Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kagami knows he’s being too loud. Despite the fact it is much louder on the other side of the door—what with the music, the atmosphere, the people—he knows he’s being too loud. Aomine is partially to blame—and partially contributing to the noise with his own, too—but the breathy, gaspy moans are definitely coming from Kagami. The loose whimpers slipping out every now and then—those are his, too. The wet, squelching noises as Aomine works him over are technically coming from him, but they’re absolutely not his fault.

No matter if the sexy glare Aomine is giving him is trying to say otherwise.

“Did anyone see where Dai-chan went?” a small voice comes in passing on the other side of the door.

At the worst possible time, too, because Aomine just picked up his pace, Kagami isn’t going to last much longer, and he really needs to moan through it.

“I don’t know where Kagami got too, either,” comes another voice, and Kagami squeezes his eyes shut as though it will help any.

What really doesn’t help is Aomine clamping his spare hand over Kagami’s mouth, the movement bringing with it all of Aomine filling all of Kagami’s senses.

A small whimper does slip from him—thankfully muffled by Aomine’s hand, though Kagami still won’t admit that was a good idea on his part. And when Kagami does reopen his eyes—the stray tears clinging to his eyelashes loosening and falling down his cheeks—the shit-eating grin and challenging glare in Aomine’s eyes really, really does not help.

Kagami finishes as quickly as they started, softly gnawing on the skin of Aomine’s palm through it with zero fluctuation on Aomine’s part.

Aomine cleans himself up on some dirty rag he’s found on a shelf; Kagami tries not to think about how unclean it is in this old closet while he tucks himself away. And then Kagami’s suit jacket comes flying at his face, followed by a gruff, “Show a little more restraint next time.”

Kagami scoffs, slipping his jacket on. “You dragged me in here.”

“Only because you were giving me that look,” Aomine says, placing his own jacket over his shoulders.

“What look?”

“You know…the look,” Aomine says, not actually explaining anything. “Anyway, we should get back. Sounds like we’re missed.”

Kagami fondly rolls his eyes when he follows Aomine out the door.

They head to the bar before joining back with the rest of their group, the reunion party still in full swing around them, even in their temporary absence, and they seamlessly rejoin with the conversation as if they were never gone; nothing amiss.

Except there is one thing amiss.

Kuroko.

Kuroko—standing opposite Kagami, drink in hand—giving him a funny look. Or, at least, funny for Kuroko. He’s just staring, really, but it’s enough for Kagami to feel unease growing in the pit of his stomach.

When a few of the group disperse, breaking off into smaller groups to chat, Kagami pulls Kuroko aside by his sleeve.

“What is it?” Kagami asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Your jacket,” Kuroko says.

“What?” Kagami says, panicked, looking down at his jacket, the pit in his stomach worsening thinking he somehow got a very obvious stain of a very certain substance on it. He finds nothing obvious. “What about it?!”

“It’s Aomine-kun’s,” Kuroko explains.

Kagami frowns, looking back down at it. It’s only then that he notices the colour of his trousers are a different shade of black to that of the jacket he’s wearing.

He looks over to Aomine, then—chatting away with Momoi, otherwise none-the-wiser to Kagami’s realisation. Yep. His trousers and suit jacket don’t quite match, either.

“Oh.” Shit.

“What are you wearing?”

Kagami looks down at his chosen outfit of the day. Plain white T-shirt; slightly discoloured from age, use, old coffee stains dribbled down the front, probably another coffee stain to follow from the mug he’s carrying. The grey sweatpants he paired it with haven’t fared much better over the years; also stained, with more than just coffee, tired looking, less soft than when he bought them, a bit tattered around the cuffs.

Kagami runs his spare hand through his still unkempt bedhead and plops himself down on the sofa next to Aomine and—yep, there it is, the newly added coffee stain splashing onto his shirt.

“Don’t worry,” Kagami says, stifling a yawn. “I’m not going out dressed like this.”

“Not that,” Aomine grunts. “The pants.”

“What about them?” Kagami asks, picking at a bit of loose string falling from the stitching.

“They’re mine.”

Kagami frowns. “They’re not.”

“They definitely are.”

“They’re definitely not.”

“Take them off,” Aomine says, reaching for the waistband and being promptly smacked away by Kagami’s hand.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Who said you could wear them?”

“Me,” Kagami says firmly. “Because they’re mine.”

“They’re not,” Aomine insists. “You see that spot there?” He asks, shuffling closer, pointing at a small patch of discolour on the leg. “That’s from when I bleached the washing machine the other week.”

“As if you’ve ever cleaned the washing machine.”

“And this here?” Aomine says, getting even closer and lowering his voice a tad, pulling at the fabric over Kagami’s right calf. “Is from when we painted the bedroom.”

“When I painted the bedroom,” Kagami corrects him.

“And this one?” Aomine continues, now impossibly close, his side flush with Kagami’s, his voice deep and low, his head dipped so his mouth is inline with Kagami’s ear. Aomine drags the tip of his finger across this spot, located right next to Kagami’s crotch.

