Chapter Text
He usually likes bright colors, fast cars, flashy things. He doesn't mind how people stare at them, at him, not in the least. In fact he revels in it - wants to get down on his back and roll in them, long lines of fabric straight from the roll, satiny and wool-scratchy and expensive fur. He thinks of himself like a shallow version of Akashi sometime, who appreciates expensive things for the quality, a pleasurable consideration that is soul-deep as he pauses for a moment to take in the superbness of his own wardrobe - but Kise's normal love is a brief, flitting thing that flutters in and out like the momentary waft of perfume when someone leans too close, or the fleeting ten seconds after an hour of foreplay. Temporary things.
It takes much, much more for something to stick and stay there, nail-in-the-coffin style, to make him stop and stare every time he walks past. Something that strikes him thunderbolt-hard, makes his stomach curl with this, this aching sweetness that rises like a tsunami-flood to his throat and his eyes water just a little because the feeling's so intense.
Kagami is wearing his rattiest sweatshirt.
Two sizes too large for him, some giveaway at some event. Kise can remember what he had to wear for three hours, a pair of Kelvin Klein jeans with the plainest Fuelsage buckle he had and a butt-ugly turquoise T-shirt that looked like it had been dyed from sea kelp. Somebody hadn't picked up their raffle prize; sweatshirt sales hadn't been as popular as predicted. Whatever the reason, fourteen-year-old Kise got a XXL American-sized sweatshirt that he had been too ashamed to wear out in public so it got relegated to house-bumming and vegging in front of the TV. And apparently, a prime target for clothes poaching, though why Kagami would want something so old and fuzzy the black has turned gray instead of Kise's fabulous belt and scarf collection -
- the deep-groan-worthy sight of Kagami's broad shoulders filling out his clothes, sleeves pushed up past his elbows pauses, rewinds, takes in the moment from a more analytical angle. Kise blinks as the train jumps track. Kagami who never actually asks for anything, never actually complains about six new people comet-crashing into his life, never really says anything important about himself, has zeroed in on the one item in Kise's wardrobe that survived Teikou and Kaijou and still smells like Kise no matter how many loads of laundry it gets tossed into, sloshed with other peoples' clothes.
Kagami, who has turned around and is taking off Kise's sweatshirt.
"No!" the blond cries. Kagami freezes at the command. "I mean, it's okay, Kagamicchi. You can keep it if you like."
The freeze persists for another long moment before reluctantly Kagami begins to move his arms again - Kise can't tell whether he's taking it off or putting it back off. No, wait, it's the latter, which just won't do. Two strides and Kise's yanking the hem down. Kagami's head shoots back into the hood.
Kise gives his best modeling smile but of course it doesn't work, because embarrassed-Kagami is socially hypersensitive. "Kagamicchi, I mean it. It was a freebie from something a long time ago, if you want it -"
And the tension kicks up another notch, because Kagami's flushed, jaw set, obviously caught in the act of wanting, which is ridiculous because Kise is someone who wants all the time and never lets it get in the way of action. But even he knows things are serious when Kagami interrupts. "I shouldn't have taken it." The crime drops with a thud, hot coals rolling around their feet.
Kagami is ashamed, insistent and alone not ten centimeters away, and that's unforgivable. Kise lets his show-smile fall into something softer. He knows he's done the right thing when Kagami's shoulders come down.
"I don't mind, Kagamicchi. I just think you could have taken something a little more attractive. I wouldn't have minded that either." A vision of Kagami turning away from the full-length mirror in Kise's room, decked out in fitted jeans, boots and that off-white linen shirt with spiral designs stenciled in. Something on his ear, not too bright, dull silver like the ring. Matching belt, a plain ring with a dark stone - Kise is pulling Kagami away from the stove, heedless of the yelp, calling for Murasakibara in the living room who stops mid-complaint to lumber bearlike into the kitchen as Kagami's replacement lest all of them end up without lunch tomorrow before dragging Kagami up the stairs.
He's still muttering as Kise tears through his closet, fingering the frayed hem of the sweatshirt and the holes for thumbs in the sleeves. Kise catches him just in time at the third and final glance at the door before (presumably) Kagami plans to make his escape by thwapping him right in the chest with hangers. "That's Armano, so if you ruin it, I'll kill you," he warns sweetly, and Kagami treats the baggage with a little more care, lifting it with a frown.
Kise's never seen Kagami in a suit. None of them have seen Kagami in a suit as far as Kise knows, but if someone has, he would be jealous, except he's seen it now too. This one has always been a bit wide on the shoulders, and on Kagami it's not perfect either, but still it has the ability to turn Kagami into a stranger. An even more unfamiliar unknown, once Kise has sat him down in front of the desk and slicked back his hair to protests of "I just showered!", and applied the barest bit of makeup before Kagami twists away. The familiar bit of "I'm not a girl" gets thrown around before Kise's patience gives out and he grips Kagami's cheeks, probably smearing the foundation, and seizes the bottom lip between his teeth.
