[Fanfic] Sufficient Condition
Second post today, what.
This is written in a whim at 2 a.m. for rodickparker , who’s, honestly, just a wonderful person.
Author: Lampazo
Title: Sufficient Condition
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Characters/Pairings: 8059.
Beta: wonderful saying_sooth
Wordcount: 530.
Years of having milliseconds to react,
being it a ball or a sword, have taught you to be nothing if not observant, sharp eyes and cats instincts underneath the still surface. Years of dealing with Gokudera have taught you to let him believe in whatever he wants to believe, scab-covered, irresistible lies that no one notices.
So, when evening slowly melts into the night and he coughs into his wine, lips twitching as if he wants to say something but suddenly decides against it, and stuffy air around you just seems to breath in low, husky huffs, low lights and something jazz on the background, you let him think you don’t notice all atmosphere just moans about intentions, whatever intentions it may be. You have your theories, prefer to keep it to yourself. Smile.
He sips his wine and looks at your shoes. Alcohol pools warmly inside your stomach, buttery feeling that resonates inside your head and makes everything a little smoother. You twirl your glass and look at him, think that maybe it’s time to let him know about your intentions. Are you both ready? You don’t know, years have made you both more bitter, polished your edges, but you still have this feeling, back from when you were fifteen and everything was sunny and messy and simple, and you were already drawn to his scowl. It’s more laconic now, this stubborn emotion, or maybe more complicated, or maybe you’ve just grown up, you don’t want to contemplate about it. The scowl is exactly the same, and you’re still besotted.
He lifts his eyes, glinting from wine and maybe something else that you hope is there, looks at you, and you look back. His eyelids twitch, and you know he’s surprised you aren’t turning away. You have been doing this a lot lately, stray looks that aren’t meant to be noticed, that are claimed not to be noticed. You always turn away with practiced smile, trademark mask, and know he forces a grimace at the same very moment. The usual suspects.
The moment is dragging, and you both know that you can’t simply turn away now. His pupils are wide, green circles barely seen, and lips feverishly red after wine. He’s afraid, you see, and surroundings around you blur. You’re excited, bright fifteen year boy’s tremor fluttering deep inside of you, something dark and predatory lazily moving even deeper. You lick your lips and his eyes follow for a moment, then move back to your eyes. It’s too warm, and too stuffy, you feel it, and he deeply sighs. You move closer, sliding your elbow along the sofa’s back, and he sits still. You’re centimeters away from his face, pale skin, thin lips and shadows under sharp cheekbones. He opens his mouth, and closes it. Heavy, steady beat of blood in your head, and you inhale. His breath hitches, and continues.
You want to give it a try, four years of suppressed want turned need, kinship and helpless lust, everything transferred into three and half centimeters between you.
He’s watching you, and his lips twitch.
You open your eyes wider, and kiss him.
Planets stop spinning.
He kisses you back.