Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7326520.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, M/M
  Fandom:
      Ookiku_Furikabutte_|_Big_Windup!, Haikyuu!!, Kuroko_no_Basuke_|_Kuroko's
      Basketball
  Relationship:
      Mihashi_Ren/Tajima_Yuuichirou, Oikawa_Tooru/Sugawara_Koushi, Izumi
      Kousuke/Tajima_Yuuichirou, Aomine_Daiki/Kagami_Taiga
  Character:
      Mihashi_Ren, Tajima_Yuuichirou, Oikawa_Tooru, Sugawara_Koushi, Izumi
      Kousuke, Aomine_Daiki, Kagami_Taiga
  Additional Tags:
      dfab!characters, (for_this_first_fill_at_least), Masturbation, Phone_Sex,
      Sex_Toys, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added, specifically_dfab_and_lady-
      type, Aged-Up_Character(s), alcohol_mention, Blow_Jobs, Lipstick_&_Lip
      Gloss, Established_Relationship, Intercrural_Sex, Hand_Jobs, Roughness,
      idk_how_to_tag_it??, IM_TIRED_FIGHT_ME
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-06-28 Completed: 2016-07-21 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 8065
****** nsfw SASO partytimes! ******
by zetsubooty
Summary
     what it says on the box. B) my nsfw bonus round fills for SASO 2016.
Notes
     Horchata prompted:
     tajima &/ mihashi (/ anyone else you wanna)
     sexual content, genderswap, if you please!
     package: a rectangular prism with a really shitty bow and an envelope
     taped on top
     from: Tajima
     to: Mihashi
     note: It's a VIBRATOR, Mihashi!! Trust me, it'll help!!!!
***** tajimiha *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
After a frantic search through the house for batteries, Ren finally lands
kneeling on her bed and staring down the vibrator like a matador facing a
particularly fierce bull. If the bull were also quite small and a rather garish
shade of pink. She takes a deep breath and picks it up, turning it over in her
hands. How do I…make it go?? Here?
The end feels like a button, so she pushes it. And then drops it with a squeak.
She freezes, hands curled under her chin, while the vibrator merrily buzzes its
way across her messy bed. With a gasp, Ren picks it up, trying to find an off
switch. There does not appear to be one. She drops it again, this time to fall
against the inside of her knee. It tickles and also sends a fizz of arousal
through her. Ren slaps her hands over her face, then grabs it as firmly as she
can, hands shaking as she holds the button down. To her relief, when she
relaxes her grip, the thing stills.
Ren sighs deeply in relief, tossing it further down the bed. Scary.
She nearly leaps in the air when something else vibrates.
[07:23pm]
[Yuu-chan: didja try it out yet? ;D]
[Ren: Not yet]
[It’s kind of scary]
[Yuu-chan: PPPFFFFHAHAA]
[I figured you’d say somthuoing like that]
[it’s not gonna bite u]
[Ren: It’s not that…]
Well, she honestly wouldn’t trust the thing not to attack in some way.
[Ren: Just…]
[I don’t really know how to…]
[Yuu-chan: OH MY GOSH]
[here ok im calling]
In the few seconds she spends waiting, Ren curls over with dread in her heart.
I can’t even get this right. I ruin everything, I can’t—
Her phone chirps out a cheery tune.
“Reeeeeeeeeeeeen!!”
“Yuu-chan…”
“So you tried it at all, or…?”
Ren flushes hotly. “I…I turned it on? But that’s…that’s all…”
“Well, that’s a good start! Wait…you nekkid?”
“N-no!”
“Ah, well, I guess maybe you like it better like that… Me, I always wanna be
naked, though!”
“I didn’t… I just didn’t…”
Yuu’s voice takes on an authoritative tone. “Well, there’s your first step. Get
naked!”
Ren clutches at her t-shirt. “I… Okay… But! But Yuu-chan will stay…?”
“Eh? Yeah, of course! I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
Smiling with relief, Ren puts down her phone and slips off the side of the bed.
She strips out of her clothes, leaving them in a messy pile on the floor, and
climbs back on the bed, picking the phone back up.
“I did it. I…”
“Great! Now get comfy. It’s kinda fun if you try weird positions, like you can
put your feet up…” As if she can sense Ren’s rising nervousness, Yuu stops
herself. “Oh! But for the first time, just on your back is definitely fine.”
Ren scooches down on the bed, knocking a baseball onto the floor. “Oh!”
“Huh?”
“Just…forgot to get the…the…the thing…” Ren fumbles around for it, grabbing it
with her toes and then holding it triumphantly.
“Ren. Say it with me. Vi-bra-tor.”
“V-v-vbrgltar…”
Yuu’s laughter peals out. “Close enough! Okay, so you figured out how to turn
it on, and stuff? You’re probably gonna wanna start on the lowest setting for
now…”
Ren eyes the vibrator with alarm. It gets buzzier???
“…so just fire it up!”
Eyes wide and mouth pulled into an uncertain line, Ren pushes the button again.
Just like the first time, the sensation startles her, the noise too, loud
enough that Yuu can surely hear it. She drops it, this time on her belly. Ren
squawks, curling over and flailing.
“Ren! What are you even doing?”
“D-drop! Dropped it! It…tickles!”
Yuu snickers. “Man, I never thought of that… Betcha we could totally torture
someone like Mizutani with it! Aaaaaaanyway. You got it again, now?”
“Mm-hm.” Ren holds it, watching its slightly blurred outline curiously. Now
she’s a little more used to the sensation, it’s easier to hang onto it. “N-now
what?”
“Well, just go for it!”
“Um…”
Yuu huffs out a soft laugh. “Okay. You’re supposed to put it on your clit,
right? Make sure you’re on the hood, or it’ll be way too much at first.”
Ren nods, and, taking a deep breath, brings it down to press against her labia.
Her breath shudders out of her, abrupt, embarrassingly loud.
