Warning: M/M
Pairing: Murasakibara Atsushi/Aomine Daiki
Note: Inspired by the doujin "Rose-colored sorrow". Originally for the "Shoot, Swish, Score" LJ community. Updated 04/20/2014 because I can never leave things alone.


Hot. So hot, Aomine thought as he leaned against the back of the bench, towel hanging on his large shoulders, half-covering his face. Seconds, then minutes, passed. When he finally found enough energy to reach out to the water bottle lying next to him, it was to find it already lukewarm – disgusting.

"What a face, Mine-chin. Did you swallow something bad?"

Of all the members of his college basketball team…

"Tsu," he simply greeted, not looking up to the other, barely acknowledging his presence. Aomine knew that if he glanced at the clock, it would read eleven. So late in the evening, and it was still so –

The boy's thoughts were interrupted as he noticed that his teammate was now standing right before him. Sighing, he retreated even further into the frame, but the other was so freaking tall that even like that, he couldn't really meet his eyes. Well.

"C'mere, Tsu," Aomine said simply, a hint of something in his voice.

At that, Murasakibara first crouched a bit, as if he wanted to – (what did he want to do?) – but finally settled for sitting next to his colleague. Shoulders barely touching, they stayed still, crushed by the scorching heat, during what felt like hours to Aomine.

"Hey…" he started, but soon found himself unable to think about something to say, instead quickly deciding to extend his right arm around Atsushi's neck, not even faltering one second before pulling the other closer and starting to kiss him. Apparently surprised, his partner took a short, although deep, breath before surrendering.

(Mine-chin, he thinks)

They start slowly – for them – by a simple pressing of their lips, though hard, and, soon, demanding. When Aomine leads them to another level with a little lick on the tall boy's lower lip, his partner wraps his arms around his waist; when he begins to nibble it a bit, he tighten his grasp, opens his mouth and allows him to take away what little control he didn't already have.

It's hot – Aomine thinks absently, his hands too full with – Tsu – to really mind. As he enjoys what's freely given to him, he can't shake the feeling that something is off, but the way his teammate is starting to moan, low and almost inaudible, is just – a bit too attractive.

"Tsu," he says again while pushing Murasakibara, who doesn't really resist (who doesn't resist at all) and lie where the other wants him to be, against the cold wood of the bench. The gap between his own temperature, Aomine's (looming over him, dark hair dark eyes dark skin, not even smiling) and that of the piece of furniture makes him repress an odd shiver. It's – warm, hot, good

"Ah," he cannot help letting out when he's – being kissed again, explored by the other's burning hands – having his collarbone slowly licked and softly bitten – their position isn't the most practical one (tall and large and the bench is not), but the young man doesn't seem to mind, or is too wrapped up in Aomine's ministrations to even think about it – was that a chuckle?

(Aomine, he thinks)

"Atsushi," he hears whispered in his ear (one heartbeat), and that's all it takes for him to put his hands around his old friend's face (two and three) and look him in the eye, for the first time since he entered the changing room (four and five). What he sees (six) – it's (seven) – he wants to shout (howl and eight), take everything (hurl and nine), to break something, anything (ten and stops) –

Clothes are promptly scattered on the floor after that (not fast enough) bites exchanged (that's all they are) fingerprints burned on dark flesh, kisses given and taken back; murmurs heard, barely audible (already forgotten), all to satisfy a terrible and primal urge (pain) which doesn't even show on his face.

When all is said and done and Aomine is getting dressed after a quick shower, Atsushi is still half-lying against the bench, sitting on the floor, face covered by his purple locks (tired? dripping), as if waiting for something. There's isn't even one mark on him (never) – but it's another story entirely for his partner.

"You still brand what isn't yours, Tsu," he jokes, of his nasty habit of leaving traces of his passage everywhere he can.

"Isn't Kuro-chin waiting for Mine-chin?" the other simply responds, tone dripping with sarcasm (that's why I do it).

"Shit. I have to go. See ya – !"

(Daiki, he thinks.)