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"Thanks for letting me stay over, Shin-chan," Takao says, crawling up from the foot of the bed. Although I think this is more for you than for me.
Midorima goes about setting his glasses on the nightstand, an exact arm's length away from his perfectly supine figure. "I would be remiss if we were tardy again."
"We were late one time," Takao argues, kicking his way under Midorima's neatly tucked covers. "And it wasn't even an official match."
"Which is why we will not have a repeat, now that it is."
Takao rolls his eyes, sliding his way fully under Midorima's bedsheets. He revels in the temporary coolness of the fabric, knowing his body heat will soon chase it away. He sighs, thinking that it's really too hot to be sharing a bed, but there are only so many battles Takao is willing to pick. "You can make whatever excuses you want, Shin-chan," Takao replies. "I think you're just nervous because Seirin is our first match."
"Shut up, Takao," Midorima barks, then resolutely shuts off his lamp. His shooting star night light – an old lucky item, supposedly – shines a pearly blue next to his desk.
Takao chuckles and rolls onto his side. He prefers sleeping in his own room, where the thick curtains ensure the room is bathed in complete darkness, but there's something comforting, too, about hearing Midorima breathe next to him, steady as a metronome like he's counting the beats himself. Facing the wall and shoving his face into Midorima's spare pillow blocks out most of the light, and bunching the thick duvet down by his knees keeps him covered just enough by the much thinner top sheet. Satisfied with his sleeping arrangement, he closes his eyes, murmurs a near-silent, "G'night, Shin-chan," into the pillow, and is wholly unprepared for when Midorima rolls into his space in response, strong arms circling around his chest.
"Shin-chan?" Takao repeats, his eyes popping open as he tries to twist in Midorima's hold. Midorima simply holds him tighter, his nose buried in Takao's hair, one of his arms loosening only to belt around Takao's stomach instead. Takao grabs onto his wrist before it can wander further, squirming as the heat of Midorima's torso seeps into his back. "Seriously, Shin-chan, what's up with you?"
Midorima tugs him closer. Takao squirms again, pausing when he feels the extra weight pressed against his lower back. He experimentally grinds backward, ignoring the way it makes his boxers ride up his ass, and feels more than hears the way Midorima's breath hiccups in his chest, the unmistakable bulge in his pajama pants twitching between them.
Takao finally manages to twist around, his shoulder digging into the center of Midorima's chest. "Really?" he questions.
Midorima doesn't even have the decency to look sheepish. "Is it truly so unexpected?"
"We have a game tomorrow!" Takao answers. "What happened to being 'adequately prepared for the day ahead'?"
Ducking his face once more into Takao's hair, Midorima rumbles something unintelligible, a far cry from his usual proclamations. Any indignation Takao has managed to build vanishes all at once, leaving behind a fond exasperation that he seems to save just for Midorima, like some pool that never drains behind his ribcage. "Could you say that again, Shin-chan?"
"... It's been a while since we've done it."
For a moment, Takao can only blink, staring at the way Midorima's ear burns noticeably red, even in the almost-dark. Shower-curled hair sticks out from behind it, tinted turquoise in the annoyingly blue glow of his night light, and Takao has to wonder if he's always been this weak for Midorima. Part of him hopes not – more than a blow to his pride, being that taken by someone is just plain embarrassing – but another part of him craves it, how easily his presence molds itself to Midorima's.
Takao briefly shakes his head to clear it, then unceremoniously nudges Midorima back to his side of the bed. "I really don't want to be sore tomorrow, Shin-chan," he whines, shifting around until he can lever himself upright, his hand pinning Midorima down by the sternum. He sighs and smirks down at Midorima, who can't seem to decide whether to look annoyed or awed. "But it can't be helped, I guess. Not when our Ace-sama himself asks so nicely."
Takao can practically see the retort forming on Midorima's tongue, and swings into Midorima's lap before he can voice it, his bare thighs bracketing Midorima's waist and his ass perched between Midorima's hips. He feels a bit silly, in just his boxers and a t-shirt, but he presses onward anyway, walking the fingers of his free hand up Midorima's stomach. "We're not doing it right before the prelim finals, but I'm sure I can still get Shin-chan off just fine."