Kagami tastes like every kiss should from a regular man - except somehow it doesn't, it's just Kise projecting his something feelings onto something he can't think it's all Kagami's fault... his hands smooth down Kagami's chest, probably spreading wrinkles in their wake, he gropes for the drawer and comes out with the silk handkerchief he forgot there from last week's shoot, folds it, tucks it lovingly in the jacket pocket. Meanwhile Kagami's hands haven't moved from Kise's hips, they're tracing absently back and forth as he sucks breath after breath through his nose. Deep inhales with the same kind of concentration he usually reserves for identifying elusive herbs in food. Kise deeply appreciates the look he receives when they break free and Kagami looks hungry, lips and eyes watery.
"You could do with some eyeliner," Kise pats down the gel a little more. Kiss-stunned, Kagami lets him without a single twitch or change in expression. "And maybe a bit of gloss." He smears it on but it might as well not exist; Kagami looks delectable as is.
Regretfully Kise unfolds backwards so he can guide Kagami to the mirror. The lust clears a little and now it is with a curious kind of frowny attention that the redhead pays himself clad in unfamiliar gray with faint lines that make him look longer, taller than he already is. His shoulders look impossibly broad, Bond-style, and the tips of his ears are covered by strands of hair that have escaped from his hairdo. All calculated, and Kagami seems to understand this. His next look, a side silhouette as he turns to examine the back, melts into reluctant understanding.
When he turns back his ring catches the light, nestled in the open fold of the first button, and Kise feels it is his own defenses come undone, spilling onto the street as the tsunami takes him by surprise. He can identify it now as possessiveness from the first second he saw Kagami wearing his scent, rubbing his own alongside Kise's. Wibbling, trembling frantically in defiance are all the stiff, practical reasons Kagami might not have clothes to wear: Aomine procrastinated on the laundry again, Kise's sweatshirt was closer at hand, Kagami grabbed the wrong item by mistake - and all of them are pushed away as jealousy rears its ugly head.
It will only be appeased by one thing, and that thing is taking Kagami by the lapels of Kise's perfect suit, slamming him into the wall next to the mirror, and taking that equally perfect mouth by storm. Kagami freezes again and then grows hot, hands doing more than gripping this time, wandering up Kise's side to his shirt. Pulls it out, slides his fingers under, Kagami's quick and clever digits that turn dull, ordinary vegetables into tasty edible art in Kagami's bright and humble colors - scraping nails up Kise's sides so laughter bubbles in the kiss. Kagami's grin nips at Kise's nose and he lifts one hand to bat his cheek, tsks an admonishing finger, naughty naughty Kagamicchi. Kagami takes the finger into his mouth, eyes half-lidding as he sucks deep, lips sliding down to the base. Kise dips another in at the next thrust, then another. There isn't much more in the world he likes more than sucking cock, but he's in no way adverse to letting other people enjoy themselves.
He doesn't have to do more than squeeze Kagami's shoulder before the redhead releases his fingers with a pop and drops to his knees. Before he gets comfy on the carpet Kise drags him in front of the mirror, back to the reflective surface - he's in Journal Standards and United Arrow today, what a pity, but at least he makes cheap look good - in the next moment he arches forward, gasping, because Kagami's taken him deep without warning, stretched wide and mouth glistening as he works back and forth. Kise's fast growing thick and hard, rising to the Kagami's palate, and he likes it, pushing his tongue to imprint Kise's shape into his skin. He drools a little and a drop hits the slacks - but Kise only has eyes for the sweep of Kagami's hair that he destroys now with a careless grip that seizes half of the hairdo, wrenching Kagami's throat and chin upward. Teeth scrape, Kagami moans at the new angle, and all the breath rushes from Kise's lungs in a prolonged shudder. He thrusts again and the hard, white border into wet saliva warmth against the vein is more exquisite than any number of covetous eyes on him.
Give me, but he can't quite get the words out, all of you. They remain strictly locked in his throat, a combination of arousal combating his ability to speak and the vague mental reminder that Kagami is not only his. Still with each thrust he vows he'll say it on the next wave. This is what I like. You in my scent, my clothes, my life. I won't stop until I own you.
