
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1726268.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroko_no_Basuke_|_Kuroko's_Basketball
  Relationship:
      Midorima_Shintarou/Takao_Kazunari
  Character:
      Midorima_Shintarou, Takao_Kazunari
  Additional Tags:
      Bondage, Shibari, Safewords, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn
      Without_Plot, Established_Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-26 Words: 3166
****** Knots ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "It’s right around the point that Midorima pulls the last knot tight
     that Takao realizes he’s in over his head." Takao makes a suggestion
     and Midorima takes him up on it.
It’s right around the point that Midorima pulls the last knot tight that Takao
realizes he’s in over his head.
It seemed like a reasonable request, originally. In the course of one too many
nights left to his own devices Takao began looking into new techniques to try
with Midorima. Most of them were too ridiculous to even consider -- a few sent
a flush of embarrassed heat down his spine and a promise to himself to bring
them up later, maybe after both he and Midorima were sufficiently drunk. But
bondage seemed like a fairly vanilla kink, and not one they’d tried before, and
then Takao thought about Midorima’s hands tying him down and it was all over at
that point.
The other boy barely even blinked when Takao first brought it up. “It’s
called shibari, it’s supposed to be an art form as much as a sexual thing, I
learned all about it.”
Midorima just gazed at him, shifted his glasses needlessly up his nose. “Did
you.”
“Sure I did, I can tell you all about it,” Takao started, but Midorima lifted
his hand from his face to cut him off.
“No, I am fully capable of understanding the concept myself.” And he hadn’t
brought it up again. Takao sucked him off that night, and Midorima shoved him
back against the headboard and jerked him off with the brutual efficiency that
Takao loves, and the other boy thought that Midorima had been shutting down the
suggestion.
He should have known better. Midorima excels at everything he choses to do, not
always from natural talent; more often he practices, alone so no one can see
him fail, so when he emerges he is fully a master of his actions. But Takao
wasn’t thinking, as he so frequently isn’t when it comes to Midorima, and
Midorima gives him no warning at all when he does decide to act.
It’s an ordinary day. They go to school, they go to practice; Takao bikes them
back to Midorima’s apartment, protesting the whole way that it
is still Midorima’s turn, as he always does, and then he follows the other boy
inside without waiting to be invited. Midorima pauses to take his shoes off in
the entryway, careful to align them both just so against the doorway, and Takao
follows his example so he’s just at the other’s heels as they head down the
hallway. When Midorima takes the turn into the first room, Takao’s eyebrows go
up but he doesn’t comment; it’s not that shocking to go immediately to the
bedroom, after all, and he’s certainly not about to complain. So he’s close
behind Midorima, just stepping through the doorway of the bedroom when the
taller boy straightens, and turns, and Takao sees the bundled rope in his
hands.
“Do you have a safeword?” Midorima asks by way of introduction.
For just a minute, Takao’s usual quick comebacks utterly fail him. The rope is
falling in dark loops over Midorima’s skin, catching at his fingers and the
white tape around his right hand, and Takao is caught so entirely off-guard
that he has no response at all other than to gape at the contrast of dark-on-
light, at the way Midorima’s fingers fit through the loops of the neatly tied
rope.
“Would you like to choose, or shall I select one for you?” Midorima is saying.
Takao has lost the question, lost track of everything except for the visual in
front of him, and when he looks up at Midorima’s face some of the confusion
must show in his expression. The taller boy huffs, clicks his tongue, and when
he speaks again he is drawling the words slow and condescending. “You should
have a safeword. Do you have a preference?”
“Scorpio,” Takao blurts without thinking. “Scorpio is fine.”
Midorima’s eyebrows go up, just slightly, but his mouth tightens with the
threat of a smile and Takao knows he approves even before he nods. “Fine.” The
taller boy turns away; there’s the faint sound of rope sliding over itself.
“Strip and lie down on the bed on your stomach.”
For a moment Takao is breathless, half-frightened and half-excited and too
aroused to move. Then he catches an inhale, and his brain decides his body’s on
his own for this one, and he starts unzipping his jacket without thinking any
further.