She slaps her hand over her mouth, muffling her apology, “S-sorry! I…I…” Rather
than propel itself around, Ren’s twitching has lodged the vibrator fairly
securely in place. She squeezes her eyes shut, doing her best not to make a
sound; it’s indirect, but enough already to flood her with delicious sensation.
“Don’t say sorry! Ya make cute noises.” Ren’s face burns, but she can hear the
smile in Yuu’s voice, comforting and warming. Yuu hums thoughtfully. “You okay
being on the phone like this?”
Ren’s pretty sure she’s been avoiding thinking about that. But… “No! I feel…I
think…it’s less scary, because Yuu-chan is there…”
Yuu cackles. “You’re not s’posed to be afraid of yer own hoo-ha, geez!”
Ren takes hold of the vibrator again. “I’m not! I just…” She lets it press
against the soft flesh again. “It feels better because Yuu-chan is there.”
There’s a silence on the other end. And then Yuu inhales slowly. “You doin’ it
yet?”
“Um…not…not quite… I just…outside…if that’s…if that’s okay…”
“Oh! That’s pretty good, too. You basically do whatever you want with it, okay?
Stick it up your nose if you wanna!”
Ren frowns. “I don’t think it would fit.”
Yuu sighs lightly. “Aaaaaanyway, my point is, if it feels good, then do it. But
believe me, when you get to your clit, it’s gonna feel way better.”
Ren’s eyes fall shut as she fights the urge to cover her face. Something in
Yuu’s voice reaches into the arousal expanding within her, spreads it messy and
warm all through her stomach and up her spine and down her legs to where her
heels dig into the bed.
“Yuu-chan, I’m gonna…I’m gonna try…”
“Good! Go for it!”
Ren smiles, drawing her knees up and letting one fall off to the side. Inhaling
slowly, she grips the vibrator firmly and inches it down to the more delicate
skin.
Ren gasps out a cry, fumbling the phone against her collarbone. Her hips tilt,
pushing her butt back into the bed and dragging her skin against the vibrator.
She tries to gather enough coherence to lift the phone, apologise, but all she
can do right now is luxuriate in the sensation.
“…en?”
She picks the phone up again, just holding it in place a second before she
speaks. “Yuu-chan… I’m sorry for… I’m sorry about th-the noises…”
“I. Told. You. It’s cute! Make all the noise ya want. Oh! Unless someone’s
home, then ya might wanna keep quiet…”
“N-no one’s… Just…me…” She’s not entirely paying attention to her words, mostly
focused on tempering the pressure of her fingers, from light enough to tickle
to firm enough it feels like her whole crotch must be vibrating too.
“Well, then, make all the noise you want! I can sorta tell what you’re doing
that way…” Yuu reflects for a moment, then starts, oddly cautiously, “If
there’s no one home…I coulda come over with you.”
Ren squirms slowly against the covers. “Yuu-chan…could…”
Yuu’s voice is soft, soft. “Even if you were still…still rubbin’ one out?”
She has the sense that they’re standing on a threshold. Or more accurately,
already partway through. But it doesn’t feel scary or intimidating, not with
Yuu. “Yeah.” Her cheeks burn, but she knows for once, for once, she can be the
one to reassure Yuu. “I’d l…I’d li,” her voice pinches down to a whisper, “I
want Yuu-chan here.” She mashes her face into her shoulder, eyes tight shut.
Yuu breathes out, “Wow…” then inhales shakily. “Ren… I wanna…wank too.”
Her eyes pop open wide. “Yeah, I want! Yuu-chan should…should do it, too…”
“Okay, wait a sec, lemme catch up!” Yuu’s voice fades a little like she’s put
the phone down. Obediently, Ren takes the vibrator away, resting it on her hip
as she listens to the slight rustle of cloth over the phone. It’s almost a
welcome reprieve; everything still feels buzzy and over-sensitive, every shift
of her hips or legs a teasing pull and squish.
Curious, she drops the vibrator, sliding two fingers down between her labia.
It’s wet and hot and she can’t resist dragging her fingers over the delicate
skin, down to dip into her hole. Would Yuu feel the same, would her muscles
twitch and squeeze the same, would she get so wonderfully slick like this?
What does Yuu-chan taste like?
Ren whimpers, knees pulling tight together so her hand is squashed between her
thighs as she wriggles in embarrassment and want.
“Hey!” Yuu’s voice comes closer again. “You’re s’posed to wait!”
“I…” She arches against the bed, eyes squeezing shut again. “I was… It’s
just…with fingers? And I…I was th-thinking about Yuu-chan’s…um, p-parts…”
Yuu’s breath huffs out in a way that makes Ren’s hips twitch, and suddenly she
can almost, almost understand, believe that Yuu had enjoyed hearing her
earlier.
“Ren… I’m thinking about you, too.” She can’t hear what Yuu’s doing except by
the hitch and pull of her breath, but just that, just that is intoxicating. “I
wanna…wanna watch you doing it, I wanna… I wanna touch you…”
“I want! I want that…” She shivers, remembering every time she’s seen Yuu when
they changed and showered, her small, broad body dusted all over with freckles.
Ren can finally put a name to what she felt, the urge to touch, to investigate
the squish of small breasts and lean thighs, to wrap around each other in
something tighter than a hug, to bury her hands in Yuu’s short hair and pull
her close, close. “I want…to touch Yuu-chan too… I want to…want to know what
Yuu-chan feels like…inside, too…” Her fingers find the vibrator, just squeezing
it for a second before she gathers herself enough to bring it against her clit
again.
“Re…en…” The syllable ends on a whine, Yuu’s breath already coming fast, fast.
Ren whimpers, hiding her face against her shoulder even though there’s no one
to see. But perhaps, perhaps, Yuu’s imagining her, just as she’s imagining Yuu.
The thought burns her through, the images in her head of Yuu writhing against
the sheets too, or even—she’d said other positions, right? Ren can hardly
imagine but maybe, maybe she’ll find out.
“Yuu…”
“Ren, press the button again.”
