Ship: Murasakibara/Kise Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED Word Count: 430
***
What's between them is uncomplicated, though they can be complicated people. Kise unnecessarily so, Murasakibara thinks, but he can push that issue some other time, when they're not on a date and Kise's going to talk too much anyway. Right now his voice is silent as he breaks off another piece of the broken beer stein in front of them.
Murasakibara prefers mirrors if he has a choice, the crunch of the back coating and the way it scrapes dull against his teeth, the way the light bounces off of them onto the ceiling like some kind of anti-shadow (the glass faces of watches do that, too, but they're not nearly so large enough as to make for much more than an absent snack on the couch, too thin and gone too soon). Kise prefers to keep thr mirrors intact so he can stare at his own pretty face in them, and Murasakibara will concede him that in his own house at least. And this isn't bad at all, the curvature smooth under Murasakibara's tongue until the sudden roughness of the edge, the pleasant crack as it breaks to smithereens.
Murasakibara dips his finger in the glittery dust, sucks it off like powdered sugar, watches Kise's eyes (sharp, even more than the shards between his lips) watchthe action.
"You're teasing," says Kise, pouting his lips.
They're swollen, nicked and scratched from all the glass, shards sticking to the insides like bone, sparkling in the light like surrealist makeup. It looks cute, and Murasakibara's hungry. He leans in to catch Kise's lips in his, swipe his tongue across the shards and swallow them down. Kise’s too quick, though, nimble and a fast learner; he swipes a few back and they clink against his teeth like fingers typing on a keyboard, like duller versions of wind chimes.
“Let me have a mirror next time, Kise-chin,” Murasakibara says.
Kise sighs, as if Murasakibara’s just asked the impossible of him. He’s too dramatic, but even this is simple, straightforward, a request. Murasakibara holds out his hands, his fingertips cracked from slipping on serrated edges without caution like a backyard pond skated over until it’s almost melted. Kise is more careful and diligent; his fingers are barely nicked though his nails are split where they haven’t been filed down enough, but they’re still soft. Kise clasp’s Murasakibara’s hand in his, the gaps deep as chasms between Murasakibara’s fingers.
“Give me ornaments?”
Murasakibara can’t say no to that. He falls asleep that night already dreaming of green glitter and delicate crunches under Kise’s teeth.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Word Count: 430
***
What's between them is uncomplicated, though they can be complicated people. Kise unnecessarily so, Murasakibara thinks, but he can push that issue some other time, when they're not on a date and Kise's going to talk too much anyway. Right now his voice is silent as he breaks off another piece of the broken beer stein in front of them.
Murasakibara prefers mirrors if he has a choice, the crunch of the back coating and the way it scrapes dull against his teeth, the way the light bounces off of them onto the ceiling like some kind of anti-shadow (the glass faces of watches do that, too, but they're not nearly so large enough as to make for much more than an absent snack on the couch, too thin and gone too soon). Kise prefers to keep thr mirrors intact so he can stare at his own pretty face in them, and Murasakibara will concede him that in his own house at least. And this isn't bad at all, the curvature smooth under Murasakibara's tongue until the sudden roughness of the edge, the pleasant crack as it breaks to smithereens.
Murasakibara dips his finger in the glittery dust, sucks it off like powdered sugar, watches Kise's eyes (sharp, even more than the shards between his lips) watchthe action.
"You're teasing," says Kise, pouting his lips.
They're swollen, nicked and scratched from all the glass, shards sticking to the insides like bone, sparkling in the light like surrealist makeup. It looks cute, and Murasakibara's hungry. He leans in to catch Kise's lips in his, swipe his tongue across the shards and swallow them down. Kise’s too quick, though, nimble and a fast learner; he swipes a few back and they clink against his teeth like fingers typing on a keyboard, like duller versions of wind chimes.
“Let me have a mirror next time, Kise-chin,” Murasakibara says.
Kise sighs, as if Murasakibara’s just asked the impossible of him. He’s too dramatic, but even this is simple, straightforward, a request. Murasakibara holds out his hands, his fingertips cracked from slipping on serrated edges without caution like a backyard pond skated over until it’s almost melted. Kise is more careful and diligent; his fingers are barely nicked though his nails are split where they haven’t been filed down enough, but they’re still soft. Kise clasp’s Murasakibara’s hand in his, the gaps deep as chasms between Murasakibara’s fingers.
“Give me ornaments?”
Murasakibara can’t say no to that. He falls asleep that night already dreaming of green glitter and delicate crunches under Kise’s teeth.