Midorima doesn’t turn around while he’s shedding his clothes -- Takao doesn’t
know what he’s doing, maybe he’s just feigning his focus to seem more
disinterested. It doesn’t matter. Takao’s heart is pounding by the time he
moves to lie on the bed, his cock hard enough that he has to be careful in
lowering himself to the sheets to avoid grinding himself too hard into the bed.
“Okay,” he starts to say, and the weight of rope falls against his skin
instantly. Midorima must have started moving as soon as Takao’s knees hit the
bed, to be there so quickly.
“Put your arms behind your back,” Midorima orders, and Takao obeys instantly.
There’s no possibility of hesitation anywhere in his mind or his body, and the
other boy’s fingers are curling around his wrists as soon as he moves, pulling
them together so they’re lying flat in the small of his back.
“Tell me if this hurts,” Midorima says, his voice level. He sounds perfectly
calm, cool and totally unruffled. From his voice he could be talking about a
homework assignment rather than looking down on the trembling shoulders of his
boyfriend. “I am not interested in hurting you this time.”
That makes Takao’s breath catch sharply, the potential flickering heat under
his skin and images behind his eyes, but the angle doesn’t hurt, it just feels
odd against his shoulders, so he doesn’t speak until Midorima is tightening
down the knot at the angular bone of his wrist.
“What are you interested in this time?” Takao asks, turning his head on the
mattress so Midorima can hear him. His hair is falling in his face and he can’t
see much of anything, but his words come clear enough, even faintly teasing
over the shaky sound of his breathing.
“Aesthetics,” Midorima answers, so fast Takao is certain he’s been studying.
“That is what this is intended to be about, after all. Unfortunately I don’t
yet have a sufficiently strong framework from which to hang you, so this will
have to do. Sit up.” His taped hand closes over Takao’s shoulder, pulls the
other boy up to his knees without Takao having to do much of anything. The
weight of the rope falls across his neck -- Takao can feel the line of it
pulling taut from his wrists up over his shoulder -- and Midorima starts to
loop it across his chest, around his neck and against his waist so the pressure
is sitting over Takao’s shoulders and hips rather than at his throat. Takao can
feel Midorima’s breath against his ear, but that is as steady as his voice as
he keeps talking, even though every gust of warmth sends a shudder through
Takao’s body.
“There are various colors of rope available.” He sounds faintly lecturing, his
tone strangely not at odds with the careful motion of his hands drawing the
rope tight around Takao’s body. “White is common, though red is popular as
well. But black will show up best against your skin, and accentuate your hair.”
He pulls a knot tight and a tracery of rope draws in tight over Takao’s chest.
“Tell me if this is too tight, particularly against your neck. It is not
intended to impede your breathing.”
Takao shakes his head before he can pull words up from the haze in his mind.
“No. No, it’s fine.” He sounds embarrassingly breathy but he can’t care. “Are
you...are you going to fuck me, or just tie me up?” He’s not even sure which
he’s hoping for more, the raw satisfaction of sex or the psychological taunting
of Midorima just looking and not touching.
Midorima’s hand pushes at his shoulder; Takao starts to tip forward before he
realizes he can’t catch himself, has a brief moment of panic before the ropes
pull tight and Midorima catches his weight to lower him slowly back to the
mattress.
“This is what it could be, with a support structure I could suspend you from.”
Midorima still sounds like a teacher, his dry tone going straight to Takao’s
already hard cock until the press of the sheets is more a relief than anything
else. “Someday, perhaps.”
Fingers come in against Takao’s hip, slide down the other boy’s thigh, past his
knee, along his calf to his ankle, and when Midorima pulls Takao lets him,
folds his foot up so the other boy can loop the trailing end of rope around his
ankle.
“I am very fond of appreciating beauty.” Midorima’s voice is still steady even
as the rope pulls tight, cinches Takao’s leg up at an angle that he can feel as
pressure but not -- quite -- pain. That sounds like an answer, and
psychological pleasure notwithstanding Takao’s strained body
is deeply dissatisfied with it.
“Shin-chan --” he starts, whining with more legitimate desperation than
teasing, for once, and Midorima keeps talking, loud so Takao can hear him
clearly.
