Assorted Drabbles (but mostly Reborn): 09.01, 09.02, 09.03, 09.04
Title: all the gates of love you won't walk through
Fandom: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Rating: PG
Pairing: 5918, 5939, 5980
Notes: I had free time for once @.@ It's a miracle!!
As you lay there, bloody spittle running out of the side of your mouth, you think.
Ain't nothing else to do. Here's the vacation you wanted so badly - you though so much about taking just one goddamn day away from the desk, the yelling, the fighting for your life. When had it ceased to be fun and simply become a drag? You can't remember, but you can't move right now so you might as well think about it.
Maybe it started with Hibari. He never shouted, never got into those pissing contests you seemed to have with everyone else (even Mukuro occasionally, though the two of you went about it quieter than say, you and that dumbass lawnhead). But though he never raised his voice he always got his way. And this time he'd wanted revenge so off a-haring he went to track down whoever or whatever had killed his precious bird.
It was just a bird, for Chrissake's. You'd told him as much and for a moment you though he'd punch you. Then his eyes narrowed - squinty eyed bastard, the Tenth always said he was smarter for never leaping before he looked - and absorbed the way you were slumped over your desk, hand so cramped from signing and typing you were probably going to get that carpool whatever disease before you hit twenty-five, and he only "Hmmmed" in that superior way of his and left.
Before he left you saw the way his hips switched and swallowed. Hibari was dangerous, true, but Dino in a protective, possessive rage was deadly.
So maybe it was Squalo. Squalo who'd come to him the day after Hibari left saying, Vuooooii, why'd that pet-obsessed bastard jack our helicopter anyway? He's got his own goddamn copter, doesn't he? And that was when you stared at him dumbly, then cursed and started calling people.
The first one you called answered your question quite neatly: Yeah, he asked me too, said Dino while you tried not thinking of Hibari's smirk and the way his hands could be gentle if he tried. But I told him Romario's using it. Squalo watched as you tried not to yank out all your hair in absolute frustration and finally put down the phone with a sigh. Hibari was somewhere in Indonesia, unreachable, with a couple of fake creds, sniffing out the poppy farmer who was hiding Hibird's killer. You didn't know why he cared, when there were a dozen Hibirds in the aviary he'd set up when you guys first got here.
You were about to pick up the pen and keep signing when a black leather hand stopped you. Squalo's good hand, and the way he leaned over the table you could see his throat peeking out from beneath his collar. There was a mottled purlish mark there on the right; you couldn't tell if it was a hickey or what.
How long ago did you shower?, came the non sequitur.
You thought back. Sixteen hours before Hibari - you must smell pretty ripe, and wrinkling his nose Squalo agreed, Yeah just a little.
You've never seen him wash his hair. In fact, it's your first time seeing wet hair that long. Squalo sheds so much it clogs the drain in five minutes, and you said so. He gave you a sneer worthy of a certain Prince and continued unfastening his fake hand, shower hitting his back forcefully with clear spray.
Now that all his clothes are off you could see they're hickeys, some older than others. And scars that criss-cross like stray strands of hair, silvery and occasionally rippling as he tried to wet all of his hair thoroughly. It was hard with only one working hand.
Let me help, you said, and sat him down on a chair as you lathered his head, rinsed, then treated and conditioned it too. He picked up the bottle you used and grunted realization above the splash-drain sound of the water spiraling down, collecting more hair as it went.
Always thought it was weird he knew this brand, but I guess if you live so close it's a given, yeah?
You didn't say anything. You couldn't really trust your voice right then, as you ran your finger over the place right where Squalo's spine starts, where a small, noticeable blue swallow wings against his pale skin.
So this is the answer to all the -, you started to to think but in that second a hand clapped down over yours. Squalo's black eyes pierce into you as he said firmly, It wasn't like that. We were drunk.
Your throat tightened painfully. Yeah, they were drunk. Yeah, that meant they probably also did it that night, all fumbling hands and bunched muscles under the sheets. How old had Yamamoto been? Sixteen? Seventeen? What had they looked like when -
Forcefully you turned Squalo's head back front. Your hands ran the brush through his hair, silky by silk part. You thought your pinched face was safe from his prying eyes until you started cleaning up the hair and met his eyes in the reflection of the waterlogged tiles.
It wasn't nothing, he started carefully, but it wasn't like what I have now. He looked frustrated for not being able to comfort you. You make it a little easier by sliding into his lap, wet shirt and all, kissing him smoothly for a long moment.
Payment accepted, you wanted to gloat but he cuts you to the chase with an amused glare and a low, Vuooooiii, that was fucking wimpy! With a laugh you indulge him in a slow drag-dance of lips and teeth, his good hand solid and secure around your waist.
You're half-aroused when it was over, and the two of you stared down at dismay between your bodies. Oops, you shrugged, and his hand tightened as he laughed with you. It'll go away when I think about something else, you assure him as he begins to clean his ever-present sword on a bench less than two paces away.
Are you alright?, you asked as a general question, and he snorted in return.
I think I'm quite fine, if the way you've been staring at my ass is any goddamn indication, he answered, and guffawed when you almost choked through your nose. You settled for glaring as you shuck on your office spares, clean of lines for never staying staying in your locker for more than a day or so.
It's okay to..., you gestured to the two of you, hoping he'd get it. He did, and muttered, He doesn't give a damn about me, with a trace of real bitterness.
You finger the imprint of a bead next to one of the recent lovemarks and comment, He sleeps with that thing on?
Yeah, Squalo replies with an eyeroll that speaks of long-standing, Lord-give-me-patience.
Okay, you're done, you think to yourself. No use lying on the floor, bleeding form a dozen cuts, and making yourself miserable. They'll come, they always do. It's just a matter of who and what kind of escape. At this point it'll be one last ride of hurt at the end of a long line of hurts you got for taking over Hibari's neglected workload, you don't even care as long as the medic've got happy pills ready for you.
