Chapter Text
Kise’s hair is as soft as it looks.
Yukio stares at the locker room ceiling, traces the faint outline of a water stain, and tries not to come immediately as Kise mouths at the head of his cock. He grips the bench with his left hand so his right stays gentle where he’s set it on Kise’s head.
Kise’s brow furrows, his tongue curious as he tastes along Kasamatsu’s glans, dipping lower to trace where his shaft meets the head. When Kise pulls away, his mouth sets into a pout. “Senpai,” Kise says, eyes flicking up to Kasamatsu’s, “don’t be so gentle with me. It’s not like you.”
Yukio wheezes, hand flexing in Kise’s hair. “What?” he demands, kicking the words out of his mouth as Kise continues to sulk at him. “Do you want me to . . .” He can’t finish his sentence, but Kise nods anyway, as though he completely understands Yukio’s intent.
Then, he curls his hands under Yukio’s thighs and pulls him forward on the bench. Caught off guard, Yukio yanks Kise’s hair. “Yes, like that, senpai.” Kise flushes, cheeks blossoming red. When he looks back at Yukio, Kise’s eyes glow. Yukio can’t look away.
Sometimes Yukio really, really wished past Kaijou captains had left a how-to guide to captaining. Or notes. Or some illegible shorthand that Yukio could desperately try to decipher in hopes of finding any advice on dealing with difficult club members. Yukio would take anything.
“Get on with it, freshman,” Yukio snaps. “Someone could come by.”
And wouldn’t that be something? Some poor student detouring through the sports complex, maybe one of Kise’s admirers trying to leave a confession in his locker, stumbling onto this scene: Kise Ryouta—the model, the basketball prodigy, Kise Ryouta, Kaijou’s new golden boy—on his knees in front of his basketball captain, who apparently can’t talk to a girl but who can face-fuck his first-year phenom.
Kise’s voice pulls Yukio’s gaze away from the door. “Anyone would love to have me on my knees for them,” Kise says lightly. His lashes are low, casting a shadow across his face. Surprisingly Kise isn’t pouting, his expression settling into something smooth. Mask-like. “Except Kasamatsu-senpai.”
“You can go find one of them, then,” Yukio says. “Just don’t embarrass this team. I’ll kick your ass.”
Kise laughs, and it sounds genuine. “Senpai,” he teases, tilting his head to look up. He ends up with his cheek pressed to Yukio’s bare thigh. Casually, Kise begins to stroke him again, his palm warm and dry. It contrasts with his wet tongue, which finds the thick vein along Yukio’s cock. Yukio gets hard again under Kise’s ministrations, leaving wet streaks of precome on Kise’s cheek as he licks. “Do you really want me to leave you like this?”
Yes, Yukio thinks. Maybe. A cold shower would wash away the warmth of Kise’s mouth, the mocking timbre in his voice, the soft, wet sound of his sucking. Kise is the most beautiful person Yukio has ever seen, and he’s kneeling between Yukio’s spread legs, licking Yukio’s cock, and moaning like it’s all he ever wanted.
Yukio is only human. He is capable of want, and he wants.
But here, with Kise on his knees, Yukio isn’t sure if he can afford the price of this. At the same time, he isn’t sure if he can afford the price of giving it up, either.
Kise glances up at him through his lashes, thick and dark. Yukio would think it’s his makeup, but he’s seen Kise fresh-faced after a shower. He only wears eyeliner. “Senpai?”
Whatever this is, Yukio thinks he has to see it through. He has his pride.
“You’re the one who jumped me after practice.” Yukio cradles Kise’s jaw, and the other boy freezes at his touch. For the first time in this interaction, Kise looks uncertain. It makes Yukio smile. Mildly, he adds, “Don’t let me keep you.”
Kise has his pride, too.
All Yukio gets is a flash of gold before Kise takes him in his mouth, easing his head forward until Yukio’s cock is all in his mouth. It must be an awkward angle, but Kise moans anyway when Yukio’s hips jerk forward, his cockhead hitting the back of Kise’s mouth. Kise swallows, his neck trembling when Yukio’s hand slips to curl around it.
With his other hand, he slides his fingers through Kise’s hair until he can pull the hair at the nape of his neck. “Fuck,” he says lowly, just holding Kise there for a moment. Heat pools in his stomach, and for a wild moment Yukio thinks he could come just like this, spilling down Kise’s throat.