She shivers, quick to obey. It’s too much, too much, she cries out, hand
clenched on the phone, on this tenuous link that somehow grounds her, holds her
safe and sound in the familiar warmth of Yuu’s words, all encouragement and
adoration now as pleasure fills her to bursting. Her voice fails her as she
reaches that peak, hanging ecstatically with Yuu’s voice whisper-close in her
ear, “Ren, you sound so hot, Ren, I wanna do it to you, I wanna feel you come,
Ren…” She’s arched tight against the bed, feet pressed hard into the bed,
everything in her stretching taut, taut, and then with a gasp, undone.
Ren turns her cheek against the pillow, eyes barely slitted open, breath coming
in heavy, sporadic pants. The vibration is too much, she pulls it away and
turns it off, but still she can feel her body ebbing with her orgasm. Yuu gasps
tightly, over and over. As Ren’s head clears, she thinks she can just barely
hear a tiny slick noise. She rolls on her side with a needy noise of her own,
feeling the possibility of again as her muscles tense.
“Yuu-chan…”
There aren’t enough words, no way for her to possibly convey all the desire and
affection she feels washing over her. All she can do is match her breathing to
Yuu’s, echo her as she plunges into her own release.
They don’t speak for a while, just catching their breath and marveling
privately at this new thing, guessed at, hoped for, and now a promise hanging
in the crisp evening between their houses. Ren smiles to herself, cozy and
happy.
“Yuu-chan…”
“Mm?”
“Tomorrow…will you kiss me?”
Yuu laughs, a lazy, gentle noise. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah. Can we…can we stay like this for a little while?”
“Of course.”
Chapter End Notes
     (I wanna expand this and maybe add that /anyone else component some
     time BUT FOR NOW THIS'LL DO)
***** oisuga *****
Chapter Summary
     kiyala prompted:
     Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi; Haikyuu!!
     no tags
     Package: A tube of lipstick, with a bow tied around it
     From: Tooru
     To: Koushi
     Note: For the next time you're feeling possessive
Chapter Notes
     alcohol mention
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
“Okay, I know I’m the one who gave it to you, but I wasn’t expecting you to
wear it…”
“Out? With friends?” Suga’s lips curve in a mischievous burgundy smile. “Is it
a problem?”
Oikawa lets an eyebrow flick up, returning the smile. “Nah. Just unexpected.”
Feeling the need to one-up Suga, he grips his chin lightly and presses the edge
of his thumb against his lower lip. Not enough to smear it, but enough to feel
its creaminess, to leave a dark line next to his nail. Oikawa suppresses a
shiver, forcing his eyes back to Suga’s. “It looks good, though.”
Suga flushes lightly but narrows his eyes. “You’re just congratulating
yourself.”
Face the picture of innocence, Oikawa turns, lacing their fingers together.
“Perhaps. I did pick a gorgeous shade.” Easily, they start walking towards the
bar together.
“Hm,” Suga sniffs, but he still smiles happily enough.
It is a good shade, even if he’s just looking at it critically. He’d been
nervous about such a dark colour with Suga’s colouring, but it contrasts
beautifully, its severity cooled by the soft texture of Suga’s hair and the
lightness in his expressions.
And besides, it’s not just about how it looks on Suga.
Oikawa shivers again, disentangling their hands to slip his under Suga’s bomber
jacket to the small of his back, leaning in to kiss just at his temple, kiss
the mark under his eye.
Suga hums, tilting his head towards him. “If I kissed you right now, you’d
pitch a fit.”
Oikawa recoils. “Don’t you dare!”
Turning on him, Suga makes a face like he’s seriously considering it now. “I
thought that was the whole point, though?” He grips the open front of Oikawa’s
jacket, coming up on his toes until their lips are barely separated by breath.
“That I get to do anything. I. Want.”
Arousal shimmers through him. “That’s not what I said in my note.”
“Not exactly. But I know what you like.” Suga drops back, grinning. “But I’ll
play nice. For now.” He starts them walking again.
Oikawa narrows his eyes. “Well, then you should know damn well that
anticipation is part of the appeal.”
“I do.” A hand shoves in his back pocket. “I do.”
Oikawa hums in response. And then squawks in outrage when Suga steps in front
of him, yanking the v-neck of his tee out of the way to press a quick kiss to
his chest.
“Oi!”
“No one’ll see it.” Suga looks incredibly smug.
“It’ll get on my shirt.” He’s pretty sure it is visible. The thought is
offensively arousing.
“Stop fussing. Come on!” Once more, Suga tugs him forward.
It’s an exercise in self-control.
Oikawa can’t tell whether Suga’s doing it on purpose, or if the mere existence
of the red wine lipstick just makes every movement of his mouth into
flirtation, any hinted intrusion of fingers or flash of tongue a lewd
insinuation. Even the way it smudges away in a half-circle on the rim of Suga’s
glass (and once, once, on the rim of Oikawa’s own) leave him restless.
And yet, and yet, he talks normally, he laughs at the others’ jokes, he
discusses the bar’s choice of music, because this is all part of the game. And
if, in the shadows, his hand glides down the inseam of Suga’s jeans, if, when a
straggler arrives, Suga obligingly shifts to Oikawa’s lap, that is part of the
game, too. Not an unbalanced one, not when Oikawa can so easily dot glancing
kisses on his nape, press fingertips into his stomach or toy with the waistband
of his jeans.
Murmur in his ear, “Home. Now.”
They walk quickly, dragging each other into short sprints with laughter
slurring out of them. Kissing now uncaring in the glare of a stoplight, Suga’s
lips faintly sticky and tasting of alcohol. And finally, finally, leaning on
each other while he fumbles out his keys and lets them inside.
No time even to take off his shoes before Suga backs him up against the wall
with one hand in his hair and the other groping the front of his jeans. Before
Oikawa can take his lips, though, he turns, fishing something out of his jacket
pocket and stepping across to the mirror hanging opposite.
