[khr] for archiving purposes
die by the drop
D18 (mainly), DS
for d18exchange
rated R
4930 words
I.
knock on the door
and the door knocks back
the joke never go no further than that
fire goes back inside the match
back down the stack
and we hustle and cuss
lick on the dust
Contrary to popular opinion, the Cavallone boss realizes that it has never been a fair situation. But then again, life has never been fair-even to those who practically own international first class seats with guaranteed fruit baskets, questionable entertainment channels, and unlimited glasses of Riesling. Dino stares at his untouched wine. Maybe Squalo has been right, three months ago back in Italy. Maybe he is getting old. Riesling has begun to taste more and more like apple juice.
He glances over at the sleeping skylark, who has snuggled against the window. Good gods, just how many hours of sleep does that guy need? It seems that no matter where he is, or more particularly when it is, Hibari Kyouya just never gets enough shut-eye. Dino briefly ponders the mysteries of narcolepsy and a possible thyroid dysfunction.
Dino leans over to his, what has been made clear for the past three hours, unwilling partner. “Kyouya,” he whispers softly.
Hibari grunts.
In a much more insistent tone, he repeats, “Kyouya!”
A low growl escapes Hibari’s gritted teeth, before the Cloud Guardian drifts back into the, well, clouds.
Dino frowns. To be honest, he hasn’t exactly hoped for an enlightening conversation with his unwilling partner-actually, he’s rather surprised that he hasn’t accumulated more bruising. There had been enough eyebrow raising at the security checkpoint with all the marks around his neck, from where Hibari had grabbed him to throw across the room-a special “Hee-saaa-shiiii-boo-ree-dah-neh” for his former, foreign teacher who had forgotten most of his Japanese. Dino, wincing, rubs his sore collar. The security guard had given him a very knowing, very leering smile, and the Cavallone Boss could only smile back nervously.
“She was a vixen,” Dino coughed.
But at least-back to the present moment-Dino has hoped for something. Batting of the eyelashes, no. Grinding of the teeth, maybe. Grinding of the teeth within his own mouth--…oh boy. Dino shifts in his seat. Unfair. This situation is so unfair.
Dino glances over at the Cloud Guardian again. Goodgods. At least he should be awake to discuss the details of the case. In fact, they must be operating at the full height of their game the moment they step into JFK International Airport in Manhattan. The Cavallone Boss weighs the consequences of not discussing the case with the risk of endangering the safety of all those aboard if one Hibari Kyouya is to be wakened against his will.
Kyouya, Dino begins telepathically.
Yes? Dino, who is now providing both sides of the conversation, responds.
You are to understand that this will never reach Tsuna. He’s still too young to understand how the mafia really works. He’s too busy saving lives. Reborn hasn’t taught him that the mafia works both ways, and at the worst times.
Yes Dino.
The minute we step off the plane, Dr. Jacob White’s men are going to pick us up. You just be yourself. Dr. White will come to you.
Yes Dino.
He thinks that you’re a mail order concubine. Of course, I can’t tell you this in real life or you will kill me. Luckily, your natural state is his perfect fetish so it should work out without your nor his knowing just what the hell is going on. Also, it helps that your English is terrible.
Yes Dino.
I’ll lie that I’ve taken you back to my Manhattan home but we’ll just stay at a small hotel in the Soho area. Once we transfer over the 9th’s money, we’ll head back to Japan.
Yes Dino.
What else?
Your hair looks terrific, Dino. No comb over will be necessary in the future.
Dino sits back in his seat. Beside him, Hibari begins to snore. The Cavallone Boss closes his eyes and remains fully aware that hell will freeze over before such a conversation will ever leave Hibari’s taunting lips.
II.
you're a real jawbreaker
a real crook obscene
i'd call you a heartbreaker
but i reserve that for nicer things
Two weeks ago, back in Italy, Squalo found a home on the floor behind the Cavallone Boss’ wide mahogany desk. In fact, as Dino would complain later, Squalo made himself so comfortable that it took some delicate diplomacy to explicate the suspicious lingering Valentino, Chianti, and sex stenches in the room of his most serious business dealings.
“We’re getting too old for this,” Dino gasped, as he fell back against his leather seat. Shit. Another one ruined.
“Just tip the cleaning boy extra,” Squalo nonchalantly advised while licking his fingers clean.
“That’s not what-I’m sorry. Where-when--who taught your mouth that?”
“Can’t give out all my secrets.” Squalo swept his mercurial hair over his lanky shoulders and rested his jaw against Dino’s knee. “You’re picking up the skylark?”
Dino’s brain, which had been floundering about the highest of heavens, suddenly veered off cloud nine and crashed into Earth. “Where? Who-I mean, who told you that?”
Squalo glowered from down under. “I am Varia, asshole.”
The Cavallone Boss buried his face into his palms. Yes, of course, Varia. He could practically predict the next question out of Squalo’s enticing mouth-a question he really did not want to answer, much less confess. To tell the truth, when the 9th granted him the liberty to choose any partner among the Vongola, a Varia member would-should-have been the most obvious choice. At least with Squalo, Dino could even share the less savory portions of the plan. Although characteristically volatile, the swordsman could put on a show.
Dino peeked from between his fingers. Squalo was still glaring. In a rather meek tone, he admitted, “I was running out of excuses to go to Japan. To see him.”
“You’re fucking pathetic.”
“Yes.”
“I hate it when you’re pathetic,” Squalo spat.
Dino lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of silver hair. He pulled the swordsman close to his burning eyes. “And what would you do?” he growled. Dino, fully aware of how the assassin’s body trembled at every needle prick of pain straining from his scalp, gripped tighter.
Squalo’s breath grew hot against the Cavallone Boss’ face. The shark bared his teeth. “I would not be a fucking coward,” he challenged.
Fingers still tight, Dino leaned forward and kicked the seat from under him. The stained leather chair banged into the wall just as the Cavallone Boss threw the assassin down on the lush carpet. The cleaning boy would have to tend to that, too.
III.
dripping blue blood from my wrist
i don't need to resist
yeah all the neighbors get pissed when i
come home, i make them nervous
come home
In the hotel room, Hibari kills time by flipping through incomprehensible channels. The young man knows his English better than his former teacher has ever given him credit for, but dramas and comedies have always remained obscure in ways more than one. His dark eyes stare at the flickering screen as Dino babbles away from in the bathroom.