“In all its facets.” The taller boy’s voice drops low on that one word, deep
and rumbling straight up Takao’s spine; Takao groans into the mattress,
wordless with relief and anticipation at once, and Midorima’s fingers close on
his second ankle to pull his leg up.
It’s right then, as the contact of fingers on his skin pulls away and anxious
want surges high in Takao’s blood, that he realizes he can’t move at all. It
was different, somehow, when Midorima was touching him, as if the taller boy
were shaping him into some exotic form for his own appreciation, and the
flicker-heat Midorima’s touch always brings with it was satisfying in itself.
But now Takao can feel the pressure in his shoulderblades, the sharp angle of
his bent knees, and even when he wiggles he can’t get much friction on the
sheets under him.
“Shin-chan?” he asks. He sounds plaintive, lost and very nearly frightened.
“Shin-chan, are you coming back?”
“Ssh.” Midorima’s voice is soothing, though not as much as the fingers that
land gently against Takao’s spine. “I’m here.”
“What are you doing?” Takao pleads, all coy teasing evaporated into desperate
submission in his throat.
“I’m stripping,” that level voice responds. The fingers lift off Takao’s spine
but that’s okay, now that he knows to listen for it he can hear the rustle of
fabric as it comes off the taller boy’s body. “And looking at you.” A touch
again, this just above the curve of Takao’s ass; he jumps, or would if he
could. As it is he just jerks slightly in his bonds, opens his mouth to gasp
air suddenly very much absent from the surroundings.
He swallows, takes another breath, deliberately slowly this time. “How do I
look?” He tries to sound teasing but isn’t sure he succeeds -- it feels like
the question turns sincere in his throat without his intent.
A hand settles on his hip, this time accompanied by the shift of the mattress
under him. Takao’s weight slides an inch in response -- there’s no way for him
to brace himself, not the way his limbs are pinned back -- and then Midorima’s
knee is sliding between his, angling his legs wider so he slides down flatter
into the mattress.
“You’re beautiful, Kazunari.” The words don’t have any heat -- Midorima could
be talking about a statue, or a basketball play, or a piece of poetry -- but
the cool distance in them underlines them with sincerity, and Takao doesn’t
need any more heat than he has already. He feels like his skin is on fire even
before Midorima’s hand leaves his hip, even before he hears the sound of a
bottle opening and the faint slick of liquid against fingers. He whimpers,
tries to buck himself down into the bed, and Midorima doesn’t laugh but there
is the faintest tension of amusement in his voice when his right hand comes
down to steady Takao’s hip and he says, “Hold still.”
Takao doesn’t manage, entirely, but Midorima doesn’t wait for him to steady
himself either; the smaller boy has just stilled himself into trembling on the
bed, is just starting to take a breath, when Midorima’s fingers push against
him. He exhales all at once, a groan and a sigh of satisfaction at once, and
the taller boy fits two fingers into him and starts to slide in deeper. For a
minute there’s nothing in Takao’s head at all -- no teasing, no protest,
nothing but the insistent focus on relaxing in spite of the wave of sensation
pouring over him so it turns into heat instead of pain. Then Midorima twists
his wrist, shifts his fingers apart or curls them, Takao’s not sure, and
there’s a burst of pleasure that shoots up his spine and leaves him gasping on
the mattress.
“Relax,” Midorima says, like he always says, like Takao doesn’t know that
already, and then he starts properly thrusting with his fingers and Takao loses
track of any complaints he had half-voiced in favor of groaning into the bed.
When Midorima finally draws his hand free Takao is shaking, he can feel all the
tension in his restraints holding him back even without any deliberate effort
to pull himself free. It’s like the rising pressure of orgasm when he’s seconds
out, he’s not sure that it’s not even though no one’s properly even touched him
yet, and then Midorima’s hands pull him up to a slightly higher angle and Takao
doesn’t care about anything beyond the next few seconds.
“Shin-chan,” he whimpers without any sort of follow-up to the name. “Shin-
chan, please,” and he doesn’t know what he’s asking for, doesn’t know what he
wants, but he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Midorima can give it to
him.