Steps down the hall. Slow, confident. They're coming back. You ready yourself -
But it's Yamamoto who unlocks the cell, reaches for you with gentle hands. You can only grumble, About fucking time, in which Yamamoto only answer with not quite a smirk, Sorry to keep you waiting.
That face is throwing all kinds of suspicions around so you bark tensely, What the hell is it now?
Yamamoto's answer is to turn halfway to the side, unzip the top half o his jacket so you can see the place where his fringe meets the neckline.
There's a little black skull there, and red flames.
He said you guys were drunk, you say, trying to consolidate all the possible answers into one meaning. You only get a moment to trace the tattoo before Yamamoto picks you up, fading misery and all. The scar on his chin is also silvery and healed over from this close up.
Maybe he was drunk. *I* wasn't.
Impulsively you kiss him. He looks pleased as punch when you break apart. Can't leave you in here to die a virgin, he carols, kicking the door open wide.
You punch him in the shoulder with no little force. How the hell did you know that?, you demand and through his wince he manages to smile that irritating, airheaded smile.
I've always got my eye on you, he confesses, and it's a spectacular feat of will that you manage not to flush down to your toes. Two eyes, if I can. And hands. And lips-
You can stop now, you retort. Goddamn bastard was always saying these mushy things. Romantic enough for the two of you; you sure as hell hope he doesn't expect fucking roses, cuz they're a hellish waste of Family funds in your opinion.
So glad we're leaving so I can finally debauch you, he says with a happy sigh.
Goddamn shameless bastard. Who's doing the debauching?, you demand, and you can feel his laughter rumble through your body as he cradles you.
Both then. We'll do both. We'll do anything you want, he reassures you.
What I want, you repeat, and reach up. He bends obediently and submits his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth to your explorations.
It's a promise.
Title: girl with the blue dress on
Fandom: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Rating: G
Pairing: 27K
Notes: if things had been different, maybe they'd turn out worse.
When they're sixteen, Tsuna takes Kyoko shopping.
He's come into a little money now that the Ninth is getting ready to step down for good. Of course that means his responsibilities have also increased, since he's doing the workload of 2.5 instead of 2, but his Family understands, they let him have some time off.
They wander the shopping street near their high school with shyly linked hands. As they see other couples in similar poses they get a little bolder an risk a quick peck too. Tsuna wants to shop the bookstore; they go in and circle the aisles together. Then Kyoko sees a sweet shop and they wander in there too. He spends exactly 1260 yen on a cake set for the both of them.
Then it's back to the streets which're turning that golden yellow color of the setting sun. Early shifters are starting to get off of work, trickling into the streets. They join this river of people, strolling lazily towards the river on a rare day off from school.
Like a thousand dates before, Tsuna will remember exactly what Kyoko looks like today for the rest of his life. There, smiling at him as he brings her a warm drink from a nearby vending machine, she looks so lovely in a blue dress he's said looks wonderful on her. Her hair's afire form the sunset. He counts his lucky stars she's here with her hand squeezing his lightly, gazing inquisitively at him.
"How's work?," she asks, and his heart goes out to her. Even hearing the scary things, the gory things, the dangerous things she remains his slim, hidden bastion of strength.
"Difficult without a Rain Guardian," he admits. "When Xanxus challenged us I thought we'd be fine if all of us pitched in and did a seventh of a part. But I can't help but wish that I had just one more pair of hands that I could trust. Plus nobody else wants the extra work, so..." He sighs. "I wish I could leave things to someone other than Gokudera sometimes. He's so..."
"Enthusiastic," Kyoko finishes for him. Her euphemism is very telling and they both giggle. It's this moment in time, like so many times before, that Tsuna thinks his heart might burst with how many times his love for her has doubled, tripled over the course of their acquaintance.
"He always says he's 'carefully prepared something'," he grinned.
"I think the 'paranoid' when he says that." She wrinkles her nose at her opinion of the Storm Guardian's overprotective measures. "Or maybe 'lovingly'."
Tsuna wrinkles his nose at that.
Gradually the warm drink and the sunset iron out the creases in his worries, and the two of them lounge hand-in-hand, basking in the sun's last rays.
"I'm glad you're here," he blurts suddenly, and wishes he'd stop saying such "herbivoric things", as he's been told off before.
But Kyoko doesn't mind. "I'm glad too," she answers, though he can't fathom in the least what she's thankful for. He only knows her smile and her eyes are true, and only see him.
Three years later over the edge of the university bell tower Yamamoto makes himself comfortable on his belly as he peers through the periscope.
"Canary's in a blue dress, white hat," the voice in his earphone tinnies. "Mr. Hawk, do you read?"
"Affirmative," he says amiably. He spots her immediately, and lines up the shot.
Seconds later the scrambled voice comes back. "Proceed, Mr. Hawk."
He fires. In the crowd of people he clearly sees red blossom on the back of her dress as the target crumples like a cut marionette. Her boyfriend kneels immediately, hands fluttering uselessly over her body. Around her the sea of people start to clog and mill, one person pulling out a cellphone even as the devoted boyfriend starts to weep, his face strangely expressive for such a personage.
As he calmly puts away the warm gun, he wonders what'll happen to the young mafia boss. He's sorry in a kind of third-person way; he'd done enough research to know they were really close, and acquaintances from junior high school. He supposes if one of his junior high school friends got randomly shot, he might be sad too.
As it is, he's not right now. But it sounds like his employer is.
"Canary lost her way?" There's a subdued tone in his employer's voice that Yamamoto immediately picks up on.
"Taken care of," Yamamoto affirms.
"Payment's in the usual account."
"Much obliged." He wonders who this man is, what he does, why he always has jobs for him.