Oikawa steps close behind him, watching him smooth the lipstick over his lips
in the dim light from outside. He nuzzles Suga’s hair, hooking fingers on his
jacket and starting to slide it off. His own follows, dumped on the floor and
Suga crowding him back across the hall to hang for a second, an eternity, with
the heat of his mouth so deliciously close to Oikawa’s.
Abruptly, he dips in and bites under his jaw.
Oikawa slaps a palm against the wall, gasping out a curse. He’s given no time
to regain his balance, Suga’s lips a smear down to his throat, down, until
Oikawa stops him with his hands and urges him up for a proper kiss, tongues and
lips and wet fire. Suga’s hands slide up his chest, rumpling his shirt and then
pulling on the collar again so he can kiss Oikawa’s collarbone, down onto his
pec, sucking. He can barely see the marks from this angle, but he can feel how
the skin will redden on its own, dark spatter of bruised dots that will linger
long after they’re done. He tips his head back against the wall, eyes falling
shut for a brief ecstatic moment before slitting open.
And meeting his own in the mirror. Where he can see the dark pigment reshaping
his own lips, the mark under his jaw and trailing down.
“You did this on purpose.”
Suga straightens, mischief in his eyes. “What?”
“The mirror.”
Suga turns, leaning heavily on his shoulder and looking back at their
reflections. “You wanna move?” His hand drags down Oikawa’s chest to squeeze
his dick through his jeans.
He can’t seem to take his eyes off that hand. “Definitely not.” Or his own,
fitted against the curve of Suga’s ass, lighter skin giving form to the dark
curve.
They move together, quick gasps and the press of legs and shirts shoved up only
to fall again, a brush of sensation lost in the flurry of each others’ mouths
and grabbing hands. Suga working his fly loose with his eyes catching lamplight
and the fever of Oikawa’s own. The gasp of his breath against his collarbone as
Oikawa palms his dick.
Suga slips away from him, down, down to kneel between his feet, and Oikawa lets
his head bang against the wall again with another sputtered curse. But no touch
comes, so he looks down to find Suga with the black and gold tube out again,
twisted gorgeously to look in the mirror as he reapplies the lipstick once
more.
Oikawa watches him dazedly for a second, then hurries to strip off his shirt.
He gets as far as his belt before Suga’s hands stop him.
“Not done just yet. There’s still,” he smooths his palms up Oikawa’s sides,
“alllll this,” and presses a kiss beside his navel.
Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “How’re you gonna reach?”
Suga’s eyes narrow; out of nowhere, he produces the lipstick. Hopping up, he
captures Oikawa’s lips, hand working quickly over his chest.
Backwards in the mirror, he can read, “PROPERTY OF SUGAWARA SUGA.”
Oikawa forces a laugh. As if they both hadn’t felt his dick twitch. His voice
breaks on a gasping cry as Suga takes a nipple between his teeth. But fast,
fast, he’s back on the floor, yanking Oikawa’s pants and boxers down like the
petals of some strange flower unfolded and taking him in eagerly.
His hips rock forward, a deep groan rising in his throat. But cut off the next
second by Suga’s fist jammed into his stomach, not hard enough to hurt but
enough to startle.
“Don’t move.” Suga’s eyes are steady on his.
He grins back. “Is there an ‘or else?’ attached to that?”
“Or else I’ll stop.” Not waiting for a response, Suga kisses his hip. Then
draws back to consider the mark. “I’m going to make even more of a mess of your
clothes.”
Oikawa shuts his eyes, palms flat on the wall. “Don’t give a shit. Just suck me
off.”
Suga huffs a laugh and instead kisses him again. And again, this time with a
scrape of teeth that has him exhaling a tightly controlled breath. Smudges dark
in the mirror beside Suga’s pale hair, and his own chest rising above, his arms
tense. And the writing on his skin, as if it weren’t written already with every
red wine bloom on his neck, with the darkness of his eyes and the slight,
slight embarrassing tremor of his right leg.
He looks down again, meeting Suga’s teasing smile with a more urgent, intent
expression. As if what he sees satisfies him, Suga nods once and then sucks him
in.
It’s exquisite heat and softness, Suga’s lips dragging sticky on his shaft. He
groans out a breath, smacking a fist back against the wall. Suga bobs his head
steadily, measured and slow, wedging his fingers in Oikawa’s pants to pull them
down. Oikawa shifts his hips the tiniest fraction to let him do it, controlling
himself carefully until Suga pulls back again.
“Quit teasi—”
There’s the sound of Suga spitting.
Heat rushes to his cheeks.
“Spread your legs a little?”
He wants to crack a joke, snark something at him, but all he can do is nod and
slide his legs further apart. Suga smiles, the dark line of his lips messy now
but still gorgeous, gorgeous, and opening around the head of his dick so
beautifully. Fingers push between his cheeks and he has to make himself relax,
while somehow, somehow remaining still. He bites his lips together, releasing
them on a plosive gasp as Suga’s fingertips push inside.
He can see the erratic rise and fall of his chest, the more measured expand of
Suga’s ribs, and he might feel angry but no, he loves this, loves feeling all
undone and then tied back up again by these lips, these hands, the red marks on
his skin and everything they mean.
He reaches out to stroke fingers through his hair but fingers clamp around his
wrist. But with a groan that resonates through Oikawa’s body, Suga brings his
hand the rest of the way, eyes flicking up briefly.
“You’re a…you’re a…” He can’t finish the thought because Suga’s fingers curve
into him just so, and it’s all he can do to keep from moving, keep from shoving
back on that firm touch or fucking into the raw heat of his mouth. He combs his
hand through Suga’s hair, his breath coming in rough pants and his gaze
flicking between the twin images of Suga, so gorgeous from every angle and
plunging him closer, closer, closer, until he has to squeeze his eyes shut and
smack his fist against the wall over and over.
He comes down slow. Suga’s fingers still slide into him lazily, even once he
stands, kissing his parted lips with a small laugh. He reaches behind Oikawa to
flick the light on, blinding, blinding, but he’s not looking anyway, too intent
on kissing.