He lets go of Kise. Immediately, the other boy pulls off his cock, coughing and spluttering into the crook of his elbow. His mouth is red and wet, and Yukio’s stomach clenches when Kise licks his lips.
“Again,” he demands. He gives Yukio an imperious look, his hands curled into loose fists on his thighs. When Yukio gets to his feet, Kise’s expression turns panicked. “No, I said—”
Yukio would feel bad about the way Kise yelps when Yukio twists his hand and tugs him back by his hair. But through the tears, Kise leans forward and tries to get Yukio back into his mouth.
“Relax,” Yukio orders, hand twitching like he might pull again. Kise stills, but he still looks mutinous. Yukio almost smirks; it’s the same face Kise makes when Yukio announces conditioning exercises for practice. “And be patient.”
He hasn’t done any of this, ever, but Yukio at least knows not to be reckless. He doesn’t plan to misstep and accidentally trip over Kise, and thus knock the both of them out for half of the season.
Yukio maneuvers Kise so his back is to the bench. Yukio considers setting his foot on the bench and Kise suddenly giggles. Yukio glowers at him. Unrepentantly, Kise says, “Senpai wants this, too.”
“I never said I didn’t.” Fuck it, Yukio puts his foot on the bench. He moves his hand back to Kise’s hair. For a moment, he enjoys its softness, the silky way it falls. The five products Kise uses on just his hair are worth it, even if Yukio still isn’t used to how sweet they smell. No wonder Hayakawa keeps talking about marshmallows. “Unless you still want to go find one of those other people who would love to see you like this?”
Kise blinks up at him. Then, slowly, he tips his head back and opens his mouth. When Yukio slides his cock between his lips, Kise moans, low and soft. He keeps his hands atop his thighs, shorts bunched between his fingers. Nervous, suddenly, Yukio keeps his thrusts shallow and slow. The downside is that he can feel the drag of Kise’s tongue and the twitch of his mouth each time Yukio fucks into him.
He keeps his eyes on Kise—from how he fans his lashes while Yukio uses him, to how his nostrils flare when his breath hitches. The locker room is stuffy, and the air between them is hot. Sweat drips down Yukio’s back. Kise’s face is flushed and warm, and Yukio hates how he’s never seen Kise look half as exerted on the court.
Yukio only realizes he’s picked up his pace when tears fall from Kise’s eyes, tracking through the red on his cheeks. Yukio’s hips snap forward and Kise gags and whines, and the noise lances through Yukio. Heat prickles down his chest and back, and Yukio feels desperate like he’s tumbling headfirst down a tunnel. His desperation is reflected in Kise’s eyes, and his rhythm is reflected in the way Kise has shoved his hand into his shorts, jerking himself off while Yukio uses his mouth.
Kise’s eyelashes flutter when he comes, his shoulders going stiff.
Yukio comes while watching Kise.
- - -
The thing is, they’ve all heard the rumors about Kise.
When Coach announced his intention to scout Kise last season, Yukio caught the look his captain and vice-captain exchanged, the smirks the then third-year players shared. One of them had squeezed Yukio’s shoulder and muttered have fun, captain before resigning from the team. Lucky you, said another player, lip curling like he was still replaying Yukio’s botched play each time he looked at Yukio. The only one who didn’t speak to him derisively was their retiring captain, who slapped Yukio on the back and told him to keep an eye on Kise.
“You know what kind of team we are,” he had said. “You make sure he learns that.”
Because the rumors all said that Kise, for all his talent and skill, didn’t make the Teiko team for how pretty he could sink a basket, how cleanly he dodged players left and right on his way to score, or how ruthlessly he could double the score on his own.
As well as he played, that kind of ball-handling wasn’t how he earned his spot.
Kise Ryouta fucked his way onto the team.
- - -
“He’s just a dumb kid,” Moriyama says suddenly, interrupting Kobori’s sort-of-interesting retelling of how his lab partner knocked over a tub of diluted acid with his elbow when Saito Hana asked him for a spare pen.
“No, he’s usually very good at chemistry.” Kobori frowns. He looks deeply disappointed in Moriyama. “You walked into a wall after Saito Hana said hello to you.”
“What? No.” Moriyama waves his chopsticks around. “Kise. He’s just a dumb kid.”