But unfortunately this is the extent of their contact. "Until next time, Mr. Hawk," his employer says.
"Always a pleasure, Mr. Skull." And the line goes dead.
Title: when I think on it now, sure, we had a good time
Fandom: Eyeshield 21 (yeah I know, whut??)
Rating: G
Pairing: HiruSena
Notes: I've always wanted to write something ES21, but didn't really do so until now.
Oh yeah, it'd been fun.
Sometimes he still wore that helmet when he practiced by himself. Then he'd remember how the world looked from behind a tinted screen - how the sun looked more tannish, how the grass seemed a little dull. But his teammate's faces had always screamed out to him loud and clear. Their drive for victory, their determination to be the best. Let's do it. Let's win this thing.
Not that it hadn't been hard. With Doburoku-sensei and the bus and that crazy jaunt to America where Sena saw nothing of the sights and all of the desert, it'd been so hard it'd almost been cruel. But it'd also been the time when they'd been closest - sleeping in a big heap, sharing food, swapping chores...he'd felt that his teammates were somehow an extension of his fighting spirit. They bonded securely on a wavelength they'd only started to discover.
Gosh, the things he'd done...he could never ben grateful enough. Now when he looked back on it he thought that it'd been a pretty damn good time to live.
"Chibi," said a puzzled voice from the doorway, "why the hell're you crying?"
He sniffed and hastily blotted his face with a tissue. He didn't hear Hiruma cross the room, only heard the clink of him setting his black gun case down in the corner like he usually did. Then came the snick of the knife on the cutting board, where Sena knew that if he chose to look, he'd see Hiruma calmly, capably slicing an apple into precise little pieces.
He looked down at his legs - the twisted, broken remains of his body. Like the echo of some faded nightmare he remembered the sound of the baseball bat cracking them. He remembered the sound of his livelihood being cut away from him as surely as life might be squashed out of a bug.
Hiruma had to know he was dating a maudlin, possibly permanently disabled football captain from a rival school. The first point would repel him the most, Sena decided as he stared at the points of the casts point out form the other end of the blanket. His toes looked so small against the plaster; toes that had carried him at lighting speed from one end of the field to the other.
Months, years of work. Muscle memory, rusting in his brain. Sinews and joints resting, fattening, healing so slowly he might scream at the speed if he was that kind of person. As it was he could only cry like it was the first time he'd lost a match.
Why the hell was Hiruma still here? He'd failed. his team might be fine, might be puttering along hadily to the semifinals without him, but he wasn't. He'd let them down and - God, he only had three more Cups, and Hiruma none.
I'm sorry, rose to the tip of his tongue. Hiruma-san, its okay - you don't need to stay here.
"When's the next one?," he asked instead.
"Saturday. Here," a plate of apples was thrust into his hand. Sena ate mechanically under Hiruma's watchful eye, handing the plate and fork back when he was done. Now that his hands were free he fiddled idly with the blanket, his two broken fingers in their little metal splints shining up at him accusingly. He broke a thread and worried a nice hole right there when Hiruma sank into the chair next to the bed, hand clamping firmly down on his.
"Stop that, chibi." The endearment was rough yet sympathetic all at once.
"Why're you here?" he asked before he could chicken out.
Hiruma looked unsurprised, and then as his eyes narrowed, vaguely offended too. "Can't leave you alone for a second, chibikko." He sat back in his chair, unsmiling, but something in his eyes was satisfied and a tad smug as he drank in Sena's washed-out hair, his restless pose, his growing apathy.
The words didn't explain anything, and Sena was tired of people trying to not-tell him certain things. Coming from Hiruma too he thought for a second he really might scream, or throw something - but in the end he hunched over himself, stretching his fingers down to his toes, then turned to stare out the window. A long silence passed, broken only by the sound of Hiruma crunching noisily into an apple. He turned back at the sound.
Under the hospital light Hiruma felt like everything Sena would no longer be. His hair - still golden, still spiked - was a little faded out too. The insouciant line of his body was the same as ever, though the way one hand was perched on his hip as he chewed. The red apple rested barehandedly in the other. He was in black jeans and a T-shirt today, like all the days he came to see Sena. It was probably an act of thoughtfulness that he didn't ever wear his uniform, though he often came straight here from practice. Despite soap and water, Sena could still smell it though: grass, earth, sky, sweat.
Like the scent of happiness.
Two days ago when the doctor first told him it might be a year before he could run again, if ever, he cried unabashedly into Hiruma's shoulder, absorbing, memorizing that scent. The hands that traced the ticklish inside of his knee, the stretch of his thighs, lit heat like magma wherever he touched had held him securely as an anchor with no indication of ever letting go.
Somehow over the years Hiruma had become another real constant in his life. He wasn't simply their oni commander of the past - to Sena he'd become idol, mentor, brother, lover - a figure with so many interchangeable roles that he'd simply stopped trying to put a label on what Hiruma was to him.
He looked at the clock. It was almost time anyway. "You should go," he suggested. "They'll start the game sequence lottery without you."
Hiruma shouldered his pack, his eyes still carefully neutral. Finally he said with a touch of surety, "There're always more games, chibi."
No there weren't. "Not for me," he tried not to sound too bitter.
"Hey." And there were long fingers propping his chin up. At the age where people's jaws widened and their shoulders broadened, Hiruma still kept his stick-skinny figure, his flat stomach, his not-so-well-hidden heart. "There will be, too. I put you on that field - I'll see you off it."
He could only gaze wordlessly, eyes brimming, sharing Hiruma's hope.
"I'll see you tomorrow." Hiruma's hand was firm and warm on his shoulder. They didn't kiss.
"Tomorrow, then."
They didn't need to.
Title: baby, you can kiss my friends
Fandom: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Rating: PG
Pairing: 8069, 6918, 18D, D3, 327, 2759, 5980
Notes: multipairing shipper rearing its ugly head here...