If Dino’s perspective can be trusted, the Cloud Guardian really does not seem to care about the current situation. The Cavallone Boss simply showed up on his doorstep one day with a whip in one hand and a smile on the other. After a few thrashings, one which cost Dino a stained collar, Hibari finally rolled his eyes and threw his cards up in the air. Cheerfully-and rather bloodily-the Cavallone Boss then announced that they would be leaving right away. Hibari did not need to pack anything. His tonfas would stand out too much since they were not checking in bags, and Dino had all the toiletries and clothes they would both need.
Unfortunately, Hibari has not thought twice about this rearrangement. When his former teacher, decked in black Hugo Boss and white Calvin Klein underneathe, emerges from the bathroom, a crimson kimono shines obnoxiously from around his shoulders.
The Cloud Guardian’s eyes narrow. Something wicked this way comes. “What kind of dinner is this?”
“A dinner where we’re exchanging money,” Dino innocently explains, tossing the kimono Hibari’s way. “I thought you didn’t like to wear Western clothes all the time.”
“And exactly how did your idiot brain think that I like to dress like a whore any of the time?” Hibari icily asks.
“Put it on. You look good in red.”
Hibari’s face fails to be impressed.
“Plus,” Dino, adjusting his rich royal blue tie in front of the mirror, adds, “you’ve always said that it’s easier to fight in those things. God knows why.”
Now a glimmer of interest ignites in those dark eyes. “You’re not expecting this to go well?”
“I don’t expect anything,” the Cavallone Boss carefully confesses. “You can’t expect anything but the worse from these transactions. When the mafia was still in power in New York, we had more men around and we got spoiled and rude. Now, you have to watch your back.”
“You mean, you’re just not on top of the food chain anymore,” the Cloud Guardian scoffs. However, his cold gaze meticulously studies the back of that Hugo Boss and the way his former teacher’s shoulders roll. The dumb blond rarely reveals his professional side and this time, a spark of respect simmers deep within the black box of the Cloud Gardian’s gut.
Dino’s eyes flicker up briefly from his tie to meet Hibari’s reflected stare. “It means we work harder, fight harder,” the Cavallone Boss softly states, and Kyouya involuntarily shivers when the hidden steel underlying those words cut into his spine.
The Cloud Guardian grabs the kimono and disappears into the bathroom.
IV.
crack a window, crack a broken bone
crack your knuckles when you're at home
lick an ice cream cone
crack a bone
At the last minute, Dr. White calls to cancel the dinner reservations; instead, their dinner will be held at a more intimate setting in his Upper Manhattan flat. Dino grimaces into his cell phone. On one hand, he will not need to leave Kyouya far behidn if Dr. White is to insist on some sort of separated meeting when discussing business. On the other hand, Dr. White will have the complete advantage when it comes to setting. Plus, to top it off, the doctor insists on picking the two up from Dino’s Manhattan residency-a place where they are certainly not hiding at.
“Really, Dr. White,” Dino negotiates, as jolly as possible, “that’s completely unnecessary. The boy and I can take a cab. It’s such a hassle to be driving in Manhattan these days, especially if we’re crossing Midtown.”
“I insist, really,” Dr. White pushes. “In fact, I already a driver heading there right now.”
Dino’s blood freezes. His brain throbs. “Really. Well, in that case, I’m afraid that I’ll need to cut this call short. I need to get dressed. Airport delays, you know …”
“Don’t touch my merchandise,” the doctor growls.
Dino forces a smile because it is the only way he can keep from throwing up at the back of his mouth. The thought of the doctor’s greasy plump fingers running down Hibari’s white back-the Cavallone Boss picks up a glass cup and slams it against the wall. “Oh no, we’ve had a little accident. I’ll see you soon, Dr. White,” he feigns and hangs up. Then, swallowing the rage which threatens to bubble over and explode from his stomach, he knocks on the bathroom door. “Kyouya, we have to leave now.”
Hibari opens the door and glances at the broken glass littering the carpet.
“Never mind that,” Dino says before the Cloud Guardian can question his mental state, “get your coat. Get my Eagle too. And grab the Baretta. That’s yours.”
Hibari’s jaw practically drops. No one orders---
The Cavallone Boss grabs Hibari’s jaw and forces his former student to stare him in the eyes. “No. Questions,” Dino growls.
Once again, the chill stabs at the base of Hibari’s spine. The cool tingle pricks again and again as he watches Dino call a cab down an empty alley. The blond has never looked so calm as when he presses a blade in one hand, gunmetal in the other, against terrified flesh, and commands the cab driver to leave or face a rude death. As the Cloud Guardian slides into the backseat, Dino chucks a wad of cash into the cabbie’s white face, jumps into the driver’s seat, and slams his foot down on the gas.
Four minutes later, they pull up near to the black sedan parked outside the apartment complex of the Cavallone flat. Hibari has not muttered a sound since entering the cab for the whirling, streaking lights and roaring honks have rendered him rather dizzy. The Cavallone Boss notices that the sedan driver has already occupied himself with a smoke, and rolls the cab to the other side of the block. To Hibari, he suggests, “Let’s say we wanted to go for a walk.”
“Or we can kill him,” the Cloud Guardian argues. As blunt as ever, that Hibari.
“No killing unless it’s necessary,” Dino hisses as they leave the hijacked cab. “Give me my Desert Eagle. Keep the Baretta close.”
“What if I run out of bullets?”
“You’ll be at the dinner table, trust me. If you’re lucky, we’ll have steak.”
Hibari frowns. Relying on luck is for herbivores.
As they approach the driver, Dino forces on a grand smile. The blond enthusiastically shakes the driver’s hand and babbles about the convenience store. However, under the lone streetlight, even Hibari, who stands a few feet away from the pretentious exchange, can see that the driver has not bought the story. He contemplates telling his former teacher-or even better, knocking the driver out himself-but by this time, Dino has already chatted his way into the passenger seat. Shrugging, Hibari follows suit.
Ten minutes later, the driver pulls the sedan into a parking garage just off Madison Ave. Dino sticks his hand out, and when the driver, surprised at the kindly gesture, shakes his hand, the Cavallone boss pulls the driver in, locks his arm around the shrieking man’s collar, and snaps his neck.
Hibari rolls his eyes in the backseat.
“Now that was necessary,” Dino explains sheepishly.
V.
i love you the most i do
when you're so close to me
i can smell the gasoline
Dino’s patience runs out halfway through desert.
