
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2057370.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroko_no_Basuke_|_Kuroko's_Basketball
  Relationship:
      Himuro_Tatsuya/Murasakibara_Atsushi
  Character:
      Himuro_Tatsuya, Murasakibara_Atsushi
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Choking, Asphyxiation, No_Plot/Plotless, Face_Slapping,
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Unhealthy_Relationships, Established
      Relationship, No_Aftercare
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-19 Words: 2942
****** Power ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Murasakibara’s not entirely sure he wants to commit to the effort of
     sex, although that’s clearly where Himuro would like this to go, and
     that’s making the slow rise of heat under his skin more of a vague
     irritant than anything else." Himuro is being a pest, and
     Murasakibara is irritated until he becomes intrigued.
Himuro is being a pest again.
All Murasakibara really wants to do is to lie still across his bed, maybe fall
asleep or maybe stare blankly at the wall and let boredom pull him into a
drowsy haze. But Himuro won’t stop touching him, although he finally stopped
talking after Murasakibara growled with enough threat to stop even the other
boy’s words, and Murasakibara’s boredom is pulling him towards sleep but the
fingers skimming over his back are pulling his body a different direction
entirely. He’s not entirely sure he wants to commit to the effort of sex,
although that’s clearly where Himuro would like this to go, and that’s making
the slow rise of heat under his skin more of a vague irritant than anything
else. He can’t muster the will to reach around to stop Himuro’s touch by force,
though, so he stays still, and as his skin draws unwillingly warm the
conclusion becomes inevitable without any active decision on his part.
Eventually Murasakibara sighs heavily into the pillow, brings one hand to shove
against the bed and roll over onto his back. Himuro is sitting at the very
edge, his hand still extended to reach for Murasakibara; after a moment he
pulls back, like he thinks Murasakibara rolling over was a rejection. The other
boy doesn’t make the effort to roll his eyes at this misreading, but when he
waits and Himuro doesn’t move the easiest solution is to reach out, close his
fingers into a fist in Himuro’s shirt and drag him bodily down onto the bed
alongside Murasakibara. The larger boy’s strength wins out easily over Himuro’s
startled resistance, and the other boy hits the bed hard enough that it knocks
the air from his lungs. Murasakibara rolls back over as soon as Himuro is flat
on his back, before the other has had a chance to catch his breath, moves his
leg until he’s straddling Himuro’s thigh and can rock himself in against the
resistance of the other boy’s body. His head fits in over Himuro’s shoulder so
he can rest his head against the sheets, his other hand drops down on the other
boy’s collarbone to hold him in place. He doesn’t need the extra control -
- Himuro is making no effort to pull free, Murasakibara can hear his caught
breathing pulling faster and warm against his hair -- but it’s as comfortable
to rest his hand on Himuro’s shoulder as it is to throw it out over the edge of
the bed, and the contact makes Himuro shudder in a way that isn’t entirely
unpleasant, with the way Murasakibara’s pressed in against him.
“Atsushi,” Himuro starts, and Murasakibara growls against the bed, curls his
fingers in a warning grip at Himuro’s shoulder.
“Quiet,” Murasakibara says. “I wanted to sleep.”
“You still could,” Himuro points out, but he’s starting to arch up off the
mattress himself, shove in against Murasakibara’s hip. He’s a lot harder than
the larger boy is yet; Murasakibara thinks briefly about shifting his hold to
the other boy’s hip to hold him down, to stop Himuro from grinding in against
him. But he doesn’t want to move more than he has already, and Himuro is
breathing harder and shifting in a way that makes Murasakibara’s movements
almost unnecessary, and really it’s not like Murasakibara cares what the other
does.
“You distracted me,” he points out instead, fits his thumb in against Himuro’s
shoulder to steady his grip and slides his knee up a little higher to get a
better angle on the rocking motion of his hips. “Now I’m distracted.”
Himuro laughs weakly, the sound pulling apart until it sounds more like a moan
than amusement. “I’m not sorry.”
