Ship: Aomine/Himuro Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED Word Count: 446
***
Aomine would like to think that he’s not totally pathetic over Himuro. Yeah, Himuro’s pretty; he’s got that lovely eye and lovelier mouth (spitting trash talk from across the court like venom, steel in his veins until you manage to fumble your way into hitting his buttons and all of a sudden it's molten) and a gorgeous fadeaway he takes even when no one’s guarding him because it still counts the same (two points, three, enough either way). And so yeah, Himuro makes him a little bit stupid, catching his eye from across the room, silver cufflinks glinting in the low light—but Himuro makes a lot of people stupid like that (and the way Kagami talks about it he’s a fucking serial flirt) so Aomine can’t feel too bad.
There's a drink in Himuro’s hand, telltale gold of some undiluted hard liquor, ice sparkling on top as he takes another sip, face frozen in place (of course he can handle that; of course he’s had that kind of practice; of course he knows how to look every bit as picturesque as some marquee superspy movie star). Aomine sighs, clenching his jaw. There’s only so much of this event he can take; Himuro moves away from his companion, a laugh on his face, and Aomine wants to make him laugh.
He might as well not let another chance pass him by, not let the shot clock tick out of seconds. He leaves his drink on the bar, wipes his hand on the inside of his pants pocket, and makes his way over. Himuro catches his eye again when he’s halfway there, cocking his head and leaning his elbow on the well-placed table.
“Aomine. It’s good to see you.”
“Uh,” says Aomine, coughing. “Good to see you, too. Nice party, huh?”
Himuro smiles, bringing the glass back up to his lips. “Yes it is.”
“Are you staying here tonight?”
(Maybe that’s too bold; maybe that’s too forward; Aomine’s bad at being subtle sometimes and maybe Himuro will appreciate him sticking to what he knows how to do, if that’s a little bit better.)
“They booked me a room,” says Himuro, inclining his head as if waiting for Aomine to continue.
“You want to show me what it looks like?”
“Now?” says Himuro.
Aomine nods, sharply, before he can even consider (though he’d rather not stay here and wait for Himuro to change his mind while he pictures him, stripping off the three-piece suit, sweat on his flushed face, lips staining Aomine’s mouth with alcohol).
“Let’s not waste time,” says Himuro, and damn if Aomine doesn’t hang back just to watch his ass as he walks.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Word Count: 446
***
Aomine would like to think that he’s not totally pathetic over Himuro. Yeah, Himuro’s pretty; he’s got that lovely eye and lovelier mouth (spitting trash talk from across the court like venom, steel in his veins until you manage to fumble your way into hitting his buttons and all of a sudden it's molten) and a gorgeous fadeaway he takes even when no one’s guarding him because it still counts the same (two points, three, enough either way). And so yeah, Himuro makes him a little bit stupid, catching his eye from across the room, silver cufflinks glinting in the low light—but Himuro makes a lot of people stupid like that (and the way Kagami talks about it he’s a fucking serial flirt) so Aomine can’t feel too bad.
There's a drink in Himuro’s hand, telltale gold of some undiluted hard liquor, ice sparkling on top as he takes another sip, face frozen in place (of course he can handle that; of course he’s had that kind of practice; of course he knows how to look every bit as picturesque as some marquee superspy movie star). Aomine sighs, clenching his jaw. There’s only so much of this event he can take; Himuro moves away from his companion, a laugh on his face, and Aomine wants to make him laugh.
He might as well not let another chance pass him by, not let the shot clock tick out of seconds. He leaves his drink on the bar, wipes his hand on the inside of his pants pocket, and makes his way over. Himuro catches his eye again when he’s halfway there, cocking his head and leaning his elbow on the well-placed table.
“Aomine. It’s good to see you.”
“Uh,” says Aomine, coughing. “Good to see you, too. Nice party, huh?”
Himuro smiles, bringing the glass back up to his lips. “Yes it is.”
“Are you staying here tonight?”
(Maybe that’s too bold; maybe that’s too forward; Aomine’s bad at being subtle sometimes and maybe Himuro will appreciate him sticking to what he knows how to do, if that’s a little bit better.)
“They booked me a room,” says Himuro, inclining his head as if waiting for Aomine to continue.
“You want to show me what it looks like?”
“Now?” says Himuro.
Aomine nods, sharply, before he can even consider (though he’d rather not stay here and wait for Himuro to change his mind while he pictures him, stripping off the three-piece suit, sweat on his flushed face, lips staining Aomine’s mouth with alcohol).
“Let’s not waste time,” says Himuro, and damn if Aomine doesn’t hang back just to watch his ass as he walks.