He can barely see the bulge tenting the front of Kagami's pants, erection lewdly outlined against the zipper, oh that has to hurt - but it's the sight of Kagami's big hands, clenching and unclenching against his own hips, that makes him come. Because even in the middle of the act he remembers Kise hates ruining his pricey underwear, and he's carefully tugged it down where his hands can't soil it with sweat. You're far too good to me. To us, is the thought as the shockwaves roll through him. Kagami rides him out, rides out each messy fuck-thrust with hair askew and every elegant line of the suit twisted in favor of filthy purpose - his own cock still untouched, probably leaking hot and ready, because he's afraid to ruin Kise's pants. Kise wouldn't have minded. He'll say this when he gets his breath back, I don't mind, you can use whatever, all I am is yours and all that.
He can already imagine Kagami's look of dubious disbelief tempered by the frailest flutter of hope. Kagami who's been left behind too many times. Kagami who only lets himself share the fullness of other people's successes and with practical, rational humility only wishes boring, hum-drum things for himself.
You are worth so much more than that.
Kagami has not yet learned that lesson, but Kise is trying. They are all trying.
He still looks faintly otherworldly when Kise tumbles gracelessly next to him on the carpet. "Don't tell anyone I did that," Kise says when he stubs his knee on the mirror. Kagami, still a bit lust-stunned, only nods. After a moment Kise fumbles for the zipper, Kagami clumsily fights him for a moment before giving up, and then lets Kise peel off pants and underwear. Just give him a tie and he would look so wrong, Kise thinks. In all the right ways, of course. Angel on top and sexy devil on the bottom.
His weight is thick and red and as Kise imagined, dripping. Half of his hair falls into his face in a clump when he swings forward to rest his forehead on Kise's shoulder. He pants unintelligible things, raspy, thirsty. A line of white is streaked to his chin and lovingly Kise wipes it off with one sleeve. "So cute, Kagamicchi," he croons.
"Not cute," comes the expected growl in return. Voice soaked and viscous as Kise had thought it might be.
"Not true," Kise sings lightly, as if his hand isn't pumping Kagami to full-blooded height, proud, straining, lightly upcurved towards his stomach. Peeking through the shirt folds, drawing a misshapen blotch on another freebie, except this one Kise had to wheedle for and originally cost 30,000 yen - Kagami belatedly realizes and jerkily pulls up the hem, but too late.
"That's gonna cost you," Kise teases. Sudden wariness knifes through the thick fog of desire; Kagami's black, blown pupils revert back to their normal circumference with alarming speed. It isn't until he registers Kise's still smiling kindly, genuinely, that he settles back down again. But the fond ease of the moment is lost. Now Kise's strokes are tender and light on the droop of Kagami's sex, playfully nuzzling the head this way and that with the pads of his fingers. For a change he cups lower, runs his fingers down the heavy, ready sac, caressing gently. Kagami's neck lowers a fraction. Kise rewards his neck, jaw, and ears with tiny speckling kisses and bites the lobe just hard enough to red line of his teeth for a second.
They're in tune with each other to know a little more is needed. And when it comes to intimacy, Kagami has to be met halfway. Thankfully, like the others, Kise's fantasized a lot about what he would say, if he had to prove his intentions to Kagami or Kagami's brother or any stranger in the world. Words of fierce love and understanding. Of deep affection. Trying to encompass the depth and breadth of seeing Kagami at the stove with his headphones on, shaking his hips to the beat as he stirs the pot. Trying to describe the hand on the small of his back in the wee hours that curls not too tight, not too loose, reassuring in that perfect way that tells Kise who's there. Trying to explain how people fit together, biological puzzle shards, and that Kagami has a special space he carved for himself without trying, before Kise could react.
It's like trying to define 'sky' in a single word that isn't 'sky'.
"You're so cute, Kagamicchi," the nickname rolls off his tongue. "So cute in my clothes. I wish you'd borrow them more often - you sure wear them well. I like seeing you in them, Kagamicchi. In my things." Even if the words aren't registering, the tone seems to fire off something in Kagami's brain. His chin dips lower and he sucks a deep, encouraging breath. "Have you been borrowing without my permission? I couldn't tell at all. I told you, I don't mind. Just, you should have said so. I take payment in pictures, you know."
His own voice has unconsciously dropped to a sibilant purr. A glance at the mirror shocks him - does he look like this around the house all the time? It puts his glossy magazine pages to shame. His alien reflection licks its lips and nuzzles the side of Kagami's cheek, catalogs the twitch of Kagami's back. Experimentally he pumps his hand firmer; Kagami releases an exhale with a ragged whoosh.
"I've never seen you in a suit before," Kise admits honestly. "You look really good. So delectable. It makes me think about how you look in more of my things. Some underwear for starters, maybe. You'd look good in silk." He would. "In some hats, you have no hats to speak of. No scarves, too preppy, no wait, I have some grundgy ones. And some boots, you have great calves.