It started out quite stupidly.
So they were drunk. Hibari had availed himself of their presence the moment it looked like the celebration party was going to descend into the depths of insobriety, and thus was absent when Yamamoto in mid-chuckle, pulled the nearest Guardian lounging on the couch with him - which happened to be Mukuro - into his lap and kissed him senseless.
Gokudera almost exploded with rage, except he and "the lug" were currently still at the "touch but not too much" stage (a highly dissatisfactory place to be, but Gokudera had Scruples). Suffice to say after Yamamoto was done saying, "Ooops! Wrong person..." and Mukuro was done kufufu-ing in a kind of half-admiring but still salacious way, Gokudera dragged his partner away to cure their sorry state of affairs.
Hibari heard the next day from Kusakabe, and thus the next time Mukuro showed up to leer at him he simply asked, "Then he wasn't good enough to change your mind?"
Mukuro didn't wait for the tonfas to descend or Dino's permission (which would never be given), just swooped down like his stupid owl and stole a kiss. A long one. With lots of tongue. When they were done and Dino was finished spluttering with fury, Mukuro nodded wisely to himself and commented glibly, "No-o, not enough. That was a taste of his skills though." Dino might have chucked a pen after his figure, leaping out from the fifth storey window, but - he was an illusionist. Alas, it passed through him.
Hibari grabbed Dino's collar and soundly gave him a good smack, to "get the taste out."
Dino strolled up to the back door of the Varia mansion, not bothering to hide himself from the cameras. Cheerily he waved into them, and deftly avoided Lussuria's wandering hand trying to give his ass an welcoming squeeze at the door. "Here to see Xanxus!" he caroled, and the man himself snarled where he was, still dressed loosely in black pajamas, the top unbuttoned. His ever-present tumbler was clutched in one hand, until he squeezed too hard and it shattered in Dino's face.
While he wiped away the whiskey he shrugged and talked as he mounted the stairs. "Squalo's doing just fine - thanks for lending him, by the way - he's terrorizing the nurses as we speak. Oh, he also told me -" Without fear of being backhanded into a wall he reached over, caught the front of Xanxus' shirt, and met Xanxus in a clash of teeth. That melted into something a little gentler but not really in the next moment.
"He - he said to give you that." They were both breathing heavily when they broke apart.
There came a thump. Lussuria had passed out cold from blood loss. His nosebleed seemed sadly unstoppable at this point.
"Get out, you mangy trash," Xanxus growled. Dino only waved cheekily over his shoulder, and didn't let on he saw Xanxus fingering his lips as he let the door shut.
Tsuna sat at his desk, biting his lip. He'd called Kyoko earlier to tell her he'd be late, and the rest of his concerns had gotten delegated to other people. now all that was left was this last, glaring problem with the Calcassas. They'd been at stalemate so long, staring like two lofty, frozen mountain peaks at each other he couldn't remember when they hadn't done it.
Seated at a larger desk behind him Xanxus took off his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes. The image of his younger counterpart at such a loss did not go away.
Tsuna turned his face upward to look at him when he came to peer over his shoulder. They were close enough now that he'd told Xanxus what he hadn't even told Gokudera, his right-hand man, that he intended to dissolve the Family. But how to do it when the Calcassa - sprawling, authoritarian, greedy and powerful - had been as natural an enemy as dogs and cats?
Tsuna yielded easily to him, his eyelashes falling shut, his face carefully cradled in Xanxus' scarred hands. He said nothing, but he didn't need to. They'd find a way to bring the Family through this together. They always did.
At first he'd thought the weak trash had been a fool for trusting him - him, who'd challenged the Vongola heir and lost, who'd made such a disgraceful spectacle of himself - but he rather thought now that if it'd been anybody else, he would've turned them into human fricassee. Something about Tsuna kept him guessing, though - not his brains, his power, his abilities. Maybe it was his will, his vision. Maybe it was the way he shone without trying.
Maybe it was -
The door slammed open. Gokudera stalked in, eyes fairly gleaming with excitement. "I got it, Tenth, I got it! If we can acquire that holding from Dino he's always complaining about, then we can add it to the Palermo holding and get Perenzetti on board! Then if Perenzetti comes around they won't be able to afford not listening to him - they'll have to give up that cloaking device (which won't last more than five minutes in Giovanni's hands), and then we'll be even! For the time being, that is."
"But that's just business, Gokudera," Tsuna looked rather as if he was desperate for some on trick, easy answer.
"There's no easier way, Tenth." And Gokudera sounded exhausted too, hard-put to say something couldn't go as his beloved boss wanted. "We just have to take it a step at a time. I'm sure there's people who want peace in there too. They weren't doing business with us at all before you came, right Tenth?"
The so-called boss still looked torn. It was the rough, gun-calloused hand on his shoulder that brought him back to.
"Alright, Gokudera, we'll do it your way." To his consigliere's everlasting surprise, his beloved Tenth kissed a benediction on both cheeks, then planted one firmly on his lips. "But you're going personally!"
"T-Tenth!" Gokudera yelped. "I'm - I'm sorry but I'm -"
Tsuna frowned, considering. "You're right, there has been too much kissing in the Family lately." Abruptly is expression cheered. "But that's alright!"
Xanxus' harrumph told the room in general just what he thought of that.
Two days later Yamamoto awoke to the feeling as someone tried to climb into his bed. "Muhh?" was all he could manage.
Only when Gokudera leaned in close did he stop trying to struggle out of the blankets, and wordlessly tilted his head up for a kiss. Gokudera obliged.
"This is all your fault, you know," the consigliere murmured against his lover's cheek. "This kiss-tag thing is getting way out of control."
"Hrrrn?" Evidently it was too much for Yamamoto's brain to process at the moment.
