(no subject)
Title: Underbelly [Part I]
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairing: Xanxus/Squalo
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Spoilers through the Rings arc, sex, language, ninja-like Yama/Squalo and Dino/Squalo which sneak in on occasion (but you expected that part, yes?).
Word Count: 9 drabbles at 100 words each.[For centi_porn]
Notes: THIS IS ME FINSIHING SOMETHING AND MOVING ON WITH MY LIFE. 8D [*cough* Actually, not finishing, per se, as I still have six of these to go, but still.]
03. Gaze
For once, Xanxus was pleased he'd allowed Squalo's request. His hand was fisted tight around a length of Squalo's hair, pulling Squalo back against his sharp-moving hips.
And, Yamamoto. First, the fool stared, grimaced at that fierce look of pain on Squalo's face. Then, his arm stretched out, hand trembling, a gesture of comfort he couldn't hold back, the very tips of his fingers grazing Squalo's cheekbone. If Yamamoto could have spoken, it looked like he would have said, It's okay.
But, "Get out of here," Squalo hissed (Yamamoto's body flinched), "if you're going to be so fucking nice."
Good dog.
04. Tongue
Xanxus tastes like whiskey--whiskey and sweat and sleep sometimes, those heavy, bored eyes drifting closed when Squalo starts to get too loud, too animated. He tastes like Italian winter, his curves and planes rising up to meet Squalo's tongue.
(Sometimes he tastes sweet--more like candy or revenge. Squalo won't say that.)
Squalo's hair is wound around the palm of Xanxus's hand, Squalo's mouth is wrapped around his cock, and Xanxus tastes like a pampered, privileged boy who's been stripped of everything--everything, everything but this: Squalo, this loyalty, this fire in his gut like the engine which fuels a burgeoning empire.
05. Sweet
"Watch it, asshole!"
("I like him," Yamamoto said, and Xanxus scoffed, laced his fingers together on the surface of his desk. "So what," he asked.)
"Motherfucker! See if we fuck again any time this month!"
("I think he'd be happier with me." So sincere, serious. It nearly made Xanxus feel generous. "Happy," Xanxus repeated, his mouth twisted into a sneer.)
Squalo groaned into the pillows, one arm twisted behind his back; Xanxus's hips made contact, contact, contact.
("Don't you want him to be happy?")
"Haa--ngh--what the fuck's your problem?" And Xanxus shoved two fingers into Squalo's mouth to quiet him.
06. Give
Xanxus never asked for a goddamned thing from Squalo. Not friendship, not loyalty, not his severed hand. Not that long hair like a woman's, trailing serpentine down Xanxus's torso, following the descent of Squalo's tongue. He didn't ask for Squalo's only hand pressed to his chest just over his barely beating heart. He didn't ask for Squalo poised over him, tight around him, staring at him, the look in his eyes heavy with words Xanxus would kill him for saying.
He did not ask Squalo to bear his throat to him. He didn't ask for any of it. But Squalo gave it anyway.
08. Compromise
"You reek like Cavallone scum."
But it takes more than fierce eyes, thick fingers, white-hot knuckles around a wine glass--it takes more than that to get what he wants.
More than hands fisted in hair and more than the get-the-fuck-over-here tug, the stumble, the straddle.
More than his authority, his strength.
"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" Squalo's voice, a slick wet underbelly, enough teeth to fill the mouths of an ocean full of sharks.
And that's what it takes.
Xanxus's eyes light with rage and Squalo slips his shirt over his head.
10. Deep
"I'll kill him."
Their classmates are sitting bored at a school assembly--some speaker or something else fucking lame.
But Squalo's on the school roof with Xanxus, watching his mouth twist around furious plans, a blood-red future, watching teeth, tongue, eyes lit bright with this angry thing inside of him.
And Squalo agrees to everything demanded--terrible promises, a role in a plan. He agrees even when Xanxus doesn't ask, when he rips Squalo's clothes, fastens his teeth to Squalo's throat, shoves inside of him. Everything.
Squalo's down too deep now to come up for air. He welcomes death.
11. Shiver
It's before he goes after the Vongola brats, after he breaks from that cocoon of ice, a terrible butterfly or something similar. Squalo keeps playing with the feathers dangling from his hair, gazing at the stolen notions of endangered tropical birds as if their fragility was Xanxus's, the only shocks of color in this faded, frozen place. It pisses him off. He's too cold to say anything.
And when Squalo looks at him with wide, uncertain eyes--a first, and frightening--and presses hot, hot lips to the cold dip in his collarbone, Xanxus feels the shivering claim his entire body.
12. Melt
Sometimes, Squalo comes home bloody and aggressive and pins Xanxus to the wall.
That piece of trash wouldn't dare try anything like that most days, but sometimes, Xanxus lets it slide. Sometimes, he lets Squalo stare into his eyes, all sharp like steel and bitter wonder and this knowledge that, Jesus, this is fucked up, but always, then, those teeth on his lips, his tongue, and Xanxus will close his eyes to block out that look of intensity burning across Squalo's face like an oil fire, submit.
00. Empty
They are boys. Boys with blood in the creases of their palms, boys with mafioso ambitions, boys without boyhoods, but boys nonetheless.
Boys talking shit about women, tits, pussy. Xanxus bought a whore last week. Squalo laughs--who needs it?
Boys talking shit about men they've killed in dark alleys for no good reason. Squalo says, "Sword Emperor, my ass, fucking weak is what he was." Xanxus says, "Cocksucker looked at me wrong."
Boys talking shit about each other. "Say that again and I'll make you suck it." Doesn't matter who, because a challenge is a challenge is fucking accepted.
