24- [Katekiyo Hitman Reborn] give it away
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Katekiyo Hitman Reborn
Characters: implied Xanxus/Squalo, Belphegor, Mammon
Summary: Verbosity over chess; "What else do you hide?"; "S-so sorry, boss, was only curious, wanted to know ... "
Notes: In my frustration of not being able to write anymore, I wrote this. ): Warnings for a drunken Belphegor. Also, lol crappy title.
Every angel's terrible, that's a given. It's also a given that when Belphegor gets drunk he starts to get more daring, more annoying, and he starts to talk in a string of words that may or may not make sense; or just plain sounds like he's been reading through a thesaurus. Belphegor peers into Xanxus' eyes and sees hell reflected and very much alive behind flesh mapped with scars and what-have-been's, nothing new there; and Belphegor says, "oh, King, but your smile is so rare to appear nowadays. Care to indulge a pauper-prince? I dance, I play, and I weave little corpses for fun."
Xanxus looks at him in disdain. "I don't think you deserve that, Bel." He moves a pawn ahead of the game. He's white and white moves first; that's a given. Things like that, they're easy and they fall neatly into his hands, cruel and marked with soft skin and hard callouses, and Belphegor likes that; soft and rough, crude and violent, smooth and sharp. Belphegor likes that, too. He smiles and stares quietly on the chessboard, humming strains of half-forgotten music under his breath. Xanxus frowns.
"Move, Bel. You're rotting where you are."
"Mm, Boss, so sorry, King, I was dazzled by your unkind lips," Bel whispers. He's dizzy, now, getting more reckless, and he's pushing him too much -- there's a danger to this game that they're playing, and he likes it, but the King might get mad and he'll be shattered and made to half-sink into the ground if he's not careful; the King-boss has a fiery temper, he doesn't like being hurt. But the King only smirks at him, gracing him with only a wicked curve upon his lips and he takes his hand, gently, so gently. "Very nice of you, Bel."
He stamps his hands around his wrists with the flame and Bel hisses, winces, but doesn't move, doesn't say a thing, doesn't cry out. Princes don't cry, after all. So he pushed him too far; that was his fault. He knows that every angel's terrible and yet he ignored that warning and he's failed to count the number of ways he can piss him off. Belphegor smiles, although quite strained, and inhales the acrid smell of gently burning flesh. "Aa-aaah, King, so sorry, so sorry, won't do it again, won't be so presumptuous anymore." He offers a smile. This one is honest; he rarely lets anyone see this.
Xanxus leans back, lets his hand fall down, uninterested; the other lingers around a shotglass of whiskey, a finger rubbing the edges of the glass until it shrieks and keens a sound of agony. He eyes the chessboard with hawk eyes. Belphegor presses a finger against his lips and takes a Knight, honorable, black as soot and intentions left hidden in the dark. He makes it glide a little bit in the air before landing down, and it stands stiff and proud like the hand that moved it.
"A knight, m'lord, your preferences run for them -- " Belphegor licks his lips and mouths a name. Xanxus narrows his eyes.
"I have no business with knights, or one-man angel-brigades."
Not that it wasn't true, but it was better left unspoken. He doesn't know how to deal with it yet.
Belphegor smiles. He dodged it, and he didn't answer it, and he cares for him, and what a disposition do kings have on sharks and dagger-teethed men, he thought.
Xanxus takes a drink out of his glass and in a graceful arc, prides himself on the fact that for once, he's not the one who's drunk today, sweeps across the chessboard with a hand in a single movement.
"I've had enough of mindgames," he decrees, much to the Prince's dismay, and it rings loud and clear inside Belphegor's head: a warning, an unspoken tale of caution; "do not force me," it says, "I will deliberately kill you."
But Belphegor is curious, curious; he wants to know if the rumours around the underground was real. He has heard whispers of the words attraction and affair and fucking in one sentence involving the King-Boss' name and Squalo the Sharkman; there has to be something in it, maybe there's something in it, maybe there's always a scrap of truth in all the silence that they hear in the dark, among the other petty assassins when they thing no-one was listening.
(Also, drunk and lost to a game of Poker against him and Mammon, they've made Squalo generally admit to calling Xanxus as 'angelic' in bed, and he'd like to know if there's a shred of truth in there, too.)
The pieces fall onto the red-and-white carpets and he heard them gently fall as he says, "oh boss, oh king, a little bird said you were involved in a nice little strangled, strained affair with a certain shark and congress, fucking, copulation, fornication, intercourse -- "
"Bel!"
