t have to touch up any of yours,” he grumbled as he drew up alongside him, “‘Cause I invest in ink that shows up black the first time and doesn’t fucking fade out in a week.”


“Okay mom,” Kagami sneered, deftly opening the door to the private room that was closed off from the rest of the shop, “I’ll get some new black after this runs out, but I’m not gonna waste perfectly good ink just because it doesn’t meet your stupid standards. Take off your shirt,” he added curtly, gesturing to the table in the center of the room.


“I thought you’d never ask,” Aomine said dryly, shrugging out of his T-shirt and pitching it at Kagami’s head before stretching out on his stomach on the table, hissing a breath between his teeth as his bare skin kissed the cold vinyl padding. He could hear Kagami moving around and setting up, from the sound of clinking metal and plastic and the crackle of a blister seal being broken.


“Just this tonight, right? I’m not starting anything new?” Kagami asked, still sounding annoyed as he pulled a glove over one elaborately embellished hand.


“Not tonight,” Aomine sighed, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against the table. It had been a long day, and he supposed he’d earned a nap, even if Kagami would probably rant at him for falling asleep while he was being worked on. The redhead was prone to treating the whole process like it was as serious as surgery, and Aomine had been somewhat surprised to discover his pain tolerance was just a little bit lower than his own. Which wasn’t saying much; neither of them had so much as flinched at the prick of a needle in years, but at this point Aomine thought he would be perfectly happy to just sleep through the whole thing, and wouldn’t be disturbed.


He squinted his eyes open, however, as Kagami’s strong, lean fingers rubbed cold alcohol over his skin, kneading the taut, coiled muscle a little more than necessary and just about bringing out a purr from Aomine, despite the chill. When the cleaning solution dried, it was followed by the slow, careful rasp of a razor, removing any invisible hairs from the area. It was a very familiar procedure; relaxing, almost intimate, especially with each other, where they were both perfectly comfortable with every step and didn’t have to deal with staving off any nerves or uncertainty or questions.


“It’s not too bad,” Kagami murmured at last, maybe a touch defensively, “There are just a couple places where it’s not as dark or crisp as you wanted...I can fix those pretty quick and then you should be set.”


“Mh,” Aomine answered; a vague, affirming sound, and after a moment or two, Kagami set to work, the deep, repetitive prodding of the needles all but tapping out a lullaby as Aomine’s eyes fluttered closed again, both ignoring and wallowing in the sensation that was nearly as natural as breathing to him now. As it was, his lungs expanded slower and deeper, unimpeded by the focused, confident strokes of Kagami’s particular brush across his particular canvas, and -- with complete, mutual, but never voiced and never acknowledged trust in his artist -- he drifted gradually and peacefully to sleep.




He was jolted from his slumber by means of a sharp pinch to his left buttock, and a startled, offended yelp tore from his lips as his eyes snapped open, promptly glaring at his attacker, who glared right back with irritation plain in his burning crimson gaze.


“You fell asleep on me again,” Kagami informed him, as if he hadn’t just been roused unceremoniously from said fast asleep state by a sudden assault to his ass.


Grumbling sulkily to himself, he registered a faint, mellow burn had settled over his back, now wrapped expertly in cling film. “You done?”


“Yeah,” Kagami said shortly, flicking him in the forehead with his now-bare hand, “How many times do I have to tell you to stay awake while I’m doing you?”


Aomine’s eyes flashed, turning bright and alert immediately at that phrasing, and Kagami must have noticed because a flush crawled rapidly across his face, turning it near the same color as his hair.


“N-not like that, stupid, just...what if you rolled over or snored or something and messed me up?”


Smirking to himself wickedly, Aomine sat up and rolled his shoulders to loosen up the prickling, slightly stinging skin and muscles of his back, “That wouldn’t mess you up,” he stated with total confidence, not even questioning his steadfast assurance of Kagami’s abilities. Kagami himself didn’t even seem to notice the deeper meaning, the complete faith behind the sentiment, and had admittedly expressed his own convicted declarations to the same effect from time to time in the past.


Clearing his throat, Kagami kept his gaze stalwartly averted from Aomine’s, his complexion slowly returning to normal, “If it fades again, come back and I’ll go over it with one of your fancy professional inks, but I think it should hold this time.”


Aomine nodded absently and started to get up, but Kagami’s hands grasped his shoulders and promptly pushed him back down. “About what you owe me…” he began, eyes dark and glittering with intent.


Aomine pretended not to get the message, looking him over with an aloof attitude he didn’t feel, “Well you’ve already got your angel wings, would you like a halo to match? Or maybe you’ll let me put some words on you…”


“I already told you I don’t want any,” Kagami declined, unimpressed, leaning down to his eye level and cutting his gaze briefly to Aomine’s lips, a few centimeters from his own.


