Work Text:
Angst.
If there is one thing Midorima hates the most (out of the list of everything he hates), it would be to see Takao right in front of him, with his ever-present grin slowly falling off the peaks of his cheeks. It would be Takao looking at him, really looking at him, not with his eyes scrunched up and sparkling from the edges, no, but open and yet closed off at the same time.
Takao never says anything, only closes the door silently.
Takao never never says anything. Midorima doesn’t quite know if the why in his eyes are meant for him or for the owner of the unwavering pair of mismatched ones, irreversibly tangled in his sheets.
AU.
Midorima has a penchant for shiny things. The traveller in him takes him places, and the longing in his heart propels him to filch. Not anything too big. Just a kitkat from the neighbourhood convenience store. A box of highlighters. Once, a bracelet downtown, to impress a girl two years his senior in school. He'd given it to her with eyes looking anywhere but her, ears a flaming contrast to his hair.
Not anything too big. Not while he was a kid anyway.
Midorima is twenty-five, and never in his life has he expected himself to be busted so soon. He has his hand halfway in a hole he has soldered through the glass, and he's dangling gracefully from the ceiling, decked in skintight black that only allows the orbs of his eyes gleam green in the dark. All the works.
He finds himself roughly strewn onto the floor in a when his cables are cut, and with a quick scan of the area he knows that his time is up. Up only because Akashi never wanted them to leave a bloody mess behind. Ah, well. Nothing the latter couldn't fix anyway. He's only angry at how he can't keep his slates clean a little longer.
Cold metal clicks briskly around his wrists, and he is hauled to his feet with surprising force. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense." Midorima resists the urge to roll his eyes.
"I'll take him from here," says a different voice somewhere to his left. Midorima turns his head just in time to see a hand come his way, fingers curling around his mask and peeling it away. His lip twitches from the sudden contact with the cold in the air.
"Do you like getting caught?" The police officer asks, and it amuses Midorima when he realizes that the other is really short. He has to tilt his chin down to be able to meet the officer's eyes.
"No." Skinny, but he might be surprised by whatever's hiding underneath his stuff uniform.
What really surprises him, though, is the way the officer scrutinizes him from under his fringe, a stupid haircut that Midorima sort of wants to get rid of. They glint with interest. Just for a millisecond, though, before the officer schools the light in his eyes away and presses his lips together and hauls him outside, one arm shielding his own eyes from the glaring spotlights.
Midorima could have easily broken away if he wanted to. But he's never been one to run away from shiny things.
Crack.
“What the fuck,” says Midorima, perplexed as Takao barges into his house at eight in the morning, right in the middle of his breakfast.
“You’ve got egg on your cheek,” the other replies, and Midorima is knocked into the wall with a very warm, very twitchy Takao in his arms, licking away whatever the hell is on his cheek. His glasses are swept away from him in the process, and with disgust he promptly drops the other.
Takao mewls. “Shin-chan!”
It takes him half a minute to find his glasses even though they’re right by his feet, because for some reason Takao insists on being all over his personal space, and he can see nothing but a mop of dark hair.
When he finally puts them on, however, Midorima is more than ready to whip it right off. “What the fuck?” he says again, for the second time in the hour.
Takao happily swishes a very large, long tail in his face. Without the help of his hands. And promptly folds his legs under him to sit on the ground, diving over to paw at Midorima’s pants.
“T-Takao!”
“Please don’t argue with me right now Shin-chan. I don’t know what happened either. I woke up this morning as a cat and I just felt horny as fuck so I had to come see you. We’ll deal with me being a cat later, okay? Shut up unless you want to make pretty noises at me because I’m about to suck you off.”
“I-” There are lots of things he wants to scream at Takao. The windows are open! His door is open! His sister is sleeping upstairs and they’re about to do it in his very clean, extremely organised living room! But nothing comes out. Not more than a strangled cough when Takao’s tongue, slightly rougher than he remembers it to be, swipes itself over the head of his cock.
“Just in case you want to know, stroking my tail gets me off.” Takao says all this with his lips stretched wide and smiling around Midorima.
Crossover.
Midorima watches Takao out of the corner of his eyes in desperation as Kise spins him around the ballroom.
Help me, he mouths frantically, cheek tilted as far away as possible from the intoxicated horndog who’s spouting poetry. About his fingers, for fuck’s sake. He’s never had his fingers, of all appendages, worshipped in all his life.
But Takao just shakes his head, infinitesimally, ever presentable in his black suit. Midorima seethes, head fuzzy, because Takao is having too much fun at his expense. Especially with the fucking corset strung tight around his chest. He’s probably going to die, ravaged as a woman in disguise at the hands of Kise Ryouta. Without discovering a thing about the prostitution ring he’s supposed to be busting.
In front of him, Kise takes no notice of the number of times Midorima has crushed his foot and spins them around the room, faster and faster.