“I don’t want to talk about Kise,” Yukio interrupts. He thinks about Kise enough as it is. He’s been replaying that blowjob almost nonstop; sometimes, when it’s too quiet, he can hear Kise moaning. He scrapes the rest of his rice into his mouth, speaking and chewing. “If I hear one more thing about Kise, I will kill him and then myself.”
Kobori and Moriyama give him matching disappointed looks. Yukio pulls a face.
Kise Ryouta has been the talk of Kaijou since last year when the basketball team spilled their coach’s efforts to sign Kise to the team. Once last March’s Basketball Monthly confirmed where each Generation of Miracles player would attend high school, Kise appeared on Good Morning, Kanagawa, and expressed how excited he was to enroll at Kaijou High (hair styled away from his face, fresh-faced and sweet, not at all like the serious and narrow-eyed boy Yukio remembered from the game tape he borrowed from Coach). Since that television appearance, the school hasn’t stopped talking about Kise.
His fan club had been waiting by the gates on his first day.
Around them, Yukio’s classmates are talking about Kise. Every day, Yukio, against his will, gets to hear what Kise ate for lunch (rice, omelet, grilled chicken, and some chocolate for dessert), where he went during class breaks (nowhere, he stayed in the classroom), and if Kise fell asleep in class (yes). Worse, being captain of the basketball team puts him in the painful position of being the person Kise’s fans go to for insider information about Kise. Thankfully, Moriyama’s fearlessly terrible flirting keeps away most of the girls. Kobori politely turns away the rest.
And as though that wasn’t enough, Yukio can’t even get a break at home. Aside from memories of the blowjob, he is haunted by dreams centering on Kise—Kise skipping practice; Kise outpacing nearly everyone on the running drills; Kise walking up to Yukio and saying, yeah, I do have a problem with that; Kise quitting the team; Kise sinking to his knees and opening his mouth and arching into Yukio’s hands.
Yukio’s face heats. “I don’t want to talk about Kise.”
“I’m just saying,” Moriyama persists, even though Yukio ignores him. “He’s 15 years old. He models. His middle school team was the scourge of Japanese basketball. Half of the people who meet him want to kiss his ass, the other half whisper about how he fucked his way to everything he has.” Moriyama slyly glances at Yukio. “And one person flat-out tells him that he’s not important.”
“Just say what you mean, Yoshi,” Yukio sighs. He glances outside the window and sees a flash of blond hair. “Is that . . .”
Kobori follows him to the window. Moriyama cranes his neck. “What?”
“Where is that asshole going?” Yukio exclaims.
- - -
Blank-faced, Kise takes Yukio’s lecture with surprising grace. Only when Kise blinks at him after Yukio has yelled himself hoarse, does he realize that Kise tuned him out entirely.
Yukio hauls him close. Kise frowns at him.
“What is wrong with you?” Yukio searches his face. “You skipped school and practice to go to another school and humiliate a player. Why?”
“Humiliate is a strong word,” Kise defends. “And I did it for Kaijou. I was recruiting someone.”
Yukio should know better than to engage in Kise’s bullshit, but he doesn’t know a faster way to figure out Kise’s thought processes. “Explain.”
“Our phantom sixth man,” Kise says like that explains anything. He looks down at the hand Yukio has clenched in his collar and then back at Yukio. “Kurokocchi. We always won with him, so I thought he should come to Kaijou. I went to Seirin to convince him to come to Kaijou.”
It’s such a simple answer. Guileless. Yukio grits his teeth. He forces the words out. “And did Kurokocchi agree to switch?”
At that, Kise’s face darkens, and his mouth trembles. “No,” he says. “He refused.”
Yukio lets go of Kise, making a dismissive noise at the back of his throat. “I bet that was hard to hear.”
“Of course it was.” Kise’s eyes flash, first hurt then anger. Yukio watches him. “I love Kurokocchi. I bared my heart to him, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Yeah, that really sucks.” He narrows his eyes. Yukio is seething. “It does suck. Probably as much as it sucks getting a call from another captain that my player is harassing his players, at their practice.”
“Don’t mock my feelings, senpai.”
“I’m mocking your priorities. You embarrassed your team, and all you can think about is how your buddy wants nothing to do with you.” Yukio can almost see the not my team on Kise’s lips before the rest of Yukio’s words hit him. Kise’s breath picks up, something staticky in his breath when he exhales, and Yukio almost wants to apologize. But the words are out, and Yukio watches as Kise picks himself up, the echo of their conversation still around them.