"Goodnight to you too, ya big lug." And they settled down to sleep.
Fandom: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Rating: PG
Pairing: 5918, 5939, 5980
Notes: I had free time for once @.@ It's a miracle!!
As you lay there, bloody spittle running out of the side of your mouth, you think.
Ain't nothing else to do. Here's the vacation you wanted so badly - you though so much about taking just one goddamn day away from the desk, the yelling, the fighting for your life. When had it ceased to be fun and simply become a drag? You can't remember, but you can't move right now so you might as well think about it.
Maybe it started with Hibari. He never shouted, never got into those pissing contests you seemed to have with everyone else (even Mukuro occasionally, though the two of you went about it quieter than say, you and that dumbass lawnhead). But though he never raised his voice he always got his way. And this time he'd wanted revenge so off a-haring he went to track down whoever or whatever had killed his precious bird.
It was just a bird, for Chrissake's. You'd told him as much and for a moment you though he'd punch you. Then his eyes narrowed - squinty eyed bastard, the Tenth always said he was smarter for never leaping before he looked - and absorbed the way you were slumped over your desk, hand so cramped from signing and typing you were probably going to get that carpool whatever disease before you hit twenty-five, and he only "Hmmmed" in that superior way of his and left.
Before he left you saw the way his hips switched and swallowed. Hibari was dangerous, true, but Dino in a protective, possessive rage was deadly.
So maybe it was Squalo. Squalo who'd come to him the day after Hibari left saying, Vuooooii, why'd that pet-obsessed bastard jack our helicopter anyway? He's got his own goddamn copter, doesn't he? And that was when you stared at him dumbly, then cursed and started calling people.
The first one you called answered your question quite neatly: Yeah, he asked me too, said Dino while you tried not thinking of Hibari's smirk and the way his hands could be gentle if he tried. But I told him Romario's using it. Squalo watched as you tried not to yank out all your hair in absolute frustration and finally put down the phone with a sigh. Hibari was somewhere in Indonesia, unreachable, with a couple of fake creds, sniffing out the poppy farmer who was hiding Hibird's killer. You didn't know why he cared, when there were a dozen Hibirds in the aviary he'd set up when you guys first got here.
You were about to pick up the pen and keep signing when a black leather hand stopped you. Squalo's good hand, and the way he leaned over the table you could see his throat peeking out from beneath his collar. There was a mottled purlish mark there on the right; you couldn't tell if it was a hickey or what.
How long ago did you shower?, came the non sequitur.
You thought back. Sixteen hours before Hibari - you must smell pretty ripe, and wrinkling his nose Squalo agreed, Yeah just a little.
You've never seen him wash his hair. In fact, it's your first time seeing wet hair that long. Squalo sheds so much it clogs the drain in five minutes, and you said so. He gave you a sneer worthy of a certain Prince and continued unfastening his fake hand, shower hitting his back forcefully with clear spray.
Now that all his clothes are off you could see they're hickeys, some older than others. And scars that criss-cross like stray strands of hair, silvery and occasionally rippling as he tried to wet all of his hair thoroughly. It was hard with only one working hand.
Let me help, you said, and sat him down on a chair as you lathered his head, rinsed, then treated and conditioned it too. He picked up the bottle you used and grunted realization above the splash-drain sound of the water spiraling down, collecting more hair as it went.
Always thought it was weird he knew this brand, but I guess if you live so close it's a given, yeah?
You didn't say anything. You couldn't really trust your voice right then, as you ran your finger over the place right where Squalo's spine starts, where a small, noticeable blue swallow wings against his pale skin.
So this is the answer to all the -, you started to to think but in that second a hand clapped down over yours. Squalo's black eyes pierce into you as he said firmly, It wasn't like that. We were drunk.
Your throat tightened painfully. Yeah, they were drunk. Yeah, that meant they probably also did it that night, all fumbling hands and bunched muscles under the sheets. How old had Yamamoto been? Sixteen? Seventeen? What had they looked like when -
Forcefully you turned Squalo's head back front. Your hands ran the brush through his hair, silky by silk part. You thought your pinched face was safe from his prying eyes until you started cleaning up the hair and met his eyes in the reflection of the waterlogged tiles.
It wasn't nothing, he started carefully, but it wasn't like what I have now. He looked frustrated for not being able to comfort you. You make it a little easier by sliding into his lap, wet shirt and all, kissing him smoothly for a long moment.
Payment accepted, you wanted to gloat but he cuts you to the chase with an amused glare and a low, Vuooooiii, that was fucking wimpy! With a laugh you indulge him in a slow drag-dance of lips and teeth, his good hand solid and secure around your waist.
You're half-aroused when it was over, and the two of you stared down at dismay between your bodies. Oops, you shrugged, and his hand tightened as he laughed with you. It'll go away when I think about something else, you assure him as he begins to clean his ever-present sword on a bench less than two paces away.
Are you alright?, you asked as a general question, and he snorted in return.
I think I'm quite fine, if the way you've been staring at my ass is any goddamn indication, he answered, and guffawed when you almost choked through your nose. You settled for glaring as you shuck on your office spares, clean of lines for never staying staying in your locker for more than a day or so.
It's okay to..., you gestured to the two of you, hoping he'd get it. He did, and muttered, He doesn't give a damn about me, with a trace of real bitterness.
You finger the imprint of a bead next to one of the recent lovemarks and comment, He sleeps with that thing on?
Yeah, Squalo replies with an eyeroll that speaks of long-standing, Lord-give-me-patience.
Okay, you're done, you think to yourself. No use lying on the floor, bleeding form a dozen cuts, and making yourself miserable. They'll come, they always do. It's just a matter of who and what kind of escape. At this point it'll be one last ride of hurt at the end of a long line of hurts you got for taking over Hibari's neglected workload, you don't even care as long as the medic've got happy pills ready for you.