Midorima chokes at that, or maybe at the way Takao rocks his hips back, gliding over where he's still very obviously tenting his pajama pants. Takao can't help but laugh, repeating the movement, relishing in the way Midorima's cock jerks and grows stiffer under him. "Who knew the strict Midorima Shintarou would break his routine like this?" he lilts, tracing his fingers down Midorima's shirt. He fiddles with the wrinkles at the edge of it, pinching the cotton fabric between his fingertips. "You said it's been a while, so you must have been thinking about it, right? Is that why you asked me to stay over?"
Midorima, for his part, only sounds marginally shaky as Takao continues to grind against him. "It is a means to shorten our transit time, of course."
"Sure, Shin-chan," Takao entertains, giving up on his fiddling in favor of shoving the hem up Midorima's waist. "You gave that whole speech about being closer to the stadium, after all." He slides his palms along Midorima's exposed abdomen, taut with muscle and radiating more heat than Takao thinks he will ever get used to. "I always know when my Shin-chan is just making excuses, though," he continues, wiggling his hips back until Midorima's clothed cock pops up between his legs. He takes a moment just to appreciate the sight, the obscene stretch of it, the way it pulls Midorima's elastic waistband upward just enough to cast a shadow on his skin. "Sometimes I wish Shin-chan would just tell me plainly, but who knows what I'd do to you, then." Takao's hand travels downward, his thumb dipping into the shadow at the center of Midorima's hips, his own voice lowering as if to match. "I've had more practice than anyone, but there's only so much I can handle from you, Shin-chan."
Midorima's legs jump, Takao dropping down heavier on his thighs to still them, and Takao comes to the conclusion that if he wants to do any sleeping tonight he should probably get a move on. He hooks his fingers under Midorima's waistband, carefully shimmying down his pants and boxers, both their breaths hitching as Midorima's cock bobs free from its confines. Takao feels hard and heavy himself, watching Midorima's stomach tense and his skin flush, and as Takao fingers at the coarse bits of pubic hair he finds himself pulling his own cock out from the slit of his boxers, the sight of it wholly uninteresting to him if not for the way it makes Midorima twitch and flush darker.
"Shin-chan likes that, huh?" Takao comments, letting his mouth run as he lines up their cocks. He leans higher on his knees, stretches his fingers around the both of them, and grins at the hiss Midorima lets out when he swiftly strokes up. "I think Shin-chan looks nice on his own, but I like seeing the both of us, too."
Midorima audibly swallows as Takao adjusts his grip, squeezing tighter on the downstroke. "Be quiet, fool," he protests, although his eyes never stray from between their hips, his own hands starting to wander up Takao's thighs. "My family is sleeping."
Takao hums. "But what if I have more sweet nothings I want to whisper to Shin-chan?"
"Takao!"
"Uh-uh, now who's being loud?" he teases. He strokes upward again before Midorima can reply, crooking his index finger to dip into Midorima's slit, Midorima inhaling sharply as precum beads under Takao's fingertip. His grip unconsciously tightens around Takao's thighs, and Takao whines and rapidly taps his wrist with his free hand. "Be gentle, Shin-chan, I don't want to be bruised tomorrow."
Midorima huffs, but his hands loosen into something that's more like a caress than a deathgrip, Takao rewarding him with another stroke downward, Takao panting as his own cock throbs beneath his fingers.
For a while, his focus narrows to just that, the way his palm quietly rasps along their skin in the blue-tinted darkness, the way it makes heat pulse between his hips as his breathing grows wet in his chest. His free hand trails over Midorima's hipbone, smooth and bare, jutting out at a perfectly symmetric angle to its twin. Midorima exhales shakily when Takao fits his palm over it, pressing down, the air vibrating around a moan when Takao quickly flicks the wrist of his occupied hand, the creases of his fingers catching on the leaking head.
Takao's perception expands, his gaze dragging from their cocks and Midorima's impossibly smooth skin up to Midorima's parted lips, pale and slightly damp with spit. His eyes are half-lidded, his gaze intent on Takao's jerking hand, moving solely on instinct rather than coherent thought as Takao's brain stalls at the open view of Midorima, his face blushing and almost hungry, the tendons in his neck flexing from the braced-up angle of his head.