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairing: Xanxus/Squalo
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Spoilers through the Rings arc, sex, language, ninja-like Yama/Squalo and Dino/Squalo which sneak in on occasion (but you expected that part, yes?).
Word Count: 9 drabbles at 100 words each.[For centi_porn]
Notes: THIS IS ME FINSIHING SOMETHING AND MOVING ON WITH MY LIFE. 8D [*cough* Actually, not finishing, per se, as I still have six of these to go, but still.]
03. Gaze
For once, Xanxus was pleased he'd allowed Squalo's request. His hand was fisted tight around a length of Squalo's hair, pulling Squalo back against his sharp-moving hips.
And, Yamamoto. First, the fool stared, grimaced at that fierce look of pain on Squalo's face. Then, his arm stretched out, hand trembling, a gesture of comfort he couldn't hold back, the very tips of his fingers grazing Squalo's cheekbone. If Yamamoto could have spoken, it looked like he would have said, It's okay.
But, "Get out of here," Squalo hissed (Yamamoto's body flinched), "if you're going to be so fucking nice."
Good dog.
04. Tongue
Xanxus tastes like whiskey--whiskey and sweat and sleep sometimes, those heavy, bored eyes drifting closed when Squalo starts to get too loud, too animated. He tastes like Italian winter, his curves and planes rising up to meet Squalo's tongue.
(Sometimes he tastes sweet--more like candy or revenge. Squalo won't say that.)
Squalo's hair is wound around the palm of Xanxus's hand, Squalo's mouth is wrapped around his cock, and Xanxus tastes like a pampered, privileged boy who's been stripped of everything--everything, everything but this: Squalo, this loyalty, this fire in his gut like the engine which fuels a burgeoning empire.
05. Sweet
"Watch it, asshole!"
("I like him," Yamamoto said, and Xanxus scoffed, laced his fingers together on the surface of his desk. "So what," he asked.)
"Motherfucker! See if we fuck again any time this month!"
("I think he'd be happier with me." So sincere, serious. It nearly made Xanxus feel generous. "Happy," Xanxus repeated, his mouth twisted into a sneer.)
Squalo groaned into the pillows, one arm twisted behind his back; Xanxus's hips made contact, contact, contact.
("Don't you want him to be happy?")
"Haa--ngh--what the fuck's your problem?" And Xanxus shoved two fingers into Squalo's mouth to quiet him.
06. Give
Xanxus never asked for a goddamned thing from Squalo. Not friendship, not loyalty, not his severed hand. Not that long hair like a woman's, trailing serpentine down Xanxus's torso, following the descent of Squalo's tongue. He didn't ask for Squalo's only hand pressed to his chest just over his barely beating heart. He didn't ask for Squalo poised over him, tight around him, staring at him, the look in his eyes heavy with words Xanxus would kill him for saying.
He did not ask Squalo to bear his throat to him. He didn't ask for any of it. But Squalo gave it anyway.
08. Compromise
"You reek like Cavallone scum."
But it takes more than fierce eyes, thick fingers, white-hot knuckles around a wine glass--it takes more than that to get what he wants.
More than hands fisted in hair and more than the get-the-fuck-over-here tug, the stumble, the straddle.
More than his authority, his strength.
"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" Squalo's voice, a slick wet underbelly, enough teeth to fill the mouths of an ocean full of sharks.
And that's what it takes.
Xanxus's eyes light with rage and Squalo slips his shirt over his head.
10. Deep
"I'll kill him."
Their classmates are sitting bored at a school assembly--some speaker or something else fucking lame.
But Squalo's on the school roof with Xanxus, watching his mouth twist around furious plans, a blood-red future, watching teeth, tongue, eyes lit bright with this angry thing inside of him.
And Squalo agrees to everything demanded--terrible promises, a role in a plan. He agrees even when Xanxus doesn't ask, when he rips Squalo's clothes, fastens his teeth to Squalo's throat, shoves inside of him. Everything.
Squalo's down too deep now to come up for air. He welcomes death.
11. Shiver
It's before he goes after the Vongola brats, after he breaks from that cocoon of ice, a terrible butterfly or something similar. Squalo keeps playing with the feathers dangling from his hair, gazing at the stolen notions of endangered tropical birds as if their fragility was Xanxus's, the only shocks of color in this faded, frozen place. It pisses him off. He's too cold to say anything.
And when Squalo looks at him with wide, uncertain eyes--a first, and frightening--and presses hot, hot lips to the cold dip in his collarbone, Xanxus feels the shivering claim his entire body.
12. Melt
Sometimes, Squalo comes home bloody and aggressive and pins Xanxus to the wall.
That piece of trash wouldn't dare try anything like that most days, but sometimes, Xanxus lets it slide. Sometimes, he lets Squalo stare into his eyes, all sharp like steel and bitter wonder and this knowledge that, Jesus, this is fucked up, but always, then, those teeth on his lips, his tongue, and Xanxus will close his eyes to block out that look of intensity burning across Squalo's face like an oil fire, submit.
00. Empty
They are boys. Boys with blood in the creases of their palms, boys with mafioso ambitions, boys without boyhoods, but boys nonetheless.
Boys talking shit about women, tits, pussy. Xanxus bought a whore last week. Squalo laughs--who needs it?
Boys talking shit about men they've killed in dark alleys for no good reason. Squalo says, "Sword Emperor, my ass, fucking weak is what he was." Xanxus says, "Cocksucker looked at me wrong."
Boys talking shit about each other. "Say that again and I'll make you suck it." Doesn't matter who, because a challenge is a challenge is fucking accepted.