Right next to where there is a very obvious tent.

Kagami feels his face flush.

“This one is from that time you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself,” Aomine says, his voice a seductive whisper. “When you climbed onto my lap and fu—”

“Okay, okay,” Kagami says, smacking Aomine’s hand away again, his face nearly as red as his hair. “I get it.”

Aomine chuckles deep and low and still close enough for Kagami to feel the vibration of it.

“There’s a matching, although messier, stain from that same occasion on the inside.”

“Whatever,” Kagami groans. “Let’s just say they’re yours,” even though they most definitely are not, “and leave it at that.”

“Good,” Aomine says, pulling himself away and standing. “Glad we agree.”

His following laugh can be heard the entire length of their place, even as he heads to the kitchen for more coffee.

And, well, if Kagami finds the inside stain later that day, he doesn’t say anything to Aomine.

This was a mistake.

A huge mistake.

It’s going to be painfully obvious to absolutely everyone.

Shit, Kagami’s already only taken one step out the door and an ill-timed gust of wind immediately tells him what a gigantic mistake this was.

He looks at his watch and sighs. There’s no time to go back in and have a shower and wash his mistake away, so he’s just going to have to embrace it. This is the reality he lives in now: being that guy who wears his kinda-live-in, kinda-long-term, kinda-boyfriend-(if-they-had-ever-bothered-to-actually-discuss-it)’s cologne.

The mistake presents itself with every step Kagami takes, the smell wafting into his senses. It’s impossible not to think of Aomine. The smell is so distinct—crisp, slightly citrussy, a little spicy—but it’s also just so Aomine; it being the fragrance he’s worn for so long and that Kagami has gotten so used to in so many different situations.

Playing up close with him on the court, sitting next to him at a restaurant, coming home after a long day to their shared place, lingering in their sheets when they retire to bed for the night.

Kagami arrives before he knows it and finds Kuroko, Momoi, and Aomine already seated. He walks over to join them, filling the empty seat next to Kuroko and opposite Aomine. He hopes no one will notice the cologne in here—what with the lack of wind and the greasy fast food smell permeating the air.

However…

Kuroko gives him that same look from the reunion party; Momoi smiles and averts her eyes; Aomine raises a brow at him.

Shit.

“Have you not ordered?” Kagami asks, not willing to address it and instead focusing on the empty table before them.

“We were waiting for you,” Kuroko says.

They all continue to give Kagami looks.

“I’ll get it then,” Kagami says, mentally noting everyone’s orders and gratefully excusing himself from the table to stand in the line at the counter.

That went about as well as he expected.

Seriously, what was he thinking?

“You’re wearing my cologne,” Aomine’s deep voice says from behind him, making Kagami jump.

He doesn’t turn around and Aomine doesn’t move into his line of sight.

“I ran out of my own,” Kagami explains, which is true. It doesn’t explain why he didn’t just go without.

Aomine is going to take too much enjoyment from this and Kagami already knows it before the next words are out of Aomine’s mouth.

“It smells good on you,” Aomine says, dropping his voice a little lower, his breath tickling the hair on the nape of Kagami’s neck.

He’s standing so close, Kagami can practically feel him smiling.

“Meet me in the restroom.”

Kagami does flip around, then. Incredulous look on his face no doubt because what the fuck?

“The dirty restroom of this grotty fast food place? Really?”

“We’ve done worse,” Aomine shrugs.

“...Kuroko and Momoi will notice we’re gone,” Kagami reasons.

“So?”

“So, they don’t know.”

“Don’t they?”

Kagami watches Aomine for a little; the stupid grin on his face, the smugly raised eyebrow. That fucking smell of his cologne. It smells so good. Aomine smells so good. Kagami wants to lick the cologne off his neck. Or let Aomine lick it from his, whichever.

Kagami sighs. “Fine,” and follows Aomine to the restroom.

Kagami walks into the bathroom and sighs when he finds scattered pieces of Aomine’s uniform litterting the entire floor.

“Seriously?” He mutters to himself, picking up the trousers. “What a slob.”

Kagami folds the items of the police uniform one by one, placing them in a neat pile on the sink counter, finishing with the cap laid gently on top. Then he just looks at the uniform pile for a little bit. He runs a finger along the brim of the cap, across the embossed logo on the front.

“Such good quality and he treats you like this,” Kagami remarks.

He thumbs under the lip of the cap and lifts it up, placing it on his head.

“Feels nice, too,” he says, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, admiring the way the cap sits just nicely on him.

His fingers brush over the fabric of the shirt next, appreciating the craftsmanship of the material. It’s so easy from there to slip it over his shoulders, tuck his arms in, button it up.

Kagami looks at himself in the mirror again. It really is nice, albeit a little creased from Aomine’s lack of care. It still has another day or two of wear in it at least.

“Are you looking for a new job?” Aomine asks from the doorway and Kagami jumps, flinging the cap from his head in a panic at being caught.

Not that it does much, when he’s still wearing the shirt and Aomine has already seen him in both items.

