Ship: Kagami/Himuro Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED Word Count: 430
***
They’re the first ones at the rink and the last ones to leave; that’s how it’s always been on the days they’re not playing on the asphalt in the street, feet sweating in their rollerblades before the sun is even that high above them, knocking each other off the puck or the ball, whatever they’re playing with that day. But today is a rink day, indoor surface under the wheels of their skates; there’s an ice rink not too far from here and while that’s hockey as much as this, this is their hockey, the hockey they grew up on, how they learned to pass and check and shoot and block.
There are advantages to staying so late, besides the extra time where they can fool around, nudging each other toward the boards and slapping each other’s sticks while the puck rolls away, Taiga picking Tatsuya up in celebration when he scores a goal and kissing him awkwardly with their helmets. And then there’s now, when they’re in the locker room, the sweat that’s drying on their skin from themselves and each other and the musty air. It's pretty gross, but they’re used to it, so it’s not so bad—well, it is. But still.
Tatsuya removes his gear as he always does; helmet, shoulders, right side pads, left side pads, skates; he puts it back in his bag in that order and then goes to deal with his skates. Taiga’s having difficulty with the double knot in his skates; he ends up kicking one of his elbow pads over to Tatsuya, who picks it up. It’s getting a little worn; both of them are tough on equipment (Tatsuya more than Taiga; he’ll admit it), from playing hard and playing all the goddamn time.
“We should order new ones,” Tatsuya says, thinking back to the ones he’d stuffed in his own bag.
“Huh?” says Taiga, having finally loosened the knot in his laces.
“Elbow pads,” says Tatsuya, tossing Taiga’s back to him.
Taiga looks it over. “Yeah. Just fucking bought this one, though.”
Tatsuya hums, stripping off his undershirt; the bruise on his side from that blocked shot last week is finally fading, and Taiga’s noticed that, too. He looks Tatsuya up and down, as if noticing the way he looks shirtless for the first time.
“I know you don’t need me to tell you this, but you’re gorgeous,” Taiga says.
“Thank you,” says Tatsuya, quiet; the sincerity in Taiga’s voice, even if it’s about something like this is—well.
(They do have the locker room to themselves, after all.)
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Word Count: 430
***
They’re the first ones at the rink and the last ones to leave; that’s how it’s always been on the days they’re not playing on the asphalt in the street, feet sweating in their rollerblades before the sun is even that high above them, knocking each other off the puck or the ball, whatever they’re playing with that day. But today is a rink day, indoor surface under the wheels of their skates; there’s an ice rink not too far from here and while that’s hockey as much as this, this is their hockey, the hockey they grew up on, how they learned to pass and check and shoot and block.
There are advantages to staying so late, besides the extra time where they can fool around, nudging each other toward the boards and slapping each other’s sticks while the puck rolls away, Taiga picking Tatsuya up in celebration when he scores a goal and kissing him awkwardly with their helmets. And then there’s now, when they’re in the locker room, the sweat that’s drying on their skin from themselves and each other and the musty air. It's pretty gross, but they’re used to it, so it’s not so bad—well, it is. But still.
Tatsuya removes his gear as he always does; helmet, shoulders, right side pads, left side pads, skates; he puts it back in his bag in that order and then goes to deal with his skates. Taiga’s having difficulty with the double knot in his skates; he ends up kicking one of his elbow pads over to Tatsuya, who picks it up. It’s getting a little worn; both of them are tough on equipment (Tatsuya more than Taiga; he’ll admit it), from playing hard and playing all the goddamn time.
“We should order new ones,” Tatsuya says, thinking back to the ones he’d stuffed in his own bag.
“Huh?” says Taiga, having finally loosened the knot in his laces.
“Elbow pads,” says Tatsuya, tossing Taiga’s back to him.
Taiga looks it over. “Yeah. Just fucking bought this one, though.”
Tatsuya hums, stripping off his undershirt; the bruise on his side from that blocked shot last week is finally fading, and Taiga’s noticed that, too. He looks Tatsuya up and down, as if noticing the way he looks shirtless for the first time.
“I know you don’t need me to tell you this, but you’re gorgeous,” Taiga says.
“Thank you,” says Tatsuya, quiet; the sincerity in Taiga’s voice, even if it’s about something like this is—well.
(They do have the locker room to themselves, after all.)