Suga tugs him away from the wall, slipping behind him and urging him over to
the mirror. Oikawa’s almost reluctant to look in the stark light, but it stirs
a shiver of arousal in him, seeing the marks where Suga’s mouth had been, the
writing scrawled down his ribs.
“I like your present, Tooru.”
He can feel Suga’s hard-on against his ass, jeans pleasantly rough against his
bare skin. Embarrassment and arousal twine inside him, make him set his palms
either side of the mirror, make him arch, make him meet his own still-dark eyes
and then Suga’s at his shoulder. “Me too.”
Chapter End Notes
     In which oikawa somehow found Magical Lipstick that only selectively
     smears because otherwise suga would look like a 2yo who got into a
     pot of jam.
     this was my first time writing these two, let alone this pairing, so
     I hope I did okay;;;;; OTL
***** Izutaji *****
Chapter Notes
     em prompted:
     Package: a box about the size of a shoebox, that seems to contain one
     item
     To: Izumi
     From: Tajima
     Note: use it when you're lonely and I'm not around ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Izumi eyes the box in the middle of the hall floor with the practiced suspicion
of a bomb disposal expert.
Cautiously, he picks it up, shaking it experimentally. Something weighty shifts
inside, though it seems to be packed in. With a fingertip, he opens the note, a
folded-over ripped-off piece of printer paper. What’s with that face? If you’ve
got money to throw around on random presents, you could atleastgo to the bother
of getting a card.
Izumi reads the note, slowly raising an eyebrow. Feeling simultaneous twists of
anticipation and dread, he takes the box over to the table to open. Tajima
hadn’t even taped it shut, giving Izumi horrified visions of him having spilled
it on the floor in front of one of the neighbours on his way up.
The first thing to greet his eyes is a butt. A perfectly nice butt clad in a
violently magenta bikini bottom. Izumi raises both eyebrows, lifting the
magazine out.
“You know I have the internet, right?” he sighs to no one in particular.
“Yeah, but old-school’s fun sometimes, ain’t it?”
Izumi whips around and smacks Tajima with the rolled-up magazine.
“Ow! Hey!”
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding particularly sincere. “Why’re you…I thought you
guys were playing up in Sendai…?”
Tajima hums happily, managing to turn Izumi back to the table and slip his arms
around his waist. “Tomo-orow. I mean, I’m s’posed to be packing, but I came to
drop this off, and then I got sleepy, so I took a lil’ nap…”
Izumi sighs again, fondly this time, one hand sliding over Tajima’s. “You
couldn’t nap at home?”
“I like your bed more!”
“Get a better bed.”
“Not what I mean.” Tajima lifts on his toes, hooking his chin on Izumi’s
shoulder; Izumi smiles a little smugly at it. “C’mon! Open the rest.”
“I was going to, before—” He cuts off, lifting out a clear plastic tube
containing a cloudy-blue cylinder.
“It’s for spankin’ i—”
“I know what it’s for, you goon.” Honestly, it’s…surprisingly tasteful and
restrained, for Tajima. Izumi’s seen some of the other things he’s purchased
over the years. And been on the receiving end of more than a few.
With a shuddering breath, he squeezes Tajima’s hand, tugging his arm tighter
around his waist.
Tajima bounces a few times. “You liiiiiiiiiike it?”
Izumi’s eyes narrow for a split second before he drags Tajima’s hand down to
the front of his jeans. “What do you think?” he snaps.
Unfazed, Tajima grabs his dick, pressing a quick smooch to his neck. “Good!
Because after this, it’s gonna be a while before I’m back, and I don’t want—”
“Use it on me now.”
It’s subtle, but Izumi can feel Tajima’s surprise. He still palms his growing
erection lazily. “If ya say so, but if I’m here, don’t you wanna do other
stuff?”
Izumi turns in his arms, smirking. “If it’s supposed to stop me from being
lonely…you better make absolutely sure I can’t use it without thinking of you.”
It’s not often he manages to make Tajima blush (he’s got a tally running in the
back of a notebook).
He beams at him the next second. “Wow, nice one!”
Izumi rolls his eyes, huffing out a laugh, then leans in to finally kiss his
boyfriend. “So, we on, or what?”
A flash of teeth and fingers tugging on his fly are Tajima’s only answer.
Izumi sets the stroker on the table behind him, bringing both hands up to cup
Tajima’s face. They linger, a hesitation borne out of familiarity and the
simple intimacy of a gaze shared as Tajima yanks on his pants. Inhaling softly,
Izumi pulls him close, catching Tajima’s upper lip gently between his own. His
eyes slit open as he draws back, enough to take in the blurred curve of
Tajima’s cheek, before he presses back in for another glancing kiss.
He lets his hands fall to Tajima’s shoulders, loving this, loving the shift of
his torso as he pulls Izumi’s dick free and then the way he pushes back into
Izumi’s hands on his ass. He hadn’t bothered to put anything on over his
boxers, and Izumi luxuriates in the thin fabric, sleep-heat lingering still on
Tajima’s skin.
Abruptly, Tajima drops to his knees. Izumi sinks back against the edge of the
table, fingers twirling in Tajima’s hair. “I wanted you to—”
“Keep your pants on. Well,” Tajima grins up at him, and Izumi can’t fight a
smile back. “I like feelin’ you get hard in my mouth.”
He can’t exactly object to that. “Well, then you’d better get a move on.”
Playful, he jerks Tajima in closer.
Tajima groans, nosing at his wiry hair. “You smell good.”
“You’re gross,” he tells him without conviction.
Tajima just chuckles, kissing and nuzzling around the base of his dick, palms
smoothing up and down the outside of Izumi’s thighs.
There was a time when this surprised him, this care, this savour, but not
anymore. He’d asked Tajima once, told him he’d expected him to be more like he
was when masturbating, quick and to the point. Tajima had smiled over at him,
all warm earth shades in the late afternoon light of his bedroom, and said,
“That’s different. You jack it to get off. You fuck to enjoy people.”