"But I'd be lying if I said I don't like you the best like this. Exposed." This time the shudder is pronounced, a long, drawn out thing like a siren wail. Kagami slumps boneless back onto Kise's shoulder. "Completely nude. We could do this again, don't you think? Have our own private fashion show. And after the pictures -"
Kagami tilts his head up just far enough to give Kise's Adam's apple a little nip with his lips. Kise's heart shoots upward, an exploding firework, at the same time it drags down, an anchor in deep water. Because this is all the selfishness Kagami allows himself. The limit of intimacy from his head: a wordless plea for the foreplay to end and the body of the symphony to begin. Already begging for the end.
Kise tells himself not to be sad, however. It's not a no to his proposition. He reminds himself Kagami probably has no less than ten things on his mind, number one being where Kuroko is, number two being what's going on with dinner, all the way to number ten which is probably how to convince Aomine to do the damn chores he's been assigned. Kagami is a busy guy, just like Kise. And if Kise doesn't want to lose out to the other five people in this crowded household, he's got to stake a damn spot in the roster or his and Kagami's schedules are never going to line up.
"Alright," he sighs placatingly. Kagami's hips move eagerly into the column of his fingers. "As you wish. I could suck you off? Return the favor?" Kagami's grunt is flat and neutral; more telling, he doesn't even pause in fucking Kise's hand. Kise sighs again. "Guess not." Thwarted of further pleasure, he thumbs the head and presses the nail against the hole, exposing - a thicker dribble of white weeps down the length of Kagami's cock, impressively hard. Kise kisses what he can see, the side of Kagami's head, vicious and claiming; hips and hand jerk together, a magnetic rhythm that continues until it starts to fall apart and the familiar sound of Kagami drawing one last desperate inhale makes a throaty sound too high for human ears -
They both exhale slowly from the high as Kagami paints streaks on himself, the Armano, the Gucca, Kise's jeans, the carpet...he looks like an expensive callboy, not that Kise's ever ordered one for himself, decked out in his patrons' goods. And Kise would pay good money to be Kagami's, to be the center of that attention - not that he needs to. Kagami, even grumbling, always lets Kise pull him this way and that. In the beginning his happiness was so simple Kise thought he got it wrong. But Kagami really is happy just seeing others happy.
"Love you, Kagamicchi," he murmurs fondly, and kisses the tip of Kagami's ear. Kagami grunts wordlessly in response - stunned barbarian. Kise giggles as the image of a well-bred ruffian or a thug-turned-rich is broken into simply an oversized, satiated lump of man, molasses-knees with post-coital bliss. Kagami allows himself one more trespass that Kise wishes he would do more of - one more electric jumpstart of Kise's heart as Kagami lips his neck sloppily - before sliding down, down Kise's front, until his hair tickles Kise's stomach. He's centimeters away from where he started, and at the reminder of Kagami's throat obediently swallowing all Kise has to give, his cock gives a feeble twitch. Not yet, then.
"Need to check dinner," the syllables are still grundgy and raw. Emotionless afterthought. Kagami's body betrays his reluctance even if his words don't; it doesn't even give the pretense of getting up and moving any time soon.
Kise doesn't protest. He pets a line with one finger just under the collar of his own pressed shirt, tracing a moist, ticklish line on sun-kissed skin. Grumbling, Kagami bats the hand away. Kise presses his palm against his ear, slides back down to the neck - feels the pulse still jumping away, slowing, slowing again, rabbit feet on dialed-up slow-mo...
In the mirror Kagami's eyes slide half-mast, then all the way down. Dark lashes a solid line that the rest of his body follows, the angles melting into curves, restful and lax. Kise is getting tired just looking at him, at Kagami who always seems to be trudging here and there, pulled this way and that - an exhausting life that leaves no time for himself. Kise suspects that's just the way he likes it, which is a crying shame. Kagami deserves all the nice things, not just Burrberry or Valenta, but long bubble baths and an ocean view. Imported cream and coffee. Buttery massages. Incomprehensible Beverly Hills and decadent, similarly incoherent Paris.
(Oh alright, Kise is just putting his own desires onto him.)
For now, he'll indulge the both of them by not moving. The long roll of Kagami's breath compels him to do thus. And the soft prickle of Kagami's spikes. When he thinks of it, the brand of hot touch on his neck, definitely.
But more than anything, the picture the two of them make, Kagami sun-kissed and terribly athletic, Kise rumpled-classic, still in his shirt and accessories. His bottom bits are beyond the frame of the reflection; Kise's zip is still undone but it is covered with Kagami's head in the way. Anyone with eyes would know what happened due to the formless closeness of their bodies, though the clothes might mislead. Tach Heuer to Versache. Brute Caracena to island Canalee. Two separate looks on a jarring, but fitting whole.
Because there's no better time to start than now, Kise picks up his phone and snaps a picture.