Ship: Imayoshi/Hanamiya Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: tags omitted Other Tags: tags omitted Word Count: 543 words
So much violence. Sexualized violence, sexual content, Imayoshi and Hanamiya being fucked up and delicious and THEM. Set during Imayoshi’s second year/Hanamiya’s first year of high school.
***
They’re fighting for position under the basket, jostling each other. There’s a sudden snap of a gleam in Hanamiya’s eyes, a brightness akin to a knife being unsheathed, and Imayoshi knows what will happen even before he hears the crack.
Sakurai hits the floor hard, cradling his arm against his chest. He’s pale with pain, teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep himself silent, and Imayoshi’s glare at Hanamiya is an accusation. Hanamiya smiles back; if they weren’t on court, Hanamiya would be blowing kisses, Imayoshi knows, and Imayoshi’s temper flares.
Oh, he knows Hanamiya inside and out, knows the rotten core of the other boy’s heart, but he’d never thought Hanamiya would be stupid enough to play those tricks on Imayoshi’s team.
A lesson needs to be learnt here and like a good senpai, Imayoshi will make sure he is the one to teach it to Hanamiya.
*
“Ah--” Hanamiya pants, a wide smile stretching from ear to ear. It looks like he could open his mouth and devour the world, so Imayoshi punches him right in the mouth. He skins his knuckles against Hanamiya’s teeth, leaves blood smudged over Hanamiya’s lips, and Hanamiya smiles at him still.
Hanamiya’s tongue darts out, swipes over his own teeth, pressing to check if they’re loose.
“Didn’t knock any out, Imayoshi,” he croons, fond as a lover. “Want to try again?”
Imayoshi can feel his own lips peeling back from his teeth, the cold anger having thawed and transmuted into something far more insidious.
The next punch lands on Hanamiya’s cheek. It’s a good, hard blow; it vibrates up Imayoshi’s arm all the way to his shoulder and Imayoshi has to resist the temptation to shake his fist out to get the sting out of his knuckles.
Hanamiya moans and arches under Imayoshi, hands clawing at Imayoshi’s thighs.
“Again,” he begs-commands, eyes as dark and toxic as withering moss. “Come on, senpai, you can hit harder than that.”
He drops his voice a little, makes it rough and hungry, “I’m not one of your little Touou teammates. You don’t have to play nice with me.”
So Imayoshi doesn’t.
*
Afterwards, he admires the beauty that is Hanamiya destroyed. His long legs are littered with bite marks and bruises, purple-blue all the way down to his ankles where Imayoshi wrenched them apart and forced them behind Hanamiya’s neck even as the muscles threatened to tear. He’s bruised everywhere, from neck to wrists, from cheek to hip, discolored and smeared with streaks of white and red.
And he’s still smiling, still smugly sated.
He hasn’t learnt his lesson but Imayoshi knew he never would. Boys like Hanamiya don’t learn anything except how to grow more evil.
(And that, too, Imayoshi has taught him.)
He almost wishes he smoked. To put out a cigarette on Hanamiya right now, press it into his chest and drop it on him like he’s trash, would be supremely satisfying.
Instead, he kicks Hanamiya lightly in the crotch, making his whole body jerk.
“Get yourself cleaned up before the janitors come,” he says and turns to leave.
As he walks away, he hears Hanamiya shout, “Thank you for the meal, senpai!”
The sound of his footsteps don’t quite cover up Hanamiya’s laughter.
FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, M
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: tags omitted
Other Tags: tags omitted
Word Count: 543 words
So much violence. Sexualized violence, sexual content, Imayoshi and Hanamiya being fucked up and delicious and THEM. Set during Imayoshi’s second year/Hanamiya’s first year of high school.
***
They’re fighting for position under the basket, jostling each other. There’s a sudden snap of a gleam in Hanamiya’s eyes, a brightness akin to a knife being unsheathed, and Imayoshi knows what will happen even before he hears the crack.
Sakurai hits the floor hard, cradling his arm against his chest. He’s pale with pain, teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep himself silent, and Imayoshi’s glare at Hanamiya is an accusation. Hanamiya smiles back; if they weren’t on court, Hanamiya would be blowing kisses, Imayoshi knows, and Imayoshi’s temper flares.
Oh, he knows Hanamiya inside and out, knows the rotten core of the other boy’s heart, but he’d never thought Hanamiya would be stupid enough to play those tricks on Imayoshi’s team.
A lesson needs to be learnt here and like a good senpai, Imayoshi will make sure he is the one to teach it to Hanamiya.
*
“Ah--” Hanamiya pants, a wide smile stretching from ear to ear. It looks like he could open his mouth and devour the world, so Imayoshi punches him right in the mouth. He skins his knuckles against Hanamiya’s teeth, leaves blood smudged over Hanamiya’s lips, and Hanamiya smiles at him still.
Hanamiya’s tongue darts out, swipes over his own teeth, pressing to check if they’re loose.
“Didn’t knock any out, Imayoshi,” he croons, fond as a lover. “Want to try again?”
Imayoshi can feel his own lips peeling back from his teeth, the cold anger having thawed and transmuted into something far more insidious.
The next punch lands on Hanamiya’s cheek. It’s a good, hard blow; it vibrates up Imayoshi’s arm all the way to his shoulder and Imayoshi has to resist the temptation to shake his fist out to get the sting out of his knuckles.
Hanamiya moans and arches under Imayoshi, hands clawing at Imayoshi’s thighs.
“Again,” he begs-commands, eyes as dark and toxic as withering moss. “Come on, senpai, you can hit harder than that.”
He drops his voice a little, makes it rough and hungry, “I’m not one of your little Touou teammates. You don’t have to play nice with me.”
So Imayoshi doesn’t.
*
Afterwards, he admires the beauty that is Hanamiya destroyed. His long legs are littered with bite marks and bruises, purple-blue all the way down to his ankles where Imayoshi wrenched them apart and forced them behind Hanamiya’s neck even as the muscles threatened to tear. He’s bruised everywhere, from neck to wrists, from cheek to hip, discolored and smeared with streaks of white and red.
And he’s still smiling, still smugly sated.
He hasn’t learnt his lesson but Imayoshi knew he never would. Boys like Hanamiya don’t learn anything except how to grow more evil.
(And that, too, Imayoshi has taught him.)
He almost wishes he smoked. To put out a cigarette on Hanamiya right now, press it into his chest and drop it on him like he’s trash, would be supremely satisfying.
Instead, he kicks Hanamiya lightly in the crotch, making his whole body jerk.
“Get yourself cleaned up before the janitors come,” he says and turns to leave.
As he walks away, he hears Hanamiya shout, “Thank you for the meal, senpai!”
The sound of his footsteps don’t quite cover up Hanamiya’s laughter.