Steps down the hall. Slow, confident. They're coming back. You ready yourself -
But it's Yamamoto who unlocks the cell, reaches for you with gentle hands. You can only grumble, About fucking time, in which Yamamoto only answer with not quite a smirk, Sorry to keep you waiting.
That face is throwing all kinds of suspicions around so you bark tensely, What the hell is it now?
Yamamoto's answer is to turn halfway to the side, unzip the top half o his jacket so you can see the place where his fringe meets the neckline.
There's a little black skull there, and red flames.
He said you guys were drunk, you say, trying to consolidate all the possible answers into one meaning. You only get a moment to trace the tattoo before Yamamoto picks you up, fading misery and all. The scar on his chin is also silvery and healed over from this close up.
Maybe he was drunk. *I* wasn't.
Impulsively you kiss him. He looks pleased as punch when you break apart. Can't leave you in here to die a virgin, he carols, kicking the door open wide.
You punch him in the shoulder with no little force. How the hell did you know that?, you demand and through his wince he manages to smile that irritating, airheaded smile.
I've always got my eye on you, he confesses, and it's a spectacular feat of will that you manage not to flush down to your toes. Two eyes, if I can. And hands. And lips-
You can stop now, you retort. Goddamn bastard was always saying these mushy things. Romantic enough for the two of you; you sure as hell hope he doesn't expect fucking roses, cuz they're a hellish waste of Family funds in your opinion.
So glad we're leaving so I can finally debauch you, he says with a happy sigh.
Goddamn shameless bastard. Who's doing the debauching?, you demand, and you can feel his laughter rumble through your body as he cradles you.
Both then. We'll do both. We'll do anything you want, he reassures you.
What I want, you repeat, and reach up. He bends obediently and submits his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth to your explorations.
It's a promise.
Title: girl with the blue dress on
Fandom: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Rating: G
Pairing: 27K
Notes: if things had been different, maybe they'd turn out worse.
When they're sixteen, Tsuna takes Kyoko shopping.
He's come into a little money now that the Ninth is getting ready to step down for good. Of course that means his responsibilities have also increased, since he's doing the workload of 2.5 instead of 2, but his Family understands, they let him have some time off.
They wander the shopping street near their high school with shyly linked hands. As they see other couples in similar poses they get a little bolder an risk a quick peck too. Tsuna wants to shop the bookstore; they go in and circle the aisles together. Then Kyoko sees a sweet shop and they wander in there too. He spends exactly 1260 yen on a cake set for the both of them.
Then it's back to the streets which're turning that golden yellow color of the setting sun. Early shifters are starting to get off of work, trickling into the streets. They join this river of people, strolling lazily towards the river on a rare day off from school.
Like a thousand dates before, Tsuna will remember exactly what Kyoko looks like today for the rest of his life. There, smiling at him as he brings her a warm drink from a nearby vending machine, she looks so lovely in a blue dress he's said looks wonderful on her. Her hair's afire form the sunset. He counts his lucky stars she's here with her hand squeezing his lightly, gazing inquisitively at him.
"How's work?," she asks, and his heart goes out to her. Even hearing the scary things, the gory things, the dangerous things she remains his slim, hidden bastion of strength.
"Difficult without a Rain Guardian," he admits. "When Xanxus challenged us I thought we'd be fine if all of us pitched in and did a seventh of a part. But I can't help but wish that I had just one more pair of hands that I could trust. Plus nobody else wants the extra work, so..." He sighs. "I wish I could leave things to someone other than Gokudera sometimes. He's so..."
"Enthusiastic," Kyoko finishes for him. Her euphemism is very telling and they both giggle. It's this moment in time, like so many times before, that Tsuna thinks his heart might burst with how many times his love for her has doubled, tripled over the course of their acquaintance.
"He always says he's 'carefully prepared something'," he grinned.
"I think the 'paranoid' when he says that." She wrinkles her nose at her opinion of the Storm Guardian's overprotective measures. "Or maybe 'lovingly'."
Tsuna wrinkles his nose at that.
Gradually the warm drink and the sunset iron out the creases in his worries, and the two of them lounge hand-in-hand, basking in the sun's last rays.
"I'm glad you're here," he blurts suddenly, and wishes he'd stop saying such "herbivoric things", as he's been told off before.
But Kyoko doesn't mind. "I'm glad too," she answers, though he can't fathom in the least what she's thankful for. He only knows her smile and her eyes are true, and only see him.
Three years later over the edge of the university bell tower Yamamoto makes himself comfortable on his belly as he peers through the periscope.
"Canary's in a blue dress, white hat," the voice in his earphone tinnies. "Mr. Hawk, do you read?"
"Affirmative," he says amiably. He spots her immediately, and lines up the shot.
Seconds later the scrambled voice comes back. "Proceed, Mr. Hawk."
He fires. In the crowd of people he clearly sees red blossom on the back of her dress as the target crumples like a cut marionette. Her boyfriend kneels immediately, hands fluttering uselessly over her body. Around her the sea of people start to clog and mill, one person pulling out a cellphone even as the devoted boyfriend starts to weep, his face strangely expressive for such a personage.
As he calmly puts away the warm gun, he wonders what'll happen to the young mafia boss. He's sorry in a kind of third-person way; he'd done enough research to know they were really close, and acquaintances from junior high school. He supposes if one of his junior high school friends got randomly shot, he might be sad too.
As it is, he's not right now. But it sounds like his employer is.
"Canary lost her way?" There's a subdued tone in his employer's voice that Yamamoto immediately picks up on.
"Taken care of," Yamamoto affirms.
"Payment's in the usual account."
"Much obliged." He wonders who this man is, what he does, why he always has jobs for him.
But unfortunately this is the extent of their contact. "Until next time, Mr. Hawk," his employer says.
