Work Text:
fuyu
Aomine woke to the faint light from the nearby lamp. His eyes remained shut, for a few minutes, and he wrinkled his brow. The sound of the shower was faint, but recognizable. He buried his feet under the blanket and laid his chin atop Kuroko's.
Kuroko's birthday fell on the tail end of the first month of the year. In the morning, he slept piled high with blankets; pajamas spanned the length of his limbs, buttoned up completely despite the sweltering heat, the sweat pooling on his collarbone. His feet remained cold, against Aomine's skin. Aomine's toes curled, even as he shivered.
"Get up, you lazy bums," said Kise, from the doorway. He crossed the room to open the closet, leaving the towel on a nearby chair; he pulled out a sleek pair of slacks, a pressed shirt, and a tie. As an afterthought, he retrieved a coat -- Aomine's, it looked like.
"It's," Aomine squinted at the clock, "three. What kind of insane person gets up when the sun hasn't even started shining?"
"A busy, hardworking model," said Kise, shrugging on a pair of shorts, "who has to wear summer clothes in winter, that's who. And professional athletes who shouldn't skip out on morning training, by the way."
"Insane," Aomine insisted. He moved closer to Kuroko, who lay still and breathed shallowly. He pressed his palm against Kuroko's knuckles, fisting the sheets tightly to his chest. "What time are you coming home?"
"Earlier than you," said Kise, "as long as nothing goes wrong."
Aomine shuddered. "Don't bother to cook."
"Ass," said Kise. He hobbled as he yanked on his pants. "Didn't I tell you to make reservations?"
Kuroko sniffled; they froze as he sneezed, and relaxed only when Kuroko continued to sleep.
"I figured we'd stay inside," said Aomine, quietly, this time. He passed a hand over Kuroko's hair, pale blue against his dark skin. "There's supposed to be a snow storm tonight."
Kise snorted, and he set to work on his tie. Aomine figured it would take him a while before he gave up. "You just don't want to bother with the paparazzi, do you?"
"Tetsu doesn't like crowds," said Aomine.
"You don't like crowds," Kise pointed out. "Argh, this is useless. I don't know why I even bother."
Aomine sat up, carefully. "Come here," said Aomine.
Kise only had to stoop a little for Aomine to fix his tie. If it were Kuroko, he would have had to kneel, or Kuroko would have had to stand. Aomine tightened the knot; he flattened it with his hand.
"There," said Aomine. He followed his fingers with his mouth, against Kise's throat, his jaw. "I'm still better."
"Bastard," said Kise. His smile grew, beneath Aomine's lips, cracked in the cold and dry. He pushed Aomine down with little resistance. "Go to sleep. I'll see you later."
Through hooded eyes, Aomine watched Kise pull the blankets down to uncover Kuroko's cheek, his ear. He bent, to whisper something adoring. Kuroko stirred, but did not wake.
"Don't forget the cake," said Aomine, yawning. Whatever Kise could have said, Aomine did not hear it.
He slept.
By quarter past five, Aomine woke again. The extra minutes, he attributed to the biting cold, when Satsuki and Kise would have chalked it up as natural indolence. Kuroko was still asleep. Aomine envied that small fortune, but only a little.
He used up the hot water, when he bathed. Kuroko never minded, but Aomine let a kettle heat on the stove. He ate bread and fruit, if only with some irritation. Satsuki insisted he count calories, especially today.
"I'm a basketball player, not some stick thin model," he'd said, gesturing to Kise, who had the grace to preen and not look affronted. "Why do I need to go on a diet?"
"Stupid Dai-chan," Satsuki had hollered. "If you can't catch your breath anymore, then we'd both be out of jobs!"
"I think Daiki is fine the way he is," was all Kuroko had had to offer.
Aomine had snorted, then; he smiled, even now, through the bitter tang of his grapes, its tender skin giving way under his teeth. He picked at his bread, at its crust. He spread butter on its surface with a bread knife.