Murasakibara doesn’t have an answer for that, so he just sighs again, shuts his
eyes in an attempt to achieve some relaxation, and lets his mind drift while
his blood warms with the instinctive pleasure of friction against his length
even through his clothes. Their shorts are thin enough that’s it not too much
of a loss anyway, and even though he knows he’ll probably have to be a little
more active than this if he wants to actually come it’s easy right now to let
himself drop into a thoughtless haze of physical sensation. Himuro’s breathing
is only a mild distraction, the other boy’s movements settle into sync with his
own so they’re helping rather than distracting, and Murasakibara is just
starting to think that maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea when Himuro shifts
under him, pulls sideways like he’s trying to get off the bed. Murasakibara
slides his hand across fast, with the whiplash speed he can occasionally muster
in a game, closes his fingers hard on Himuro’s skin, and hisses, “Hold still”
before he realizes that Himuro has gone utterly still, motionless under
Murasakibara until he’s not even grinding up for sensation himself.
It takes the larger boy a moment to pull himself back to focused thought, to
realize that he’s got bare skin under his thumb and not the fabric of Himuro’s
shirt, that he can feel the racing thud of Himuro’s pulse under his fingers.
That gets him to lift his head, to look sideways so he can see that his fingers
have ended up pressed against Himuro’s throat as far more of a threat than he
had originally intended. The other boy’s mouth is open on unvoiced words or an
exclamation or a protest, Murasakibara doesn’t know and doesn’t particularly
care. What he does care about is the way his hand looks against Himuro’s neck,
how instantly he attained perfect obedience just by moving his fingers a few
inches. There’s a rush of prickling heat under his skin, like an electrical
shock too mild to be painful and too strong to be ignored, and Murasakibara
pushes up onto his knees without even thinking about the loss of pressure
against his half-hard length. Himuro blinks, tips his chin down to look at the
larger boy; his lips are still parted on that lost reaction, but Murasakibara
barely spares a glance for the other boy’s face. He’s far more interested in
the pattern of heartbeat he can see just over his fingers, the way Himuro takes
a sharp panicked inhale when Murasakibara draws his hand sideways until his
fingers are entirely against Himuro’s throat.
They’re both still for a moment. Murasakibara feels warm, languid and oddly
weighted with anticipation, maybe, while Himuro is nearly vibrating with
tension. Murasakibara can feel the other boy shaking under his fingers, can see
the anxious curve of his spine as he angles off the bed unconsciously.
“Are you frightened, Muro-chin?” he asks. His voice is calm, unhurried and slow
like he’s turning every word over on his tongue before letting them free.
Himuro swallows, and Murasakibara can feel the motion of his throat even though
he’s not even pushing at all beyond the weight of his hand. He blinks, very
carefully, as if he thinks Murasakibara might lunge at him in the moment his
guard is down, and then he licks his lips and says “Yes,” sounding far more
strained than the other boy’s touch deserves.
Murasakibara looks back down to Himuro’s fluttering pulse -- it’s more
interesting than the panic in the other’s dark eyes -- and flexes his fingers
gently against the other boy’s neck. Himuro takes a sharp inhale that
Murasakibara can feel as much as hear, but the larger boy doesn’t bother
looking back up to Himuro’s eyes before he leans forward to increase the weight
resting on his hand, tightens his fingers into a deliberate hold to cut off the
other’s breathing. He can hear the way Himuro’s inhales draw desperate and
panicked right away; it’s out of proportion to the pressure, he knows, but
there’s some part of that that is his doing, some percentage of Himuro’s air
supply that he is choosing to take away.
“Atsushi,” Himuro manages, his voice drawing high in his throat, and
Murasakibara pushes harder, closes his fingers until Himuro’s words die off
into silence with a strangled sound of protest. The other boy’s hands come up,
close at Murasakibara’s wrist, but resisting them takes almost no effort at
all. Murasakibara’s not even sure Himuro’s really trying to push him away,
wouldn’t be certain except that he can feel the desperate motion of Himuro’s
throat under his fingers as the other boy tries and fails to breathe. His
movements become more frantic; the hands at Murasakibara’s wrist clutch
desperately at the other boy’s skin, he starts to struggle against the bed
until Murasakibara starts to think about dodging the movement of the other
boy’s legs. Then Himuro gains traction for a moment, arches up off the sheets
in a motion as anxious as the look in eyes, and bumps in against Murasakibara’s
hip for a moment.
