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Tetsurou is not a violent guy. In fact, he doesn't even like shouting. If a man needs to scream to command respect, then he doesn't deserve it in the first place, his mother used to say, which at the time had felt like a backhanded comment about his father, since, back then, all he had seemed to be able to do was yell and shout.
And it was. But it also wasn't.
Tetsurou knows that now, especially after his year of captaincy at Nekoma. So he prides himself on his ability to keep that bubbling anger down, to not lash out when it gets too much, instead trying to work through it in healthier ways. Sometimes, a little bit of anger can even be good.
But Tetsurou has never felt his blood boil like this. He's been angrily nipping his beer, lukewarm mouthfuls that do nothing to cool his temper, for the past thirty minutes, glaring across the room but pointedly avoiding looking at the group settled right next to him, where he is leaning against the bar.
He never understood what Tsukishima even sees in that prick.
That prick, Nakano, who has been going on about Tsukishima for at least ten minutes now, and Tetsurou has been gritting his teeth, washing angry words down with another swig from his bottle and—
He's not even part of that group's little circle, instead leaning at the bar, waiting for his friends to show up, when he first heard Tsukishima's name, followed by a crude comment about he's willing to do anything in the sack, and suddenly Tetsurou is frozen in place. Listening as Nakano carelessly reveals details about his private relationship with Tsukishima for the amusement of others.
And Tetsurou is used to Tsukishima’s, let’s say, questionable relationship with dating. Or rather, his questionable taste in partners. Not that Tetsurou’s judging, they all have their own issues to work through. It’s just that Tetsurou has witnessed the aftermath far too many times, has tried to pick up the pieces only to cut himself. Maybe that’s what makes it all come to a head now.
"—if he wasn't such a frigid bitch."
That does it. Tetsurou doesn't even think about moving, his body does it on its own. Putting the beer bottle down. Tapping Nakano on the shoulder, and when the other turns around, socking him right in the face. His fist connects with a sickening crunch and pain shoots up Tetsurou’s arm right to his elbow. At the moment, he doesn’t feel anything but vindicated.
Shouting erupts around them, people dispersing and pushing and pulling and suddenly Tetsurou is grabbed by the shoulders and yanked back.
He whirls around, defensively squaring his chest, preparing to deal with one of Nakano's face, only to come face to face with golden eyes and golden curls, and an entirely displeased expression.
Just like that, all the righteous anger bleeds from his shoulders. He opens his mouth, struggling to find the words to explain himself but Tsukishima gets there first.
"What was that?" he hisses, so clearly unimpressed with Tetsurou’s behaviour that he can’t help but feel like a little school boy, pulled aside by a teacher to be scolded.
He glances down at his knuckles. Skin cracked, but not bleeding yet.
"I hit my hand," he explains, offhandedly. He's not sure why he's being so difficult, except that he can't help but feel extremely vulnerable under Tsukishima's gaze. Pinned like an insect under a magnifying glass.
His reply doesn't impress. Tsukishima clicks his tongue, displeased. "On what? Your own idiocy?"
The words are dripping with derision but Tetsurou doesn't back down. "No, your boyfriend's face."
There's a pause. Then, " Ex- boyfriend".
Oh.
Good.
Tetsurou struggles for a moment to fully digest that, tries to search Tsukishima's face for any indication of how he feels but Tsukishima is not looking at him, eyes instead trained on Tetsurou's hand, expression blank.
"Is this your new sidepiece?" a voice comments snidely. Nakano. "I should've known—"
Tsukishima cuts him off, voice icy, "Please don't insult us by asking us to believe you're capable of forethought."
Nakano's mouth clicks shut, taking a second to take in the words. Then he growls. "You fucking—"
Tetsurou moves forward, pushing himself in between Nakano and Tsukishima with a barked “Oi!”, already readying himself for another fight.
Nakano puffs his chest, trying to appear more intimidating. The way he has to crane his neck to look up at Tetsurou doesn’t help. Neither do the swollen cheek nor the blood trickling from his nose. Not when Tetsurou is the cause of both of those.
“You wanna go again?” Nakano barks with false bravado.
Yes, Tetsurou kind of does. But he doesn’t like how out of control he feels, he doesn’t like how his entire body seems to be shaking, and he especially doesn’t like how Tsukishima quietly says, “Tetsurou”, low enough that only he can hear it. Low and reproachful and worried.
He forces himself to relax, eyes pinching shut as he counts to ten, before he opens them again to throw Nakano one final glare. “No,” Tetsurou says, voice calm and sure. Then he turns around to grab Tsukishima’s wrist. “Let’s go, Tsukki.”
