I am almost sorry for writing this :D. So, if you do choose to read it, I warn you that there is a bit of smut, some foul language, slash, mentions of abuse. But on the plus side, well, I'd been calling this the emo!aomine with daddy issues fic until I was forced to think of an actual title, pff. I wrote this in response of me wanting to write the reverse of one of the kinkmeme requests.

Stagnancy

"I knew you'd still be here. You haven't changed, Tetsu."

Kuroko stops mid motion, shoes squeaking in protest. He pivots slowly on the spot to face the gym entrance. His head tilts in confusion at the intrusion, and he takes in the image of his sudden guest. Their tall form slumps casually against the door frame, clothed in a large black hoodie and equally black slacks. Their hands are shoved into the pant's front pockets. The hood is raised, but even with their face shadowed, he'd know that person anywhere.

"Aomine-kun," Kuroko says. "How long have you been there?" He chooses not to ask the obvious question of Why are you here? Kuroko's learned that while Aomine doesn't seem it, he is oddly roundabout with the things that actually matter.

"For a while," he admits. "I waited out front for everyone else to leave. I knew you'd stick around. You really haven't changed." Aomine glances to the other side of the gym. Basketballs lie scattered. "You're still practicing the accelerating pass even though we mastered that in first year at Teikou." He shakes his head with a heavy chuckle bubbling in his throat. "No, you haven't changed at all."

"Aomine-kun is mistaken," Kuroko says, "I have changed since back then." He remembers playing with an Aomine that loved basketball. He remembers Aomine's progressively darkening expression every time he stepped out onto the court. He remembers standing beside Aomine after winning for the third consecutive year at nationals; his own love for basketball missing like a gaping wound, and Aomine holding onto his gold medal with an almost bitter resentment. "You have changed as well."

Aomine suddenly stiffens, head lowering and hood shadowing the entirety his face. "I've changed?" he whispers, so quietly that Kuroko has to strain to hear him. Aomine pushes himself from the door frame with an odd drunken grace, and takes a couple steps towards Kuroko. "I've changed?" he repeats, louder and like his throat is sandpaper.

Aomine-kun only get like this when ... Kuroko eyes Aomine's approaching form, searching for the familiar signs he used to check for daily: A stance that only mimics calm, muscles coiled taut and ready to pounce, grinning through a clenched jaw, and eyes shadowed in a way that can only come from a darkness within.

Aomine stops an arm's length away from Kuroko. His hands are still out of sight and stashed in his pockets, but Kuroko's sure they're trembling. "Changed? Me?"

Kuroko flinches as Aomine throws his head back, hood falling off and ragged laughter spilling out. An ugly bruise of purple and blue has bloomed under his right eye.

"I haven't changed at all. I haven't changed at fucking all!" Aomine breathes heavy, his face contorts with rage and his eyes widen in fear. "I still hate him and can't do shit about it. I can't stand it when he's around. I can't breathe when he's around. I can't do anything!"

Kuroko doesn't say anything. He just fills that gap that separates them until they're toe to toe. He looks up at Aomine like he always did back then; gentle understanding tightly intertwined with the promise of a temporary reprieve.

"He's back, then," Kuroko says softly. He'd been gone for so long. It'd been wishful thinking on Kuroko's part that's he'd drifted to the edge of the world and fallen off.

Aomine doesn't meet his eyes when he jerks his head in a crude nod. There's a question caught in his throat. He bites down on his bottom lip, but abandons the idea and looks away.

That's okay. Kuroko understands. Kuroko's always understood Aomine best.

"Aomine-kun will stay at my place." It's what Kuroko always said back then. This has not and will never change. Not as long as Aomine seeks him out, brittle and just as burnt out as charred cinder, because of a father that uses alcohol as a crutch to ward off the cruelty of reality.

Seeing Aomine's haunted stare, Kuroko fights to keep a pained smile off his face. It's funny, in a terrible sort of way, that the things that don't change really should and the things that should change never do.

The court is cleared and tidied in under three minutes. Kuroko closes the equipment room door with a soft click and glances at Aomine, sitting on the floor, back curled against the wall, knees drawn up, and with his hood back on. An air of gloom settles around Aomine, soaking up light and filling Kuroko with a silent rage.

Aomine had tried to hide it, but Kuroko saw him wince when he sat.

"Aomine-kun," Kuroko says. When he sees the other lift his head up in acknowledgement he continues, "I'm going to get changed. You can wait here. I'll be back in a moment."