"S-so sorry, boss, was only curious, wanted to know ... " Belphegor pitches his voice to sound terrified, and then Xanxus sighs and moves away, looks away, and of course the prince didn't miss that blush that seems to have camped right in on the King's face and made itself comfortable on his skin; a new mark on a scarred map. Belphegor grins, even though against his will the word was beginning to swirl and swirl and swirl. The alcohol! It's aff-eeec-tiiing meeeeee -- "Is it true, then, Boss, we, uhh, just want you to be very very careful with who you consort with ~ "
"... my lovelife -- " and Xanxus spits the word out like it's something really offensive, and Belphegor snickers (aha, he's caught him, the King is checked!) -- "should be of no importance to others who are not involved with it."
"Aha, Boss, but you said 'not involved', so that means Mr SharkyMcSharkbait is involved; and might I ask you, Boss, does he really scream that loud when he's being fucked, or is that just Squalo in general -- "
The sound of Belphegor's head smashing onto the nearest wall was the only answer Xanxus was willing to give; he storms out of the room in a huff and walks away angrily, embarassed that he's said so much. "Ushishishishi!" Belphegor laughs weakly, collapsing on the floor in a disgruntled and pained heap.
From out of the shadows Mammon steps out, and he pipes up to him in his baby-ish voice: "You didn't make him admit it, so pay up."
"What, yes I did -- ooh, my head, he was so angry -- he implied it, his gestures and unspoken words said everything, Mammon, not fair -- "
"But he never said it outright," Mammon said firmly. "You never made him admit it. So pay up."
"Not fair," Belphegor whines. "Gimme a week or two I'll be able to settle this bet -- aah, my head hurts, Mammon."
"... I told you not to ask him when he's sober and you drunk. You should've asked him when he was drunk, Bel, and you should've just played some card game, like we did with Squalo. Chess takes too much brain power, he'll want to be sober to win that." Mammon chides him. And for all his size and looks he may as well be his nanny, and the thought of this makes Mammon frown.
"Totally not drunk. Totally not drunk, lugubrious, inebriated, intoxicated -- "
"I get it, Bel." Mammon snaps.
But he hasn't heard what he said; the next thing he knew Belphegor collapsed on top of him, completely knocked out, and Mammon would've still been stuck underneath him if Lussuria hadn't found them three hours later.
Fandom: Katekiyo Hitman Reborn
Characters: implied Xanxus/Squalo, Belphegor, Mammon
Summary: Verbosity over chess; "What else do you hide?"; "S-so sorry, boss, was only curious, wanted to know ... "
Notes: In my frustration of not being able to write anymore, I wrote this. ): Warnings for a drunken Belphegor. Also, lol crappy title.
Every angel's terrible, that's a given. It's also a given that when Belphegor gets drunk he starts to get more daring, more annoying, and he starts to talk in a string of words that may or may not make sense; or just plain sounds like he's been reading through a thesaurus. Belphegor peers into Xanxus' eyes and sees hell reflected and very much alive behind flesh mapped with scars and what-have-been's, nothing new there; and Belphegor says, "oh, King, but your smile is so rare to appear nowadays. Care to indulge a pauper-prince? I dance, I play, and I weave little corpses for fun."
Xanxus looks at him in disdain. "I don't think you deserve that, Bel." He moves a pawn ahead of the game. He's white and white moves first; that's a given. Things like that, they're easy and they fall neatly into his hands, cruel and marked with soft skin and hard callouses, and Belphegor likes that; soft and rough, crude and violent, smooth and sharp. Belphegor likes that, too. He smiles and stares quietly on the chessboard, humming strains of half-forgotten music under his breath. Xanxus frowns.
"Move, Bel. You're rotting where you are."
"Mm, Boss, so sorry, King, I was dazzled by your unkind lips," Bel whispers. He's dizzy, now, getting more reckless, and he's pushing him too much -- there's a danger to this game that they're playing, and he likes it, but the King might get mad and he'll be shattered and made to half-sink into the ground if he's not careful; the King-boss has a fiery temper, he doesn't like being hurt. But the King only smirks at him, gracing him with only a wicked curve upon his lips and he takes his hand, gently, so gently. "Very nice of you, Bel."
He stamps his hands around his wrists with the flame and Bel hisses, winces, but doesn't move, doesn't say a thing, doesn't cry out. Princes don't cry, after all. So he pushed him too far; that was his fault. He knows that every angel's terrible and yet he ignored that warning and he's failed to count the number of ways he can piss him off. Belphegor smiles, although quite strained, and inhales the acrid smell of gently burning flesh. "Aa-aaah, King, so sorry, so sorry, won't do it again, won't be so presumptuous anymore." He offers a smile. This one is honest; he rarely lets anyone see this.