"Always a pleasure, Mr. Skull." And the line goes dead.
Title: when I think on it now, sure, we had a good time
Fandom: Eyeshield 21 (yeah I know, whut??)
Rating: G
Pairing: HiruSena
Notes: I've always wanted to write something ES21, but didn't really do so until now.
Oh yeah, it'd been fun.
Sometimes he still wore that helmet when he practiced by himself. Then he'd remember how the world looked from behind a tinted screen - how the sun looked more tannish, how the grass seemed a little dull. But his teammate's faces had always screamed out to him loud and clear. Their drive for victory, their determination to be the best. Let's do it. Let's win this thing.
Not that it hadn't been hard. With Doburoku-sensei and the bus and that crazy jaunt to America where Sena saw nothing of the sights and all of the desert, it'd been so hard it'd almost been cruel. But it'd also been the time when they'd been closest - sleeping in a big heap, sharing food, swapping chores...he'd felt that his teammates were somehow an extension of his fighting spirit. They bonded securely on a wavelength they'd only started to discover.
Gosh, the things he'd done...he could never ben grateful enough. Now when he looked back on it he thought that it'd been a pretty damn good time to live.
"Chibi," said a puzzled voice from the doorway, "why the hell're you crying?"
He sniffed and hastily blotted his face with a tissue. He didn't hear Hiruma cross the room, only heard the clink of him setting his black gun case down in the corner like he usually did. Then came the snick of the knife on the cutting board, where Sena knew that if he chose to look, he'd see Hiruma calmly, capably slicing an apple into precise little pieces.
He looked down at his legs - the twisted, broken remains of his body. Like the echo of some faded nightmare he remembered the sound of the baseball bat cracking them. He remembered the sound of his livelihood being cut away from him as surely as life might be squashed out of a bug.
Hiruma had to know he was dating a maudlin, possibly permanently disabled football captain from a rival school. The first point would repel him the most, Sena decided as he stared at the points of the casts point out form the other end of the blanket. His toes looked so small against the plaster; toes that had carried him at lighting speed from one end of the field to the other.
Months, years of work. Muscle memory, rusting in his brain. Sinews and joints resting, fattening, healing so slowly he might scream at the speed if he was that kind of person. As it was he could only cry like it was the first time he'd lost a match.
Why the hell was Hiruma still here? He'd failed. his team might be fine, might be puttering along hadily to the semifinals without him, but he wasn't. He'd let them down and - God, he only had three more Cups, and Hiruma none.
I'm sorry, rose to the tip of his tongue. Hiruma-san, its okay - you don't need to stay here.
"When's the next one?," he asked instead.
"Saturday. Here," a plate of apples was thrust into his hand. Sena ate mechanically under Hiruma's watchful eye, handing the plate and fork back when he was done. Now that his hands were free he fiddled idly with the blanket, his two broken fingers in their little metal splints shining up at him accusingly. He broke a thread and worried a nice hole right there when Hiruma sank into the chair next to the bed, hand clamping firmly down on his.
"Stop that, chibi." The endearment was rough yet sympathetic all at once.
"Why're you here?" he asked before he could chicken out.
Hiruma looked unsurprised, and then as his eyes narrowed, vaguely offended too. "Can't leave you alone for a second, chibikko." He sat back in his chair, unsmiling, but something in his eyes was satisfied and a tad smug as he drank in Sena's washed-out hair, his restless pose, his growing apathy.
The words didn't explain anything, and Sena was tired of people trying to not-tell him certain things. Coming from Hiruma too he thought for a second he really might scream, or throw something - but in the end he hunched over himself, stretching his fingers down to his toes, then turned to stare out the window. A long silence passed, broken only by the sound of Hiruma crunching noisily into an apple. He turned back at the sound.
Under the hospital light Hiruma felt like everything Sena would no longer be. His hair - still golden, still spiked - was a little faded out too. The insouciant line of his body was the same as ever, though the way one hand was perched on his hip as he chewed. The red apple rested barehandedly in the other. He was in black jeans and a T-shirt today, like all the days he came to see Sena. It was probably an act of thoughtfulness that he didn't ever wear his uniform, though he often came straight here from practice. Despite soap and water, Sena could still smell it though: grass, earth, sky, sweat.
Like the scent of happiness.
Two days ago when the doctor first told him it might be a year before he could run again, if ever, he cried unabashedly into Hiruma's shoulder, absorbing, memorizing that scent. The hands that traced the ticklish inside of his knee, the stretch of his thighs, lit heat like magma wherever he touched had held him securely as an anchor with no indication of ever letting go.
Somehow over the years Hiruma had become another real constant in his life. He wasn't simply their oni commander of the past - to Sena he'd become idol, mentor, brother, lover - a figure with so many interchangeable roles that he'd simply stopped trying to put a label on what Hiruma was to him.
He looked at the clock. It was almost time anyway. "You should go," he suggested. "They'll start the game sequence lottery without you."
Hiruma shouldered his pack, his eyes still carefully neutral. Finally he said with a touch of surety, "There're always more games, chibi."
No there weren't. "Not for me," he tried not to sound too bitter.
"Hey." And there were long fingers propping his chin up. At the age where people's jaws widened and their shoulders broadened, Hiruma still kept his stick-skinny figure, his flat stomach, his not-so-well-hidden heart. "There will be, too. I put you on that field - I'll see you off it."
He could only gaze wordlessly, eyes brimming, sharing Hiruma's hope.
"I'll see you tomorrow." Hiruma's hand was firm and warm on his shoulder. They didn't kiss.
"Tomorrow, then."
They didn't need to.
Title: baby, you can kiss my friends
Fandom: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Rating: PG
Pairing: 8069, 6918, 18D, D3, 327, 2759, 5980
Notes: multipairing shipper rearing its ugly head here...
