warning for: blood, knives, mentions of guns & swearing | 737 words
this was literally just me reading this prompt and screaming my way through a fill. hi i love your prompts (you know this, haha) hope you like it! --
The living arrangement starts unceremoniously, like most things concerning Kuroo.
Oikawa's apartment isn't large by any stretch of the imagination, but it's big enough to house an extra person; slow bleeding knife wounds and all. When a job goes bad it goes bad and their first mission working together goes as bad as it gets. When Kuroo needed a safe place to lay low until he recovered, Oikawa had offered up his apartment in a show of kindness he usually reserved for his closest friends only.
And, somehow, it had stuck.
--
Oikawa keeps a knife in his bedside drawer; thin and razor sharp, nothing like the mundane knives kept in the kitchen on the floor below. This one's not for gutting fish or cutting bread though, Kuroo knows this. He knows this firsthand: the same way he knows how steady Oikawa's hands are wrapped around that knife's handle, the same way he knows the curve of his snarl, his smile, his spine.
Kuroo keeps a gun under the sink and one in the glove box of his car. He calls them insurance, fires off a wink when he talks about them, as if they're toys, as if he doesn't keep them loaded and cleaned.
Extortion is a dangerous game, after all, and both of them have been playing too long to let themselves get caught now.
--
"You know you have a leak, so i don't know why you're insisting that it isn't him without any proof to the contrary." Iwaizumi's voice crackles through the receiver. Oikawa knows he's driving, figures he's probably going through a tunnel or something.
He wedges the phone against his ear with his shoulder, hands currently occupied with counting out the money spread across his bedsheets in piles; three months worth of work that needs organised and packed up before its moved on to another location. One less domestic than the back of his clothes closet.
"Because we've been working together for longer than the leaks," Oikawa says, almost absentmindedly, tongue poking out pink from the corner of his mouth in concentration. He can hear Iwaizumi's answering snort, and only the fading bruises on his arm from the last time he tried that shit with Iwaizumi keeps him from hanging up there and then.
"Just because you're fucking him doesn't mean you fucking trust him."
Oikawa pauses, drops the bills he'd been smoothing out between his palms, reaches up a hand to the receiver.
"Kuroo isn't the leak." He hears Iwaizumi's intake of breath and cuts him off before he can make a retort. "But i swear to god if he is, i'll take care of him myself."
There's no answer save for the click of the phone line going dead.
--
Kuroo knows how steady Oikawa's hands are around the handle of the knife he keeps in his bedside drawer. He tries not to look too startled when Oikawa shoves him against the wall of the downstairs hallway, presses that knife in close to the pale skin of his throat. Kuroo has a few centimetres of height on him, even a couple of pounds of weight, but Oikawa's always been the stronger of the two.
"Good evening to you too," Kuroo manages around the press of metal against his throat. Oikawa's eyes are sharp, expression unreadable save for the twitch at the corner of his mouth at Kuroo's greeting.
"Do you know what this is about?" Oikawa asks, voice low, hands never faltering.
Kuroo's eyes narrow, his smile splits his face, sharper than the knife at his throat. "If this is your way of spicing things up in the bedroom..."
Oikawa's mouth twitches again, his expression softens minutely. There's a soft spot in him with the dimensions of Kuroo's smile, but one he knows he'd burn out of himself before letting someone fuck him over.
"I'm serious," he says, pressing forward until red beads around the knife, until he feels Kuroo shiver like a leaf let loose in the breeze. "I'm dead serious, baby."
The endearment manages to sound more threatening than anything else, but even so Kuroo's smile doesn't slip.
"I know you are, sweetheart."
When Oikawa drops the knife, runs his thumb across the new thin red line running perpendicular to the column of Kuroo's neck, Kuroo laughs like burning. When Oikawa fists his hands in his hair and pulls him down for a kiss, Kuroo keeps laughing.
FILL: TEAM KUROO TETSUROU/OIKAWA TOORU, T
this was literally just me reading this prompt and screaming my way through a fill. hi i love your prompts (you know this, haha) hope you like it!
--
The living arrangement starts unceremoniously, like most things concerning Kuroo.
Oikawa's apartment isn't large by any stretch of the imagination, but it's big enough to house an extra person; slow bleeding knife wounds and all. When a job goes bad it goes bad and their first mission working together goes as bad as it gets. When Kuroo needed a safe place to lay low until he recovered, Oikawa had offered up his apartment in a show of kindness he usually reserved for his closest friends only.
And, somehow, it had stuck.
--
Oikawa keeps a knife in his bedside drawer; thin and razor sharp, nothing like the mundane knives kept in the kitchen on the floor below. This one's not for gutting fish or cutting bread though, Kuroo knows this. He knows this firsthand: the same way he knows how steady Oikawa's hands are wrapped around that knife's handle, the same way he knows the curve of his snarl, his smile, his spine.
Kuroo keeps a gun under the sink and one in the glove box of his car. He calls them insurance, fires off a wink when he talks about them, as if they're toys, as if he doesn't keep them loaded and cleaned.
Extortion is a dangerous game, after all, and both of them have been playing too long to let themselves get caught now.
--
"You know you have a leak, so i don't know why you're insisting that it isn't him without any proof to the contrary." Iwaizumi's voice crackles through the receiver. Oikawa knows he's driving, figures he's probably going through a tunnel or something.
He wedges the phone against his ear with his shoulder, hands currently occupied with counting out the money spread across his bedsheets in piles; three months worth of work that needs organised and packed up before its moved on to another location. One less domestic than the back of his clothes closet.
"Because we've been working together for longer than the leaks," Oikawa says, almost absentmindedly, tongue poking out pink from the corner of his mouth in concentration. He can hear Iwaizumi's answering snort, and only the fading bruises on his arm from the last time he tried that shit with Iwaizumi keeps him from hanging up there and then.
"Just because you're fucking him doesn't mean you fucking trust him."
Oikawa pauses, drops the bills he'd been smoothing out between his palms, reaches up a hand to the receiver.
"Kuroo isn't the leak." He hears Iwaizumi's intake of breath and cuts him off before he can make a retort. "But i swear to god if he is, i'll take care of him myself."
There's no answer save for the click of the phone line going dead.
--
Kuroo knows how steady Oikawa's hands are around the handle of the knife he keeps in his bedside drawer. He tries not to look too startled when Oikawa shoves him against the wall of the downstairs hallway, presses that knife in close to the pale skin of his throat. Kuroo has a few centimetres of height on him, even a couple of pounds of weight, but Oikawa's always been the stronger of the two.
"Good evening to you too," Kuroo manages around the press of metal against his throat. Oikawa's eyes are sharp, expression unreadable save for the twitch at the corner of his mouth at Kuroo's greeting.
"Do you know what this is about?" Oikawa asks, voice low, hands never faltering.
Kuroo's eyes narrow, his smile splits his face, sharper than the knife at his throat. "If this is your way of spicing things up in the bedroom..."
Oikawa's mouth twitches again, his expression softens minutely. There's a soft spot in him with the dimensions of Kuroo's smile, but one he knows he'd burn out of himself before letting someone fuck him over.
"I'm serious," he says, pressing forward until red beads around the knife, until he feels Kuroo shiver like a leaf let loose in the breeze. "I'm dead serious, baby."
The endearment manages to sound more threatening than anything else, but even so Kuroo's smile doesn't slip.
"I know you are, sweetheart."
When Oikawa drops the knife, runs his thumb across the new thin red line running perpendicular to the column of Kuroo's neck, Kuroo laughs like burning. When Oikawa fists his hands in his hair and pulls him down for a kiss, Kuroo keeps laughing.