They had made it in all right. Dr. White had already been seated at the grand dining table, but stood to pull out Hibari’s seat. Dino carefully watched Kyouya’s face, and hoped that the Cloud Guardian would not catch onto the real plan too quickly. The last thing he needed was Hibari to snap when they were so close to getting a break.
“I hope the ride was enjoyable?” the doctor asked, as the three got settled. Then, noticing how the Cavallone Boss was staring at the two extra, empty seats, he added, “I hope you won't mind but my two business associates will be joining me. They’re running a little late due to traffic. They were interested in just … previewing the merchandise.”
Dino’s stomach lurched. Hibari’s eyes narrowed, but the younger man kept his mouth shut.
“Where is James, actually? Did he leave for a smoke?”
Dino safely assumed James’ vocation. “Yes, he’s quite a chain smoker, that one.”
The doctor shrugged. “I tried to talk him out of it several times. But it’s his body, and his life, I suppose.”
You’re one to talk, Dino silently seethed. The doctor did indeed represent his namesake: he was pale enough to rival Hibari’s delicate skin. However, unlike the blond’s beloved skylark, the doctor’s image did not invoke the ghosts of porcelain dolls, but rather (if Dino could remember his American cultural references right) the Pillsbury Doughboy. A greasy, liver spotted Pillsbury Doughboy. Pillsbury Doughboy, sixty years later and a pedophile. Dino shuddered inside. He was never buying from that brand again.
Dr. White’s eyes practically ate Hibari up. “I like what you’re wearing.”
Hibari simply stared at his butter knife. He wasn’t sure who to kill first: that idiot blonde, or that greasy looking bastard.
As promised, Dr. White’s two associates joined them at the table. Dino carefully sized both of them up and judged the one named Dan Bradley, at six foot four and possibly two hundred and fifty pounds, to be the only potential threat. In either case, he was sure that Hibari could hold his own with six rounds and his innate talent of breaking every bone in the human body.
To Dino’s relief, Hibari remained perfectly cold and silent during the first three courses of the meal, and the Cavallone Boss remained convinced that the Cloud Guardian had absolutely no idea of what he was actually putting up with. Slowly, the muscles along Dino’s shoulder relaxed and when the servants brought out their fruit parfait deserts, the blond was actually able to belch out a real laugh among his hideous company.
Hibari stared at his parfait and smirked. He picked up a strawberry, rolled his tongue along the tip, and bit slowly into the ruby red flesh. The crimson juice stained his lips deep and his tongue flicked to the corners of his mouth, as if to savor every last drop of flavor. He then dipped his finger into the creamy custard, and licked the white cream off with brutal sensuality. The Cloud Guardian then reached in for another strawberry, and ran his tongue up and down his thin wrist when the juice spilled over onto his hand. Rinse and repeat. Minutes later, Hibari glanced up only to witness a completely silent, dazed table.
For the briefest second, his dark eyes flickered over to the stunned blond, but he leaned towards his right to Dr. White. “The dessert was very good,” he purred in perfect English.
And that is when Dino’s world unravels. The Cavallone Boss cannot help but stare as the doctor stands up to run his greasy hands along Hibari’s gorgeous neck and through that jet black hair. Dino’s knuckles grow white as he clutches his wine glass tighter and tighter until finally, he blurts out, “Dr. White, why don’t we settle the deal now? That way, you can have your … fun. Sooner.” He forces a smile and holds Hibari’s gaze.
The Cloud Guardian eyes glimmer with mischief. But when Dino passes his former protégé on the way out, Hibari does not even glance his way.
VI.
let's dig a hole in the sand brother
a little grave we can fill together
i got myself a problem
that i've been looking to sell
Dr. White whistles as he opens his desk drawer. “What a boy you’ve brought me. Are you sure that he’s 15?”
Dino, hoping that he will not pop an artery, nods. “How much does the Vongola owe your company, Dr. White?”
“Nine million.”
The Cavallone Boss forces a confused smile. Here goes again; here goes that stupid dance again. He leans forward in the chair. “You mentioned 8.5 million over the phone. What has changed?”
The doctor shrugs. “Well, it was nine million unless you bought me an adequate boy. And while this boy is indeed beautiful, he looks too old.”
Dino’s body freezes. He tries every trick in the book. Three deep breaths. Counting down from five. Scratch that: count down from ten. Recite alphabet backwards. Pray to his remote Sicilian ancestors that their infamous tempers will not flare but instead, their inclination to brutally bargain will kick in. Three more deep breaths. Every trick, really. But somehow, Dino cannot seem to calm the building, boiling pressure gathering at the pit of his stomach. Finally, his mouth manages, “With all due respect, Dr. White, I don’t think that it is wise to throw away all of the boy’s fine features for simply a suspicion that he’s too old.”
The doctor scoffs. “What do you know about this! It’s not like you’re interested! And if you keep arguing with me, I’ll raise it to 10 million!” From across his grand oak table, the greasy man gleams like a satisfied wild boar. “It’ll get only worse, Mr. Cavallone, if you argue. You Italians don’t run the city anymore.”
Dino’s fist rams into the doctor’s skull.
Yelping, the doctor flails for his gun. He grabs the revolver and swings his aim over to Dino, but Dino slams his foot down on the doctor’s wrist. Bone splinters. Dr. White howls in pain and fires. A stray bullet grazes Dino’s upper arm, but he barely feels his hot blood spilling down his oxford’s sleeves. He grabs the doctor’s hair and tries to slam the large man into his hard desk, but Dr. White’s surprisingly agile foot arcs back and crushes into the base of Dino’s spine. The blond drops over on the carpet, and blood splatters like roses.
Dr. White grabs for his gun with his working wrist, and digs his pistol into Dino’s scraped up cheek. “You should’ve just taken the offer,” the large man hisses.
But instead of freezing, the blond snatches the cold gunmetal, and before the surprised doctor can digest his enemy’s move as either gutsy or just plain stupid, Dino lunges forward to bite deep into Dr. White’s arm. The doctor drops the gun with a cry; he attempts to pull back to break the blond’s teeth, but Cavallone Boss releases too fast and grabs the doctor’s collar. Arching his back and leaping onto his feet, Dino then twists and slams the doctor into his oak drawers.
Dr. White’s eyes roll back.
Dino sucks in his breath. “Can’t take bites? I guess it’s a good thing that you didn’t want him,” he spits out. He checks for the doctor’s pulse, and to his disappointment, he still detects faint life. Shit. The blond is getting soft in his old age. Squalo will laugh himself into the next world if he ever hears of this scuffle. Shrugging his bloodied oxford off his shoulders, Dino wraps a clean portion of his shirt around Dr. White’s revolver and empties six rounds into the doctor’s burly chest.