The air of the locker room is oppressive in a way that it hasn't been in a long time. And never at Seirin. The old vent clangs once upon entering the room, like it does every now and then, but all it does is make Kuroko realize the absence of sound even more prominently. It's quiet in that terrible way that gives the silence a tangible presence. It's the kind of silence one can't help but notice, passing through you as if you don't exist yet sending every nerve to a pinpoint edge.

Kuroko makes quick work of his lock, 16-55-32, one-handed with his thumb twirling the knob this way and that with practiced ease.

It's when he's part way through changing his shirt that Kuroko hears the door creek open, the rustle of fabric, and the scuffing of shoes.

"Aomine-kun. I'm almost finished. I will be out in a minute."

Smash!

Kuroko startles towards the door. "Aomine-kun?"

There's a dent in the locker closest to the door. Aomine is trembling beside it, one hand curled into an angry fist, the other curled too tight around his cell phone.

"Why is she like this?" He stares at his phone, betrayal written over every inch of his tanned features. "She's always like this."

"What did your mother say to you just now?" It has to be his mother. Aomine only ever makes that face when it comes to basketball or his mother. His father might be the one that gives him the bruises, but he can no longer feel betrayed by the person who taught him the meaning of the word.

"Mom, she," and he chokes a laugh, "she wants me to come back home. Says Dad's fucking sorry. Sorry for backhanding me. Sorry for stomping on me when I was down. For calling me a god damn pansy because I play basketball. Because I don't want to be a washed out boxer like him. She says he's sorry. He can't say it to me over the phone, though. Because that's a women's job, and real men don't have to ever fucking apologize. Not even to a wife you cheat on. No, no. He's sorry, so she wants me to come home."

Home, both of them know, to a mother's broken and brittle replica of a smile. With her face all dolled up with powder and blush, her ever reaching gaze searching for the strong man she'd fallen in love with. Her onyx eyes never find him. All she ever finds is a vicious sneer and cold, cold, eyes brimming with contempt.

"Aomine-kun will stay at my place," Kuroko says, an echo of words that follow them from middle school, from the gym earlier, and to now. "I'm going to finish changing and you're going to come home with me."

There's no real room for discussion on this matter, and both are glad for it. To them it's the natural order of things, has been since three years ago, and will be for always.

Aomine follows Kuroko back to his little corner in the locker room. His mind slides back, slick with anxiety, to today's earlier encounter. Coming home to see an unusual pair of ratty shoes at the entrance. A drunken yell. His mother's crying while she repeats '... sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry ..." like a mantra. Like prayer. Like the man before her didn't bash people's faces in for the hell of it.

It's not like he'd been exiled from the boxing circuit for lack of talent. In fact, his father had been renowned as a rising star. Unfortunately, dear old daddy got a bit blood thirsty during fights. There had been many warnings and suspensions, but then he'd gone and put someone on life support.

Then his dad's anger had gone from work to home. That'd been when the shouting and angry fists started. Liquor bottles piled up and spilled over the hallway. For three years he and his mother had lived under constant fear, until he'd come home one day in grade four to find his mother crying over a husband that had run off with some other woman.

Good, he'd thought at the time. And he'd remembered what it meant to be alive. He'd remembered what it was like to laugh when there was no one stealing his air. He'd remembered freedom and warm sunny days at the basketball court.

But then dad had come back a month later.

Dad always comes back. That's, also, never changed.

Lost in remembrance, Aomine accidentally knocks into a locker. Fire flares in his shoulder. Sharp and burning like a trail of napalm. It leaves a bloody imprint on the metallic surface in a smear of crimson.

Aomine clenches his teeth, jaw set against the pain. A gentle hand touches his shoulder. It pulls away and blood smears that porcelain skin, too.

The red on his hand is too vibrant and hot. Kuroko's eyes darken; his lips tighten and press together. "We need to bandage your shoulder."

Aomine does his best to shrug without wincing. "It's fine. I took care of it. Let's just go."

"We'll leave soon enough, Aomine-kun. Now, take off your sweater."

Aomine grumbles but complies, gingerly peeling off his top. When it's up and over his head, Kuroko notices he's not wearing anything beneath it. The implications cause anger to simmer low in his chest.

He'd left in a hurry, then.

Bruises mark Aomine's right ribs where he'd been kicked. More cover a back that had been stomped on.

Aomine's dad always enjoyed kicking people when they're down.

