
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/495916.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroko_no_Basuke_|_Kuroko's_Basketball
  Relationship:
      Midorima_Shintaro/Takao_Kazunari
  Character:
      Midorima_Shintarou, Takao_Kazunari
  Additional Tags:
      Smut, Hand_Kink
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-25 Words: 1633
****** Hand in Hand ******
by Lys_ap_Adin_(lysapadin)
Summary
     Takao has a real kink for Midorima's hands.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Kazunari isn't the slightest bit afraid to own it: he's got a serious thing for
Midorima's hands. But think about it, really think about it—who can blame him?
Midorima has amazing hands. Artist's hands. A musician's hands. The day that
the idle chatter during practice brings to the surface the fact that Midorima
plays the piano, Kazunari is absolutely, completely unsurprised. It fits, and
he tucks that tidbit away against the day he'll be able to coax Midorima into
letting him witness the sight of Midorima seated at a piano, back straight and
untaped fingers poised over the keys.
Midorima's hands are long, the fingers slender, in perfect keeping with
Midorima's height and sleek build. Like Midorima himself, they disguise their
strength and the power that he has honed in countless hours of unceasing,
relentless practice. Midorima does not look as though he should be able to
shoot those astonishing three-pointers of his over and over from anywhere on
the court for the length of a game, and it's that fact as much as the points
mounting up on the scoreboard that cows their opponents the most. His hands are
well-proportioned, broad but not too much so across the palm; his wrapped
fingers are just the right length to curve around a basketball or hold the
day's lucky item or push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
Kazunari loves to watch Midorima's hands in action, the smooth flex of bone and
tendon and muscle beneath his skin, the shapes his knuckles make when Midorima
grips the ball, the knobs of his wrist bones, the curve of his fingers when he
releases the ball to send it floating through the air and swishing through a
basket half the court away. He loves the sight of Midorima's fingers, pale
against the orange of the ball, and the perfect smooth ovals of Midorima's
fingernails, rosy nail beds meticulously cared for, and the sight of them
carefully taped against the possibility of injury. Actually, he may love that
best, the careful bandages that outline and conceal, hinting at the truth while
hiding it away, the same way the suggestion of a bare nape is far more erotic
than the sight of a lover's bare body.
Midorima doesn't understand any of this, but the sad truth is that he doesn't
understand a lot of the things that Kazunari had taken for granted as self-
evident before high school, before sharing a team and wearing the same jersey
as one of the members of the Generation of Miracles. Kazunari prefers not to
think about what that means very often because it only makes him angry and
there is so little he can do about it now. Midorima doesn't understand it, but
sometimes, when the stars are properly aligned and he's in just the right humor
for it, he's willing to indulge Kazunari in this. And since Kazunari made damn
sure that the first time was just as good for Midorima as it was for him, if
not better, the stars seem to be lining up more and more often to put Midorima
in the mood to grant Kazunari liberties.
Kazunari's favorite one of those is this: settled between Midorima's knees on
the floor of his bedroom (Midorima's parents are never, ever home; Kazunari
halfway suspects them of being mythical). He takes Midorima's hand in his own
and peels away the layers of concealing bandage to show the skin beneath.
Midorima untapes his fingers for so few things that Kazunari can count them off
on the fingers of one hand: games, showers, the bathroom, caring for his nails,
and this thing that is Kazunari's and his secret. Midorima watches him unwind
the wrappings for each finger; behind his glasses, his eyes are dark. Hooded.
He doesn't know whether he's supposed to realize how very big a deal this is to
Midorima, so he carefully pays no attention to the way Midorima is already
breathing faster or the faint tremors of tension in the hand he holds between
his own. Instead he raises Midorima's hand and kisses it, brushing his mouth
over Midorima's knuckles one by one and parting his lips just enough to let
Midorima feel the tip of his tongue and to get that first taste of Midorima's
skin for himself. He runs his lips down the backs of each of Midorima's
fingers, lipping each one delicately from knuckle to nail and taking his time
about it. By the time he turns Midorima's hand over, the way Midorima is
breathing has changed again, turned deeper, and the tension has gone from his
fingers.
Kazunari begins in earnest then.