The larger boy blinks at the pressure. It takes him a minute to realize what
he’s feeling; then he loosens his fingers, pulls his hand back, and Himuro
takes a huge gasping breath and drops back flat to the bed while Murasakibara
looks down.
“Muro-chin.” He reaches down, curls his fingers around the edge of Himuro’s
shorts and pulls sharply. Himuro makes a faint whining noise that might be
protest and might be encouragement, and Murasakibara drags his clothes down to
his knees so he can clearly see how hard the other boy is. “You like this.”
It’s not a question. Himuro takes another deep breath like he’s going to say
something; then he shuts his mouth, tips his head up at the ceiling, and when
he lets out the air slowly it’s an answer. Murasakibara comes a little more
upright so his weight is balanced over his knees and he can free both his
hands; he reaches for Himuro’s throat first, settles his fingers in against the
other boy’s neck like a collar, and Himuro is exhaling in a high desperate
whine even before Murasakibara has closed his fingers against the other boy’s
cock. Himuro shuts his eyes as soon as Murasakibara touches his length; his lip
trembles like he’s thinking about crying, his throat works under Murasakibara’s
fingers like he’s on the verge of a sob.
“Open your eyes,” Murasakibara says, and pushes down a little harder on
Himuro’s throat. “And look at me.”
There’s a pause; then Himuro swallows again, opens his eyes, and tips his chin
down, fixes his eyes on Murasakibara’s face so the larger boy can see the
shiver of reaction that washes over his features as Murasakibara jerks up over
his length, although any audible response is cut off by the larger boy leaning
in harder against his hold. Himuro’s mouth comes open, like parting his lips
wider will get him the air he’s struggling for, and Murasakibara can hear the
whine of too much volume trying to pass through too small a space even from the
distance of his arm from Himuro’s lips. His own blood courses hot through his
veins at the sound, at the knowledge that he’s holding Himuro’s life in his
hand. He could push harder if he wanted, could keep his fingers tight against
Himuro’s throat until the other boy slid into unconsciousness, longer if he
felt like it. The power of the realization is like fire in his veins, catches
at his rising arousal and brings him to full hardness without any stimulation
at all beyond what he already has, nothing to catch his nerve endings but the
feel of Himuro trying to breathe against his fingers.
He’s not alone. He can feel Himuro’s cock flushing irrationally harder the more
the other boy struggles for breath, the slick of pre-come catching at his
fingers and inadvertently drawing his strokes faster with the lessened
friction. If he could take a breath Murasakibara is sure Himuro would be
groaning, whimpering and shaking like he does when he gets really desperate; as
it is he’s just trembling visibly, arching up off the bed like he’s trying to
push himself harder into Murasakibara’s hand as his fingers catch uselessly
against the other boy’s shirt.
Murasakibara is watching his fingers tense against Himuro’s throat, distracted
by that from the fact that Himuro’s gaze has slid away from him; by the time he
looks back up the other boy’s eyes are shut, his mouth open for the air he
can’t get and his expression starting to drop into slack relaxation.
Murasakibara lets his hold on Himuro’s throat go instantly, waits until the
other boy draws a sucking gasp of air; then he brings his hand back around,
hard and fast so his fingers crack against Himuro’s face. Himuro shouts
involuntary surprise at the impact, brings a hand up to touch his reddening
cheek, but Murasakibara doesn’t wait for him to recollect his bearing.
“Keep your eyes open,” he hisses, burning with mingled fury and arousal from
that brief flicker of uncontrolled peace on Himuro’s features. “I can’t tell
when you’re about to pass out if I can’t see your eyes.”
