Chapter 3

Summer.

Of fucking course.

The word summer scrawled in a deep maroon sits at the tip of his collarbone, not quite at his

shoulder but easily covered by the collar of any t-shirt he owns.

He doesn’t know what he expected — not that he’d expected anything, really. While his first year

classmates constantly clamor about their soul mark, what they want it to look like, who they hope

they’re bonded with for eternity, I can’t wait until I’m sixteen so I can finally find out , Tsukishima

hadn’t given it much thought.

Frankly, he didn’t care if he ended up with one or not.

But of course, of fucking course, this is the soul mark he ended up with.

He doesn’t have to guess the meaning, doesn’t have to wonder when he’ll run into someone with a

matching mark.

He’s already met them.

Already met him.

“I haven’t met them yet, if you’re wondering.”

That damn smirk that followed burns the back of his eyeballs as he stares at himself in the mirror.

“Kei?”

Tsukishima turns to face the doorway, hoping his facial features don’t betray the constricting

feeling in his chest.

His mother gasps as her eyes trail down his face and neck to land on the newly imprinted mark.

“Oh, Kei, it’s lovely.” She smiles and leans against the door frame. “Happy birthday, honey.

Breakfast is ready for you downstairs.”

Swallowing the lump quickly forming in his throat, Tsukishima says, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

She gives him one last soft smile and thankfully shuts the door behind her as she walks away.

Tsukishima grabs his phone from the bed and snaps a quick picture to send to Tadashi. He doesn’t

write an accompanying message. By the time he’s changed into his uniform, there’s a response.

[5:30] >> Oh shit.

Oh, shit indeed.

He doesn’t know how he ended up here, not really.Physically, yeah, he knows he walked from the gym into the practice building and then opened the

door to this dingy supply closet.

But as to how Kuroo’s lips found his, how Kuroo’s callused hands ended up tangled in his sweaty

hair, how Kuroo’s leg ended up between his thighs, well.

He vaguely remembers reading about how exercise releases endorphins that can cause people to

become, uh, in the mood, but it has never happened to him, not even with the ridiculous amount of

workouts he’s been through lately with the killer Krasuno practice schedule.

Kuroo’s tongue swipes against the seam of Tsukishima’s lips and derails his whole train of

thought. The feeling is so strange the only thing he can do in response is gasp. Kuroo seems to take

this as an invitation because the next thing Tsukishima registers is the foreign feeling of another

person’s tongue sliding against his.

It should be gross — really, really gross since he learned in biology that the human mouth is

basically a big wet petri dish — but Tsukishima feels the blood leave his brain and flood south at

the slick sensation.

The sound that spills from Kuroo’s mouth and into Tsukishima’s is positively the most sinful thing

Tsukishima has ever heard.

Hands. His hands. What does he do with his hands? Kuroo’s are still gripping onto the short strands

of Tsukishima’s hair. Is this a clue? Does Kuroo want him to do the same thing? But there are too

many elbows too close together if he does that. Should he rest his hands on Kuroo’s waist? Would

that make Kuroo feel, like, emasculated?

“I can hear you overthinking this.” Kuroo’s voice is a husky whisper as he speaks against

Tsukishima’s lips.

It’s really hot in this closet.

Kuroo pulls away slightly, but is still close enough that his breath ghosts over Tsukishima’s

cheeks. “If you wanna stop, just say the word.”

Tsukishima grips Kuroo’s hips in his fingers, squeezing firmly. “I wouldn’t be here unless I wanted

to ‘have some fun,’ as you put it.”

The chuckle that bubbles up Kuroo’s throat is gruff, deep, and Tsukishima sort of feels like he

wants to drown in it. Kuroo grins and plants another solid kiss, no tongue, to Tsukishima’s mouth.

“Then let’s continue, shall we?” The way the corners of his lips stretch impossibly wider is

absolutely devilish.

A hand slides up Tsukishima’s shirt as Kuroo’s lips find a sensitive spot at the junction between his

ear and neck. Kuroo kisses down the column of his neck, letting his teeth graze Tsukishima’s

sensitive skin every so often. He sucks when he reaches the hollow of Tsukishima’s throat.

“Don’t leave a mark, idiot,” Tsukishima manages to growl between pleasured gasps.

Kuroo chuckles against his clavicle, kisses the reddening skin in apology. “Your wish is my

command, Tsukki-sama.”

Tsukishima groans lowly and pushes his hips against Kuroo’s, relishing in momentary friction.

“Take off your shirt.”

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