Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2378654.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroko_no_Basuke_|_Kuroko's_Basketball
  Relationship:
      Kasamatsu_Yukio/Kise_Ryouta
  Character:
      Kasamatsu_Yukio, Kise_Ryouta
  Additional Tags:
      Phone_Sex, Phone_Calls_&_Telephones, Established_Relationship, Mutual
      Masturbation, Dom/sub_Undertones, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn
      Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-10-20 Words: 2103
****** Suggestion ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Kasamatsu knows why Kise’s calling -- the blond only ever calls
     after nine for one reason, and it’s got nothing to do with school or
     basketball." Kasamatsu knows he shouldn't pick up his phone. He does
     anyway.
Kasamatsu shouldn’t pick up his phone.
He knows that. He has books open in front of him when it starts buzzing against
the table, and it’s getting late enough that the temptation of bed is an active
force in the back of his mind. It takes effort to stay where he is, to keep his
mind on the words on the page in front of him, and he’s only got a half hour or
so of attention left in him anyway. He should let the phone ring itself out,
let Kise go to voicemail and finish what he’s doing before collapsing into bed.
Besides, he knows why Kise’s calling -- the blond only ever calls after nine
for one reason, and it’s got nothing to do with school or basketball.
The problem, of course, is that he knows why Kise’s calling.
“Kise.” It comes out as a sigh, the best defense he can muster for the way his
voice tries to swing low and warm on the other boy’s name. Between exasperation
and the interference of the phone itself, Kasamatsu is fairly sure the worst of
the uncontrolled affection is lost. “What do you want?”
“Senpai.” Kise is making no comparable effort to restrain his voice. It’s warm,
purring across the line so Kasamatsu’s cheeks heat just from the suggestion in
the tone alone. “What are you doing?”
“I’m studying,” Kasamatsu says, enunciating each word so any residual
suggestion has been wiped clear of the sentence before Kise hears it. “Or I
was. What do you want?”
“Isn’t it late for studying?”
“Yeah.” Kasamatsu keeps his voice level but he’s reaching to shut the textbook.
There’s no point in lying to himself, not when Kise’s not here to see that he’s
already capitulated. “That’s why I need to know what you want so I can get back
to it.”
There’s a whine of protest, dropping Kise’s voice childish with petulance for a
minute. Kasamatsu has to lift a hand to cover his smile, instinct telling him
to hide his reaction although there’s no way for Kise to actually see his
expression. “You shouldn’t be studying.”
“You’re right,” Kasamatsu admits. He pushes back from his desk, gets to his
feet so he can move towards the bed, drop down across it and gaze at the blank
white of the ceiling. He’s not seeing the ceiling, though; he doesn’t need Kise
in the room with him to picture the blond’s unthinking pout, to imagine the way
golden hair falls in artistically tousled waves across his forehead. “I should
be asleep.”
“I want to talk to you, senpai.” Kise is pleading, now, the pout still audible
in his voice but the sentence catching high and wanting at the end. Kasamatsu
shuts his eyes, gives free reign to the slow burn rising under his skin as he
takes a deep breath.
“You want to talk.” That’s flat, monotone with disbelief. “Is that all.” Kise
huffs and Kasamatsu keeps talking without giving him a chance to form a reply.
“We can talk tomorrow.”
“It’s not the same,” and Kise is sounding desperate, now, his words coming a
little faster and a little less thought-out. “Everyone else is there, at
school.”
“What do you have to say that you don’t want anyone else to hear?” Kasamatsu
pushes. He does a poor job of feigning ignorance -- his words are more a
suggestion than they are confusion -- but they do what they are intended to do.
Kise’s voice stops, his breathing hitches confused and uncertain; Kasamatsu can
almost see the crease in his forehead, the faint downward curve of his lips.
The older boy pauses, lets the silence gain weight and substance by its length.
Then he speaks, low and soft as if there is anyone to overhear them, because in
the end Kise always does better following than leading.