“I was cleaning up after you,” Kagami says, his face heating up.

Aomine laughs, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the frame.

“Cleaning up? Is that what you call this?” Aomine is far too amused for Kagami’s liking.

“Stop leaving your shit everywhere,” Kagami says, defeated, unbuttoning the shirt.

“Okaay,” Aomine says, eyes still twinkling with amusement. He turns to leave Kagami to it, but not before calling out over his shoulder, “Blue looks good on you!”

It’s been happening too often lately. Kagami has gotten complacent. But it’s also…kinda nice? And there’s no real concerns today, anyway, not when Kagami’s only going to go fuck around on the basketball court briefly, alone, before work.

He won’t even be there long enough for anybody to see him wearing Aomine’s number 5 Tōō jersey.

So, it’s fine. He can wear his boyfriend’s jersey, he can enjoy himself while doing so, and nobody will be any the wiser. It’ll be back in Aomine’s wardrobe before the day is finished.

That is, at least, until his foot lands on the ground at an awkward angle. Now he can’t stand on it properly, no matter how much he tries to power through. No matter how long he thinks he can rest it on the bench at the side of the court.

It twinges painfully when he steps on it and there’s only so much he can endure when he tries to hobble home before he finds himself turning in the direction of the hospital to hobble there instead.

At least he likely won’t run into anyone he knows on the way to the hospital.

The problem is, as it turns out, that Kagami might be the unluckiest man alive.

He lies back on the hospital bed while Midorima checks over his ankle. Of all the doctor’s in all the world…

Kagami distinctly notices the way Midorima’s eyes briefly linger on the Tōō jersey, a little furrow knotting between his brows before he returns back to focus on the ankle.

At least he’s professional enough not to say anything, but that doesn’t mean that Kagami doesn’t also wish the world would swallow him whole right at this moment. Especially when Takao waltzes into the room to help Midorima, and the smirk he wears on his face when he notices is much less subtle than his counterpart.

Kagami groans, partly from mortification and partly because Midorima twists his ankle in a funny way during his inspection, and he leans his head back, shuts his eyes, and hopes it will simultaneously shut out the world.

“It’s just a sprain,” Midorima says. Eventually. “I’ll give you something for the pain.”

Kagami only wishes Midorima could prescribe him something for the non-physical pain.

He can’t hobble out of there quick enough.

It’s only when Kagami’s home does he realise that he wishes he had been quicker, because Aomine is already finished work and sitting on the sofa when he finally gets through the door.

“Why is Takao congratulating me?” Aomine asks, without looking up from his phone.

Kagami doesn’t answer, just shuffles in as quietly as possible in the hopes that he can make it to the bedroom before—

“Why am I not surprised?” Aomine says, amusement colouring his tone when he speaks. Kagami watches as Aomine gives him a once-over; from the bandaged ankle up to the basketball jersey. “Subtle.”

“I just wanted to practise a little before work,” Kagami says, resigned, falling onto the sofa next to Aomine.

“Well, at least we’re doing better than Takao and whatever-the-fuck he’s trying to achieve with Midorima,” Aomine chuckles.

Kagami groans, too in pain to think about what a disastrous day it has been, and drops his head onto Aomine’s lap.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Kagami asks innocently.

Of course…he knows exactly what. He might have done it on purpose. He’s crossed a line now, but in reality he crossed that line long ago. After all, this is his new normal. Their new normal. These things are to be expected and life has kept pushing him in that direction. So…

“This is getting ridiculous,” Aomine says, walking over and tucking the tip of his finger behind the elastic waistband of Kagami’s underwear—Aomine’s underwear.

“It’s laundry day,” Kagami explains with a shrug, ignoring Aomine when he snaps the underwear against his skin. “I ran out of my own.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s true.” It’s not. But he wanted to see how much he could get away with.

And now Aomine is carefully watching him with fascination, taking in the entire sight of Kagami in nothing but his underwear, still toying with the elastic of it. It’s not a special piece of clothing by any stretch of the imagination, it looks just like every other pair of underwear either of them have ever owned in their lives, but the plain black cotton hugs the swell of Kagami’s thighs perfectly and the crotch leaves just the right amount to the imagination.

“I definitely don’t believe you,” Aomine says.

“Well, it’s true,” Kagami insists, although now a little breathlessly, because Aomine has dipped the tip of his finger even further down and he’s inching ever closer to a certain something.

Maybe Kagami should have expected this, but this level of attention really is a lot more intense than he was hoping for.

“Anyway, I better get back to the laundry—”

Kagami turns to leave, which in turn removes Aomine’s finger from the underwear, but he’s stopped immediately by Aomine’s hand around his wrist instead.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“...To do laundry?”

Kagami turns his neck to face Aomine and there’s a whole new look on his face. A look which…well, Kagami is very used to at this point, and yet it still sends a signal from his brain right down to his…ahem, thing.

“Mm,” Aomine hums. “After.”

“After..?” Kagami questions, but he already knows. “After what?”

“After I get you out of my clothes.”