Ten years later and they still treat me like a little kid, he thought. He bit into his bread, tasting wheat, and grimaced. A kid who can't even catch a break and eat cereal for breakfast. He wondered how Kise could stand the daily regimen of fruit, the salads with croutons and no meat. Then he remembered Kise stealing sips of Kuroko's carbonated drinks, his leftover sweets from snack time – sticks of chocolate, strawberry wafers, fish-shaped ice cream with red bean. He forgot to feel pity for him.
When the table was cleared and the kettle set aside, Aomine wandered into the bedroom in search of his trainers. He found it buried under Kise's clothing, from yesterday, when he'd stripped out of his shirt with feigned languor and little reservation. Aomine shook his head.
Kuroko blinked at him, still swaddled in excess cloth. He looked like a child, like that; Aomine left his trainers by the foot of the bed as he wrestled Kuroko out of the sheets.
"Morning," said Aomine.
Kuroko mumbled something that may have been a greeting, or a curse. Aomine laughed at him, not unkindly.
"I heated up some water for you," said Aomine. "Also, I cleared the dishes. And I didn't leave any seeds on the counter, for once."
Kuroko, wordless in the morning, cocked his head to the side.
"You don't believe me?" Aomine said.
Kuroko shook his head, but smiled.
All accomplishments deserved some reward, even. Aomine pressed Kuroko into the mattress and claimed it for himself. Kuroko's thumb rested on Aomine's throat. His pulse fluttered, as he inhaled. Aomine kissed his mouth, his nose, his brow, his hooded eyes. Kuroko's hand fell, useless, to Aomine's shoulder.
They separated.
"Happy birthday, by the way," said Aomine, as Kuroko lay on his side, his skin cooling, bare and still damp from the imprint of Aomine's lips, his tongue, his teeth.
Kuroko made a soft sound of assent and closed his eyes.
haru
School started, in the spring. Aomine grew used to picking up stray pieces of crayon, on the kitchen floor. Kuroko, elbows deep in drawings and penmanship workbooks, nibbled on a pen as he worked. Aomine set down the crayons beside Kuroko's spare boxes of cray pas, half-worn, half-missing primary colors. The pink ones never lasted long.
"Green?" Aomine asked, sitting on the counter. He filched an orange from Kise's fruit basket and began to peel off the skin with his blunt nails. "You're not using red anymore?"
"The kids like variety," said Kuroko. Kise wandered into the kitchen, clad in a pair of shorts and little else. Aomine's eyes flickered to the line of his back. Kuroko did not look up.
"Have you guys seen my planner?" Kise asked, opening the nearest drawer.
Aomine chucked a broken peel at him and missed. "You have a planner? More importantly, why would it be in there with the plates?"
"I don't know," Kise wailed. He went through the next one. "And clean up after yourself, why don't you!"
Kuroko made a mark, on a workbook, to correct the 'ka'. "Top shelf of the TV cabinet," he said.
"I knew there was a reason you were my favorite," said Kise. He pushed the drawers back in place and left the room.
"I'm still here, you know," said Aomine. He yawned, and picked apart a piece from the orange. He popped it into his mouth.
"Please refrain from flirting in the kitchen," said Kuroko, turning a page. "Or at least take it to the bedroom."
"Why, Tetsu," Aomine sneered, "if I didn't know better, I would have thought that was a come on."
Kuroko looked at him, askance. He bit on the cap of his pen and smiled, small, but warm. "Kagami-kun will complain again, when he visits."
Aomine had enjoyed taunting Kagami then, and insinuating the possible misuse of many available surfaces. He'd refused to come in contact with carpeted floors, the sofa, and no less than three coffee tables, regardless of the absurdity of logistics. Kise had joined in, and now Kagami watched all of them like a hawk, for different reasons.
"He nags too much," said Aomine. He spit out the seeds. "Are you sure he's not your mother?"
Kuroko set aside the workbooks. He pulled out the drawings, this time. "You've met my mother," he said, carefully, keeping his eyes trained on his work.