“Were you thinking about me?” The words are innocuous on their own. They
wouldn’t carry any meaning at all except for the way Kise’s inhales catch self-
conscious on the other end of the line. “Something inappropriate?”
“Senpai --” Kise starts, but he stalls himself out. It’s too early, yet, for
him to have picked up the thread of conversation alone.
“Is that a yes?” Kasamatsu prompts. His free hand is sliding under the edge of
his t-shirt, pushing the fabric up an inch so he can drag his fingers across
his stomach. The movement is idle, it lacks the electrical shock of Kise’s
fingertips, but with the sound of the blond breathing it promises something
that will be enough, even if it’s not ideal.
There’s the sound of movement from Kise’s end, the rustle of fabric and what is
probably sheets; then a sigh, muffled by whatever Kise’s face is pressed
against, and a mumbled “Yes.”
“I can’t hear you.” Kasamatsu angles his hand, hooks the edge of his little
fingers under the waistband of his shorts while he listens to Kise’s breathing.
“What was that?”
“Yes.” That’s louder, more clear. Kise must have rolled over; his voice is
fuller, now, not half-caught by the weight of sheets and blankets just in front
of his face.
“What were you thinking about?” Kasamatsu prompts. His voice is dropping lower,
softer in volume but richer in tone, pulling weight from the heat catching into
his blood. He slides his shorts down off his hips one-handed, still keeping his
fingers against his leg instead of venturing in further for more. “Tell me,
Kise.” The words collect authority from his age, from his position on the team,
they have the ring of an order audible even with his carefully low volume, and
Kise obeys before self-consciousness can stop his tongue.
“I was thinking about the locker rooms.” It’s not a promising start, or it
shouldn’t be, but Kasamatsu’s thoughts jump back a week ago even before Kise
continues, “When we were…”
“When I was kissing you,” Kasamatsu fills in. He knows what Kise’s talking
about, he can remember the taste of post-practice salt clinging to the blond’s
skin when he pressed him against the wall, the way damp sweat let Kise’s
fingers slip easy over his skin. He draws his hand sideways, skims his palm
over his length so he can feel the flush of heat that draws him harder just
from the memory. “I remember.”
“You were shaking.” Kise’s voice is soft, warm with the recollection. Kasamatsu
stays quiet, this time, lets the rhythm of his breathing draw words from the
other. “I could feel it.”
“I was tired,”Kasamatsu says, but he’s dragging his fingertips up over himself,
now, trailing sensation in their wake even if he’s not yet closed his hand into
a deliberate grip. “And we were interrupted.”It was a moment after that, when
Kise’s hands where just inching up his spine, that the door down the hallway
banged open and they jumped apart, recollected themselves into the appearance
of acceptable distance. With his eyes shut Kasamatsu can turn his fingers into
Kise’s, can recreate the memory behind his eyelids and smooth out the awkward
edges of reality into the gentle rhythm of fantasy. “And if we weren’t?”
Kise’s breathing hitches. There’s a pause, the sound of a deliberate inhale;
when he sighs it has the tremor under it, the shiver of relief that whispers
suggestions about what he’s doing with his free hand. It makes Kasamatsu start
to smile, even before the words come.
“I wanted to kneel down in front of you.” Kasamatsu hums in faint appreciation;
he’s not even sure the sound makes it through the phone, but Kise keeps talking
in any case. “I was thinking about how you were shaking, what you would do if I
had started sucking you off.”
Kasamatsu can see it, can feel the tremor of illusory exhaustion hum under his
skin, can imagine the gold of Kise’s eyes looking up at him from the fall of
his hair. When he tightens his fingers into familiar pressure the satisfaction
aligns with his imagination, the slow drag of his fingers turns into the warm
wet slide of Kise’s mouth instead.
“Ah.” He sounds considering, appreciative, the vowel pulling long and slow in
his throat. “I was thinking about pushing you down to one of the benches,
myself.”