Aomine smirked tantalizingly, with a hint of genuine amusement, “Is it because you came from America where people get kanji of things like ‘water’ just because they look --”


“Shut up,” Kagami cut him off, reaching up to tangle a hand in his hair and bring their mouths together roughly, plunging inside with his tongue; the warm metal of the piercing embedded in it scraping Aomine’s palate and bringing out a full-body shiver. God, he fucking loved that thing. One of Kagami’s hands traced down his bare, bronze chest, following the bright swirls and coils and flames that came down from his shoulder to circle his pectoral and cover one nipple, which he couldn’t seem to resist tweaking. A gasp hissed past Aomine’s lips.


It had happened like this the first time, almost a year ago. Kagami had been the one sitting shirtless on the table, fresh, dark ink glistening on his jugular as Aomine delicately, intimately marked the soft flesh of his throat, feeling every tick of his pulse through the needle nudging his skin and the fingers he lightly pressed to Kagami’s jaw to hold his neck at a slight angle. A strange tension, different from their usual mutual dislike and irritation, had sharpened the air, and as long minutes dragged by, Kagami’s breath had gotten steadily rougher, and so had Aomine’s...and Aomine had had to ask him -- voice conspicuously husky and strained -- to stop swallowing so much or he’d make a mistake. Only when he’d set the needle aside to allow Kagami a break to stretch and crack his neck did the tension finally snap, and without even thinking they fell on each other like animals, grappling for each other’s hair and hips and shoulders and kissing fiercely, the task at hand and the ink drying on Kagami’s neck completely forgotten as they wrestled out of their clothes, biting and sucking and grinding and groaning, trying in earnest to devour each other. The ideas of ink and skin and sweat and sex had been intertwined ever since, and it had become common for them -- both of them -- to blur from arguing or applying a new design right into making out or dry humping or straight-up fucking. Another peace treaty, as it were; this one much more raw and volatile, but which had led to the greatest amount of animosity vanishing from between them. They still argued almost non-stop and got in each other’s faces and competed relentlessly, almost desperately...but the real resentment between them, the gripping bitterness and occasional flares of jealousy or hatred, were simply gone. At times, now, even their streams of constant griping and insults were just for show.


Pushing Aomine down on his back -- ignoring how his teeth gritted with discomfort as the fresh needle marks pressed against the table -- Kagami slid one knee between his thighs and leaned over him, still stroking and fondling his chest as he fucked his mouth with his tongue, dragging it across his slick teeth with a click of metal before diving deeper once again. Aomine opened his mouth for him, swallowing him down and bringing his arms tightly around his shoulders, running his hands along the dark feathers that spread from them down his arms. His fingers clenched in the back of his black tank top, tugging insistently.


“Take it off,” he panted between savage open-mouthed kisses, leaning up both to pursue him as he withdrew and to ease the pressure off his rather sore back, “I want to see you.”


Flushed and practically radiating heat and desire, chest heaving with harsh, unsteady breaths, Kagami did as he asked, removing the layer of clothing tormentingly slowly and revealing his killer abs, which Aomine couldn’t help but reach out and touch, inciting a shiver. Leaning in as Kagami shed his shirt and tossed it aside, he wrapped his hands around the redhead’s hips and brought his mouth to the hard, compact muscles already glistening with sweat, nibbling and lapping at them, tracing up to Kagami’s navel.


“I wish you’d let me do you here,” he breathed against the shuddering, unmarked skin, dipping his tongue into the little indentations and following the thin trail of red hair that led to his groin, “Something soft; lots of curves and swirls to contrast how hard you are...”


He felt Kagami’s breath hitch, and at such close proximity he could see the swelling beginning to stress the front of his pants, as his body responded to Aomine’s sexual touch and suggestive words.


“Maybe next time,” Aomine mused, almost to himself, blowing a stream of cool air over the places he’d just been licking and sucking. Kagami trembled harder, bracing his hands on Aomine’s shoulders as if for balance so he wouldn’t topple over right there. Scraping his teeth against the corner of his hip, Aomine’s hands slipped under his waistband and started to lower his jeans, his forehead and bangs brushing against his stomach as he dropped firm kisses on the bulge his underwear did nothing to hide.


“How would you like me to repay you, Kagami?” he whispered against the hot, throbbing flesh wrapped in tight cotton. He looked up fleetingly to meet the hazy, half-lidded eyes watching him with unmistakable lust in their ruby depths. “Do you want me to blow you, suck your fucking rock-hard cock until you can’t stand up?”


Kagami moaned, not even trying to hide it, and his eyes dropped closed as Aomine swore he saw his cock bob and only grow more rigid between his shaking thighs. He couldn’t fight a smug grin, and rose off the table partway, setting his feet on the floor.