His men will be around later to clean up the rest of the mess.
Dino places the revolver on Dr. White’s still chest, slings his oxford over his shoulder, and steps out of the study. He shakes his head and hopes that Kyouya has had better luck.
VII.
some people die just a little
sometimes you die by the drop
some people die in the middle
i live just fine on the top
Kyouya, in fact, has had much better luck-or rather, as he will argue later, just better, cleaner tactics. And a better temper, and better breeding. And better many other things.
When the first gunshot rang out, Dr. White’s business associations immediately jumped to the correct assumptions. However, what they had failed to assume-or to even comprehend-was Hibari’s talent for turning any tangible object into a formidable weapon. In fact, when the first shot sounded, the two business associates could not have been in a worse situation: the Cloud Guardian had begun to lick custard off of stainless steel forks. When the two men grabbed their pistols, Hibari simply flung the forks across the table and deep into each exposed neck. Bright red arteriole blood soared into the air like twin fountains, and then the two men fell back into their chairs. Unperturbed, Hibari resumed eating.
In fact, when Dino comes stumbling back into the dining room, the Cloud Guardian has already begun his third parfait. When asked later, Kyouya claims to a clearly frustrated Dino that it takes him some time to manage all that custard down his throat.
Dino, clutching against his bleeding shoulder, leans against the door frame. He hoarsely gasps out, “I d-didn’t want to do this but, I n-need you to call my men in.”
Kyouya eyes his former teacher. His black eyes drink in that olive tan skin, that chiseled face, that strong aching jaw, those broad shoulders, gleaming with sweat. Blood running down an elaborately tattooed arm. Rough blond curls tousled. Hmm. More custard melts in Hibari’s mouth. Maybe he should go easy on this request.
“Kyouya, answer me,” Dino repeats, panting for air. “I’m losing blood fast.”
The Cloud Guardian stands up and Dino stumbles forward into what he expects to be outstretched arms. However, Hibari simply lets his former mentor fall forward as he begins to shed that crimson kimono. Images of his beloved’s ivory shoulders and a fast approaching hardwood floor linger briefly, and Dino’s world shuts down to black. Later, his men will tell him that they found Kyouya, wearing his former teacher’s bloodied oxford shirt, sleeping over their pallid boss and that crimson kimono tied around his bleeding shoulder.
VIII.
what you whispered, you screamed
screamed at the top of your lungs
any sense you had in the morning
is gone with the day is done
When Dino wakes, he does not see white and red. To an even greater surprise, he also does not hurt and ache like no tomorrow. The blond briefly entertains the idea of purgatory, but then reasons that purgatory probably doesn’t have gold-rimmed ceiling fans. Or, as the blond turns his head ever so slightly to the open window, all-night peek shows for only 1 dollar per ten minutes. Ah. They must be back in the hotel room.
“Dr. Shamal will collect his debt later,” Hibari’s voice briskly elucidates from a shadowy corner.
“Why are the lights off?” Dino croaks. Gradually, as if testing out new limbs, the blond slowly sits up. “Why were you watching me in the dark? Isn’t that creepy?”
“Do you miss pain so much,” Hibari growls.
However, the blond simply dismisses the threat, especially when he catches sight of a bloodied kimono beneath the sliver of moonlight. “Why did you use that? Why didn’t you use my oxford?”
The Cloud Guardian emerges from the shadows sits sat down by Dino’s bed. He wears Dino's spare shirt and pants, both which envelope his body like soft balloons. “Why did you get so angry? You could’ve just shot him cleanly. You’re stupid but not that stupid.”
Dino eyes fix on the opposing wall. Well, this question marathon has to stop sometime. He chews his bottom lip. “My Sicilian ancestors.”
“Bullshit.”
The Cavallone Boss suddenly grabs Hibari’s neck as the words tumble in his throat. Because. Because of this right here. Dino licks his lips. Because of way your neck curves; because of your bone white skin, stretching across your collar, your ribs, your thighs. Because of the slow saunter you prefer at dawn and the glimmer in your dark eyes just before sunset. Because. Because of his greasy hands, running across your my neck, his oily fingers running through your my hair. Because. Dino breathes, and each silent confession dies by the drop.
Kyouya clenches his teeth and stiffens his neck. “You want me too badly,” he resists.
“Tell me that you don’t want this,” Dino persists.
“I’m not saying anything,” the skylark growls, but ever so slightly, inch by inch, his neck begins to relax. A low breath escapes those pale lips.
Dino smiles weakly.
Kyouya’s dark eyes flicker, and his hands, strangely gentle, rest around Dino’s wrists. “I should kill you for what you didn’t tell me. But you’d want that.”
Those burning Italian stallion eyes grow wide. “I would want anything.”
So Kyouya grips Dino’s wrists tighter and his nails dig into flesh. Gritting his teeth, the blond pushes his beloved skylark against the mattress and tears his flesh out from beneath Kyouya’s nails. Thin rivers of blood mix with silky jet black locks and spill against porcelain as Dino’s tongue travel further and further down that bone white neck, those pale as dawn nipples, that smooth stomach, and that throbbing shaft. Kyouya gasps for air, and crimson stains his trembling lips when Dino’s two fingers thrust into his gaping mouth. His hips buckle, and Dino unbuckles-and when the skylark comes, he comes at the burning memory of blood dripping down a furious Cavallone Boss’s rippling tattooed arm; blood, splattering like roses, stains sweating blond curls and shining eyes.
In the sex strained silent aftermath, Kyouya does not touch the sleeping Cavallone Boss. Those shaking, bone white lanky limbs slip under the moonlight and Kyouya stands straight in front of the mirror to inspect the bruises around his wrists, thighs, and neck. He bites his bottom lip. Damnit. Damnit. His fingers trace those fresh blue ash borders and through his languidly closed eyes, he can still feel those hard, white teeth and furious fingers. The skylark’s knees tremble.
Enough. Desperation, there is too much desperation. Kyouya shakes his head vigorously, as if attempting to shake off the luring spell of need, want, and too much. It is all too much, after the blood has shed. Too much passion, too much burning, too hard, too red, too fast. The skylark wishes to sleep.
Hibari dons his clothes quietly and grabs his wallet. Without another word, he leaves to reclaim the safety of his solitude.
