Ship/Character: aomine daiki/himuro tatsuya Fandom: kuroko no basuke Major Tags: none Other Tags: allusions to sexual acts and a lil blasphemy, nbd Word Count: 803 Remix Permission: whew sure
idk what happened
***
He's been turning people away all night.
At first, Aomine didn't think much of it, mistakenly assuming the guy's not here to pick anyone up. It's rare, but it happens, that some people just want a place to drink and kill time. But that was before he took in the guy's body language and attire — nobody drapes themselves across a bar in painted-on leather pants without wanting to get some. The conclusion raised more questions than it answered: why, then, did he reject everyone who approached?
It happened like clockwork. Someone would walk up to him, rope him into a conversation, and minutes later extract themselves with their tail between their legs. Rinse repeat. It didn't matter how attractive the other person was.
For Aomine, it was a temptation as good as any. Made him wanna try his luck, and all that. So he does.
Sliding right in the stranger's space, he gestures to the bartender with two fingers. Without waiting to be addressed, he asks, "so what gives?"
"Pardon?" says the guy. Polite, isn't he? Probably the only reason he's been able to turn down that many people without causing a commotion.
"What gives?" repeats Aomine, lowering his mouth to the guy's ear to make himself heard above the bar's din. "Nobody in here good enough for you?"
At that, the guy raises a single immaculate brow. Aomine can only assume he's impressed by the boldness, a conclusion abetted by the guy's sudden laugh.
"Is that how I'm coming across?" The guy looks up at him from under lowered lids, and fuck, Aomine underestimated how pretty he'd be, especially in this light. "I take it you aren't daunted, then."
Aomine grins, both at the guy and at the bartender when their drinks arrive. "Does it look like I am? Drink up."
It's Aomine's turn to be impressed when the guy downs the shot expertly, fingers nimble around the glass as he sets it back down. Aomine follows suit, maintaining eye contact as he swallows.
"Well? If you're gonna turn me down, better do it now."
The guy smiles, which ought to be encouragement, except the curve of it is impossible to decipher.
"Did I say I was going to?"
—
"I wanna see you again," is all Aomine can say — or rasp, rather — as his zipper is done back up for him. Himuro, who finally introduced himself before he went down on his knees, wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand far more gracefully than the action warranted. He smiles at Aomine again, mysterious as ever.
"That can be arranged."
—
Aomine should've known something was up when Himuro told him the date he should drop by the address he was given. Sunday mornings aren't exactly prime hookup hours.
And when Aomine ends up outside a church, well, what else could it be than some unholy joke?
"You're kidding, right?" says Aomine when he sees Himuro again, decked out in clerical attire. "You're a priest?"
"Did I say I wasn't?"
"Priests don't do that in fucking back alleys—"
"Language, Aomine-kun." Himuro has the gall to smirk, and this one is easier to read than the ones before it. "We're in the house of the Lord."
"I'm leaving."
More surprising than any of this, and anything else Himuro has done, is when he catches Aomine's wrist to halt him on the way to the door.
"Stay for a while, won't you? You might get something out of it."
Aomine makes the mistake of glancing at Himuro's face, pretty like it had been in alcohol-tainted memory; prettier, even, in the parish candlelight.
"Fine. But only because I owe you, I guess."
Himuro lets go, motioning to a spot on the pews. "A reason as good as any."
—
"So, why me? You turned everyone else down; why'd I make the cut?"
"Maybe I saw something in you that needed saving."
—
Aomine doesn't know why he returns every Sunday after that, alarm set and everything. Himuro is rarely the one at the pulpit, often just assisting the priest doing the sermon, though he does flash Aomine his usual ineffable smile when their gazes meet from across the altar.
The reason dawns on him one slow morning at the church, with the pews empty and the organ silent. He walks right up to the confessional and lets himself in at a whim. Gamble pays off; it's Himuro inside it.
"Wrong door, Aomine-kun," he says, obviously trying to keep his composure, but all Aomine does is kneel and take a hold of the pectoral cross nestled on Himuro's chest, sliding it between Himuro's teeth and imploring him to bite down.
"Something to help you stay quiet, Father."
-
Later, with a post-coital flush streaked across his cheeks and his hand in Aomine's hair, Himuro laughs, "well-played, demon. Well-played."
