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The penthouse was dark except for the city glow bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows. Kuroko Tetsuya knelt on the plush rug in the center of the living room, his wrists bound loosely with a silk scarf—deep burgundy, Hanamiya's favorite. The knots were deliberate, not tight enough to hurt but impossible to break. His pale skin gleamed under the faint light, already flushed from the kneeling, his cock half-hard against his thigh.
Hanamiya Makoto stood behind him, fully dressed in a black button-down and slacks, the top two buttons undone. He hadn't touched Kuroko yet. That was the game tonight—patience. Control. The slow unraveling of Kuroko's usual stoic composure.
"You're shaking," Hanamiya murmured, his voice a low, amused drawl. He circled around to face Kuroko, then crouched, bringing their eyes level. His hand came up, thumb brushing Kuroko's lower lip. "Nervous?"
Kuroko's breath hitched. "No. Just... ready."
"Good." Hanamiya's smile was knife-sharp, but there was a warmth behind it that only Kuroko ever saw. He stood, stepping back, and pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket. The clink of metal inside made Kuroko's stomach flutter.
"Tonight, I'm going to take you apart piece by piece," Hanamiya said, loosening the drawstring. "And you're going to thank me for every single one."
He withdrew a set of chrome nipple clamps connected by a delicate chain. They caught the light, cold and precise. Kuroko's nipples tightened in anticipation.
"Hands behind your back. Arch your chest."
Kuroko complied, shifting onto his heels, pushing his chest forward. Hanamiya knelt in front of him, pinching one nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it until it was peaked and sensitive. Then the clamp—a quick, sharp pressure, then a dull, constant ache. Kuroko hissed through his teeth.
"Count," Hanamiya ordered.
"One," Kuroko whispered.
The second clamp went on just as smoothly, and the chain hung between them, a silver line across his chest. "Two."
Hanamiya gave the chain a light tug, sending a jolt through both nipples. Kuroko gasped, his cock twitching fully erect.
"Now for your mouth." Hanamiya produced a silicone ball gag, black, with a small ring at the front. He held it up, eyebrow raised. Kuroko nodded, opening his mouth. The ball slid past his lips, filling his jaw, and Hanamiya buckled the strap behind his head, snug but not tight. Drool immediately began to gather at the corners of Kuroko's mouth.
"Beautiful," Hanamiya said, stroking Kuroko's cheek. "You look ruined already. And we haven't even started."
He moved behind Kuroko again, footsteps silent on the rug. Kuroko heard the rustle of clothes, then the click of a cap—lube. A cold slickness spread between his ass cheeks, Hanamiya's fingers tracing his rim with practiced ease. One finger pressed in, then two, scissoring, stretching. Kuroko moaned around the gag, the sound muffled, wet.
"Three," Hanamiya counted for him, adding a third finger. "Four." The stretch was exquisite, burning just enough. Hanamiya's fingers found his prostate, pressing with a rhythm that made Kuroko's knees tremble.
"I want you to feel empty when I stop," Hanamiya whispered, withdrawing his fingers slowly. Kuroko whimpered at the loss. Then something cold and smooth pressed against his entrance—a plug, larger than the one Midorima had used, with a flared base shaped like a jewel. Hanamiya pushed it in, inch by inch, until it seated deep inside him. The fullness was immediate, pressing against his prostate, making him lightheaded.
"There." Hanamiya patted his ass. "Five."
He stood, walking around to face Kuroko again. He unbuttoned his pants, freeing his cock—already hard, the head glistening. He stroked himself lazily, watching Kuroko kneel there, gagged, clamped, plugged, drooling.
"On your stomach. Arch your ass."
Kuroko obeyed, lying flat on the rug, lifting his hips. The rug fibers brushed against his sensitive nipples, the clamps pulling with every shift. Hanamiya knelt behind him, the head of his cock pressing against the base of the plug.
"You'll feel me around it," Hanamiya said, and pushed.
The stretch was intense—cock and plug together, the rim stretched wide. Kuroko's muffled scream was lost in the gag, his fingers clawing at the rug. Hanamiya sank deep, the plug grinding against his prostate, his cock filling the space around it.
"Six," Hanamiya breathed, beginning to move.
Each thrust was a revelation. The plug shifted inside him, a secondary invasion. Hanamiya set a punishing pace, fast and deep, his balls slapping against Kuroko's perineum. Sweat dripped from Hanamiya's brow onto Kuroko's back.
"Seven. Eight. Nine." Hanamiya counted as he fucked, his rhythm never faltering. Kuroko's own cock was trapped against the rug, grinding into the fibers with every thrust, a dull, constant friction that built pressure without release.
By the time Hanamiya reached fifteen, Kuroko was sobbing, tears and drool pooling beneath his cheek. His hands were numb, his nipples aching, his ass full to bursting. Hanamiya slowed, pulling out entirely, and Kuroko shuddered.