“I won’t do it again,” Kise says. It’s probably the closest thing to an apology Yukio will get. Kise doesn’t meet his eyes, and Yukio isn’t naive enough to think Kise is embarrassed.
Yukio turns away, expecting Kise to leave. Kise, because he’s difficult and spoiled and does whatever he wants to do, does not leave. Yukio ignores him, going to sit at the clubroom desk. He has acquisition forms for additional basketballs and practice jerseys to complete because being captain is more than just being a rallying point on the court or an assertive voice during practice. Being captain means administrative tasks, long nights, and stupid freshmen who don’t know when they’re being dismissed.
“What?” Yukio snaps when Kise continues to stand there. His attention lingers on Yukio like he’s trying to figure him out. Most of Kise is pretense and flash, but sometimes, when it is just the two of them, Kise doesn’t bother with masks. Maybe he doesn’t respect Yukio enough to bother with games, which suits Yukio just fine. He likes to know where he stands with Kise. “If you want something, just ask.”
But Kise just stands there, dawdling, hands shoved in his pockets and rocking once back onto his heels. He looks at some point over Yukio’s shoulder and, finally, says, “Everyone is gone.”
“And?” Because Yukio knew it would set back team unity if he ripped into Kise with an audience. Because Yukio knew no one liked Kise, seeing him get reprimanded would be a spectacle that would impact Kise long after Yukio graduated. Kaijou would never win if people didn’t respect their ace, even if their ace seemed to want to be anywhere else but Kaijou.
Yukio gestures to him to continue. “Why are you still here?”
For a moment, Kise looks frustrated, golden eyes locking onto Yukio. “We’re alone.” He emphasizes alone .
Yukio stares at him. “It amazes me,” he begins slowly, “how you can never just answer a simple question. Why are you here? What do you want? Choose one and answer.”
Kise flushes. But Yukio’s temper pushes him to action. “You’re so mean, Kasamatsu-senpai,” Kise complains, cheeks scarlet. He strides over to Yukio and stands over him. Up close, Yukio can see just a glimmer of wetness at the corners of his eyes. And he can see his own wide-eyed gaze. “You started this. Take responsibility.”
And then he sinks into Yukio’s lap, somehow fitting into the small wooden chair with him. Kise hooks his fingers into Yukio’s collar and tugs him forward. Like a secret, he leans in, whispering, “I’ve been thinking about it all the time. But my fingers don’t get as deep as your cock.”
Hands flat on Yukio’s chest, Kise nuzzles him. He nips the edge of Yukio’s jaw, licking away the brief hurt.
The memories hit him hard, Kise’s hair under his hand, Kise’s tears when Yukio used him, Kise coming apart because of Yukio.
Yukio hopes Kise can’t tell his hands are shaking when he settles them on Kise’s waist. He wants to push him off, but he’s certain that looking down at Kise sprawled on the floor will be worse.
Kise makes a sweet noise when Yukio kisses him. Sports are breeding grounds for experimentation, but Yukio hasn’t kissed anyone before Kise. He hasn’t gotten off with anyone but Kise. His anxiety around girls and caution around boys were obstacles, even putting aside the fact Yukio’s never met anyone that’s interested him enough to try.
The sweet noise emboldens him. makes Yukio kiss a little harder until Kise parts his lips and licks Yukio’s upper lip. Yukio can feel the shape of his mouth when he says, “I want to have a practice match with Seirin High School.”
Yukio shoves Kise off his lap. He rises to his feet. The heat that came with Kise’s kiss, with his body pressed against Yukio, turns to ice. Furious, Yukio says, “If you want something, ask for it like a man. Don’t try to seduce me. Have some self-respect.”
Kise doesn’t flinch, staring up at Yukio with a considering frown. He’s sprawled on his ass, his lips already a little swollen. On the ground, Kise looks small. Harmless. How someone who can light up a court can look so harmless, Yukio won’t ever understand. But he’s not dumb enough to fall for it again.
“I don’t care how they did things at Teiko,” Yukio continues, keeping his voice low, “but this is Kaijou.”
- - -
Kise gets his practice match, and he also gets his first loss of the season. It’s also his first loss ever, apparently, if Kise’s tears are to be believed.
Any comfort Yukio’s words might’ve had is lost when Midorima Shintarou opens his mouth.