Aomine rolled his eyes. He tossed the seeds and the peels into the trash. "Your mother hates me." She loved Kise, though – Kise with his polished looks, his groomed manners, his charm. He bit into another piece, viciously.
"My mother dislikes a lot of things," said Kuroko. He raised a piece of paper, to the light. "What does this look like to you?"
Aomine gave him a crooked smile, tight, but still honest. "Like road kill. Or Ryouta's middle school art project. Which I guess is the same thing."
"Daiki," said Kuroko.
"Hey," said Aomine, "I'm not the one who has to praise kids every damn day." He shrugged. "Besides, it still looks like road kill to me. Are you sure that's not what it's supposed to be?"
"I'm sure," said Kuroko, and turned back to his checking. Aomine ate between annoying Satsuki on his phone and reading a tabloid Kise had left on the counter. When Kise came back to the kitchen, Kuroko posed the same question to him, ignoring Aomine's blatant jeering.
"It's a bird," said Kise, proudly, like it was the greatest accomplishment in his life to one up Aomine in something.
"Figures he'd know," Aomine said. He almost choked on a seed. Kuroko brought a fist to his own mouth, to hide a smile. His eyes, though. They were bright.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Kise pouted, even if no self-respecting man would have done so. He still looked respectable, despite it. Or perhaps Aomine was going blind.
"Nothing," said Aomine. "Oh, listen to this. Model Kise Ryouta was seen exiting a motel with an unknown female at –"
"Lies!" Kise yelled. He lunged at Aomine and wrestled the page out of his hands. Aomine was too busy laughing to bother. Kise crumpled the sheet; he was red all over. "All lies!"
Kuroko plucked the paper out of Kise's hold. He examined the photograph, and flushed. "Ah."
"Your disguises are getting more creative, Tetsu," said Aomine, strangled. "Didn't they catch the debonair basketball pro leaving a few minutes later?"
"You," said Kise, quieting him with a kiss laced with irritation -- a kiss, nonetheless, that distracted him, "are impossible."
"You love me anyway," said Aomine.
"Yeah," said Kise. "I can't believe I do."
Kuroko finished grading four hours later – half an hour spent avoiding Kise and Aomine's combined needling, an hour to sweep the workbooks and papers under the table as Kise bore down on him on the surface.
"I hate you both sometimes," said Kuroko. He sighed into the sheets as he stretched in bed, where he'd transferred his work. "I have class tomorrow morning."
"Keep wriggling like that and you'd hate me even more," Aomine grunted. Kuroko stilled, and covered his backside with a pillow. Aomine hit his shoulder, without much force.
"Want me to drive you to work tomorrow?" Kise said. He nosed along the side of Kuroko's cheek, his ear. Kuroko's skin tingled, from the line Kise had traced.
"Please," said Kuroko. He capped his pen and put his cheek against a workbook. The spine dug into his skin.
"You do realize he just wants to see you in your apron, sensei," Aomine drawled.
"You don't understand," said Kise. "It's a man's dream, and you wouldn't look good in one, anyway. You're too big for it."
"Excuse me," said Kuroko. He pulled on a pair of nearby shorts – Kise's, it looked like – and walked out to find a paper bag to stuff the papers in.
"Stalker," said Aomine, making a face.
"You're just jealous," Kise sang out.
He was. He really, really was.
natsu
In the summer, they went to the beach, Kise for work, Aomine for training. Kuroko had the enviable luxury of vacation time, but he seemed to do little but sleep on a makeshift hammock until his skin blistered red. From the early hour to the late afternoon, he lay prone and indifferent to his surroundings, lost in a deep kind of sleep that made passersby wonder if he were still breathing.
Aomine found him sun burnt and dozing, when he came back to the rented beach house. Satsuki reprimanded him for laughing, but Aomine waved her away, too busy muffling his mouth with his hands. Kuroko blinked at both of them, owlishly, and flinched as Aomine helped him into the house.
Aomine seemed less pleased to slather Satsuki's lotion over Kuroko's skin. "This was supposed to be fantasy number twenty five of my high school life," Aomine complained. "How come it's so unsexy now?"