D18 (mainly), DS
for d18exchange
rated R
4930 words
I.
knock on the door
and the door knocks back
the joke never go no further than that
fire goes back inside the match
back down the stack
and we hustle and cuss
lick on the dust
Contrary to popular opinion, the Cavallone boss realizes that it has never been a fair situation. But then again, life has never been fair-even to those who practically own international first class seats with guaranteed fruit baskets, questionable entertainment channels, and unlimited glasses of Riesling. Dino stares at his untouched wine. Maybe Squalo has been right, three months ago back in Italy. Maybe he is getting old. Riesling has begun to taste more and more like apple juice.
He glances over at the sleeping skylark, who has snuggled against the window. Good gods, just how many hours of sleep does that guy need? It seems that no matter where he is, or more particularly when it is, Hibari Kyouya just never gets enough shut-eye. Dino briefly ponders the mysteries of narcolepsy and a possible thyroid dysfunction.
Dino leans over to his, what has been made clear for the past three hours, unwilling partner. “Kyouya,” he whispers softly.
Hibari grunts.
In a much more insistent tone, he repeats, “Kyouya!”
A low growl escapes Hibari’s gritted teeth, before the Cloud Guardian drifts back into the, well, clouds.
Dino frowns. To be honest, he hasn’t exactly hoped for an enlightening conversation with his unwilling partner-actually, he’s rather surprised that he hasn’t accumulated more bruising. There had been enough eyebrow raising at the security checkpoint with all the marks around his neck, from where Hibari had grabbed him to throw across the room-a special “Hee-saaa-shiiii-boo-ree-dah-neh” for his former, foreign teacher who had forgotten most of his Japanese. Dino, wincing, rubs his sore collar. The security guard had given him a very knowing, very leering smile, and the Cavallone Boss could only smile back nervously.
“She was a vixen,” Dino coughed.
But at least-back to the present moment-Dino has hoped for something. Batting of the eyelashes, no. Grinding of the teeth, maybe. Grinding of the teeth within his own mouth--…oh boy. Dino shifts in his seat. Unfair. This situation is so unfair.
Dino glances over at the Cloud Guardian again. Goodgods. At least he should be awake to discuss the details of the case. In fact, they must be operating at the full height of their game the moment they step into JFK International Airport in Manhattan. The Cavallone Boss weighs the consequences of not discussing the case with the risk of endangering the safety of all those aboard if one Hibari Kyouya is to be wakened against his will.
Kyouya, Dino begins telepathically.
Yes? Dino, who is now providing both sides of the conversation, responds.
You are to understand that this will never reach Tsuna. He’s still too young to understand how the mafia really works. He’s too busy saving lives. Reborn hasn’t taught him that the mafia works both ways, and at the worst times.
Yes Dino.
The minute we step off the plane, Dr. Jacob White’s men are going to pick us up. You just be yourself. Dr. White will come to you.
Yes Dino.
He thinks that you’re a mail order concubine. Of course, I can’t tell you this in real life or you will kill me. Luckily, your natural state is his perfect fetish so it should work out without your nor his knowing just what the hell is going on. Also, it helps that your English is terrible.
Yes Dino.
I’ll lie that I’ve taken you back to my Manhattan home but we’ll just stay at a small hotel in the Soho area. Once we transfer over the 9th’s money, we’ll head back to Japan.
Yes Dino.
What else?
Your hair looks terrific, Dino. No comb over will be necessary in the future.
Dino sits back in his seat. Beside him, Hibari begins to snore. The Cavallone Boss closes his eyes and remains fully aware that hell will freeze over before such a conversation will ever leave Hibari’s taunting lips.
II.
you're a real jawbreaker
a real crook obscene
i'd call you a heartbreaker
but i reserve that for nicer things
Two weeks ago, back in Italy, Squalo found a home on the floor behind the Cavallone Boss’ wide mahogany desk. In fact, as Dino would complain later, Squalo made himself so comfortable that it took some delicate diplomacy to explicate the suspicious lingering Valentino, Chianti, and sex stenches in the room of his most serious business dealings.
“We’re getting too old for this,” Dino gasped, as he fell back against his leather seat. Shit. Another one ruined.
“Just tip the cleaning boy extra,” Squalo nonchalantly advised while licking his fingers clean.
“That’s not what-I’m sorry. Where-when--who taught your mouth that?”
“Can’t give out all my secrets.” Squalo swept his mercurial hair over his lanky shoulders and rested his jaw against Dino’s knee. “You’re picking up the skylark?”
Dino’s brain, which had been floundering about the highest of heavens, suddenly veered off cloud nine and crashed into Earth. “Where? Who-I mean, who told you that?”
Squalo glowered from down under. “I am Varia, asshole.”
The Cavallone Boss buried his face into his palms. Yes, of course, Varia. He could practically predict the next question out of Squalo’s enticing mouth-a question he really did not want to answer, much less confess. To tell the truth, when the 9th granted him the liberty to choose any partner among the Vongola, a Varia member would-should-have been the most obvious choice. At least with Squalo, Dino could even share the less savory portions of the plan. Although characteristically volatile, the swordsman could put on a show.
Dino peeked from between his fingers. Squalo was still glaring. In a rather meek tone, he admitted, “I was running out of excuses to go to Japan. To see him.”
“You’re fucking pathetic.”
“Yes.”
“I hate it when you’re pathetic,” Squalo spat.
Dino lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of silver hair. He pulled the swordsman close to his burning eyes. “And what would you do?” he growled. Dino, fully aware of how the assassin’s body trembled at every needle prick of pain straining from his scalp, gripped tighter.
Squalo’s breath grew hot against the Cavallone Boss’ face. The shark bared his teeth. “I would not be a fucking coward,” he challenged.
Fingers still tight, Dino leaned forward and kicked the seat from under him. The stained leather chair banged into the wall just as the Cavallone Boss threw the assassin down on the lush carpet. The cleaning boy would have to tend to that, too.
III.
dripping blue blood from my wrist
i don't need to resist
yeah all the neighbors get pissed when i
come home, i make them nervous
come home
In the hotel room, Hibari kills time by flipping through incomprehensible channels. The young man knows his English better than his former teacher has ever given him credit for, but dramas and comedies have always remained obscure in ways more than one. His dark eyes stare at the flickering screen as Dino babbles away from in the bathroom.