Tsukishima lets himself be pulled along.
“I hope he’s worth it,” Nakano shouts after them, hurling another insult at Tsukishima when they don’t react. “Fucking slut. Anything to get your dick wet, am I right?”
They both ignore him.
Tetsurou’s beer on the counter and friends he was supposed to meet are both forgotten, instead the only thing that seems to matter is putting as much distance between Nakano and them as he can.
With the cool bite of the evening air that hits them as soon as they step outside comes the realisation of what he’s just done. A glance at Tsukishima, golden curls turned silver by the lack of light, reveals that his expression is still unreadable. Yet, he seems tense. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Tetsurou releases a shaky exhale, running his hands over his face. “Shit, Tsukki,” he breaths. Suddenly he feels embarrassed that the other had to see him lose control like that. Fuck, Tetsurou didn’t even know he could lose control like that. Dropping his hands, he chances another look at the other.
“I’m so sorry you had to see that, I don’t know what came over me. I—You have to believe me, I’m not like this, I don’t—He was just. He was saying these things about you, and I know it’s stupid because you wouldn’t even care, you’d probably even take some of it as a compliment, I just—I don’t know why I did that,” he finishes helplessly, unable to find the right words.
Tsukishima is frowning at him, worry etched into his brows. He remains silent.
Tetsurou doesn’t know if he’s thankful for that or not. All he knows is that he cannot stand this silence. “And,” he starts again. “I know you don’t need me to protect you, or anything like that. He—He shouldn’t have said that. About you. About anyone, I mean. But, like, especially about you.” He’s rambling, he knows, yet he cannot stop the words from stumbling out. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he pauses. Then, “I never understood what you saw in him anyway.”
Tsukishima releases a sharp laugh at that, bitter and unhappy. Tetsurou’s chest constricts painfully at the sound. “Maybe I saw the same thing in him that he saw in me.”
And, oh. That hurts. Because as bitter as it tastes, knowing that Tsukishima apparently doesn’t care enough to feel like he deserves to be treated better, as disappointing as it is, hearing that someone Tetsurou carries so close to his heart has such abysmal standards, it doesn’t hold up to the stabbing fierceness inside of his chest, when he can’t help but think that if Nakano was good enough, then why not him. Why not Tetsurou?
Sure, maybe it’s his own fault for never acting on this crush, never putting his feelings into words, but Tetsurou has never been subtle about looking . He knows, because Tsukishima has been looking back .
The frustration at it all is overwhelming and he knows he should step away from the situation, before he does something he regrets. Instead, he steps forward, right into Tsukishima’s space. Catches his gaze with his, holds it.
“You want someone to treat you like shit? Is that it, Tsukki?” he asks in a low voice, leaning even closer as Tsukishima’s back softly collides with the wall behind him. “Because I can treat you like shit if that’s what you want.”
It’s probably the worst confession in the history of confessions, if it can even count as one at all. But Tetsurou is so caught between just wanting to shake Tsukishima, as if that would make him come to his senses, and storming away and never showing his face again, he doesn’t know how to act rationally at all anymore.
Tsukishima blinks at him, eyes huge behind his glasses. He blinks. His mouth drops open and with it, he pulls Tetsurou’s gaze to those lips.
Pink and plush. They look soft. Tetsurou has seen him apply lip balm countless times. He wonders how it would taste. Wonders how Tsukishima would taste, too. Tries not to dwell on it as Tsukishima’s lips move.
“No,” Tsukishima whispers, voice surprisingly soft. “That’s not what I want at all.”
Tetsurou barely manages to stop himself from cradling his jaw, from pressing his thumb into the skin of his cheek to check if it really is as smooth and soft as it looks. His hand awkwardly hangs between them, before he pushes it forward, right past Tsukishima’s face to rest on the rough brick wall behind him. He barely feels the sting of his cracked knuckles anymore.
“What do you want then?” Tetsurou asks, the sound coming out strangled. Helpless, even. “Because I don’t—”
He cuts himself off, unwilling to breathe life into the rest of the words. They’re true regardless. He doesn’t know what else he can do, how much longer he can stand it. He’s ripping apart at the seams, spilling everywhere.
Hoping that Tsukishima can catch him.
Releasing another heavy exhale, he lets his head tip forward, forehead coming to rest against Tsukishima’s. “Tsukki,” he breathes into the liminal space between them. “What do you want?”
They are at the precipice of something, he can feel it.
