Work Text:
(14)
It’s during Kise Ryouta’s second year of middle school that he realizes something.
While he is used to words, used to the inclusion of letters, syllables, and phrases to give praise, to offer encouragement, to show emotions, he realizes Aomine Daiki is not one of those people.
Aomine touches, uses actions and gestures instead of words, and though it first stumps him how Aomine offers these exchanges so easily, so casually, Kise learns to adapt, to reciprocate.
He finds he likes Aomine’s way of communicating, likes the fondness behind it, the affection inlaid into each nudge, each bump, each teasing rumple of his hair. Likes it enough, in fact, that he doesn’t remember when they go from casual and friendly to something else, something more, something he pushes to the back of his mind because Aomine is his friend.
And friends don’t think of each other that way...
...right?
"I don't get this." Aomine grumbles something incoherent and rolls over on his stomach. His eyes narrow at the open booklet splayed out on the floor in front of him. "When the hell am I ever gonna use this anyway? It's dumb. I'm never gonna learn this in time for the quiz tomorrow."
"Mooooh Aominecchi, maybe you're the one that's dumb. It's just math. Everyone uses math," Kise retorts, tipping the pencil's point on his tongue before continuing the doodle he's working on. He's getting much better at drawing, especially when he uses his own face as reference, but it's still nothing compared to the pictures he's seen Kuroko draw.
"Says the one drawing himself on his notes. You're not even doing the work, dumbass."
"I am, too! Look, I'm already done." Kise holds up the workbook and grins.
Aomine squints at the page, scrutinizing the neat equations before he makes a grab for it. "Hey, lemme see that!"
With speed to match Aomine's reflexes, Kise pulls the workbook just out of his reach and sticks out his tongue. "No way! Aominecchi's a lazy bum and there's no way I'm gonna get in trouble because you couldn't figure out the problems by yourself!"
"Come on! Satsuki lets me copy all the time. No one's gonna find out."
Kise considers this for a moment. Notorious as Aomine is for being lazy, he's even more so with his tenacity regarding things he really wants to get done. Before he has the chance to answer, however, Aomine moves from the floor to the couch and drapes over him like dead weight. It isn’t the first time Aomine has invaded his personal space, but Kise flushes anyway. The sudden proximity, even if he’s gotten used to more of the casual gestures Aomine uses to wrangle what he wants from everyone else, causes his stomach to flip. “Aominecchi’s heavy,” he grumbles with an attempt to get away.
“I’ll play you for it. The faster you agree, the quicker we’ll get to play some ball. Come on, Kise,” Aomine drawls, poking the side of Kise’s head, his cheek, and finally the ticklish spot in his side that only Aomine’s constant prodding has figured out. Aomine’s grin is smug, spread wide in a way that makes it hard for Kise to say no. “You know you’re itching for some one-on-one.”
With an exasperated sigh, Kise scoffs and rolls his eyes, a petulant pout accompanying the gesture as he reluctantly hands over the coursework. Aomine always did know what to do to make him give in.
(16)
It’s during the second year of high school that Kise’s initial realization kicks it up a notch.
While he is still used to words more than actions because they are easier to control, easier to manipulate without getting too close, he realizes how much he misses the way Aomine used to communicate. Their friendship had been strained with the rise of the Generation of Miracles, but slowly and with a patience Kise has learned throughout his relationship with Aomine, the touches soon return until it’s like they’ve never left at all.
When Aomine toes the line between them for the first time, Kise finds he likes Aomine’s way of communicating more and more.
“That basket counted!” Kise fumes, fists balled at his sides and face hot from both frustration and the afternoon sun beating down on him with prickling heat. “You can’t call fouls in a one-on-one!”
Aomine wipes the sweat beading at his brow, the scowl he wears matching the one Kise pins him with. “You fucking knocked my ass to the ground, idiot. That’s a foul. You didn’t win jack shit.”
“Can’t take a little rough play, Aominecchi?” Kise taunts, still angry that he’s lost yet another one-on-one based on a technicality.
“Don’t be a sore loser.”
“You’re the sore loser. That basket went in,” Kise insists, teeth gritted as he flings his towel in Aomine’s face. His eyes widen when Aomine catches his wrist mid-throw and tugs him forward with enough force that his body lurches before his mind can catch up.
The next thing he knows, Aomine is kissing him, slightly chapped lips breathing warmth into him and rough hands cradled on either sides of his face. It’s a touch that Kise isn’t used to, a touch that takes his brain a few seconds to reboot from, but like with the other touches, he adapts, reciprocates, and soon his back is pressed against the chain link fence of the outdoor court with an aggression akin to their one-on-ones. Aomine keeps touching, keeps kissing, communicates in a way that leaves Kise breathless and gasping when Aomine finally pulls away.
“Can’t you just shut up for once?”
The words are just words and they disappear into thin air, forgotten and discarded as Aomine scoffs and motions for Kise to follow when he leaves the court. But the action stays, the action lingers, and as Kise picks up his things, his fingers trace over where Aomine’s mouth had just been.
(18)
It’s during his third year of high school that Kise realizes how much one touch can turn his world upside down.
While he still uses words more than gestures, he finds that with Aomine, he doesn’t need to. Every nudge, every bump, every passing brush of fingertips says more than anything Kise can put to words. Aomine doesn’t need syllables to show his affection, doesn’t need letters to make Kise’s stomach flutter, his heartbeat quicken.
Sometimes, Kise finds, words aren’t needed at all.
“Oh god,” he breathes, collapsing on the bed next to Aomine, loose-limbed and spent and gasping for air.
“Not my name,” comes the grunted response. Aomine’s laughter rumbles in his throat, low and coarse like gravel. It’s a sound that melts Kise to butter, a sound that levels him and turns him on even in the aftermath of an apocalyptic orgasm. “But close enough.”
Kise laughs, speechless for once. Too sated, too content, too much of everything all at once that the only thing he wants is what Aomine has always given. Aomine lays on his stomach, cheek resting against his forearm as he traces lazy shapes on Kise’s back. His knuckles sweep down, fingertips retracing the lines and causing a shiver to work its way up Kise’s spine. He yawns, blinking his eyes closed while Kise shifts to return the absentminded gesture.
As he comes down from his high, breaths less broken, less fragmented, Kise stares at Aomine’s expression, peaceful and quiet in his sleep, and wonders when it is that his preferences had changed from needing words to cater to him, to encourage him, to make him feel wanted and secure to not caring if they’re there at all.
Aomine has never said outright how he feels, but Kise knows it in every casual touch, every grin and laugh that comes with each kiss, each hug, each brush of fingertips no one else can see.
And while he continues to watch Aomine’s back rise and fall with each even breath, his fingers start tracing, forming letters and syllables into a phrase never spoken, but always shown.
L-O-V-E
Kise pauses when Aomine stirs, draws in a long breath, before settling back into his dreams. And then he continues.
Y-O-U
He doesn’t know how long he keeps going, doesn’t think about how many times he writes out the phrase until touch and words bleed together, a unified effort to help Kise communicate in a way Aomine would understand. Soon enough his eyes become heavier, mind foggy with a tiredness he can’t fight anymore, and the last thing he remembers is the faint twitch of a grin on Aomine’s lips before everything goes dark.
A short while later, he wakes just enough to hear the quiet rustle next to him. He figures Aomine is up and about, but he’s too comfortable, too content where he is to join him just yet. Something warm drapes over him, soft and faintly smelling of detergent and Aomine, before a whisper brushes the shell of his ear.
“Love you, too, baby.”
And then it’s gone like words often are. But this time, something stays, something lingers, and Kise drifts back to sleep with a knowing smile.