Blood weeps down a shoulder, back, and arm that's already coated in dry and crusted blood. There's a cheap navy bandana tied haphazardly around the wound. Kuroko is less than impressed, and let's Aomine know with a downward disapproving tilt to his mouth. Kuroko wants to say something about it but doesn't, there're more important things to deal with at the moment. Aomine's subpar first-aid skills can come later.

Kuroko doesn't ask the how of the wound until he's finished wrapping Aomine's shoulder properly, but he does ask. This is after cleaning it out and removing pieces of shattered glass.

"I took a swing at him," Aomine tells him, rueful smile twisted onto his face. "First time I've ever done that. I'm just as tall now, I thought-" He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter what I thought. Doesn't matter how good a basketball player I am when it comes to facing that asshole. He laughed, you know. Called me a 'soft ass pansy' before finding another use for that bottle he loves." The vodka had burned, but at least —Aomine hides a morbid grin— it won't get infected. Who needs proper medical care when the weapon sanitizes the wound?

"Next time you go home and you father is there, come find me immediately. Don't confront him. This," Kuroko gestures to his shoulder, "is not worth it."

The pain in his shoulder throbs dully, but Aomine sees the steel in Kuroko's blue eyes gleam sharp like a blade of ice. He knows they're noting every injury on his body.

"I miss this, you know. Not my dad coming home. Fuck no. But us. I can't go to Satsuki. She'd cry and do something stupid. You know she would. It'd make me feel weird and like some sort of victim. You're different. You make me feel normal again." Human again.

"I just want what's best for Aomine-kun."

Aomine gives a dark laugh. "I must make that hard for you. Running away from home and showing up with my ass beat because of my old man."

Kuroko runs pale fingers over Aomine's bruised ribs. The muscles contract and expand under his fingers, every breath Aomine takes pressing into his touch. With a feather light weight, Kuroko's hand skims down until he reaches the sharp ridge of hip bone.

Aomine shudders.

"It doesn't matter if it's difficult. If your father ever comes back, you'll stay at my place. That hasn't changed."

Aomine catches Kuroko's lingering hand in his, and drops forward to rest his forehead on Kuroko's shoulder. His other hand reaches up to lightly cup the other's nape. "Has this changed?" he asks, voice a rasp of a whisper, and presses his lips to Kuroko's collarbone.

Kuroko goes still. "Aomine-kun …"

"No, that's not right." Aomine mouths up the gentle curve of Kuroko's neck, mouths passed his jaw bone until he reaches the rim of Kuroko's ear. "You've always liked it here." And he gives a very deliberate lick along the shell. He dips his tongue in before catching the lobe between his teeth, grazing lightly but with enough edge that Kuroko forgets to breathe.

Heat forms low in Kuroko's belly, sultry as sin, and it takes him back to the times of awkward hand jobs in the locker room's shower and guttural rutting in his bed. It takes him back to the first time they lay together, fumbling hands and clumsy movements in the dark, blinds filtering thin beams of moonlight.

Kuroko almost smiles bitterly at the memory. The first time Aomine ended up in his bed had been after his father had punched him in the gut and called him a "fucking faggot". All because a senpai on the team had jokingly smacked his ass after an amazing play. And Aomine —the "fucking faggot, I bet you enjoyed that, you piece of shit of a man"— had only laughed it off instead of decking the senpai in the face like he was apparently supposed to do.

His father had pushed the "faggot" into his bed, and now...

Kuroko's eyes close as Aomine slips a hand under his shirt, sliding a basketball-callused palm up his torso until Aomine's thumb brushes against a dusty pink nipple. Kuroko keens into the hand before he realizes it. It's easy, frighteningly so, how natural they fall back into this familiar rhythm, pressing and pulling into one another, just right, never enough but too much at the same time.

Another nibble at Kuroko's ear lobe and Aomine sits back. He stares in smug wonder at this ghostly pale boy's fluttering lashes and parting lips, eyes dazed and heated. A strike of desire flares through him at the sight.

Aomine laughs, eyes closed with his hand coming to his forehead. "I can't believe you can still do this to me. I thought it'd be awkward after everything that's happened. I thought ..." He lets out a long sigh and calms himself; hand moving to catch Kuroko's flushed face. He sweeps his thumb across soft skin, high cheekbones acting as a guide. "I want you. I want this. No one makes me forget like you." I want to feel like me again.

Awareness creeps back into Kuroko's eyes, startlingly focused and pinned on Aomine. It's like the judge and the jury all at once, taking in everything and evaluating it all with a terrifying care. A tingle, electric and numbing, thrums through Aomine's body. Until his mouth is dry. Until it's all he can do but wait for the verdict.