Takao bites his lip, hopes Midorima's concentration and near-sightedness is enough to hide his own blush, and speeds up the pace of his hand. "You're really too much for me, Shin-chan," he manages, sounding only half as strangled as Midorima's actually making him. "Seriously, Shin-chan, you're so pretty I don't know what to do sometimes."
Midorima gasps, although Takao can't be sure if it's from his words or the way the palm of his opposite hand slides over both their tips, clumsily smearing around the liquid there. "You're so adorable without even trying, it's really not fair at all." Takao suddenly hunches forward, nuzzling into Midorima's chest, and closing his eyes as he thrusts into his hand. Midorima reflexively mimics him, his entire body rolling with the movement, and Takao presses a groan into his sleep shirt. "You've gotta stop being so unfair, Shin-chan. It makes me almost wish I let you fuck me instead."
The noise Midorima lets out sounds like a whimper but feels like a shout, his hands spasming where they're still resting on Takao's hips, his entire body rolling into Takao's grip again. "I do not believe," he rasps, "that I am the one being unfair right now."
Takao chuckles, more air than sound. "Shin-chan's so honest when he's close," he whispers back.
"And you're insufferable," Midorima murmurs, or at least Takao thinks he does, blood pumping too loudly through his ears to tell while their release shoots hot and sticky into his hands. Most of it ends up on his fingers, but some inevitably drips onto Midorima's skin, streaking across the lower portion of Midorima's abdomen. Takao takes a deep breath as the starbursts behind his eyelids fade, breathing in the clean scent of Midorima's laundry detergent as he tries to will his legs to stop shaking.
Midorima attempts to sit up before Takao manages, Takao pressing more of his weight onto Midorima to stop him. "You stay right there, Shin-chan, I'll clean this up."
It takes him another minute, but then he's finally able to slide off Midorima's lap and stumble to the low table, grateful just this once for Midorima's silly night light. He hits the floor much harder than intended while grabbing a wad of tissues from the box, and doesn't bother trying to stand again while he shuffles back to Midorima's bed on his shins. He wipes off his fingers and Midorima's stomach, letting Midorima adjust his own clothes while he tucks his dick back into his boxers.
He throws the dirty tissues toward Midorima's garbage can, absolutely certain that he misses, and crawls back into Midorima's bed anyway. He doesn't realize he's laughing until it's muffled by Midorima's sheets, the fabric disappointingly warm against his cheek.
It really is too hot to be sharing a bed.
But it's not all bad, Takao figures, taking in Midorima's relaxed expression and his once again perfect figure, already tucked in like Takao never touched him at all, if not for the glow still radiating from his cheeks.
Takao sighs, and reluctantly shoves his feet under the duvet, wriggling his way up the mattress until he can hug the spare pillow to his face. "Goodnight again, Shin-chan," he quietly calls out, peeking at Midorima over the scrunched pillowcase.
Midorima's eyes remain closed, his posture still as ever.
"... Goodnight, Takao. Sleep well."
("That was a great game, guys!" Takao cheers, sweaty but elated, Midorima practically glowing next to him.
"Good game," Kagami grunts, holding out his hand toward Midorima. Takao grins proudly as Midorima primly accepts.
Takao holds out his own hand to the player in front of him, Kuroko shooting him the ghost of a smile before shaking it. "Next time, we will win," Kuroko says, first and foremost. "But I will admit Midorima-kun was in top form today."
Takao can't hold back the snort that escapes him. "He was, wasn't he?" He elbows Midorima in the side, his grin widening as Midorima glances at him. "You hear that, Shin-chan? Maybe I should help you relax before every game."
Midorima sputters and immediately swipes at him, Takao cackling as he dodges. "Good luck with your next game, you two!" he adds, waving as he continues to dance away, and ignores the thoughtful way Kuroko blinks at him as Midorima growls. "Not so violent, Shin-chan, Shuutoku still needs a point guard!"
"The rest of our bench is rather promising."
"You can't get rid of me that easily, Shin-chan!"
Kagami raises an eyebrow. "Is it just me, or are they worse than last year?"
Kuroko returns the look with a bland one of his own. "They've certainly grown closer, it seems.")