
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1955295.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroko_no_Basuke_|_Kuroko's_Basketball
  Relationship:
      Himuro_Tatsuya/Murasakibara_Atsushi
  Character:
      Himuro_Tatsuya, Murasakibara_Atsushi
  Additional Tags:
      Phone_Sex, Masturbation, Denial_of_Feelings, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What
      Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-06 Words: 1068
****** Grating ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "The chirp of Murasakibara's phone drags him awake, and even as he’s
     considering letting it ring itself out the peace is lost, the
     creeping tendrils of unconsciousness gone like they never were."
     Murasakibara isn't quite asleep when Himuro calls him, but he finds a
     way to relax anyway.
Murasakibara doesn’t want to answer his phone.
He’s more than half-asleep, hovering right at the end of unconsciousness and
waiting to see if proper sleep will come for him or not. It’s early, still, but
he doesn’t have any reason to be awake, and sleep is the most restful way to
pass the time until he has responsibilities again. But the chirp of his phone
drags him awake, and even as he’s considering letting it ring itself out the
peace is lost, the creeping tendrils of unconsciousness gone like they never
were. It doesn’t take much effort, after that, to reach over and scoop the
phone up, flip it open and bring it to his ear as he sighs for the loss of
relaxation.
“Yeah.”
“Atsushi.” He knows that voice, can identify it without the assistance of the
contact information on his phone. Besides, no one else calls him by his first
same.
“Muro-chin.” He rolls over onto his side. If it’s Himuro he doesn’t need to
even attempt politeness. “I was about to fall asleep.”
“Oh.” Himuro’s voice drops apologetic, softer like he can make up for waking
the other boy. The futility of it sets Murasakibara’s teeth on edge. “Do you
want me to go?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Murasakibara sighs. “I’m awake now. What do you want?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the strategy for the Winter Tournament.”
Himuro’s voice is grating, has it always been this irritating? “We mentioned it
at practice but I thought some review would be helpful.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Murasakibara says with more casual irritation under his
voice than the snappishness that would require effort. “You’ll tell me the day
of anyway.”
There’s a pause. Murasakibara can imagine Himuro tipping his chin down so his
hair falls over his face, dragging a hand through his too-long bangs to cast
himself in deeper shadow. And he can feel the question coming in the other
boy’s throat, the offer to hang up and let him sleep.
“Whatever.” He falls back onto his back, spreads his legs out over the entire
length of his futon so his feet are off the edge, huffs and shuts his eyes.
“Just talk.”
He really does hate Himuro’s voice, he decides as the other boy starts to spill
words for Murasakibara’s benefit that he pays no attention to. It’s got a weird
resonance to it even over the phone, like it’s charged with electricity and
sending prickling sparks down into Murasakibara’s skin. It’s not a pleasant
sensation, especially not with the lost edge of rest still on his mind, and
he’s grimacing without realizing it, nearly flinching at the tingling heat each
word brings with it. He can hear Himuro swallow, can hear every damp movement
of his tongue and lips and teeth as he speaks, can imagine the shape of his
mouth around the words as he says them and the moisture of his tongue when he
absently licks his lips. When the grind of his words pauses Murasakibara can
see the flutter of Himuro’s eyelashes behind his closed eyes, can imagine the
motion of the other boy’s throat as he swallows.
Murasakibara sighs, brings a hand up to cover his face as Himuro pauses again.
“Are you falling asleep?” he asks, as if there is any way Murasakibara could
fall asleep with the distraction of Himuro’s voice in his ear.
“No,” Murasakibara sighs, and waits until Himuro has started talking again
before he reaches down to hook his thumb over the edge of his shorts and slide
them down to free himself from the fabric.
It’s not that he’s turned on by Himuro’s voice, really. The other boy’s tone
drives him crazy, makes him feel like his skin is trying to evaporate off his
body and his blood is heating in his veins. It’s not pleasant sensation, after
all. But it does happen that Murasakibara ends up jerking off a lot more when
he’s on the phone with Himuro than when he’s not. It’s easy to chalk this up to
coincidence after the fact, or just to not think about it at all, and
Murasakibara has always preferred the easy route. So he keeps his eyes shut,
and lets the sound of Himuro’s voice flood into his head, and doesn’t think
about why he’s already hard before he closes his fingers around himself.
Himuro is used to talking without much response from Murasakibara, sometimes
for almost an hour, so the larger boy’s deliberate silence doesn’t offer
anything outside of the ordinary. He just goes on talking, the sound of his
words still striking sparks off Murasakibara’s thoughts until the darkness of
his shut eyes lights up with imagination, his focus drifting until he’s too
lost to shoot down the images before they form. Some of them are memories -
- the touch of fingers at his elbow, the weight of the other boy leaning
against him when Murasakibara is too tired to push him away. Some are mild
inventions, the way Himuro’s skin might shift under Murasakibara’s tongue, the
sounds he might make if Murasakibara pressed him up against a wall. And then
the real fantasies start, the taste of salt at Himuro’s neck, the shudder of
breathing against Murasakibara’s chest, the way Himuro would look pinned down
under the other boy’s weight, the shift of his body around the larger boy as
Murasakibara pushes into him, the way his face would collapse into shivering
pleasure at the touch of Murasakibara’s fingers around his length.
Murasakibara’s skin flushes hot, a precursor to inevitability; it gives him
enough time to pull the phone away, hold it out at arm’s length so the faint
telltale gasp as he comes is lost before it makes it through the receiver to
Himuro’s ear. He stays still for a moment, waiting for his breathing to steady
into inaudibility before he brings the phone back in against his ear and lets
Himuro’s voice back into his head.
It’s less grating, this time, even as he carefully lets himself go and reaches
for a dirty t-shirt to wipe himself clean. By the time he has his clothes back
in place he’s starting to drift back to the edge of comfort, in spite of the
continuing murmur of the other boy’s words.
He doesn’t realize he’s falling asleep, even when the phone slides from his
unconscious grip and tumbles to the bed beside him.
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