He’d felt hot through at that, and felt like, as much of an idiot as Tajima
could be, there were a lot of things that he got better than anyone.
Was it then that I fell in love with you?
He traces the familiar line of Tajima’s jaw, lips curving in an easy smile.
Tajima makes a low noise, taking hold of his hand to kiss the palm, the ball of
the thumb, just under the heel where he’s sure his pulse beats strong against
his lips.
Izumi shakes his hand free. “You’re too distractible.”
Tajima pouts up at him for a breath, then grabs his hand again. “Keep touching
me.”
And he does, he does, carding his fingers back through his hair as Tajima draws
the weight of his dick between his lips. Strokes his cheeks and the freckles
spilling across his nose, even brushes his thumb over his long, long lashes,
provoking an amused hum. True to his word, Tajima’s gentle still, tongue and
lips working in slow concert, enough to leave Izumi biting his lip as blood
rushes down but still a gradual crescendo in no danger of ruining the build.
Tajima pets his bared skin, his hips, pushing up under the hem of his dress
shirt to drag fingers aimlessly down his stomach. Izumi lets his touch wander
as well, tugging the collar of Tajima’s shirt askew so he can feel the
springiness of his muscles. Izumi’s mouth twitches up crookedly and he twists
the fabric in his hands, pulling. Tajima pulls back with an indecently
satisfied gasp, grinning up at him as he raises his arms. Izumi strips his
shirt off, returning quickly to touch soft skin and the ridge of collarbones.
On sudden impulse, he shifts forward, weight on his hands. Tajima makes another
amused noise, mouthing the end of his dick daintily. Izumi savours his
sturdiness, the broadness of his shoulders, the small sinuous movements of his
body as he draws Izumi deeper.
With a sigh, he drops back against the table. Tajima follows, pushing between
his feet to stay close. He’s picking up speed, and in it, Izumi can feel his
arousal. As if he can’t see perfectly well how his boxers are tented.
“You look good.”
This, now, is not enough to make Tajima blush, just crinkle his eyes cheekily
in lieu of a smile. And then with a quirk of an eyebrow, he curves his back,
dropping a hand down to squeeze his dick. Izumi hisses out a breath, lashes
dipping low but his attention focused on the luxuriant movement of Tajima’s
hand, the way the silky fabric hides and reveals at the same time, the hitch in
Tajima’s expression when he hits a good spot.
Izumi watches him for a while longer, one hand on the table and the other
idling in Tajima’s hair, on the hollow of his cheek. Inhaling softly, he pushes
Tajima back; as soon as he’s clear, Izumi braces both palms on the table and
hops up. Tajima follows with a grin, slipping between his knees to kiss him.
Izumi wraps legs and arms around him, groaning into the kiss when Tajima’s dick
brushes against his own.
Hands curl on his shoulders, push him back. Izumi has the passing thought that
he’s glad he keeps the table relatively clear.
Tajima grips his pants and underwear. He braces his feet on Tajima’s hips and
lifts his ass so he can pull them down, sinking back onto the already warm
wood. Tajima leans over his leg for the cylinder, wrestling it open with a
triumphant laugh.
Then drops it on Izumi’s stomach, spinning and dashing back towards the
bedroom. “Lube!”
Izumi laughs, letting his head drop back and kicking his feet. He plucks up the
stroker, squishing it experimentally and examining the ridges spiraling up the
outside.
Shortly, Tajima dashes back. He’s lost his boxers somewhere, not that Izumi’s
complaining.
“C’mon, gimme.” Tajima takes it from him, setting the lube on the table. “Told
you it’s a good idea to have both!”
Izumi hums absently in response, eyes on Tajima wrestling the sleeve inside-
out. Like that, it looks very tight in a way that sends heat across his cheeks
and down his neck. Tajima beams at him, reaching to pump lube on his fingers.
Izumi watches him drizzle the liquid into the hole, his own hands stealing down
to curl around Tajima’s dick. He hooks his legs around the back of his thighs,
urging him closer until each steady pump of his fist brushes against his own
hard-on. Tajima makes a low pleased noise, hips rocking gently as he slips his
fingers around the inside of the stroker.
They both watch as Tajima steadies his dick and brings the sleeve to the tip.
Izumi realises he’s bracing himself as if it would hurt, and forces himself to
relax with a heavy exhale. No pain, just delicious softness opening against the
head of his dick, still cool but wonderfully slick.
“Damn…” Tajima slides it up a little before pulling it down again. “Feels like
it’s real tight.”
It doesn’t sound like a question and Izumi can’t really muster a response, just
digs his heels into the back of Tajima’s legs. The stroker slides down,
pressure shifting with Tajima’s hand but always the squishy surface close
around him. Izumi bangs his head back against the table.
“Fuck.”
“That’s good swearing, yeah?”
“…Yeah…” His hand’s still around the base of Tajima’s dick and if he could just
be bothered, he’d get some lube too and start jerking him off but all he does
is rock his hips up as Tajima pulls the stroker back down. “You…” He squeezes
lightly.
Caught leaning over him, Tajima glances down before straightening again. Eyes
still on Izumi’s dick, he pumps out more lube, slicking his fingers over his
own shaft to close briefly over Izumi’s own. Izumi tugs on him, aimless but
wanting to draw Tajima along with him in the building pleasure.
Tajima snickers, reaching for the lube again. Izumi flinches when it hits his
hip, dripping down between his legs. Before he can question Tajima, he shifts
closer, adjust his dick to lie against Izumi’s skin. Tajima curves over him,
already fucking against him eagerly, breath puffing out over Izumi’s chest and
his hand, his hand working the sleeve over his dick so perfectly. Izumi slips
his hands around the back of his head, pulling him close until Tajima kisses
his skin over twitching stomach muscles. One hand’s covered in lube but he’s
sure Tajima doesn’t care, not by the choked noise he makes or the tension in
the fingers he shoves under Izumi’s side.