If Dino’s perspective can be trusted, the Cloud Guardian really does not seem to care about the current situation. The Cavallone Boss simply showed up on his doorstep one day with a whip in one hand and a smile on the other. After a few thrashings, one which cost Dino a stained collar, Hibari finally rolled his eyes and threw his cards up in the air. Cheerfully-and rather bloodily-the Cavallone Boss then announced that they would be leaving right away. Hibari did not need to pack anything. His tonfas would stand out too much since they were not checking in bags, and Dino had all the toiletries and clothes they would both need.
Unfortunately, Hibari has not thought twice about this rearrangement. When his former teacher, decked in black Hugo Boss and white Calvin Klein underneathe, emerges from the bathroom, a crimson kimono shines obnoxiously from around his shoulders.
The Cloud Guardian’s eyes narrow. Something wicked this way comes. “What kind of dinner is this?”
“A dinner where we’re exchanging money,” Dino innocently explains, tossing the kimono Hibari’s way. “I thought you didn’t like to wear Western clothes all the time.”
“And exactly how did your idiot brain think that I like to dress like a whore any of the time?” Hibari icily asks.
“Put it on. You look good in red.”
Hibari’s face fails to be impressed.
“Plus,” Dino, adjusting his rich royal blue tie in front of the mirror, adds, “you’ve always said that it’s easier to fight in those things. God knows why.”
Now a glimmer of interest ignites in those dark eyes. “You’re not expecting this to go well?”
“I don’t expect anything,” the Cavallone Boss carefully confesses. “You can’t expect anything but the worse from these transactions. When the mafia was still in power in New York, we had more men around and we got spoiled and rude. Now, you have to watch your back.”
“You mean, you’re just not on top of the food chain anymore,” the Cloud Guardian scoffs. However, his cold gaze meticulously studies the back of that Hugo Boss and the way his former teacher’s shoulders roll. The dumb blond rarely reveals his professional side and this time, a spark of respect simmers deep within the black box of the Cloud Gardian’s gut.
Dino’s eyes flicker up briefly from his tie to meet Hibari’s reflected stare. “It means we work harder, fight harder,” the Cavallone Boss softly states, and Kyouya involuntarily shivers when the hidden steel underlying those words cut into his spine.
The Cloud Guardian grabs the kimono and disappears into the bathroom.
IV.
crack a window, crack a broken bone
crack your knuckles when you're at home
lick an ice cream cone
crack a bone
At the last minute, Dr. White calls to cancel the dinner reservations; instead, their dinner will be held at a more intimate setting in his Upper Manhattan flat. Dino grimaces into his cell phone. On one hand, he will not need to leave Kyouya far behidn if Dr. White is to insist on some sort of separated meeting when discussing business. On the other hand, Dr. White will have the complete advantage when it comes to setting. Plus, to top it off, the doctor insists on picking the two up from Dino’s Manhattan residency-a place where they are certainly not hiding at.
“Really, Dr. White,” Dino negotiates, as jolly as possible, “that’s completely unnecessary. The boy and I can take a cab. It’s such a hassle to be driving in Manhattan these days, especially if we’re crossing Midtown.”
“I insist, really,” Dr. White pushes. “In fact, I already a driver heading there right now.”
Dino’s blood freezes. His brain throbs. “Really. Well, in that case, I’m afraid that I’ll need to cut this call short. I need to get dressed. Airport delays, you know …”
“Don’t touch my merchandise,” the doctor growls.
Dino forces a smile because it is the only way he can keep from throwing up at the back of his mouth. The thought of the doctor’s greasy plump fingers running down Hibari’s white back-the Cavallone Boss picks up a glass cup and slams it against the wall. “Oh no, we’ve had a little accident. I’ll see you soon, Dr. White,” he feigns and hangs up. Then, swallowing the rage which threatens to bubble over and explode from his stomach, he knocks on the bathroom door. “Kyouya, we have to leave now.”
Hibari opens the door and glances at the broken glass littering the carpet.
“Never mind that,” Dino says before the Cloud Guardian can question his mental state, “get your coat. Get my Eagle too. And grab the Baretta. That’s yours.”
Hibari’s jaw practically drops. No one orders---
The Cavallone Boss grabs Hibari’s jaw and forces his former student to stare him in the eyes. “No. Questions,” Dino growls.
Once again, the chill stabs at the base of Hibari’s spine. The cool tingle pricks again and again as he watches Dino call a cab down an empty alley. The blond has never looked so calm as when he presses a blade in one hand, gunmetal in the other, against terrified flesh, and commands the cab driver to leave or face a rude death. As the Cloud Guardian slides into the backseat, Dino chucks a wad of cash into the cabbie’s white face, jumps into the driver’s seat, and slams his foot down on the gas.
Four minutes later, they pull up near to the black sedan parked outside the apartment complex of the Cavallone flat. Hibari has not muttered a sound since entering the cab for the whirling, streaking lights and roaring honks have rendered him rather dizzy. The Cavallone Boss notices that the sedan driver has already occupied himself with a smoke, and rolls the cab to the other side of the block. To Hibari, he suggests, “Let’s say we wanted to go for a walk.”
“Or we can kill him,” the Cloud Guardian argues. As blunt as ever, that Hibari.
“No killing unless it’s necessary,” Dino hisses as they leave the hijacked cab. “Give me my Desert Eagle. Keep the Baretta close.”
“What if I run out of bullets?”
“You’ll be at the dinner table, trust me. If you’re lucky, we’ll have steak.”
Hibari frowns. Relying on luck is for herbivores.
As they approach the driver, Dino forces on a grand smile. The blond enthusiastically shakes the driver’s hand and babbles about the convenience store. However, under the lone streetlight, even Hibari, who stands a few feet away from the pretentious exchange, can see that the driver has not bought the story. He contemplates telling his former teacher-or even better, knocking the driver out himself-but by this time, Dino has already chatted his way into the passenger seat. Shrugging, Hibari follows suit.
Ten minutes later, the driver pulls the sedan into a parking garage just off Madison Ave. Dino sticks his hand out, and when the driver, surprised at the kindly gesture, shakes his hand, the Cavallone boss pulls the driver in, locks his arm around the shrieking man’s collar, and snaps his neck.
Hibari rolls his eyes in the backseat.
“Now that was necessary,” Dino explains sheepishly.
V.
i love you the most i do
when you're so close to me
i can smell the gasoline
Dino’s patience runs out halfway through desert.