Finally, finally, Kuroko nods, just once, and it's suddenly like Aomine's father is so far away. So great a distance that he can no longer hold Aomine down with desperately enraged hands, smashing at him because they can't smash through the roadblock limiting his life. Or maybe it's them themselves who're so far away. Untouchable, in their private world, in their partnership of light and shadow.

Kuroko turns to gently nuzzle the hand on his face, nose pressing into the palm, inhaling so deeply Aomine can feel it pull at his skin. Kuroko's always pulling Aomine in like a magnet, like a gravitational pull. Kuroko grasps Aomine's wrist and pulls him closer, he pulls him into his arms, pulls him into a soothing embrace, and pulls him away from reality so he can just finally be.

They're kissing, and it's everything they remembered and more. The slide of tongue against tongue, lips, and teeth. The tilt of their heads so they no longer bump noses. The feel of skin flush against skin, because somewhere along the way Kuroko's lost his t-shirt. But that's okay, because Aomine's threaded one hand through his hair while his other hand grips his cock, and he can only moan into Aomine's mouth.

Aomine suddenly pauses. "Did you hear that?"

The vent clangs like the smashing of tin cans. Aomine jumps.

Kuroko smiles a small smile. The first amused one since Aomine's shown up. "There's something wrong with the vent. It makes sounds like this every now and then. Don't worry Aomine-kun, the locker room at Seirin isn't haunted."

"Don't believe in ghosts," Aomine mutters, petulantly.

"But Aomine-kun, you thought I was a ghost the first time you saw me."

"Shut up." And then Aomine shuts him up, leaning forward to kiss him again, feeling the smile still on his mouth.

They end up on the bench, Kuroko straddling Aomine's lap. Aomine had tried to press Kuroko down to the ground, but Kuroko had shaken his head saying, "Not when you're injured like this," and had directed him to the bench.

They're both achingly hard by the time Kuroko strips of his shorts and Aomine's slacks are unzipped, boxers tugged down and cock spilling free. Kuroko gives it a gentle squeeze before letting go, and Aomine understands enough to spit into his hand and coat it.

Kuroko trails his fingers over the bruise on his face and the wound on his shoulder. "No choice, then," he says, cheeks a fetching red. He plants his feet down and stands.

Aomine hisses out a guttural, "Fuck," when Kuroko finally lowers himself on Aomine's saliva slickened cock. His world narrows to the maddening heat that clenches around him, this tunnel vision of desire tearing away his bastard of a father and his broken shell of a mother.

Then Kuroko moves, lifting up his hips before crashing back down, and Aomine wonders why they ever stopped doing this in the first place.

That's a lie he knows. He can't forget the history between them, not where basketball is concerned. But this isn't about basketball at the moment. This is about bruises and blood, a cracked and peeling home life, the harshness of reality existing outside of childhood fantasy.

So he allows himself to forget everything, wrapping a hand around Kuroko and painting a hot trail along his jaw line with his tongue. Kuroko does that pleased, low-in-his-throat hum that makes him smug.

Grinding, and writhing, and groping. Gasping, and moaning, and panting. They draw all of it from one another, delicious and addictive, like honeyed wine, blurring their senses in a drunken haze of ecstasy.

It doesn't take much longer for that chaotic swirl of heat, desire, and desperate emotions to take them over the edge. Kuroko comes first with a whisper of a gasp, arms wrapping around Aomine's head. Aomine comes shortly after whispering, "Tetsu, Tetsu, Tetsu ..." over and over again.

Cathartic. That's what it is. Hatred and grief and the disgust in himself leaving him for one glorious moment. When he comes back to himself, body languid and content, those feelings have dulled. Kuroko is warm in his arms, and home is miles away.

"Aomine-kun," Kuroko says, voice monotonous, unentangling himself from his hold. "I'm thirsty."

Aomine is incredulous. "That's the first thing you say?"

"You're closer to dressed than I am. Could you get me a drink from the vending machine? It's straight down the hall and to the left. I'll meet you there after cleaning myself up." Kuroko reaches for a towel.

"..."

"Is there a problem? Ah, I know. I bet you didn't bring any money." A pause and the sound of rustling. "Here's my wallet. You can get something, too. Hmm? Aomine-kun is staring at me like a lost animal. Is something wrong?"

"I can't believe how uncute you are." Aomine takes the wallet, with a sigh. He grabs his sweater off the floor, and in the same motion pulls it over his head, mindful of his injuries. Taking a moment to glance at Kuroko, who stares back with unblinking eyes, he snorts with a grin, flips his hood up, and leaves the locker room.