"Sorry," said Kuroko.
"You're like a dead fish," said Aomine, poking his shoulder. Kuroko made a garbled sound of pain that made Aomine's eyes flicker with interest. "Tuna. Hm. I'm hungry."
"You're so insensitive, Dai-chan," said Satsuki. She scowled and continued fretting over Tetsuya's face. "I wonder if I have any lip gloss left…"
"No thank you," said Kuroko. "It doesn't hurt at all."
"Oh, seriously," said Satsuki. "Don't you guys have a tub of Vaseline, at least? And I'm not even going to ask what for, because I really don't want to know."
"We haven't gone grocery shopping in ages," said Aomine. "Hey, Tetsu, I think I want a sandwich."
"Get it yourself," Kuroko grunted, laying his face against the rug. Aomine frowned.
"Honestly," said Satsuki, smacking Aomine's wandering fingers away from the waistband of Kuroko's shorts. "I wonder how you can put up with this guy."
Aomine pulled at the elastic, once more. "Ow," Kuroko intoned.
"Kise's gonna hate this," said Aomine, gleeful. "Now he can't stick to you like glue."
"Go back to work," Satsuki ordered. She crossed her arms. Her chest rose, as she huffed, still buxom but not enough to tempt Aomine.
"This isn't part of my contract," said Aomine.
"Want to change places, then?"
"No way."
"Then stop being so stubborn!" Satsuki yelled. "What are you, Midorima?"
Kuroko and Aomine looked terrified and appalled, at the prospect. They stopped resisting, this time. Kuroko lay on his stomach, resting his chin on Aomine's lap. Aomine busied himself with Kuroko's cracked skin, peeling. It would get better, in days.
"I'm not gonna get lucky anytime soon, am I," said Aomine. Satsuki made a face, and Kuroko hid his laughter in his book.
"You can always console Kise," said Kuroko.
"Eugh," said Satsuki. "I need to wash my mouth."
"Bathroom's the second door to the right," Aomine called out. Placidly, he continued spreading lotion over the small of Kuroko's back. "Don't look inside the medicine cabinet if you know what's good for you!"
Satsuki's answering groan was like a small victory to his ears.
Kise was out on a shoot, even on his birthday. "Oh man," said Aomine, rutting against Kuroko's hips. "You're missing out on so much birthday sex."
"Don't remind me," Kise wailed, even as he petted Kuroko's brow. Kuroko's mouth worked, speechless, as Aomine gripped his cock.
"You know where to find us for the rest of the day," Aomine said, airily.
"I hate you," said Kise, the venom in his words belying the kiss he bestowed on Kuroko's cheek, "so much."
They celebrated in the evening with Satsuki, dragging a case full of beer and a plastic bag of snacks to the shore. Kuroko, still marginally sun burnt, lit sparklers as Aomine dunked both Satsuki and Kise into the water, screaming, hysterical.
"You're horrible," said Satsuki. She trudged back to the blanket they'd spread on the sand, Aomine laughing behind her; she rubbed at her hair with a towel. "I'll make sure to make you suffer tomorrow!"
"It's my day off," said Aomine.
Satsuki squeezed the water out of her dress. "Day offs don't exist for you!"
She fussed over her clothes for a few more minutes; when she gave up, Kuroko set his own towel for her to sit on. "Would you like me to brush your hair?" Kuroko asked.
Satsuki paused, and blushed. She wrapped the towel over her shoulders and crossed her legs. "Yes please."
He passed a sparkler to her, and she watched the sparks fizz out into the sand, like they never glimmered in the darkness of the night sky. Kuroko touched her hair, tentative, and ran his fingers through its thickness. Her hair smelled of herbal shampoo and salt, from the seawater. Kise's head, Aomine's legs – they would smell the same, too.
"I didn't think we'd turn out like this, before," said Satsuki.