Fill: Team Grandstand, T
Fandom: kuroko no basuke
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: allusions to sexual acts and a lil blasphemy, nbd
Word Count: 803
Remix Permission: whew sure
idk what happened
***
He's been turning people away all night.
At first, Aomine didn't think much of it, mistakenly assuming the guy's not here to pick anyone up. It's rare, but it happens, that some people just want a place to drink and kill time. But that was before he took in the guy's body language and attire — nobody drapes themselves across a bar in painted-on leather pants without wanting to get some. The conclusion raised more questions than it answered: why, then, did he reject everyone who approached?
It happened like clockwork. Someone would walk up to him, rope him into a conversation, and minutes later extract themselves with their tail between their legs. Rinse repeat. It didn't matter how attractive the other person was.
For Aomine, it was a temptation as good as any. Made him wanna try his luck, and all that. So he does.
Sliding right in the stranger's space, he gestures to the bartender with two fingers. Without waiting to be addressed, he asks, "so what gives?"
"Pardon?" says the guy. Polite, isn't he? Probably the only reason he's been able to turn down that many people without causing a commotion.
"What gives?" repeats Aomine, lowering his mouth to the guy's ear to make himself heard above the bar's din. "Nobody in here good enough for you?"
At that, the guy raises a single immaculate brow. Aomine can only assume he's impressed by the boldness, a conclusion abetted by the guy's sudden laugh.
"Is that how I'm coming across?" The guy looks up at him from under lowered lids, and fuck, Aomine underestimated how pretty he'd be, especially in this light. "I take it you aren't daunted, then."
Aomine grins, both at the guy and at the bartender when their drinks arrive. "Does it look like I am? Drink up."
It's Aomine's turn to be impressed when the guy downs the shot expertly, fingers nimble around the glass as he sets it back down. Aomine follows suit, maintaining eye contact as he swallows.
"Well? If you're gonna turn me down, better do it now."
The guy smiles, which ought to be encouragement, except the curve of it is impossible to decipher.
"Did I say I was going to?"
—
"I wanna see you again," is all Aomine can say — or rasp, rather — as his zipper is done back up for him. Himuro, who finally introduced himself before he went down on his knees, wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand far more gracefully than the action warranted. He smiles at Aomine again, mysterious as ever.
"That can be arranged."
—
Aomine should've known something was up when Himuro told him the date he should drop by the address he was given. Sunday mornings aren't exactly prime hookup hours.
And when Aomine ends up outside a church, well, what else could it be than some unholy joke?
"You're kidding, right?" says Aomine when he sees Himuro again, decked out in clerical attire. "You're a priest?"
"Did I say I wasn't?"
"Priests don't do that in fucking back alleys—"
"Language, Aomine-kun." Himuro has the gall to smirk, and this one is easier to read than the ones before it. "We're in the house of the Lord."
"I'm leaving."
More surprising than any of this, and anything else Himuro has done, is when he catches Aomine's wrist to halt him on the way to the door.
"Stay for a while, won't you? You might get something out of it."
Aomine makes the mistake of glancing at Himuro's face, pretty like it had been in alcohol-tainted memory; prettier, even, in the parish candlelight.
"Fine. But only because I owe you, I guess."
Himuro lets go, motioning to a spot on the pews. "A reason as good as any."
—
"So, why me? You turned everyone else down; why'd I make the cut?"
"Maybe I saw something in you that needed saving."
—
Aomine doesn't know why he returns every Sunday after that, alarm set and everything. Himuro is rarely the one at the pulpit, often just assisting the priest doing the sermon, though he does flash Aomine his usual ineffable smile when their gazes meet from across the altar.
The reason dawns on him one slow morning at the church, with the pews empty and the organ silent. He walks right up to the confessional and lets himself in at a whim. Gamble pays off; it's Himuro inside it.
"Wrong door, Aomine-kun," he says, obviously trying to keep his composure, but all Aomine does is kneel and take a hold of the pectoral cross nestled on Himuro's chest, sliding it between Himuro's teeth and imploring him to bite down.
"Something to help you stay quiet, Father."
-
Later, with a post-coital flush streaked across his cheeks and his hand in Aomine's hair, Himuro laughs, "well-played, demon. Well-played."