"Turn over," Hanamiya said, voice rough.
Kuroko rolled, the plug shifting inside him, making him gasp. Hanamiya removed the gag, letting him breathe. Then he unbuckled the clamps, one at a time. The blood rushed back, sharp and painful, then melting into warmth. Kuroko cried out, a broken sound.
"Shh." Hanamiya leaned down, kissing his temple. "You're doing so well."
He removed the plug, slow and deliberate, and Kuroko's hole clenched around the emptiness. Then Hanamiya positioned himself between Kuroko's legs, lining his cock up with the slick, used entrance.
"No more toys," Hanamiya said, pushing in. "Just you and me."
He fucked him slow this time, deep and grinding, angling to hit that spot every time. Kuroko wrapped his legs around Hanamiya's waist, pulling him deeper. Their mouths met, tongues sliding, the taste of salt and desperation.
"Come for me, Tetsuya," Hanamiya whispered.
Kuroko shattered, his orgasm ripping through him, cum splashing across his stomach. Hanamiya thrust twice more, buried deep, and groaned, filling him with thick, hot seed.
They lay tangled afterward, Hanamiya still inside him, their breathing slowly evening out. Hanamiya's hand traced lazy patterns on Kuroko's hip.
"You did good," he murmured.
Kuroko smiled, eyes closed. "You made me count to... I lost track."
"Twenty-three," Hanamiya supplied. "You owe me seven for next time."
Kuroko laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "I'll pay my debts."
---
The next morning, Kuroko woke sore but satisfied. Hanamiya had already left for practice at Kirisaki Daichi, leaving a note on the pillow: Don't forget to stretch. I'll be back late.
Kuroko limped through his morning routine, then decided to drop by Kirisaki Daichi's gym to say hello. He knew the team had afternoon practice, and he wanted to see Hanamiya—and maybe get a ride home.
When he walked into the gym, the noise stopped. Five heads turned. Yamazaki Hiroshi, on the bench, raised an eyebrow. Seto Kentaro, mid-dunk, let the ball bounce away. Hara Kazuya and Furuhasi Kojiro exchanged glances. And Hanamiya, in the center, looked up from his clipboard, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before the usual smirk settled.
"Kuroko," Hanamiya said, dropping the clipboard. "Shouldn't you be resting?"
"I wanted to see you." Kuroko's voice was flat, but his ears were red.
Furuhasi's eyes narrowed, scanning Kuroko from head to toe. The way he walked. The slight stiffness in his shoulders. The lingering redness at the corners of his mouth. "Hanamiya," Furuhasi said slowly, a wicked grin spreading across his face, "you didn't."
Seto laughed, loud and booming. "Look at him, he can barely stand! You really went all out, didn't you, captain?"
Kuroko's face flushed deeper, but he didn't look away. Hanamiya walked over, casually draping an arm around Kuroko's shoulders. "Jealous, Seto?"
"Of you? Never." But Seto's tone was light, teasing. He turned to Kuroko, his voice dropping to something almost gentle. "You okay, little guy? Need me to beat him up for you?"
"Don't be stupid," Hara muttered, but he was grinning. "He'd enjoy it too much."
Furuhasi, the quiet one, simply handed Kuroko a water bottle. "Your neck," he said, pointing. There was a dark bruise near Kuroko's collarbone.
Kuroko touched it, then looked at Hanamiya. "I didn't notice."
"Sorry," Hanamiya said, but he didn't sound sorry at all.
Furuhasi walked closer, inspecting Kuroko like a curious cat. "So you're the one who tamed our demon captain. I always wondered what kind of person could handle him." He reached out, patting Kuroko's head. "You're tougher than you look."
"Don't patronize him," Hanamiya said, but there was no heat in it.
Kuroko smiled—small, genuine. "I like your team. They're... surprisingly nice."
The five of them looked at each other, then burst into laughter. "Nice?" Seto repeated. "We're terrifying. Ask anyone. But you," he pointed at Kuroko, "you're family now. Family protects family."
"Even from our own captain," Hara added, earning a sharp look from Hanamiya.
Kuroko felt a warmth spread through his chest, different from the one last night. He leaned into Hanamiya's side, and Hanamiya's arm tightened around him.
"Practice later," Hanamiya announced. "I'm taking him home."
The team cheered, catcalls and whistles echoing as they walked out. Kuroko's face was scarlet, but he was smiling.
"Your team is definitely something else," he said as they stepped outside.
Hanamiya kissed the top of his head. "They're idiots. But they're our idiots."
Kuroko leaned his head against Hanamiya's shoulder, feeling the soreness in his body, the ache in his muscles, and the quiet joy of being accepted—not despite what he was, but because of it.