“If I had a friend like that, I wouldn’t need enemies,” Moriyama says quietly, watching as Kise turns the fountain back on and sticks his face into the water. “Kind of explains a lot.”
“All it explains is that they’re all assholes,” Yukio replies. He thinks about Teiko. He thinks about Kaijou. He watches Kise’s shoulders curve inward, water soaking his back. Kise’s fingers curl around the fountain’s edge before he pushes himself up, slicking wet hair out of his eyes.
Yukio knows Midorima didn’t look back, but Kise watches the direction he left, bringing his shirt up to wipe his face. He keeps it there, hiding his mouth.
Yukio nudges Moriyama, moving away from the doorway. “Come on. You can baby him later.”
- - -
Kise throws himself into practice with a dogged determination that unsettles Yukio as much as it unsettles the rest of the team. Kise is still flashy, taking an extra step here and there when setting up for a shot, and he’s still selfish, refusing to pass when he could make a 3-pointer instead. But there’s a furious precision in his plays now, his game becoming tighter and tighter the more Kise practices.
He’s improving, Yukio realizes. This isn’t a surprise because Kise’s whole thing is learning the moves players have spent years perfecting and then executing those same moves better. Yukio even catches Kise practicing his drive, weaving around unseen opponents as Kise sprints down the court, the ball powerful in his hands.
(So that’s how Kise sees him, Yukio thinks, catching the flash of Kise’s eyes, the set of his jaw as he bounces the ball only to grab it again and shoot, the movements so familiar that Yukio can almost feel the basketball in his hands.)
Kise didn’t give a shit before, Yukio knows. But now he does, and so now Kise is improving by choice. So Kise is going to keep improving because Kise has his pride. Because Kise is a sore loser. Because Kise took Yukio’s words to heart.
Yukio went about this all wrong.
- - -
“You get what you put in,” Moriyama says to Yukio before spinning on his heel, cup of water in his hand, as he walks to Kise. Yukio watches him go with a sigh. Kobori pats him on the shoulder and then holds firm to keep Yukio from trailing after Moriyama.
“Can’t have our little freshman melt in this heat.” Moriyama grins, passing the water to Kise.
Kise stares at Moriyama, down at the water, and then back up at Moriyama. “Thank you, Moriyama-senpai.” Kise smiles, a little bland but perfectly polite. But he doesn’t drink the water until Moriyama gently pushes the cup upwards as a cue. Then he sips the water with halting little sips until the cup is empty. Relief flashes across his face, quickly hidden when he turns and his hair falls to cover his eyes.
Yukio snorts. Moriyama is the last person to poison anyone.
“It is hot,” Kise says after a few moments. He pulls his shirt up to dab at his face, back slick with sweat. “I expected Kanagawa to be cooler.”
“Yeah, this summer has been hotter than the last two. I remember my first year, I was wearing long sleeves.”
It’s bland, awkward small talk, but Moriyama never loses his cheerful affect even when Kise keeps his body forward and never turns to face Moriyama. Kise keeps it up until his turn comes up again in the running drill.
Yukio catches the faint, polite smile Kise gives before he leaves Moriyama.
- - -
You get what you put in, Yukio thinks. He takes a second to steel himself and tries not to falter when Kise’s eyes drift to his mouth. He almost quits when Kise’s cheeks go a little pink before he forces himself to meet Yukio’s gaze again.
It was a mistake the first time. And the second. Focus, Yukio.
“Yes, Kasamatsu-senpai?” Kise has his arms crossed behind his back, waiting obediently for whatever Yukio plans to say. Yukio remembers just how obedient Kise can be when he feels like it, and he almost loses his composure again.
(Mistake, mistake, mistake.)
At this rate, it might be better that he give up.
“I’m coming with you to watch Shutoku play Seirin,” Yukio says quickly. Kise blinks at him. “We’ll get dinner after. My treat.”
It doesn’t matter what kind of team Teiko was. Yukio will show Kise what kind of team Kaijou is.
“Okay.” Kise smiles at him. It’s small, but his eyes crinkle a little, and it warms his face in a way that catches Yukio off guard. He was expecting Kise to try and dissuade him. He was even ready with explanations if Kise demanded to know why ( your basketball strategy is weak, your repertoire of moves should be bigger, we got off on the wrong foot, let me make it up to you--)
Yukio can’t help but smile back. “Okay.”