The stroker’s warm now; even though Tajima still strokes slow, the friction and
the heat of their bodies is enough. Izumi makes a quiet sound, fingers twisting
in Tajima’s hair and his hips held up off the table.
Tajima’s dick slips down against his ass. “You’re bein’ too wiggly!” He
straightens, releasing Izumi’s dick to tug on his leg instead. “C’mon, back!”
Izumi’s perplexed but draws his leg back. When Tajima pushes it over to the
side, smiling as he lets him twist his lower body. Tajima smears more lube
between his thighs, groping the soft skin there before curling his fingers
under to hold them apart lightly. With a low groan, he eases his dick between
them, hand returning to curl around Izumi’s dick.
Tajima pushes his palm up Izumi’s back, shoving up his shirt, an unbalanced hug
as he jerks him off. His lips drag over his ribs, hips slapping against the
back of Izumi’s thighs in time with his hand. Faster and faster now, any desire
to draw this out evaporating in the face of the heat building inside each of
them. Izumi tips his head down, watching the flushed head appear between his
paler thighs; it’s all he can manage to hold them apart but he doesn’t think
he’ll have to hold the position long.
Tajima’s strokes are jerkier, his grip heavy and his slight body weight leaning
into Izumi. Izumi arches with a low groan, his arm slipping around Tajima’s
shoulders as if he could draw him closer. And then he’s just holding on as
Tajima shifts his grip and twists the sleeve up his dick, rough and fast and
the slickness between his legs and Tajima’s tight noises smothered against his
side and Izumi comes with a grunt and his fingers buried in Tajima’s hair.
Tajima lifts his head, eyes dark and lips parted on an uneven pant. Then pouts
ridiculously. “Aww, missed it!”
Izumi scruffs his hair affectionately. “Not like it’s rare.”
Tajima shrugs, letting his head be pulled down against Izumi’s ribs again. He
wraps both arms around him, thumbs stroking Izumi’s sweaty skin. His thrusts
are quick, sharp, making Izumi think with a shiver of having him inside. But at
least this he can watch, admire the stretch and pull of Tajima’s muscles and
the way he presses himself close like he’s afraid of being washed away.
Izumi strokes his hair, touch impatient. He can feel the shuddering build in
Tajima’s body, feels the spluttered gasp a split second before he feels the
pulse of his dick. It’s gorgeously indecent, his skin shiny with lube and sweat
and a trickle of white trailing down from between his thighs, more when Tajima
pushes flush against him one last time.
Izumi lies there quietly, catching his breath, then shoves Tajima lightly.
“C’mon, I’m not a wiggly noodle like you, this is getting uncomfortable.”
Tajima stands, but instead of letting Izumi slide off the table, climbs up on
top of him. Izumi cries a protest but then just grumbles. Still, he welcomes
him eagerly, hugging him close in the fading daylight.
“You’re lucky neither of us is heavy.”
Tajima presses against his cheek. “You really know how to ruin the moment.” He
raises his head, kissing Izumi lightly. “So. That memorable enough?”
Izumi smirks at him. “I dunno. You might have to do it again to make sure. And
I’ll need a refresher when you get home.”
Tajima gives him a laughing kiss. “Greeeeeedy!” He smirks back. “I like it.”
Chapter End Notes
     I took this in a slightly different direction than anticipated, I
     hope it's okay;;;;;
***** Aokaga *****
Chapter Summary
     em prompted:
     Aomine Daiki/Kagami Taiga , Kuroko no Basuke
     violence/violence between intimate partners
     My black eye casts no shadow
     Your red eye sees no blame
     Your slaps don't stick
     Your kicks don't hit
     So we remain the same
     Blood sticks, sweat drips
     Break the lock if it don't fit
     A kick in the teeth is good for some
     A kiss with a fist is better than none
     Whoa a kiss with a fist is better than none
     --Kiss with a Fist, Florence and the Machine
Chapter Notes
     this ended up waaaaaaaaaaaay less fighty than I wanted and more just.
     sex-have. BUT HEY y'all can fight me. and maybe I'll Spicie it Up
     later on.
     their ages are not specified here so. *shrugs*
Aomine straddles his thighs, squeezing tight to keep him immobilised for the
moment. Laughing, Kagami grabs the front of his shirt, hauling on him to
unbalance him. Which suits him just fine. He lets himself be pulled over,
capturing Kagami’s other hand and trapping it against the floor, and curves in
for a bruising kiss to his lower lip.
He can feel the rush of it through Kagami’s body, his fingers gripping Aomine’s
back. But he jerks his head back.
“That’s not fair!”
Aomine pulls back enough to smugly meet his gaze. “Oh? Why’s that?”
Kagami narrows his eyes. “I dunno. Just is.” He gives Aomine’s shirt another
tug.
Abruptly, Aomine lets go, sitting up on his knees so his weight’s no longer on
him. Kagami releases his shirt, eyes fixed on him. Aomine raises an eyebrow.
“That mean you don’t want me to do it again?”
There’s the toothy flash of Kagami’s smile again. “Didn’t say that.” He shoves
himself up, grabbing Aomine’s shirt with both hands now. Another rough kiss
that tells him nothing he hadn’t read already in the twitch of Kagami’s dick
against his thigh, the catch in his breath that was not just about effort or
the pain of a poorly-placed elbow.
They’re unbalanced, his legs tense deliciously to support Kagami’s weight and
he can feel the shimmer of energy through Kagami’s body when he drags his hands
down his sides. Kagami drops a hand to his hip, his ass, the waistband of his
pants, pulling down on them; he’s not sure what his intent is, but he
definitely knows there is too much air between their bodies and he sinks down
with a groan.
Kagami’s knees bend outwards slightly, an angular cup for his ass, positioning
them perfectly for him to grope their dicks together.
Kagami kisses his neck, loose and hot and breath panted out against his skin.
“You don’t mess around, do you?”
“Oh? You got a complaint about that?” Aomine fits his fingers and thumb around
the shaft of Kagami’s dick, too much fabric in the way to get a good grip on it
but enough, enough to get Kagami gasping, enough to set his own blood pumping.
