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He knew Himuro moved with the grace of a swan gliding through a pond. He’d seen it on the court, with his flawless plays, perfect fakes, and seamless moves. Everything about Himuro radiated elegance; anyone who’d seen him play or simply walk could be a testament to that.
Murasakibara would be lying if he said he didn’t find Himuro’s basketball style of the upmost refinement, though, if asked, he’d never admit to such a thing. He had seen the way Himuro moved on court, like waves on the ocean; so gentle, delicate, like you could reach out and touch them, but that was just an illusion because if you underestimated their power, those beautiful ocean waves could take you by surprise, pull you into the depths of the sea and show you just how dangerous they truly where, just like Muro-chin.
And yet, knowing these things of Himuro’s movements, it couldn’t have even begun to describe the way Himuro moved as he danced…
Murasakibara had run out of snacks, and, finding it in his best interest to invite his teammate in hopes of getting a few extra snacks for free, he walked to Muro-chin’s dorm to tell, not ask, him to go with him down to the mini-mart.
It was a bad habit of Muro-chin’s really, to leave his door unlocked, something Murasakibara had reprimanded him on in several occasions- always saying it’d be too much work if someone broke in and stole his stuff and then them having to call the police, never saying because he was worried someone could walk in on him.
However, never had Murasakibara been more grateful to that habit then this very moment. He had noticed the music blasting from a few meters away, but since tomorrow they’d be starting a summer break and most of the students had already left campus, Murasakibara hadn’t found it odd. When he realized it was coming from Muro-chin’s room, he hesitated opening the door and opted for listening closely to the music.
It was an exotic language to him, one he didn’t hear very often. It wasn’t English; he’d heard Muro-chin speak it on several occasions, and none of his words matched the song. It must have been Spanish; occasionally, a Spanish word, a profane Spanish word most of the time, would also slip Muro-chin’s lips.
Murasakibara didn’t know what the song was saying. The man was singing far faster than he could process, so, deciding the song was irrelevant to him, Murasakibara entered Himuro’s dorm. And what a sight it was that greeted him.
He was wearing black cargo pants; they hugged loosely at his waist, revealing just a small sliver of purple boxer briefs underneath. But all Murasakibara could really see was the lean yet muscular bare back, far too pale for someone whom, up until a few weeks ago, lived in LA, a place constantly surrounded by sunshine, and those back muscles, perfectly defined and accented with a thin layer of glistening sweat.
But that sight only lasted for a single blink because when Murasakibara opened his eyes again, Himuro was now facing him. Abs and chest glowing, cheeks flushed, arms held high in the air as he moved his waist side to side, back and forwards, up and down. His hip thrusting forward, slowly, gently, seductively.
He didn’t need to understand the music to know; Muro-chin was moving in perfect sync to the beat. His body swayed with the beat, he turned to the music. Murasakibara was enthralled, staring wide eyed and mouth gapping as Muro-chin bended his body backwards, his head by the back of his knees and, a beat at a time, pull himself forward. Atsushi found himself wondering of other ways that flexibility could be used.
His purple eyes followed a bead of sweat at it traveled down Himuro’s belly and subconsciously began chewing on his lower lip as he watched it pool inside his belly button. Murasakibara had never considered himself interested in carnal desires, but as he watched that bead of sweat, and the others that followed, he wondered what it would be like if it were his hand slowly traveling down Muro-chin’s body, his nails gently digging into the soft flesh, leaving behind his mark.
Murasakibara felt heat spread through his body as he watched. It was far more alluring that it should have been, far more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen, far more sexual too, but then again, it was Muro-chin. Murasakibara wondered if Muro-chin could beat Kise-chin in looks, but one sway of hips had him dismissing the thought; like Kise-chin stood a chance.
And then Atsushi saw a perky round bottom faced directly toward him. Himuro held his ass high and the air, then he let himself all on his knees and slowly lean his body backwards, back arching. And then the song ended, and he finally opened his eyes, and looked at an upside-down, flustered Murasakibara.
“What is it Atsushi?” An almost devilish grin adorned his lips; not one shred of embarrassment as he pulled himself up, and Murasakibara was left wondering if maybe, just maybe, Muro-chin had known he had been watching the whole time.