Tsukishima’s eyelashes flutter as his eyes flit over Tetsurou’s face, glancing at his mouth and back up again. His glasses sit slightly crooked on his nose, due to their proximity and Tetsurou is oddly charmed by it.
“Nothing,” Tsukishima replies, and it hits Tetsurou harder than his fist did Nakano’s face earlier. He wants to curse, pull away, get piss drunk in hopes to flush Tsukishima from his memory, smoke out the smell of him that is clogging Tetsurou to his core, but then Tsukishima continues. “Nothing I deserve.”
It pulls a sharp disbelieving laugh from Tetsurou’s chest. His hand develops a mind of its own as it comes forward, thumb tracing the line of Tsukishima’s jaw. There’s a breathy exhale drawn from his lips, ghosting across Tetsurou’s face and he watches in fascination as Tsukishima shivers at the touch. His thumb travels forward, dropping off at Tsukishima’s chin only to be replaced by the knuckle of his index finger as he gently tilts Tsukishima’s toward him.
Tsukishima moves willingly, like a flower turning toward the sun.
Tetsurou’s breath shudders.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and their lips are so close now they almost brush. Little puffs of air tickle his skin. Tetsurou glances back at Tsukishima’s eyes, golden like whiskey. Molten honey. He feels drunk on them, the world spinning around him.
“ Fuck,” he whispers again with more emphasis, eyes squeezing shut.
“Sweetheart,” he breaths, feeling Tsukishima shiver in his hold at the word. “You deserve the world.”
He’s not sure who moves first, just that when Tsukishima’s lips connect with his, it feels like an inevitability. Like fate is smiling down at them benevolently and saying, there you go.
Tsukishima’s lips are soft, and Tetsurou resists the urge to sink his teeth into them, instead taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of their mouths against each other, careful at first. Almost tentative. Like both of them are afraid to break this fragile thing caught between them.
Hands move forward to cradle Testurou’s face, cool fingers pressed along his cheekbones, digging in like they are afraid he’ll slip away, and only then does Tetsurou give in to his urge and lightly nips at Tsukishima’s bottom lip.
Tsukishima gasps, a throaty sound that unlocks a carnal hunger deep within Tetsurou and he presses in closer until they are pressed chest to chest. He uses the opportunity to deepen their kiss, chasing that sound in hopes of discovering more where it came from. His hands end up dropping to Tsukishima’s sides, squeezing in odd intervals as they gently stroke past ribs and the dip of a waist until they settle on the jut of hip bones.
Another gasp and Tetsurou slips in his tongue, and Tsukishima melts into his touch, presses into it, and reality melts away until only the feeling of Tsukishima’s skin underneath Kuroo’s touch is left. The feeling of his body against Tetsurou and the sounds he makes.
Tetsurou is sure he’s had this exact dream before.
Eventually, when the world refuses to stop spinning, he pulls away, chest heaving as he desperately tries to draw in some air. His eyes flutter open, honing in on those pink lips, parted like petals and shiny with spit, back up over flushed cheeks to pupils blown wide. If this is how Tsukishima looks after every kiss, Tetsurou can see himself growing addicted to the sight.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says without thinking. The words slip from his tongue easily, he’s thought them before. Still, he’s not prepared for the bop of Tsukishima’s throat as he swallows, drawing Tetsurou’s eyes to the long elegant line of his throat, begging to be bruised with kisses.
‘Shit’, Tetsurou mouths, and it’s the hunger that demands he dives right back in. It’s the hunger that has him grazing teeth against unblemished skin, not enough to break it, but enough for Tsukishima to shiver and for his hands to bury themselves into Tetsurou’s thick hair.
He presses a soft kiss into the spot, half apology, half promise, before trailing down the slope of his neck, only slowing down when he reaches the hollow where Tsukishima’s collar bone juts out. Then, he finally gives in, sucking at the skin, enough to make hickeys bloom.
“Shit,” Tsukishima gasps, echoing Tetsurou’s earlier sentiment. The hands in his hair tighten their hold, almost painfully, enough to make Tetsurou groan at the sharp sensation in pleasure, before pulling him up. “Come back,” Tsukishima demands, voice ripe with desperation.
Naturally, Tetsurou follows, right back to Tsukishima’s mouth. “‘Course, yeah,” he mumbles in between kisses. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”
“Shut up.”
Tsuksihima pulls at his hair again. Reprimand or reward, Tetsurou is not sure. Either way, it pulls another groan from his chest.
“Yeah,” he says dumbly, and then there’s nothing left to do but perish against Tsukishima’s lips.