They had made it in all right. Dr. White had already been seated at the grand dining table, but stood to pull out Hibari’s seat. Dino carefully watched Kyouya’s face, and hoped that the Cloud Guardian would not catch onto the real plan too quickly. The last thing he needed was Hibari to snap when they were so close to getting a break.
“I hope the ride was enjoyable?” the doctor asked, as the three got settled. Then, noticing how the Cavallone Boss was staring at the two extra, empty seats, he added, “I hope you won't mind but my two business associates will be joining me. They’re running a little late due to traffic. They were interested in just … previewing the merchandise.”
Dino’s stomach lurched. Hibari’s eyes narrowed, but the younger man kept his mouth shut.
“Where is James, actually? Did he leave for a smoke?”
Dino safely assumed James’ vocation. “Yes, he’s quite a chain smoker, that one.”
The doctor shrugged. “I tried to talk him out of it several times. But it’s his body, and his life, I suppose.”
You’re one to talk, Dino silently seethed. The doctor did indeed represent his namesake: he was pale enough to rival Hibari’s delicate skin. However, unlike the blond’s beloved skylark, the doctor’s image did not invoke the ghosts of porcelain dolls, but rather (if Dino could remember his American cultural references right) the Pillsbury Doughboy. A greasy, liver spotted Pillsbury Doughboy. Pillsbury Doughboy, sixty years later and a pedophile. Dino shuddered inside. He was never buying from that brand again.
Dr. White’s eyes practically ate Hibari up. “I like what you’re wearing.”
Hibari simply stared at his butter knife. He wasn’t sure who to kill first: that idiot blonde, or that greasy looking bastard.
As promised, Dr. White’s two associates joined them at the table. Dino carefully sized both of them up and judged the one named Dan Bradley, at six foot four and possibly two hundred and fifty pounds, to be the only potential threat. In either case, he was sure that Hibari could hold his own with six rounds and his innate talent of breaking every bone in the human body.
To Dino’s relief, Hibari remained perfectly cold and silent during the first three courses of the meal, and the Cavallone Boss remained convinced that the Cloud Guardian had absolutely no idea of what he was actually putting up with. Slowly, the muscles along Dino’s shoulder relaxed and when the servants brought out their fruit parfait deserts, the blond was actually able to belch out a real laugh among his hideous company.
Hibari stared at his parfait and smirked. He picked up a strawberry, rolled his tongue along the tip, and bit slowly into the ruby red flesh. The crimson juice stained his lips deep and his tongue flicked to the corners of his mouth, as if to savor every last drop of flavor. He then dipped his finger into the creamy custard, and licked the white cream off with brutal sensuality. The Cloud Guardian then reached in for another strawberry, and ran his tongue up and down his thin wrist when the juice spilled over onto his hand. Rinse and repeat. Minutes later, Hibari glanced up only to witness a completely silent, dazed table.
For the briefest second, his dark eyes flickered over to the stunned blond, but he leaned towards his right to Dr. White. “The dessert was very good,” he purred in perfect English.
And that is when Dino’s world unravels. The Cavallone Boss cannot help but stare as the doctor stands up to run his greasy hands along Hibari’s gorgeous neck and through that jet black hair. Dino’s knuckles grow white as he clutches his wine glass tighter and tighter until finally, he blurts out, “Dr. White, why don’t we settle the deal now? That way, you can have your … fun. Sooner.” He forces a smile and holds Hibari’s gaze.
The Cloud Guardian eyes glimmer with mischief. But when Dino passes his former protégé on the way out, Hibari does not even glance his way.
VI.
let's dig a hole in the sand brother
a little grave we can fill together
i got myself a problem
that i've been looking to sell
Dr. White whistles as he opens his desk drawer. “What a boy you’ve brought me. Are you sure that he’s 15?”
Dino, hoping that he will not pop an artery, nods. “How much does the Vongola owe your company, Dr. White?”
“Nine million.”
The Cavallone Boss forces a confused smile. Here goes again; here goes that stupid dance again. He leans forward in the chair. “You mentioned 8.5 million over the phone. What has changed?”
The doctor shrugs. “Well, it was nine million unless you bought me an adequate boy. And while this boy is indeed beautiful, he looks too old.”
Dino’s body freezes. He tries every trick in the book. Three deep breaths. Counting down from five. Scratch that: count down from ten. Recite alphabet backwards. Pray to his remote Sicilian ancestors that their infamous tempers will not flare but instead, their inclination to brutally bargain will kick in. Three more deep breaths. Every trick, really. But somehow, Dino cannot seem to calm the building, boiling pressure gathering at the pit of his stomach. Finally, his mouth manages, “With all due respect, Dr. White, I don’t think that it is wise to throw away all of the boy’s fine features for simply a suspicion that he’s too old.”
The doctor scoffs. “What do you know about this! It’s not like you’re interested! And if you keep arguing with me, I’ll raise it to 10 million!” From across his grand oak table, the greasy man gleams like a satisfied wild boar. “It’ll get only worse, Mr. Cavallone, if you argue. You Italians don’t run the city anymore.”
Dino’s fist rams into the doctor’s skull.
Yelping, the doctor flails for his gun. He grabs the revolver and swings his aim over to Dino, but Dino slams his foot down on the doctor’s wrist. Bone splinters. Dr. White howls in pain and fires. A stray bullet grazes Dino’s upper arm, but he barely feels his hot blood spilling down his oxford’s sleeves. He grabs the doctor’s hair and tries to slam the large man into his hard desk, but Dr. White’s surprisingly agile foot arcs back and crushes into the base of Dino’s spine. The blond drops over on the carpet, and blood splatters like roses.
Dr. White grabs for his gun with his working wrist, and digs his pistol into Dino’s scraped up cheek. “You should’ve just taken the offer,” the large man hisses.
But instead of freezing, the blond snatches the cold gunmetal, and before the surprised doctor can digest his enemy’s move as either gutsy or just plain stupid, Dino lunges forward to bite deep into Dr. White’s arm. The doctor drops the gun with a cry; he attempts to pull back to break the blond’s teeth, but Cavallone Boss releases too fast and grabs the doctor’s collar. Arching his back and leaping onto his feet, Dino then twists and slams the doctor into his oak drawers.
Dr. White’s eyes roll back.
Dino sucks in his breath. “Can’t take bites? I guess it’s a good thing that you didn’t want him,” he spits out. He checks for the doctor’s pulse, and to his disappointment, he still detects faint life. Shit. The blond is getting soft in his old age. Squalo will laugh himself into the next world if he ever hears of this scuffle. Shrugging his bloodied oxford off his shoulders, Dino wraps a clean portion of his shirt around Dr. White’s revolver and empties six rounds into the doctor’s burly chest.