Kuroko watches him retreat before gathering himself together. He makes quick work at redressing himself again, shoving everything into his bag before shouldering it. A glint of metal catches his eye, and he reaches down to pick up a ring of keys from under the bench.

Passing through the gym, Kuroko makes his way to the equipment room; the door unlocked and opened a crack. He pushes it fully open and takes a step. Two pairs of eyes stare at him with identical looks of shock and dismay.

"I believe these are one of yours, senpai," Kuroko says, holding up the keys for them to see.

"Um ..." Kiyoshi and Hyuuga respond.

"I apologize that you had to walk in on that," Kuroko tells them with a small bow of the head, but when he stands straight again his eyes are unreadable. "But I thought it was unnecessary for you to stay that long and watch. You were at least smart enough to leave when I had my arms covering his ears. It would have been disastrous if Aomine-kun knew you were there."

Kiyoshi gives sheepish grin. "Uhh ... sorry. I was just too shocked to leave." He laughs embarrassed. "How'd you know we were still there? I thought we hid behind one of the lockers pretty quick."

"There was a mirror nearby. Aomine-kun couldn't see you, but I could. You senpai made lots of strange faces."

"Hey, you brat," Hyuuga suddenly snaps, game mode on. "What do you think you were doing in such a public place anyways?"

"I was doing what was best for Aomine-kun."

Hyuuga snorts, shrugging off the placating hand Kiyoshi has just placed on his shoulder. "And I suppose what you thought best was-"

"Hyuuga," Kiyoshi grabs him again. He whispers in his ear, "Cool it. You saw the state Aomine was in." A black and blue back and shoulder wrapped in fresh bandages.

"Hmph!" Hyuuga glowers, but doesn't say anything else.

"Don't worry. This won't affect my basketball," says Kuroko. "But I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this." He places the keys on the floor, and turns to leave.

"Wait," Kiyoshi calls out to him, "about Aomine. Is he alright?"

Kuroko pauses. He blinks and the gleam in his eyes show an intensity usually reserved for the basketball court. "No," he says. "But he will be." He nods his head. "I must be going now. Aomine-kun will be wondering where I am, and he can't see you senpai here. It'd make him do something he'd regret." It would make him do something that would remind him of his father. And Kuroko knows that Aomine's greatest fear is turning into his father.

He closes the equipment room door for the second time.

Aomine is waiting for him by the vending machines, looking far too pensive, for Kuroko's tastes; like the walking image of gloom with his all black and hooded ensemble.

"Aomine-kun."

"Gah!" He startles, and then scowls. "You still have that bad habit of scaring people. What took you so long?"

"My apologies. Aomine-kun was quite vigorous today. It took me longer than normal to clean myself up. I'm a bit sore."

Aomine coughs, embarrassed, into his hand. He hands Kuroko a drink. "Let's just go," he mumbles, and leads the way.

Kuroko nods and follows. "You know Aomine-kun, you look a bit like a delinquent with your hood up. People are going to think you're taking me away to my doom."

Aomine opens the door. "People will think that even more if they see this gem on my face." He points to his purpling bruise.

"Maybe. If anyone asks, you can just tell them that I was the one responsible."

"You're ridiculous!" Aomine laughs, from the bottom of his gut, and shit it hurts his ribs, but he can't stop. "Who's going to believe that?"

"Who knows," Kuroko shrugs, "but we won't know until you put your hood down and we get going."

"Fine, fine." He yanks his hood off, face bathing in the luminance of a distant streetlamp. "Happy now?"

The bruise on Aomine's face is as dark as ever, and Kuroko thinks, Not in the slightest. But Aomine's grinning now, eyes no longer hooded by the darkness in his heart. "Well enough," he says at last.

They head for the gates, Kuroko's shoulder brushing against Aomine's side reassuringly, reinforcing the fact that this is how it should be. Aomine's shoulder still burns, his back still sore, and his ribs still ache when he breathes, but the pain is tolerable now. Kuroko, who walks with a slight awkward limp to his step, is always there to take some of it away.

He turns off the phone in his pocket, swings an arm around Kuroko's shoulder, and together they head out onto the streets of the city.

~Fin

Parts of it still don't sit right with me. But I gave up and posted it one day (though to be honest, way earlier on the Livejournal group: shootswishscore. It's awesome over there /shameless plug)

Also, if you choose to leave any words of encouragement, awesome, or (the preferred) wisdom, it will make me :D. Senselessly being mean for the sake of just being mean will make me :|