Ship: Kagami/Himuro Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED Word Count: 425
(actually nothing to do with song/lyrics but bon jovi made me think new jersey au)
***
“Are you really gonna trust the boardwalk clams?”
Taiga casts a sidelong glance at Tatsuya, the fried clam that’s in his hand right now, and then back at the tourist arguing with her companion about food safety. Tatsuya grins back, smacking his lips before reaching for another.
“Why did they come to the shore if they’re not eating fried shit?” Taiga says.
Tatsuya shrugs. “More for us.”
“It’s not like, a limited supply.”
Tatsuya picks up another fried clam; in the hazy sunlight Taiga can see the grease glistening on his fingertips. This time Tatsuya holds it out in front of Taiga’s face. Taiga could just take it, but he knows what Tatsuya’s really asking and leans in, grabbing the clam with his teeth and licking Tatsuya’s fingers, oil sticking on his tongue and tasting like summer, thick and salty. The smell of seafood and ocean clings to everything here; even in the fall Taiga still finds dirty hoodies on the floor of Tatsuya’s closet that smell like the shore, like all of this, sea and shellfish and sweat and hair gel.
“I want pickles," says Tatsuya.
“You’re going to get dehydrated.”
Tatsuya looks at Taiga as if to say he knows what he’s doing, and, well, he has a kind of insane tolerance for salt. But still, it’s hot and humid and gross and Tatsuya’s sweated out probably a gallon of water today already. His feet are bare against the bottom bar of the stool; his flip-flop tan is sharply defined against his foot (it’s hard to imagine the rest of Tatsuya as that pale now, the way he gets every winter as the face of their hemisphere turns away from the sun). God, Taiga wants to kiss him, pick him up and carry him into the water and go out to sea. Take him surfing, maybe, that’s a more plausible thought (practicality, though—two people on a surfboard?) or just wade in, say they’re going into their ankles and end up with their shorts soaked through. A group of obviously drunk and underage kids passes them, giggling and shoving each other across the boards. Taiga thinks about that song about sex under the boardwalk, and it sounds pretty gross and terrible actually, but with Tatsuya it might still be fun.
“I want to go into the water,” Taiga says (more like a complaint than he’d meant).
“Okay,” says Tatsuya. “When we’re done with this and I get my pickles.”
Taiga rolls his eyes but bumps Tatsuya’s knee with his under the table.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Word Count: 425
(actually nothing to do with song/lyrics but bon jovi made me think new jersey au)
***
“Are you really gonna trust the boardwalk clams?”
Taiga casts a sidelong glance at Tatsuya, the fried clam that’s in his hand right now, and then back at the tourist arguing with her companion about food safety. Tatsuya grins back, smacking his lips before reaching for another.
“Why did they come to the shore if they’re not eating fried shit?” Taiga says.
Tatsuya shrugs. “More for us.”
“It’s not like, a limited supply.”
Tatsuya picks up another fried clam; in the hazy sunlight Taiga can see the grease glistening on his fingertips. This time Tatsuya holds it out in front of Taiga’s face. Taiga could just take it, but he knows what Tatsuya’s really asking and leans in, grabbing the clam with his teeth and licking Tatsuya’s fingers, oil sticking on his tongue and tasting like summer, thick and salty. The smell of seafood and ocean clings to everything here; even in the fall Taiga still finds dirty hoodies on the floor of Tatsuya’s closet that smell like the shore, like all of this, sea and shellfish and sweat and hair gel.
“I want pickles," says Tatsuya.
“You’re going to get dehydrated.”
Tatsuya looks at Taiga as if to say he knows what he’s doing, and, well, he has a kind of insane tolerance for salt. But still, it’s hot and humid and gross and Tatsuya’s sweated out probably a gallon of water today already. His feet are bare against the bottom bar of the stool; his flip-flop tan is sharply defined against his foot (it’s hard to imagine the rest of Tatsuya as that pale now, the way he gets every winter as the face of their hemisphere turns away from the sun). God, Taiga wants to kiss him, pick him up and carry him into the water and go out to sea. Take him surfing, maybe, that’s a more plausible thought (practicality, though—two people on a surfboard?) or just wade in, say they’re going into their ankles and end up with their shorts soaked through. A group of obviously drunk and underage kids passes them, giggling and shoving each other across the boards. Taiga thinks about that song about sex under the boardwalk, and it sounds pretty gross and terrible actually, but with Tatsuya it might still be fun.
“I want to go into the water,” Taiga says (more like a complaint than he’d meant).
“Okay,” says Tatsuya. “When we’re done with this and I get my pickles.”
Taiga rolls his eyes but bumps Tatsuya’s knee with his under the table.