“Or…” he went on in a sultry whisper, releasing Kagami to hook his thumbs in his own belt loops, dragging his jeans down his own hips and hinting at a thatch of navy hair at his groin, and its contents. Just above his hips, a series of jet black Japanese characters wrapped around his waist like a belt, referencing forbidden fruit and other such allusions to temptation and consequence, and he watched Kagami’s gaze rove over them as his eyes flitted open. “....Or, do you want this?


As his jeans and underwear slid down to his thighs, his own insistent erection sprang free, with a glint of stainless steel that caught Kagami’s eye immediately, as he’d predicted it would.


“...Wh-when did you get that?” His voice was an unsteady rasp as he scrutinized the silver barbell speared through Aomine’s frenulum, just under the flushed, glistening head of his arousal.


Aomine’s assured grin morphed into a leer, and he ran a hand down his own cock, toying with the relatively new piercing and watching Kagami wet his lips, “Do you like it? I had to wait until it healed before I could pay you a proper visit, but now, well...” leaning close, matching Kagami’s considerable height with his own, he lightly took the edge of his stretched earlobe between his teeth, “...I’m all yours.”


Kagami swallowed thickly, the muscles of his throat convulsing and causing the finespun black patterns crisscrossing his neck to shift and ripple enticingly. Dipping his head, Aomine brushed his lips, and then his tongue along one of the elegant designs, worrying the soft skin of his jugular with his teeth until Kagami was gasping, pulling Aomine flush against him by the hips and grinding their equally raging erections against each other, making both of them moan.


“Fuck....” he panted in Aomine’s ear, burying his face against his shoulder and rutting against him again, his cloth-covered cock dragging along the sensitive head of Aomine’s and jiggling the barbell interestingly.


“What was that?” Aomine asked tauntingly, biting down much less gently on Kagami’s collarbone and starting to remove his constraining boxer briefs from him.


“Fuck…fuck me…” Kagami groaned, shuddering as Aomine’s large, hot hand wrapped around his naked cock, rubbing it along the underside of his own so that the little silver balls embedded in the sensitive tissue ran down the length of his shaft.


Aomine smirked, and raised his head to bring their mouths together again briefly, nipping at his lower lip, “I thought you’d never ask.”


His words from before registered, and Kagami’s rather pleasure-blown eyes narrowed, “You planned this.”


“Maybe,” Aomine shrugged, dropping to his knees without another word and bringing Kagami’s straining, already weeping cock to his own lips. Sliding the leaking head into his mouth, he cupped Kagami’s balls with his free hand briefly before tracing it around to the seam of his ass, dipping teasingly between the firm cheeks. Kagami attempted to muffle a moan, and his tattooed fingers slid into Aomine’s hair, holding his head in place as Aomine licked and slurped at him liberally, saliva and precum dripping down his chin. Then, releasing his cock from his mouth, he stroked it a few times with his hand, coating his fingers in moisture as Kagami’s head tipped back and his hips jerked in his grasp, short bursts of breath leaving him intermittently as his eyes fluttered closed.


“Turn around,” Aomine commanded huskily, tilting his chin to the table behind him as Kagami opened his eyes to look at him questioningly.


Nodding dazedly, Kagami shucked his pants entirely and stepped around him to brace his hands against the solid surface, head bent low and intricately inked shoulders rising and falling with his heavy, uneven breathing. Standing up, Aomine discarded his remaining clothing as well and crowded him against the table, bringing his wet fingers between Kagami’s thighs before circling them around his quivering entrance teasingly. Dropping his head, he smoothed his tongue along the base of Kagami’s right shoulder blade, following the path of the large, detailed wing that spread across his back and arm.

“I think these…” he murmured, turning his head to brush his lips against the marginal coverts of the left wing, “....turned out very well.”


Kagami’s breath expelled from him with what might have been a shaky laugh, “A-alright, Leonardo...d-don’t break an arm jerking yourself off…”


Aomine snorted, and slowly pressed into Kagami, sinking to the first knuckle in his tight, welcoming warmth. Kagami shook, his internal muscles clenching around Aomine’s finger as it drove into him, flexing and curling and opening him up. As he diligently prepared the redhead, slowly adding another finger when he was ready, he leaned over his back and brought his mouth close to his ear, playing with the array of piercings with his teeth and tongue, but never pulling on them, as he’d learned by now that that would probably only get him a fist to the stomach and kill his chances of getting laid. He was throbbing, aching, barely alleviating the discomfort by absently touching and stroking himself as he fingered Kagami with his other hand. Kagami kept his head bowed almost to his chest, between his long, taut and trembling arms, letting out pent-up exhalations and soft, grit-out moans as he rocked himself back on Aomine’s fingers, hissing between his teeth as they ground down on the bundle of sensitive nerves that had him tensing, the sweat-slicked muscles of his back knotting as a strangled, pleading sound fell from his lips.


