Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.
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Imayoshi woke up to the sound of movement in the kitchen. Several jumbled, confused thoughts crossed his mind: 1) someone had broken into his house because his mother would have already left for work and she didn't make breakfast for him anyway, 2) his mother was out of town for business anyway so it couldn't have been her possessed, 3) he wasn't wearing underwear and he usually made an effort to live a somewhat modest life, and 4) there was another Touou uniform hanging on his door that was smaller than his. He sat up and allowed a growl to escape his mouth. The captain of the Touou High basketball team bothered all sorts of basketball players alike but his biggest enemy had to be mornings.
Waking up was the bane of his day, made physically worse through his bad hair and bad temper in the mornings. Grumbling, he let a slow, simmering, familiar dull anger fill him as he cleaned up the mess from the previous night – he really went at it when he knew he would never get caught, and he was the only one home. Finally finding his glasses that had been knocked off the nightstand by a wild thrash, Imayoshi had the decency to pull on a pair of boxers and a shirt before stomping down the stairs.
Sakurai had somehow found the apron that his mother had shoved in the back of the pantry after deciding she was too much of a feminist to wear such a ridiculous thing. It was a pale red piece of shit that Imayoshi remembered hating the sight of during elementary school when his mother still woke him. It didn't matter that he fucked the one wearing it now to the point of incoherent babbling last night; he saved no malice when he greeted the morning and day with, "Normally, you'd just stay in bed when you sleep with someone."
Sakurai turned so fast he nearly flung the eggs in the pan in his hand right across the room. "I'm sorry!" he shouted instinctively, blinking, and repeating genuinely, "I'm sorry. I'm used to making breakfast in the mornings though. I make bento for my sister and I've got to wake up early for that and I'm used to that, so…"
"I didn't ask for an explanation," Imayoshi interrupted curtly, shutting Sakurai up with a squeak. The whole thing was so domestic, with Sakurai as the shirking, pathetic little housewife. It made his stomach churn. It used to really annoy him, one of the first year recruits who apologized at every little thing, until he realized Sakurai gave really good head, which he discovered through a little force on his point once after practice in the equipment room. The thing about being submissive and timid was that Sakurai sucked his dick like he worshipped it, and it really was the best feeling in the world.
"What did you make," he asked, squinting authoritatively over Sakurai, who trembled and cowered as per usual. It was a beautiful scene, and for someone who thrived in an environment of power and control, Sakurai was the perfect victim. If he so much as paused during sex, Sakurai would explode with apologies for problems caused that were often imaginary – it got to the point where Imayoshi was beginning to derive a sick kind of joy at withholding climax just to listen to Sakurai sob and ask pardons for everything from dropping a pass to responding several seconds late.
"Um…there's rice, and I found some leftovers in the fridge and I made tamagoyaki…ah!" Sakurai flailed when Imayoshi grabbed him around the waist too low to be an accident. "I'm sorry!" he babbled, when Imayoshi did not let him go from behind. "I'll make something else, I should have asked first what you wanted-"
"That's not what you're getting punished about," Imayoshi growled, his voice low and hot on Sakurai's ear. "So you made tamagoyaki?"
"Um," Sakurai said, trembling, "yes, um, and…ah." Imayoshi's hand had slipped down under the waistband of his boxers and was roughly stroking him to hardness. The thing about the captain was that he did anything rough, regardless of whether there was a game later or not, because Touou basketball team members were the cream of the crop and a little rough sex wasn't supposed to affect your performance on the court. "I…um…ahh."
"Even early in the morning?" Imayoshi mocked, smirking as Sakurai bucked against his hand, grinding up against him in the motion. He was not one to say no to a quickie in the morning.
When Aomine texted, Imayoshi had Sakurai bent over the counter and had just put in a second finger. He was not worried about Sakurai taking the text as he wouldn't be able to properly think to answer anyone in a bit. He curled his fingers just as Sakurai read out who had contacted him, letting out a breathless, "It's…Aomine." The sound of the ace's name in Sakurai's mouth when Imayoshi was doing this was grating.
"I don't like him," Imayoshi said, recklessly putting in a third finger and making Sakurai moan against the counter top. It was irritating enough that he was distracted when he crooked his fingers again and hit Sakurai's sweet spot and only half registered that the underclassman had whimpered out his name. "He really irritates me."
"Why?" Sakurai asked, before Imayoshi thrust in and made it impossible to formulate words. First years were always the best and the worst; the best because they were always sensitive and naïve and trusting and the worst because they always stuck together. Sakurai was hot and wet and made him growl.
"He calls you by your first name," Imayoshi hissed, vaguely aware that Sakurai's fingers were scuttling around trying to find something to steady himself with. Morning or not, he was frustrated and going about this wildly. Besides the spills on the counter from their frantic movements, Sakurai was dripping on the floor, gasping and whimpering with each thrust. "Like you two are close." Something rattled and clattered across the countertop but Imayoshi couldn't be bothered to care.
"It smells like sex in here," Imayoshi grumbled afterwards, surveying the warzone that he had created off the court, with food on the floor and cum all over Sakurai's legs. He fished his boxers from where they were lying dangerously close to the stove and turned away as Sakurai caught his breath, sitting on the floor. "I'm going to take a shower. Clean this up and have some food ready when I come down." Sex or not, mornings were mornings. Fucking mornings.
"I'm sorry," Sakurai said when Imayoshi was at the foot of the stairs, his voice clearer than the stutter before. "I should have stayed in bed so I could wake you with a kiss since that's what you want." Imayoshi turned, frowning, and Sakurai winced; but there was a spark in his eyes, carefully hidden by his defensive reactions, which he recognized from the court during crunch time. Sakurai was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, shirt mussed and hair a mess, looking as ravished as he was. He turned away politely, as an underclassman should, but Imayoshi saw him lick his lips and it reminded him of where those lips had been before (read: around his cock, in the equipment room, where he was whispering dirty, dirty things and Sakurai was blushing but damn that tongue was skillful).
"That's why I hate you freshmen," Imayoshi said, barely suppressing a smirk as he turned on his heel and headed back into the kitchen.
Note: Headcanon for these two = rough sex. Haters to the left.