Title: Unchronological
Summary: Stupidity was never a synonym for prowess in obscene acts. At least, that's what Midorima remembers.
Aomine's always been a fan of spontaneity, and Midorima is almost (just almost) not surprised when Aomine mutters, "Hey, wanna have sex at my house?"
In fact, Midorima berates himself for tolerating the repulsive words of another horny teenager. He wonders how in the world he could consider himself unmarred by the evils of pleasure dripping from his teammate's lips. If only Aomine could prove that he's as enthusiastic about his studies as he is about the magazines that he keeps in his home, then maybe Midorima could cut him some slack.
Or maybe not.
"No," Midorima tersely replies, diverting his attention to the loosening tape around his fingers. One thing he's curious about, though, is why Aomine bothers to ask him, of all people, if he could engage in intercourse. For all Midorima knows, Aomine invests in pictures of huge breasts. The thought makes Midorima squirm.
Aomine only groans. "You're such a prude. We both have time and no commitment, so what's the problem with that? A casual fuck won't cost you anything."
Perhaps my dignity, Midorima wishes to spit at him just so he could shut up. It's a pain to breathe the same air that Aomine Daiki breathes, and Midorima won't give him the satisfaction of coercing him into doing something atrocious. "I'm not interested in such vile actions," Midorima says, gripping the bandages too tightly.
"Wow," Aomine laughs. "I'm shocked that you didn't go on defensive mode and fight for your manliness."
"Having sex," the word tastes filthy on Midorima's tongue, "with a girl does not constitute my definition of manliness."
"Then what does?"
It's too late when Midorima realizes that Aomine is hovering over him, hands braced on the lockers for good measure. It doesn't help that the bench is right in front of the lockers, and Midorima's smack in the middle of Aomine's threatening body and a metal door. Unconsciously, Midorima bites his lip, the warmth in his chest spreading to his cheeks.
Aomine grins. There's no way that he's still playing that game of his. He leans in and breathes, hard, against Midorima's ear, and the green-eyed male can't help but shiver at the contact. "Seems like we can do it here, after all."
"N-no," Midorima exhales shakily, and hell would freeze over before he admits that there's a reason for his crossing of legs. Down there refuses to cooperate with his firm mindset. Leave it to Aomine to warrant unnecessary erections.
Aomine's lips brush over his cheek, and his neck soon after. He hums appreciatively at the expanse of skin that isn't covered by the jersey and licks the beads of sweat that resides on it. By now, Midorima pants, partly in nervousness but mostly in arousal. It's impossible to cover the bulge in his shorts. "Stop," Midorima warns, "Stop it, Aomine."
"What?" Aomine asks pointedly, humming along Midorima's collarbones. He reaches Midorima's shoulder and slides off the clothing for a bit so he could suck on that pretty, unblemished integument. "We both know that you want this."
"I don't," Midorima says in the best composed voice that he has. Unfortunately, it comes off as a squeak, and Aomine takes the opportunity to literally tear the jersey off of Midorima's upper half. The sudden display of aggression makes Midorima flinch, and when he notices Aomine's eyes roaming over his entirety (well, half of his entirety), he has to swallow. It's just like that gleam in his irises when he's in the Zone, only now it's much more intense.
Aomine loses all sense of reason as his teeth latch on to one of Midorima's nubs. Midorima, although he doesn't exactly know why this stimulates him, gasps when he feels Aomine's tongue swirling over his nipple while his fingers fiddle with the other one. He's aware that his cock is enjoying the delicious friction against Aomine's rigid abdomen. Involuntarily, he lets out a hiss when Aomine begins to palm his erection through the material of his shorts.
"Is it a yes now?" Aomine whispers, his tone dropping several notches. It's unbelievably attractive. Midorima doesn't speak — after all, how can he when he sees Aomine move south with the determination of a predator? Midorima wavers for a second, opening his mouth to terminate whatever the hell Aomine's planning to do, but Aomine cuts him off and rips all of his remaining clothing off, leaving them pooled at his ankles.
Good thing Midorima's still sitting on a bench, or else he'll plummet to the floor.
Aomine eagerly takes Midorima's cock in his mouth without waiting for affirmation. In astonishment, Midorima's hands flee to his mouth to prevent any scream from bouncing off the walls. It's embarrassing enough to be taken advantage of by his dumbest teammate, and it'd be the death of him if someone else hears their little…misunderstanding.
Apparently, Aomine is excellent at things other than basketball. Never mind that he fails almost all of his tests and completely misses the context of every intellectual or substantial conversation he's ever had (maybe he's never had one, even) — Aomine Daiki is, undeniably, the god of all sex gods. Of course, Midorima doesn't actually have the experience to guarantee that, but if Aomine's expert use of his tongue on that slit is any indication, then Midorima doesn't need any more evidence.
Midorima crumbles under Aomine's mouth and bucks his hips up, making the bench creak against the locker with a screeching noise. He can just picture Aomine smiling against the inside of his thighs, but he can barely have the time to grumble about it when Aomine hollows his cheeks to accommodate Midorima's manhood. Aomine takes it deeper until it reaches the back of his throat and he moans to remind Midorima that he isn't the only one with a throbbing dick.
Under Aomine's frenzied, simultaneous licking, sucking, and bobbing, Midorima arches in desperation to release the heat pooling at his stomach. Rationale be damned; Midorima's fingers would rather be entangled in Aomine's messy mane than hang helplessly on his sides. Just a few more thrusts into Aomine's perfect mouth and he's done for, glasses sliding off the bridge of his nose that's too wet for his own liking. He mumbles incoherently and almost brokenly when Aomine swallows every last drop that he ever has to offer.
Unlike Midorima who is currently basking in euphoria, Aomine stands up, wipes off the white fluid on the corners of his lips, and grins, admiring the mess he's made out of Midorima. "Fuck, you look amazing," he says, a little bit in disbelief that he's managed to coax the most stubborn virgin who ever existed to let him demonstrate a proper blowjob. Judging by Midorima's strained breaths and shivers, maybe it was more than proper.
Aomine steps out of his own clothing and allows Midorima's stare to travel over his skin. He chuckles throatily when Midorima audibly swallows for the second time. "Don't think we're done yet," he says, his knees on either side of Midorima's flaccid body. "We've only just begun."
Midorima must be out of his mind to not force his way out of the situation, but he figures that coming twice in just two hours isn't such a bad idea, after all.
Not that he'll ever say that out loud to Aomine's face. That asshole is arrogant enough with his excessive self-esteem; there's no doubt that anything Midorima says would only add fuel to the fire.
A day later, Midorima's whole backside hurts (in compensation for the previous day's pleasure, of course) and he curses himself for an afternoon's worth of naivety and an uncontrollable surge of hormones. He doesn't usually receive messages on his phone, but when he does, the ringtone startles and prompts him to move towards the other side of his bed to grab the device. He grumbles at the searing discomfort, and his abhorrence for a certain Aomine Daiki only worsens when he reads the text.
To: Midorima Shintarou
From: Aomine Daiki
Wanna go on a date? ;)
Midorima is cognizant of the fact that a world-class idiot just robbed him of any innocence left of him yesterday, but he could say nothing to the utter ridiculousness of Aomine's twisted train of thought.
Not that this backwards-thinking doesn't appeal to him.
In fact, it's just the opposite.
To: Aomine Daiki
From: Midorima Shintarou
No.