Kuroko thought of the length between middle school and high school, the loneliness and the insecurity that threaded through their history. They'd been more arrogant, then, more prideful, with the self-assurance of the young, the questionable maturity. Even infatuation, it seemed, was more raw, more tender, more bitter than sweet. Honesty was fleeting, and loyalty was the indicator of all solid friendships. It was only now that he'd learned that there were pieces of secrecy that did not sever, that strengthened. Surely, they could endure.
"Me either," said Kuroko.
In the distance, Kise pulled Aomine by the hem of his shirt. He buried his face against Aomine's back until all Kuroko could see was his hair, glaring and bleached blonde, strands plastered to his skin. And his body – it laughed, with its shivering movement. Something in Kuroko seemed to snap into place.
"You're smiling," said Satsuki, awed. "Whatever for?"
"I like combing your hair," said Kuroko, simply. Satsuki's eyes seemed to soften, and she shifted, in her seat. Her white sundress bunched up against the blanket, and she swept the hem below her thighs.
"I like it too," said Satsuki. "But if you can get those dorks to grow out theirs, then maybe you wouldn't miss doing it so much."
"It gets in the way."
"But you still like it," said Satsuki. "That's something, isn't it?"
Kuroko's hand fell, to his side. He wiped the dampness on the blanket. "I suppose."
"They just want you to be happy, I think," said Satsuki.
He passed her a can of beer, slowly losing its chill. She popped the tab open, easily. She took a slow, lingering sip. He watched her swallow, and he looked away.
"Are you happy?" Satsuki asked. Her knuckles were white, against her knees.
"Yes," said Kuroko. His thumb passed over her ear to tuck a strand behind it. Her skin turned pink, under his touch, absent of desire but still conscious of him, all the same. Some things, they would never outgrow. "I think I am."
aki
They fetched Kuroko when classes ended, both of them – two impossibly tall men with handsome features that caught the eye of mothers and children alike.
"Sensei," one of the boys whispered to Kuroko, furtively. "There are two suspicious-looking guys in the lobby."
"Nobu-kun," said Kuroko, touching the boy's shoulder. He clung to his side, all the same. "What did I say about spying on people?"
"Not to," said Nobu, sullen. "But mommy is getting into a fight with the scary one that kinda looks like Kagami-baka."
"Nobunaga," said Kuroko.
"Kagami-jiisan," he amended, quailing. Kuroko patted his head and resolved to talk to Riko about Nobu's well-rooted dislike for Kagami.
"Why don't you play with Kenta-kun, in the meantime?" Kuroko said. "I'll check it out, I promise."
Nobu hesitated; he dug his fingers into the cloth of Kuroko's pants. After a moment, though, he let Kenta pull him away. He looked back, even as he picked up a block. Kuroko waved at him, and smiled.
True to form, Riko was bickering with Aomine over his previous season. Kuroko rubbed at his forehead and sighed.
"Senpai," said Kuroko, "you shouldn't aggravate your nerves so much."
Kise shut his phone and stood. Riko pressed her lips together, and folded her arms. Her belly was swollen, with child. Kuroko fervently hoped Hyuuga-senpai would refrain from naming their next child after a historical figure.
"And Daiki," Kuroko continued. "Please stop terrorizing the children."
"I wasn't doing anything to those brats," Aomine spluttered.
"Yes, you were," said Kise, helpfully. He brushed an imaginary tear aside. "You made that cute little girl with the pigtails cry."
Aomine growled, low in his throat. "She was crying because you turned down her marriage proposal –"
"-- Tears, Daiki, have you no heart?"
"Senpai," said Kuroko, bowing. "I'm sorry for these two idiots."
Riko rolled her eyes and sat down. "It's fine," said Riko. "I'm used to stupid boys anyway. I married one, didn't I?"
They exchanged polite conversation, even as Kise and Aomine argued, in the background. When the bell rang, Kuroko went back to the classroom to help the children with their bags. He let his coworkers herd the students outside. He pursed his lips, as he surveyed the room.
"Time to clean up," said Kuroko, rolling his sleeves to his elbows.
He put the blocks back into the case. He picked up crayons cracked in half, pencils chewed on and absent of erasers. He swept away the candy wrappers and pocketed hair clips. Overturned seats, he righted as he walked past.