He kisses the inside of Midorima's wrist, open-mouthed so that he can lap at
the place where the pulse beats fast beneath delicate skin. He draws a spiral
against Midorima's skin with the tip of his tongue, clockwise and then
counterclockwise for balance. He follows the faint blue tracery of a vein up to
where it disappears beneath the rosier flesh of Midorima's palm and laps at the
hollow of it, heart line and head line, fate line and life line, though
Midorima, oddly enough, has no use at all for palmistry. Midorima's palm is
rough in places with the tough calluses that betray the hours upon hours he
spends practicing. Kazunari's lips catch against these; the sensation makes
them tingle.
Kazunari drags his tongue along the length of Midorima's index finger, and for
the first time since he settled between Midorima's knees and took up his hand,
Midorima makes a sound, the barest hint of a gasp. Kazunari kisses the pads of
his fingers, tasting each of his fingers in turn. Every time he does this, he
yearns to nibble on the soft tips of them and must resist that urge. (He knows
without needing to test the theory that the feel of teeth against his fingers
would alarm Midorima instead of exciting him.) Instead he sucks at the pads of
Midorima's fingertips and watches Midorima's eyelids flutter heavily behind the
lids of his glasses and the white edge of Midorima's teeth where he bites down
on his lower lip. When Kazunari closes his mouth around the tip of Midorima's
index finger and sucks, Midorima gasps again.
Kazunari sucks delicately, flicking his tongue against the pad of Midorima's
finger, tracing the shape of it, watching Midorima as he slides his mouth down
a little at a time. Midorima bites his lip until all the color leaves it, grips
the blankets in his free hand, and still groans when Kazunari slides his mouth
all the way down and sucks. Kazunari hums to him, pulling up slowly, and does
it again, this time with both Midorima's index and middle fingers. Midorima
groans again. His face is flushing now and Kazunari can see the way his cock is
tenting the front of his slacks. Kazunari hums to him again and wraps his mouth
around Midorima's ring finger, too. Three fingers at once crowds his mouth and
makes it difficult to guard Midorima's fingers from the edge of his teeth, but
the challenge is worth it, entirely worth it, when Midorima finally groans his
name and the word please like a prayer.
Kazunari slides his mouth off Midorima's fingers and kisses the tips of them
again, even as he's busying himself with undoing Midorima's fly and sliding his
cock free of his underwear. This thing Kazunari has for Midorima's hands works
almost as well for him as it does Kazunari: Midorima's cock is hard beneath his
fingers, slick and wet even before Kazunari leans forward to close his lips
around the head of it and slide the flat of his tongue against him. He moves
his tongue slowly, tracing it over soft-hot skin and sucking softly while
Midorima gasps over him, sucking in deep, hoarse breaths like he's running a
race. Kazunari mouths him gently until Midorima groans again and slides his
fingers into Kazunari's hair to cup his head and hold him for it when he rocks
his hips forward.
Kazunari knows the shape Midorima's fingers are making around the shape of his
skull as the weight of Midorima's hand presses him down. It's the same shape
they make around the curve of a basketball, the same shape Kazunari has seen
probably thousands of times by now. He groans as Midorima's cock slides between
his lips and over his tongue, groans while Midorima holds him and fucks his
mouth, the slow rocking of his hips echoing the way his fingers slid in and out
of Kazunari's mouth. Kazunari comes off then, easy as that, his cock throbbing
in his pants with the heat that punches through him, all without his having
even to touch himself. He groans around Midorima, helpless to do anything else
when Midorima is holding him like this, his bare fingers curving around
Kazunari's skull and his cock heavy on Kazunari's tongue. Midorima's eyes go
wider for just an instant before he squeezes them shut and floods Kazunari's
mouth as he comes. It's enough to drag another pulse of heat through Kazunari
as he watches Midorima shudder through his pleasure, more open and unguarded in
this than he is anywhere else. He doesn't let Midorima slide out of his mouth
until long after Midorima has sagged against the uncertain support of his free
hand and is stroking his fingers through Kazunari's hair. Even then, all he
does is lean his cheek against Midorima's knee, content to stay there for as
long as Midorima will let him.
He's pretty sure it's not his imagination that the period of Midorima's
forbearance, those minutes before he shifts away from Kazunari, gets a little
longer each time they do this, which is all the encouragement Kazunari needs to
keep it up.
End Notes
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