“Now,” he panted, voice raw and open; Aomine saw a thin stream of precum drizzle from his flushing cock onto the vinyl below as he viciously rubbed his prostate again, “D-do it now…”


“Hmm,” Aomine hummed carelessly, with a laid-back indifference that belied the desperation burning through him.


“Dammit, I don’t have all night!” Kagami snapped, eyes squeezing shut, “You owe me, remember? Now do it!”


“Maybe if you ask nicely,” Aomine simpered, withdrawing his fingers partway, but not removing them from his body.


“Fuck you,” Kagami retorted tightly. Aomine laughed.


“If you insist,” he couldn’t help but grin, withdrawing entirely and lining himself up, before slowly pushing forward with his hips, letting out a low groan that was echoed by Kagami as he body stretched open around him; hardened flesh and a touch of smooth steel sliding against his delicate internal walls. As he seated himself inside gradually, he could feel Kagami holding his breath, before letting it out with a whoosh as he stopped.


“Feels good?” he asked softly, shifting for purchase and watching Kagami’s expression change; what he could see from behind.


“Different,” Kagami panted, flexing his fingers against the table’s thick padding, as if wanting to grab onto something. Aomine nodded to himself distantly, letting Kagami adjust and getting a feel for the warm muscles gently spasming and squeezing around his pierced cock.


“Move,” Kagami commanded after a moment, hoarsely, pushing himself back against Aomine’s groin. Aomine complied, drawing back before thrusting in hard, punching the breath out of Kagami’s lungs as a long moan was pulled from his throat. Digging his fingers into Kagami’s hips, he drove into him again, faster and fiercer, biting down on the nape of his neck and the back of his hair as Kagami gasped and groaned beneath him, rolling his shoulders restlessly so that the light played on the sheen of sweat and dark ink sprawling across his skin. Aomine grit his teeth, ramming into him with wild abandon and tipping his head back, fingernails dragging against the skin of his waist and hips, marking him without needles as he took him rough and fast. Kagami’s voice rang in his ears, grunts and moans and breathless curses as he moved with him, hips rolling and twitching against air, not quite able to find friction on the low table he braced his hands against.


Heat built between them, swirling higher and clenching low in Aomine’s gut as he shoved into Kagami harder, throwing off the redhead’s balance as his hands slid out from under him, and then he was lying across the table on his stomach, stifling the raw, desperate sounds that Aomine could still hear, though muffled, against the cold vinyl pressed to his cheek. Aomine leaned down to rest his forehead against his shuddering shoulder blade, panting against his skin, hips snapping and pistoning inside him as release beckoned, just out of reach. He drove in hard twice more, and all at once, Kagami stiffened and lifted his head with a grit-out, indistinct swear that gave way to a deep, broken moan as he twitched and trembled and spattered his release against the table, clamping down viciously on Aomine’s cock and sending him over the edge as well. Grabbing a fistful of red hair, he compulsively hauled Kagami’s head up to kiss him hard, wrestling with his pierced tongue and groaning into his mouth as jets of slick cum burst from him, spilling into Kagami’s depths.


They were both breathing raggedly, starved for air as they slowly came down; Aomine slumped against Kagami’s back, Kagami slumped against the table they’d defiled for probably the fifth or sixth time now. Good thing Kagami had stocked up on disinfectants early on, even before this arrangement had turned out to be more intimate than expected.


“I don’t think I can move,” Kagami said after a moment, voice dry and rusted, and heavy with exhaustion.


“I wasn’t planning on it,” Aomine agreed, his own voice taking on a tired rasp as he propped his chin on Kagami’s smooth, hard shoulder, "You're welcome."


Kagami huffed a breath, and lifted an arm as if to hit him, before just letting it fall limply against the table again.


“I hate you,” he muttered irritably.


Aomine managed a smirk, “I know.”


“You’re an asshole,” Kagami went on.


“Yep,” Aomine grinned.


“And you’re an idiot,” Kagami insisted, turning his head to glare at him.


“Hm,” Aomine sighed, idly tracing the edge of one of the wings he’d ingrained into Kagami’s skin, “Maybe.”


Lifting his shoulders, Kagami braced his hands against the table and pushed him off, wincing as his now flaccid cock slipped out of him, trailing sticky fluid down the inside of his thigh.


“Now get your ass out of my shop before I kick it out.”


Shrugging; breaking off with a wince as the slightly inflamed skin of his back stretched, Aomine got to his feet -- a little unsteadily -- and searched the floor for his clothes. Once they were both clean and dressed, they glanced at each other briefly; sated, wiped-out red eyes clashing with blue, and both of their expressions gradually settled into familiar mirrors of the same scowl.


Back to normal. Until the next time.