Kise poked his head through the doorway, a few minutes later. "Need some help?" He asked, already loosening his tie. Kuroko kissed him, briefly, on his jaw, in thanks.
"Take these outside, please," said Kuroko, passing him a bag full of trash. "Did you leave Daiki with senpai?"
"Tempting," said Kise, "but I'm not suicidal. Your coach left with her kid ten minutes ago. Daiki's working up a snit in the lobby."
"And on his birthday, too," said Kuroko.
"He's just sore you gave away his cake to your students."
Kuroko shrugged, helpless. "They saw the box."
"I told him to think of it as charity," said Kise, waving jauntily with his free hand. "I'll see you later if I don't get mobbed by waiting cougars with bright-eyed, impressionable kids."
"Don't get eaten," said Kuroko. He lined up the desks and continued sweeping in silence.
Outside, the streets were littered with dead leaves. Aomine grudgingly bumped his elbow against Kuroko's shoulder. He kicked up a pile of leaves with his shoes.
"You're in a bad mood, aren't you?" Kise wheedled. "You are! You really are!"
"I'm not," said Aomine, vehemently. He pulled his hat lower over his head. It did not hide his scowl.
Kise frowned, slipping on his sunglasses. His eyes flashed, despite the cover. "Then stop messing up the street! Stop regressing!"
"It's my day," Aomine sneered. "I can do whatever I want."
"Selfish," said Kise. Aomine turned up his nose.
At the corner of the street, they rounded the bend. Kuroko leaned against Aomine's side. "I'm sleepy," said Kuroko. He could smell the fresh soap off Aomine's clothes, like this.
"Hey!" Aomine spluttered. He shoved at Kuroko's weight, slight in comparison to his own bulk. "Get up! We're supposed to go out!"
"Bad day?" Kise asked, ignoring Aomine. He took Kuroko's fingers in his, rubbing his thumb against the back of Kuroko's hand, what span of it he could reach. Kuroko's nerves thrilled, pleased at the touch.
"I've had better days," said Kuroko. "Can we just get take out and go home?"
"Take out and no cake? What kind of boyfriend are you?" Aomine said, glowering at a tree. A bird trilled, in the distance, mocking. "This is the worst. You're the worst."
"Not really," said Kuroko. He took Aomine's hand in his free one; he kissed the tips of his clothed fingers, his knuckles, one by one. Through his gloves, he imagined biting on his nails, an invitation, however meek and uninspired. "I can think of a few things that we can't do in public."
Things, like – examining the heat of Aomine's skin, the intensity of Kise's adulation. Kuroko wet his lips, with his tongue. He looked at Aomine through his lashes.
"What shows have you been watching?" Aomine said. He sounded interested now, at least. Kise opened his mouth in wonder, but Aomine slapped a gloved hand over it. Kise exhaled, and bit him, softly.
Aomine's hands, Kise's mouth – all of these things, Kuroko knew by rote. "Nothing interesting," he said. His mouth stilled, this time. He let go of their hands, and fell a step behind.
The leaves shone red, in the bright lighting of the street lamps. In the darkness, Kuroko watched the two of them jostle each other's shoulders and laugh uproariously, absent of alcohol in their systems, drunk only with feeling. His shadow slid into theirs, easily, as he looped his arms around their elbows.
"I forgot to tell you, by the way," said Kuroko. He smiled, in that guileless way he knew Aomine liked. "I'm glad you were born, Daiki."
Aomine's frown smoothened; he ducked his head, to hide his face. If he kept his hair longer, he could have succeeded. "Took you long enough, idiot."
"You know," said Kise, only because he could never resist, "you can be cute when you want to be, Daiki."
Aomine, Kuroko thought – he was blushing.
"You're both assholes," said Aomine. His fingers slipped, as he fumbled with his hat. "I don't know why people don't believe me, when I tell them."
"I don't know," said Kise. "It's probably just our natural charm."
Aomine laughed.