First time.
There are mutual sighs when Kagami detaches himself from Aomine to look at the two of them. “Oops.”
Aomine, in his half-inebriated state, still has the capacity in him to widen his eyes and point sluggishly at a furiously blushing Midorima. He probably would’ve said more if Kagami hadn’t tugged him out of the room by his belt loops.
The party music is doing his head in, but the sight and feel of Takao riding him with his head thrown back, eyeliner smudged and fringe tipped with sweat keeps him going.
Later, he asks Takao. “How did you manage not to stop when they walked in? I’m going to have a couple of words with Aomine, to make sure the bastard doesn’t say anything.”
“What for?” Takao says lazily, rolling on his stomach and stretching, perky butt in the air. “It’s not like I don’t hear enough stories from Kuroko about the two of them fucking in the shower for all of Seirin to hear when Aomine drops by. He’ll keep his mouth shut.”
Fluff.
Midorima’s not stupid. He knows that Takao, with all of the wannabe-American blood in him, doesn’t really have bad taste in television shows.
He doesn’t call the other out on his sneaky tactics, though. Sometimes Midorima comes over to watch stupid, tacky Korean dramas with Takao just so he can wait for the shorter to pull out the mints, scooting as close to him as possibly with a sleazy grin on his face.
Humour.
"I slept with Akashi," Takao deadpans, kicking back the duvet and sitting up. Midorima finally, finally looks up from his book, but that's because he dropped it in shock.
"You- what?"
"It was a long time ago, really. Maybe.. Four? Five years? After high school. Before I met you again. Although I must've been drunk as fuck to have slept with him, I don't even know how it happened."
Midorima has a million questions biting to escape the tip of his tongue, but his roiling stomach tells him to make better decisions. "Come here."
Takao always does, willingly. But halfway kissing the bruises down the column of Midorima's throat, he pulls away and waggles his eyebrows suggestively at the taller man.
"I'll bet that you'd look better in a skirt and panties than Akashi ever did, though. He did demonstrate for me, once, when he wasn't staring at me like he wanted to hurt or fuck me at the same time. He was a wild child in college."
Midorima resolves to never dig up anything from Takao's past ever again.
Hurt/Comfort.
On rare occasions, Midorima is willing to touch him. Takao just wishes that it isn't so often that these occasions are like this one at hand, where he's scrunching his eyes up so tightly to keep from crying and them burning even more, one hand pressed fiercely to his eyes. It always happens after a tough game - his overdependence on his ability to see everything on court turns his eyes bloodshot and makes them burn as if they were laid out in the sun for hours.
Midorima cradles his head closer to his body, gently, and strokes Takao's hair. Takao tries his best to pretend that the shooting guard's trembling fingers are really only trembling because it's resting on his shaking frame.
"It'll be okay," Midorima says, and Takao's heart breaks at how little life there is in his voice. Midorima's never been full of jest like him, but he's always been a rock. For the team and him.
Takao apologises for everything. The game, his failures, him making Midorima worry.
Midorima only holds him tighter and doesn't say a word.
Smut.
It is very inconvenient to stay at a dorm in college, but Takao's parents are visitng and it would be really inappropriate for Midorima to fuck their son six ways to Sunday. The walls are really thin there.
Fortunately, Murasakibara is a deep sleeper. But it doesn't help that Takao is usually really loud and vocal in telling Midorima what he wants, and when Midorima is this deep into Takao, it's really hard for him to concentrate on keeping is boyfriend's mouth shut.
Takao swipes his thumb over the head and gives Midorima a particularly fast jerk then, and he elicits a gasp out of him, tape loosening from his fingers as he fights hard to keep a grip on Takao's sweaty hips. Takao keening not-so-quietly into his ear isn't helping matters, either.
The top bunk creaks even louder. Murasakibara mumbles something in his sleep.
UST.
Takao swears that he isn't a pervert. It's just that his neighbour is a big enough moron to keep his windows open all the fucking time, even when he changes, and Takao is not one to back out of a free show.
He's peeking at the tall teenager from his attic - where he is, he can see all of Midorima's room clearly, because the boy's house has those modern full-length windows installed into his room. The curtains are all pulled back.
Takao cranes his neck, watching as Midorima takes off his shirt in one fluid motion. He's got really nice abs - not as defined as Takao usually likes them, but they're definitely there. Midorima's hands ruffle themselves through his hair a couple of times, and Takao observes the sculpted muscle moving beneath the skin. He bites his lip, because after Midorima finishes fixing his hair, it's the part that Takao really, really likes.
Midorima's only wearing boxer shorts now, and Takao watches his hands finger the band of it, deliberating on whether to remove them or not. Remove them, Takao chants in his head, and he's so intently staring at him that he doesn't react fast enough to Midorima snapping his head up and staring straight at him.