There’s pressure against him, the promise of more, more barely a breath away,
and Midorima sighs. Takao can feel the first shake of tension in the other
boy’s hands, settled on his hips, and then Midorima says, “Yes, Kazunari,” and
pushes forward into him.
Takao can’t offer any resistance to the pressure at all. Midorima’s hands are
holding him in place, pulling him back as much as the taller boy is thrusting
forward, and for a minute Takao can’t do anything but choke and quiver against
the sheets. Then he gets a breath, his lungs fill with the promise of sound,
and when Midorima slides back to thrust into him again he manages to wail
“Oh god, Shin-chan, please touch me.”
There’s a huff of air, a sound that would be a laugh from anyone but Midorima,
and Midorima’s left hand leaves Takao’s hip. There’s the brush of skin against
Takao’s, Midorima’s body pressing the pattern of rope over his back down
against his skin, and then the other boy’s fingers close around Takao’s length
and the smaller boy nearly sobs in relief even before Midorima starts stroking
him. The angle is less good for the other boy’s thrusts -- they’re a little
shorter, not quite as long and fluid -- but Midorima has put some effort into
learning the right technique for a variety of positions, and he transitions so
close to seamlessly that Takao can’t see the break. Besides, he’s twisting his
wrist to press friction in against Takao’s length, and the smaller boy is
starting to see the advantage to being restrained, because he can’t get away,
he can’t wiggle away from the sensation to hold off his impending orgasm. He
can just gasp, and groan, and pant, “Shin-chan, you’re going really
fast, I’m going really fast,” as a warning without any associated desire for
him to stop.
Midorima’s mouth brushes over Takao’s ear, and he breathes, “Good,” and it’s
the tone more than the meaning that does it, the low growl of satisfaction that
makes Midorima sound actually human for a moment. Takao groans and shudders,
orgasm flooding out into him, and the ripples of reflexive response feed back
on themselves until he feels like he’s just a singular quivering chord.
Midorima lets him go as the aftershocks start to fade into involuntary shivers,
replaces his hold on the other boy’s hip and comes back up to fall back into
the slow long strokes he started with. Takao moans at the shift in sensation,
the spike of pleasure almost painful in the wake of his orgasm; when he pulls
uselessly at the ties on his wrist, arches his back so he shifts against the
bed, Midorima’s breathing catches into a groan, his fingers spasm tight on
Takao’s hips, and the pattern of his thrusts dies off as he comes into the
other boy.
It’s just after Midorima slides back, while the taller boy’s breathing is still
fractured by adrenaline, that Takao starts to feel the ache of the restraints
in his joints. He’s just opening his mouth to complain when Midorima pulls at
his ankle, does something to the rope, and his foot comes free. For all that
the ropes took what felt like an eternity to get on they’re easy to take off,
or seem so; Midorima gets Takao’s legs unfastened immediately, then loosens a
handful of points and sorts of tugs the whole mess up off over the other boy’s
head before finally untangling the knots at his wrists. Takao lets him, lies
spent and shaky across Midorima’s bed while the taller boy unties him, and only
rolls over onto his back as the other is beginning to unravel the web of knots
into a single length again.
“You’re amazing,” Takao says. It sounds like he’s joking, as he always does,
but from the look Midorima shoots him the other boy takes him as sincerely as
Takao intends.
He doesn’t respond directly, of course -- he never does. This time he looks
back down at the rope unfurling in his hands as he says, “Are you sore? You may
be a bit stiff but you shouldn’t have any lasting pain.”
“Mm, no,” Takao confirms; although his shoulders really do feel a little tight,
mostly he feels exhausted, warm and languid and pleased. “Come here, you can do
that later.”
“I should change the sheets at least,” Midorima protests.
“Come on,” Takao pleads. He sits up to grab at Midorima’s wrist, and when the
other boy looks down at his hold he knows he’s won even before he says,
“Please Shin-chan.”
Midorima huffs in exasperation, and rolls his eyes, but he does set the rope
aside, and he does let Takao pull him down to the bed, and when the smaller boy
curls in against him and drapes an arm over his waist, he only has to wait a
moment before a long arm wraps around him and fingers settle into the fall of
his hair.
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