His men will be around later to clean up the rest of the mess.
Dino places the revolver on Dr. White’s still chest, slings his oxford over his shoulder, and steps out of the study. He shakes his head and hopes that Kyouya has had better luck.
VII.
some people die just a little
sometimes you die by the drop
some people die in the middle
i live just fine on the top
Kyouya, in fact, has had much better luck-or rather, as he will argue later, just better, cleaner tactics. And a better temper, and better breeding. And better many other things.
When the first gunshot rang out, Dr. White’s business associations immediately jumped to the correct assumptions. However, what they had failed to assume-or to even comprehend-was Hibari’s talent for turning any tangible object into a formidable weapon. In fact, when the first shot sounded, the two business associates could not have been in a worse situation: the Cloud Guardian had begun to lick custard off of stainless steel forks. When the two men grabbed their pistols, Hibari simply flung the forks across the table and deep into each exposed neck. Bright red arteriole blood soared into the air like twin fountains, and then the two men fell back into their chairs. Unperturbed, Hibari resumed eating.
In fact, when Dino comes stumbling back into the dining room, the Cloud Guardian has already begun his third parfait. When asked later, Kyouya claims to a clearly frustrated Dino that it takes him some time to manage all that custard down his throat.
Dino, clutching against his bleeding shoulder, leans against the door frame. He hoarsely gasps out, “I d-didn’t want to do this but, I n-need you to call my men in.”
Kyouya eyes his former teacher. His black eyes drink in that olive tan skin, that chiseled face, that strong aching jaw, those broad shoulders, gleaming with sweat. Blood running down an elaborately tattooed arm. Rough blond curls tousled. Hmm. More custard melts in Hibari’s mouth. Maybe he should go easy on this request.
“Kyouya, answer me,” Dino repeats, panting for air. “I’m losing blood fast.”
The Cloud Guardian stands up and Dino stumbles forward into what he expects to be outstretched arms. However, Hibari simply lets his former mentor fall forward as he begins to shed that crimson kimono. Images of his beloved’s ivory shoulders and a fast approaching hardwood floor linger briefly, and Dino’s world shuts down to black. Later, his men will tell him that they found Kyouya, wearing his former teacher’s bloodied oxford shirt, sleeping over their pallid boss and that crimson kimono tied around his bleeding shoulder.
VIII.
what you whispered, you screamed
screamed at the top of your lungs
any sense you had in the morning
is gone with the day is done
When Dino wakes, he does not see white and red. To an even greater surprise, he also does not hurt and ache like no tomorrow. The blond briefly entertains the idea of purgatory, but then reasons that purgatory probably doesn’t have gold-rimmed ceiling fans. Or, as the blond turns his head ever so slightly to the open window, all-night peek shows for only 1 dollar per ten minutes. Ah. They must be back in the hotel room.
“Dr. Shamal will collect his debt later,” Hibari’s voice briskly elucidates from a shadowy corner.
“Why are the lights off?” Dino croaks. Gradually, as if testing out new limbs, the blond slowly sits up. “Why were you watching me in the dark? Isn’t that creepy?”
“Do you miss pain so much,” Hibari growls.
However, the blond simply dismisses the threat, especially when he catches sight of a bloodied kimono beneath the sliver of moonlight. “Why did you use that? Why didn’t you use my oxford?”
The Cloud Guardian emerges from the shadows sits sat down by Dino’s bed. He wears Dino's spare shirt and pants, both which envelope his body like soft balloons. “Why did you get so angry? You could’ve just shot him cleanly. You’re stupid but not that stupid.”
Dino eyes fix on the opposing wall. Well, this question marathon has to stop sometime. He chews his bottom lip. “My Sicilian ancestors.”
“Bullshit.”
The Cavallone Boss suddenly grabs Hibari’s neck as the words tumble in his throat. Because. Because of this right here. Dino licks his lips. Because of way your neck curves; because of your bone white skin, stretching across your collar, your ribs, your thighs. Because of the slow saunter you prefer at dawn and the glimmer in your dark eyes just before sunset. Because. Because of his greasy hands, running across your my neck, his oily fingers running through your my hair. Because. Dino breathes, and each silent confession dies by the drop.
Kyouya clenches his teeth and stiffens his neck. “You want me too badly,” he resists.
“Tell me that you don’t want this,” Dino persists.
“I’m not saying anything,” the skylark growls, but ever so slightly, inch by inch, his neck begins to relax. A low breath escapes those pale lips.
Dino smiles weakly.
Kyouya’s dark eyes flicker, and his hands, strangely gentle, rest around Dino’s wrists. “I should kill you for what you didn’t tell me. But you’d want that.”
Those burning Italian stallion eyes grow wide. “I would want anything.”
So Kyouya grips Dino’s wrists tighter and his nails dig into flesh. Gritting his teeth, the blond pushes his beloved skylark against the mattress and tears his flesh out from beneath Kyouya’s nails. Thin rivers of blood mix with silky jet black locks and spill against porcelain as Dino’s tongue travel further and further down that bone white neck, those pale as dawn nipples, that smooth stomach, and that throbbing shaft. Kyouya gasps for air, and crimson stains his trembling lips when Dino’s two fingers thrust into his gaping mouth. His hips buckle, and Dino unbuckles-and when the skylark comes, he comes at the burning memory of blood dripping down a furious Cavallone Boss’s rippling tattooed arm; blood, splattering like roses, stains sweating blond curls and shining eyes.
In the sex strained silent aftermath, Kyouya does not touch the sleeping Cavallone Boss. Those shaking, bone white lanky limbs slip under the moonlight and Kyouya stands straight in front of the mirror to inspect the bruises around his wrists, thighs, and neck. He bites his bottom lip. Damnit. Damnit. His fingers trace those fresh blue ash borders and through his languidly closed eyes, he can still feel those hard, white teeth and furious fingers. The skylark’s knees tremble.
Enough. Desperation, there is too much desperation. Kyouya shakes his head vigorously, as if attempting to shake off the luring spell of need, want, and too much. It is all too much, after the blood has shed. Too much passion, too much burning, too hard, too red, too fast. The skylark wishes to sleep.
Hibari dons his clothes quietly and grabs his wallet. Without another word, he leaves to reclaim the safety of his solitude.