He starts to tip his head down for a kiss but before he can, fingers clench in
his hair, Kagami’s mouth open on his throat. Not a bite, not exactly, something
fiercer but gentle enough not to bruise.
“Oi. Don’t pull my hair.” He yanks on Kagami’s in retaliation.
Kagami lets himself be pulled back, grinning. “That’s what you got a problem
with?” Then, then, resisting Aomine’s grip to kiss his chin, down his neck,
breath slow and heavy as Aomine squeezes his dick.
Aomine rocks his hips impatiently, making a low noise in his throat. Without
warning, he grabs Kagami’s shoulders, shoving him back. In the same motion, he
pushes himself up so he can slide down between Kagami’s legs, which seems to
cut off any outraged protest. Aomine sits back on his heels, hooking his
fingers in Kagami’s waistband, waiting for him to lift his hips before tugging
them down.
He hums another soft noise, eyeing his dick with half-lidded eyes. Then flops
forward face-first on his stomach, narrowly avoiding squashing his dick.
“Hey!” Kagami grabs his hair again, tugging lightly. “Thought you were planning
on doing something down there.”
“I was,” he replies, voice muffled, “but now I’m tired. Besides, it’s squishy
here.”
“You’re stupid.”
He makes a noncommittal noise in response, snuggling closer.
Kagami huffs indignantly, then draws up his legs, planting his feet firmly on
Aomine’s ribs and shoving.
“Hey!”
“Either blow me or get off me. You’re heavy.”
Aomine smirks at him. “Fine.” He wrestles one leg down, shifting to straddle
it, and curls over Kagami’s hips. Kagami’s breath punches out when he sucks him
in, his quads tensing under Aomine’s ass. He smiles again, hand moving lazily
on the base of Kagami’s dick. Not quite a stroke, not yet, just enough to work
counterpoint to the unsteady rhythm of his lips.
Kagami clenches a hand on his shirt, hips twitching up erratically. His other
hand cups Aomine’s cheek, and there’s gentleness there but also restrained
impatience in those strong fingers pushing against his cheek. Aomine lifts his
head, meaning to say something teasing, but before he can, fingers grip his
hair, Kagami yanks his head back down.
“Don’t…stop, or I’ll…”
He fights against his grip enough to say, “You’ll what?”
Kagami glares at him for a second, mouth open on a steady pant, then tugs him
down again. “Just don’t stop.”
Aomine quirks up an eyebrow, mumbling out, “Make me,” around his mouthful.
Kagami huffs a noise that’s somewhere between amusement and irritation,
tightening his hold on Aomine’s hair and pulling him down. With a pleased hum,
Aomine holds his mouth looser, starting to stroke his hand heavily up the
shaft. He shifts his hips, grinding down against the softness of Kagami’s inner
thigh as he twists his knee outward.
Alarmingly, the world rotates one eighty, his ass and shoulders thumping back
against the floor. Before he can catch his breath, Kagami’s clambering over to
straddle his chest, grinning in a way that would be irritating if he wasn’t so
eager to get his dick back in his mouth.
Kagami drops forward on one hand, sliding his hips forward until his dick
pushes into Aomine’s mouth. He grabs his ass, loving the feel of the muscles
pulling taut with each quick thrust. Kagami’s breath is tight and ragged, his
eyes squeezed shut and his teeth bared.
Aomine groans around his dick, reaching down with one hand to squeeze his own,
slip it under the waistband of his shorts. Maybe Kagami can feel the motion of
his arm or maybe just chance has him casting a glance over his shoulder,
breathing out a low noise at the sight. The movement of his hips hitches,
stutters, pushing deeper now.
“I’m gonna win this.”
Aomine meets Kagami’s eyes, unable to respond with anything other than his hand
squeezing his ass and pulling him deeper. But Kagami doesn’t seem to need a
response, his eyes closed again and his free hand carding roughly back through
Aomine’s hair, once, twice, then grabbing again. His body sways forward,
pushing Aomine’s head back against the floor, and he only has a warning groaned
through gritted teeth before he feels the pulse of his orgasm against his
tongue. Too deep in his mouth for taste, and he swallows around it to pass the
bitterness down. His tongue presses against Kagami’s dick, throat tightening
and he can feel every peaking wave, hear the hitch in Kagami’s breath, all of
it gorgeous, and all the while his own fist working his dick furiously.
Kagami hangs over him for a long moment before all in a rush shoving his way
down. He plasters himself against Aomine’s side, catching his lips roughly as
he wrestles Aomine’s hand off his dick.
“Too hot…” he grumbles without much sincerity. Kagami hooks a leg around his
thigh, pushing against him as if he hadn’t come just a second before, his skin
hot and sweaty and soft against Aomine’s bared hip. Groaning, he curls his arms
around Kagami’s back, hauling him tight as he fucks into his hand. Kagami
kisses him again, then leans his forehead against his cheek, watching. His
breath still comes fast but not as fast as Aomine’s own.
He hums out his enjoyment, urging Kagami back up for another kiss. But Kagami
pulls away, dipping in to bite his neck.
“Shit, shit…” He claws at Kagami’s shoulder, hips lifting off the floor.
Pleasure crashes through him, thick and bright all at once and Kagami sinking
his teeth in again as his hand slows on his dick. Aomine hauls on his shirt.
“Kiss me, jackass.”
Kagami lifts himself on an elbow, grinning down at him for a second before
kissing him lightly. And then firmer, luxurious, and Kagami grabbing his hip
with a sticky hand and still moving against him.
"You ready to go again already?"
Kagami snorts in disbelief. "You serious?" He kisses the corner of Aomine's
mouth. "Not quite yet."
"Then..." He grabs Kagami's shoulder, flipping them back over and jamming his
elbow up under his chin. Kagami's eyes narrow for half a second before he
grapples at him, his laughter warm against Aomine's face as he leans in for
another kiss.
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