Himuro’s eyes are open now; they’re wide and shocked, staring at Murasakibara’s
face like he’s having trouble understanding words, and his fingers are
lingering at his cheek. Then he swallows hard, jerks his head in a nod of
understanding, and when Murasakibara reaches back out Himuro lets his hand drop
away from the rising red under his skin and drops back flat to the mattress so
Murasakibara can replace his hold. This time he keeps his eyes fixed on the
other boy; Murasakibara watches him for a moment to make sure Himuro isn’t
going to look away again. Then he starts stroking over Himuro’s again, waits
until Himuro is gasping in the first convulsive reaction to the contact so when
he shoves down the sound cuts off sharp and clean under his fingers.
Murasakibara doesn’t jerk Himuro off, as a general thing. It’s tiring, and
there’s nothing in it for him, though he’s willing to be present while Himuro
jerks himself off, especially because sometimes it ends with a blowjob or sex
for him as well. But this is interesting, it’s fascinating to feel how much
harder Himuro gets as he gets more desperate for air, the way his cock jerks
under Murasakibara’s touch even as his eyes start to glaze and go out-of-focus
until the larger boy loosens his hold, lets him take another lungful of air
before he pushes back down. He can tell Himuro is getting close from the way
he’s shifting; there’s a new tension in the angle of his back, something more
than instinctive need for oxygen. Murasakibara cuts Himuro’s second breath
short to chase that down, partially for that and partially because of the cut-
off sound of protest Himuro makes at having his airway cut off again before he
has a full breath. This time when Himuro’s fixed gaze shifts it has a different
look, like he’s staring out past Murasakibara’s head, and when the larger boy
drags up hard over his length he’s watching the convulsion shudder through
Himuro’s body and doesn’t even mind the sticky spill of the other boy’s come
over his fingers.
Murasakibara lets Himuro catch his breath, although the air doesn’t do much to
sweep away the dazed heat in the other boy’s eyes. He has to pause anyway, to
get his shorts down off his hips and clear of his erection; he’s just free of
the fabric when Himuro blinks himself back into some semblance of awareness,
pushes himself up onto an elbow to reach out.
“Do you --” he starts before Murasakibara shoves him back flat.
“No,” he says before he even knows what Himuro is going to ask. “Hold still.”
Himuro doesn’t protest; when Murasakibara reaches back out he even tips his
chin up to make space for the other boy’s fingers against his neck.
Murasakibara is less consistent about the pressure this time, partially because
he’s distracted by the sticky pull of his fingers over himself and partially
for the satisfaction of drawing Himuro’s breathing anxious with uncertainty,
desperate every time he can get air and impatient when he can’t. Still, the
other boy doesn’t fight the pressure actively, and he keeps his eyes open, this
time, keeps them fixed on Murasakibara’s face even when the other boy looks
away, even when his mouth comes open with that same instinctive, hopeless bid
for air he showed initially. Murasakibara is breathing as hard as Himuro, as if
he’s trying to inhale for the both of them, staring at the pattern of heartbeat
and the anxious motion of the other boy’s throat under the pressure of his
fingers. It’s the visual of that that does it, the angle of his fingers against
the other boy’s fragile throat that burns him into inevitability, catches his
breathing as sharp as Himuro’s for a moment; then he’s groaning low and
reflexive, jerking hard over himself while he comes across Himuro’s skin and
shirt both.
He drops to the bed first, before letting go of himself and before he lifts his
fingers from Himuro’s throat. His hand is sticky, his skin flushed and hot, and
habit makes him grimace at the unpleasant evidence of exertion. Then Himuro
takes a deep, shuddering breath, and when he rolls in sideways Murasakibara’s
gaze is drawn down to the pale skin of Himuro’s throat marked red from the
friction of his fingers, the lingering visual of his power on Himuro’s skin as
well as tingling in his own hands. When he lets his breath go it sounds more
pleased than irritated, and when Himuro curls in against him, pushing him away
seems more effort than it’s worth.
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