It started out quite stupidly.
So they were drunk. Hibari had availed himself of their presence the moment it looked like the celebration party was going to descend into the depths of insobriety, and thus was absent when Yamamoto in mid-chuckle, pulled the nearest Guardian lounging on the couch with him - which happened to be Mukuro - into his lap and kissed him senseless.
Gokudera almost exploded with rage, except he and "the lug" were currently still at the "touch but not too much" stage (a highly dissatisfactory place to be, but Gokudera had Scruples). Suffice to say after Yamamoto was done saying, "Ooops! Wrong person..." and Mukuro was done kufufu-ing in a kind of half-admiring but still salacious way, Gokudera dragged his partner away to cure their sorry state of affairs.
Hibari heard the next day from Kusakabe, and thus the next time Mukuro showed up to leer at him he simply asked, "Then he wasn't good enough to change your mind?"
Mukuro didn't wait for the tonfas to descend or Dino's permission (which would never be given), just swooped down like his stupid owl and stole a kiss. A long one. With lots of tongue. When they were done and Dino was finished spluttering with fury, Mukuro nodded wisely to himself and commented glibly, "No-o, not enough. That was a taste of his skills though." Dino might have chucked a pen after his figure, leaping out from the fifth storey window, but - he was an illusionist. Alas, it passed through him.
Hibari grabbed Dino's collar and soundly gave him a good smack, to "get the taste out."
Dino strolled up to the back door of the Varia mansion, not bothering to hide himself from the cameras. Cheerily he waved into them, and deftly avoided Lussuria's wandering hand trying to give his ass an welcoming squeeze at the door. "Here to see Xanxus!" he caroled, and the man himself snarled where he was, still dressed loosely in black pajamas, the top unbuttoned. His ever-present tumbler was clutched in one hand, until he squeezed too hard and it shattered in Dino's face.
While he wiped away the whiskey he shrugged and talked as he mounted the stairs. "Squalo's doing just fine - thanks for lending him, by the way - he's terrorizing the nurses as we speak. Oh, he also told me -" Without fear of being backhanded into a wall he reached over, caught the front of Xanxus' shirt, and met Xanxus in a clash of teeth. That melted into something a little gentler but not really in the next moment.
"He - he said to give you that." They were both breathing heavily when they broke apart.
There came a thump. Lussuria had passed out cold from blood loss. His nosebleed seemed sadly unstoppable at this point.
"Get out, you mangy trash," Xanxus growled. Dino only waved cheekily over his shoulder, and didn't let on he saw Xanxus fingering his lips as he let the door shut.
Tsuna sat at his desk, biting his lip. He'd called Kyoko earlier to tell her he'd be late, and the rest of his concerns had gotten delegated to other people. now all that was left was this last, glaring problem with the Calcassas. They'd been at stalemate so long, staring like two lofty, frozen mountain peaks at each other he couldn't remember when they hadn't done it.
Seated at a larger desk behind him Xanxus took off his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes. The image of his younger counterpart at such a loss did not go away.
Tsuna turned his face upward to look at him when he came to peer over his shoulder. They were close enough now that he'd told Xanxus what he hadn't even told Gokudera, his right-hand man, that he intended to dissolve the Family. But how to do it when the Calcassa - sprawling, authoritarian, greedy and powerful - had been as natural an enemy as dogs and cats?
Tsuna yielded easily to him, his eyelashes falling shut, his face carefully cradled in Xanxus' scarred hands. He said nothing, but he didn't need to. They'd find a way to bring the Family through this together. They always did.
At first he'd thought the weak trash had been a fool for trusting him - him, who'd challenged the Vongola heir and lost, who'd made such a disgraceful spectacle of himself - but he rather thought now that if it'd been anybody else, he would've turned them into human fricassee. Something about Tsuna kept him guessing, though - not his brains, his power, his abilities. Maybe it was his will, his vision. Maybe it was the way he shone without trying.
Maybe it was -
The door slammed open. Gokudera stalked in, eyes fairly gleaming with excitement. "I got it, Tenth, I got it! If we can acquire that holding from Dino he's always complaining about, then we can add it to the Palermo holding and get Perenzetti on board! Then if Perenzetti comes around they won't be able to afford not listening to him - they'll have to give up that cloaking device (which won't last more than five minutes in Giovanni's hands), and then we'll be even! For the time being, that is."
"But that's just business, Gokudera," Tsuna looked rather as if he was desperate for some on trick, easy answer.
"There's no easier way, Tenth." And Gokudera sounded exhausted too, hard-put to say something couldn't go as his beloved boss wanted. "We just have to take it a step at a time. I'm sure there's people who want peace in there too. They weren't doing business with us at all before you came, right Tenth?"
The so-called boss still looked torn. It was the rough, gun-calloused hand on his shoulder that brought him back to.
"Alright, Gokudera, we'll do it your way." To his consigliere's everlasting surprise, his beloved Tenth kissed a benediction on both cheeks, then planted one firmly on his lips. "But you're going personally!"
"T-Tenth!" Gokudera yelped. "I'm - I'm sorry but I'm -"
Tsuna frowned, considering. "You're right, there has been too much kissing in the Family lately." Abruptly is expression cheered. "But that's alright!"
Xanxus' harrumph told the room in general just what he thought of that.
Two days later Yamamoto awoke to the feeling as someone tried to climb into his bed. "Muhh?" was all he could manage.
Only when Gokudera leaned in close did he stop trying to struggle out of the blankets, and wordlessly tilted his head up for a kiss. Gokudera obliged.
"This is all your fault, you know," the consigliere murmured against his lover's cheek. "This kiss-tag thing is getting way out of control."
"Hrrrn?" Evidently it was too much for Yamamoto's brain to process at the moment.
"Goodnight to you too, ya big lug." And they settled down to sleep.