There’s a plaintive whimper from the other end of the line, an inhale drawing
harsh in the blond’s throat. “I would have needed to hold you on your feet.”
“I’d keep a hand over your mouth,” Kasamatsu offers in counterpoint. “You
always forget where we are when I start touching you.”
Kise moans, loud enough to thoroughly prove Kasamatsu’s point even before he
takes another inhale, keeps speaking as his voice jumps louder and higher with
every word. “I’d be quiet if I were blowing you.”
That makes Kasamatsu laugh, the loudest sound he’s made since he dropped his
voice deliberately soft. “I would like to put your mouth to good use, if you’re
trying to be quiet anyway. But I can deal with you one-handed if I had to.”
Kise makes a choking sound, which serves as all the encouragement Kasamatsu
needs. “It’s be easy, I’d just hold you down on the bench, sit on those long
legs of yours so you hold still while I got your shorts half-off.” His hand is
moving faster, now, he’s not sure if he’s seeing Kise on his knees or on his
back in his imagination, the two are blending together with the panting inhales
on the other end of the line until he can’t pull them apart. “Just enough to
close my fingers around you so I could jerk you off, quick before someone found
us.”
“I wouldn’t need long,” Kise offers, breathless and desperate, and Kasamatsu’s
throat tightens on a laugh.
“I know.” He’s purring, too far gone to feel self-conscious about the resonance
in his throat that makes the words a suggestion. “I know what you like, Kise, I
know exactly how to take care of you.”
Kise chokes, his inhale sticking in his throat, and Kasamatsu opens his eyes,
so focused on the other end of the line that he forgets to shut out his vision.
He knows that sound, that anxious shiver of breath, and all of his fantasies
evaporate until there’s just the sound of Kise’s breathing coming too-fast and
irregular into his ear, the present reality of Kise on the verge of orgasm
right in this very second.
“Kise,” he says aloud. There’s tension drawing anxious and expectant in his
spine, across the tops of his legs, a thrumming harmony to the speeding motion
of his hand over himself. “Kise.”
There’s an inhale, deep and fast and shuddering; Kasamatsu’s legs are starting
to shake, the tension pulling so tight as to be almost painful with
expectation, by the time there’s the leading edge of a moan from Kise’s throat,
the start of “Senpai” so drawn-out it is almost a question. It’s only the
beginning that Kasamatsu hears; the heat of satisfaction under the sound is
enough, gives him permission to relax and let the pleasure collecting into
inevitability wash waves of heat out into his limbs.
Kise’s still breathing hard when Kasamatsu takes a slow, deliberate breath,
lets his hold go gentle and sighs into the languid relaxation of exhaustion and
pleasure combined.
“Kise.” Some of the heat clings to the sound of the other’s name, purrs it into
inadvertant affection in Kasamatsu’s mouth. He shuts his eyes, smiles at the
sound even before Kise takes a startled breath, says “Yes?” with the high chirp
of expectancy under the word.
“You should sleep.” Kasamatsu’s limbs are gaining weight along with relaxation;
it’s hard even to turn sideways so he can grab a tissue to wipe himself clean.
“Rest is important. And if I stay on the phone any longer I’ll fall asleep
before I can hang up.”
“I could stay --” Kise starts, but Kasamatsu cuts him off, though the words are
drawn warm around his smile.
“You’re not going to stay awake listening to me fall asleep, Kise.” He
can hear Kise’s pout, he doesn’t even need words to frame the expression in his
head. “You should rest.”
“Are you going to study?” Kise asks.
Kasamatsu laughs. “No. You distracted me, I hope you’re happy. I’m just going
to sleep, as soon as I hang up with you.”
There’s a pause. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” That’s gentle, softer than Kasamatsu usually lets his voice go. He
doesn’t regret that anymore than he regrets giving in to the distraction of
Kise’s call. “Goodnight, Kise.”
“Goodnight. Senpai.”
Kasamatsu is still smiling when he hangs up.
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