Xanxus leans back, lets his hand fall down, uninterested; the other lingers around a shotglass of whiskey, a finger rubbing the edges of the glass until it shrieks and keens a sound of agony. He eyes the chessboard with hawk eyes. Belphegor presses a finger against his lips and takes a Knight, honorable, black as soot and intentions left hidden in the dark. He makes it glide a little bit in the air before landing down, and it stands stiff and proud like the hand that moved it.
"A knight, m'lord, your preferences run for them -- " Belphegor licks his lips and mouths a name. Xanxus narrows his eyes.
"I have no business with knights, or one-man angel-brigades."
Not that it wasn't true, but it was better left unspoken. He doesn't know how to deal with it yet.
Belphegor smiles. He dodged it, and he didn't answer it, and he cares for him, and what a disposition do kings have on sharks and dagger-teethed men, he thought.
Xanxus takes a drink out of his glass and in a graceful arc, prides himself on the fact that for once, he's not the one who's drunk today, sweeps across the chessboard with a hand in a single movement.
"I've had enough of mindgames," he decrees, much to the Prince's dismay, and it rings loud and clear inside Belphegor's head: a warning, an unspoken tale of caution; "do not force me," it says, "I will deliberately kill you."
But Belphegor is curious, curious; he wants to know if the rumours around the underground was real. He has heard whispers of the words attraction and affair and fucking in one sentence involving the King-Boss' name and Squalo the Sharkman; there has to be something in it, maybe there's something in it, maybe there's always a scrap of truth in all the silence that they hear in the dark, among the other petty assassins when they thing no-one was listening.
(Also, drunk and lost to a game of Poker against him and Mammon, they've made Squalo generally admit to calling Xanxus as 'angelic' in bed, and he'd like to know if there's a shred of truth in there, too.)
The pieces fall onto the red-and-white carpets and he heard them gently fall as he says, "oh boss, oh king, a little bird said you were involved in a nice little strangled, strained affair with a certain shark and congress, fucking, copulation, fornication, intercourse -- "
"Bel!"
"S-so sorry, boss, was only curious, wanted to know ... " Belphegor pitches his voice to sound terrified, and then Xanxus sighs and moves away, looks away, and of course the prince didn't miss that blush that seems to have camped right in on the King's face and made itself comfortable on his skin; a new mark on a scarred map. Belphegor grins, even though against his will the word was beginning to swirl and swirl and swirl. The alcohol! It's aff-eeec-tiiing meeeeee -- "Is it true, then, Boss, we, uhh, just want you to be very very careful with who you consort with ~ "
"... my lovelife -- " and Xanxus spits the word out like it's something really offensive, and Belphegor snickers (aha, he's caught him, the King is checked!) -- "should be of no importance to others who are not involved with it."
"Aha, Boss, but you said 'not involved', so that means Mr SharkyMcSharkbait is involved; and might I ask you, Boss, does he really scream that loud when he's being fucked, or is that just Squalo in general -- "
The sound of Belphegor's head smashing onto the nearest wall was the only answer Xanxus was willing to give; he storms out of the room in a huff and walks away angrily, embarassed that he's said so much. "Ushishishishi!" Belphegor laughs weakly, collapsing on the floor in a disgruntled and pained heap.
From out of the shadows Mammon steps out, and he pipes up to him in his baby-ish voice: "You didn't make him admit it, so pay up."
"What, yes I did -- ooh, my head, he was so angry -- he implied it, his gestures and unspoken words said everything, Mammon, not fair -- "
"But he never said it outright," Mammon said firmly. "You never made him admit it. So pay up."
"Not fair," Belphegor whines. "Gimme a week or two I'll be able to settle this bet -- aah, my head hurts, Mammon."
"... I told you not to ask him when he's sober and you drunk. You should've asked him when he was drunk, Bel, and you should've just played some card game, like we did with Squalo. Chess takes too much brain power, he'll want to be sober to win that." Mammon chides him. And for all his size and looks he may as well be his nanny, and the thought of this makes Mammon frown.
"Totally not drunk. Totally not drunk, lugubrious, inebriated, intoxicated -- "
"I get it, Bel." Mammon snaps.
But he hasn't heard what he said; the next thing he knew Belphegor collapsed on top of him, completely knocked out, and Mammon would've still been stuck underneath him if Lussuria hadn't found them three hours later.