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“What are they doing here?” Tsukishima hisses, as Bokuto and Kuroo strut around the ballroom like they haven’t a care in the world.
Akaashi frowns. “They must have been hired to bodyguard Kozume-san and Nekoma Files. We’ll have to be careful.”
Kuroo catches Tsukishima’s eye and winks. Tsukishima fumes.
“They knew. They knew I’d be here,” Tsukishima says darkly. “That’s why they sent him. They’re trying to compromise the mission!”
“And by the sound of it, it’s working,” Akaashi says dryly, adjusting the gun under his skirt. He sends Tsukishima a pointed look. “It’s unusual to see you so bothered, Tsukishima-kun.”
“I’m not bothered,” Tsukishima snaps and Akaashi barely refrains from smirking.
“I can handle Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, fluffing his wig. “You get the Fukurodani Files from Kozume-san while I distract them.”
Tsukishima doesn’t like the way Akaashi says ‘distract.’ But before he can voice his concern, Akaashi’s slipped off, disappeared amongst the well-dressed guests of Nekoma Manor.
Tsukishima takes a deep breath and clears his head. It doesn’t matter what that bed-headed, half-brained excuse of a secret agent does. Tsukishima is damn good at his job, and there is no chance in hell Kuroo Tetsurou was going to get in his way.
Tsukishima is filled with cold concentration as he weaves through the dance hall, politely excusing himself between guests with his eyes locked on the target. Kenma didn’t look like much with his small stature and poorly dyed hair, but Tsukishima knew better than to underestimate him. There was a clear sharpness to Kenma’s eyes that held raw, powerful intelligence. Every so often, Kenma glances up from his DS system and scans the room and it sends a chill down Tsukishima’s spine each time.
Tsukishima’s almost reached him when a hand clamps around his wrist.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Tsukishima is pulled flat to none other than Kuroo Tetsurou’s chest. To the outsider it looks like an embrace, but Tsukishima feels nails dig into his soft under arm. “Where do you think you’re going Tsukki?”
Tsukishima squirms, trying to pry from his grip. Kuroo spins them, twisting to wrap one arm around Tsukishima’s waist and the other still holding a death-grip on Tsukishima’s wrist. Kuroo steps, pulling Tsukishima with him, and Tsukishima realizes they’re dancing. They swirl around the other couples filling the ballroom.
“Get out of my way,” Tsukishima says darkly.
Kuroo’s pout is grossly exaggerated. “Oh don’t be like that, Tsukki. Just once dance.”
It was a trap. Kuroo's buying Bokuto time to get to Kenma first, to alert him of danger. Tsukishima scowls. He can’t outright attack Kuroo with all the party guests watching and he glances around for Akaashi. His partner is nowhere in sight. Kuroo smirks.
“Oh, they won’t be back for a while,” Kuroo answers the unasked. “Akaashi has a funny way of distracting my Bokuto, doesn't he?”
Tsukishima doesn't humor that with a response. Kuroo chuckles at his expression.
"What? Not happy to see me?" Kuroo asks. "I thought you'd be pleased."
"You wish," Tsukishima spits.
Kuroo looks almost wistful. "So hard to please, Tsukki."
Tsukishima lets that topic drop and sends Kuroo a dark look. “What’s Nekoma playing at, trying to protect the Nekoma files? Does your agency want World War three?”
Kuroo blinks at him, surprised at his forwardness. He settles back into his usual smug expression when he speaks, “Oh, my agency isn’t behind this. This is a personal favor.”
“You do house calls?” Tsukishima says flatly and Kuroo laughs.
“Only for my favorites,” Kuroo purrs, leaning in far too close.
Tsukishima curses himself for the flush rising up his neck. Kuroo swirls them past an onlooking elderly couple, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Whether they're mortified at two men dancing or Kuroo's boldness, Tsukishima isn't sure.
“Kenma-san is a friend of yours then,” Tsukishima says. If he can’t reach Kenma then he can at least pry some information from his captor.
“A very good friend,” Kuroo supplies. His eyes glitter with knowing. “Since childhood.”
Kuroo Tetsurou, friends with a mob-boss's son since he was a kid? Figures. Tsukishima snorts.
“So that’s where you got your taste for trouble,” Tsukishima retorts. “You were groomed, you were made to do this.”
Kuroo’s look suddenly becomes sharp. “I wasn’t made to do anything.”
They come to a halt, couples still spinning around them, but Kuroo is still, steeled. The hand dug into Tsukishima’s wrist trembles.
“You’re afraid,” Tsukishima says wonderingly. “You’re afraid you’re on the wrong side.”
Kuroo’s gaze narrows, but now Tsukishima sees more than a handsome face. He sees the lines of worry on his brow, years of doubt in his eyes, the pucker of a frown on soft-looking lips. Tsukishima stares at those lips as he says,
“You’ve always known, though, haven’t you?”
They’re drawing attention. Tsukishima hears their whispers, feels their peircing stares. Good, he thinks. The more attention the better.
“I’m not abandoning Kenma,” Kuroo says, voice surprisingly firm.
“Maybe you won’t have too,” Tsukishima says. Out of the corner of his eye he spots Akaashi, wig ruffled and lipstick-smeared but ready. Now.
Tsukishima kisses Kuroo harshly. Kisses him with abandon. This has to be convincing, so Tsukishima kisses with tongue and teeth, like it’s the last kiss he’ll ever have.
Kuroo’s hold on him loosens, moves to cup his cheek and tangle through his hair. And despite everything; the impending threat of war, his boss undoubtedly calling him out for attracting so much attention during a mission, and the inherent wrongness of kissing someone like Kuroo Tetsurou, Tsukishima feels himself soften ever-so-slightly.
Too late Kuroo realizes he’s been tricked. Kenma gasp is tiny as Akaashi rips the DS system from his hands. His grip is so harsh the case snaps, revealing the secret compartment with a small USB. The Nekoma files.
Akaashi has no choice but to run for it, tossing his heels aside.
Kuroo cries out.
“No! Someone stop her! Bokuto, where the hell--”
Tsukishima knees him in the gut hard and Kuroo bends in half, crippled.
“Thanks for the dance,” Tsukishima says.
Kuroo glares up at him with watery eyes and Tsukishima swoops in for one chaste kiss.
“Think about what side you want to be on, Tetsurou,” Tsukishima says. “I’ll be waiting.”
And then he flees. The kiss lingering on his lips.