[KHR;challenge] the first of many steps in a direction newly taken
Sasagawa Ryohei, Hibari Kyouya
For 31_days. January 7th. motionless at 9:10, freezing time when it happened
Their sessions almost always left them breathing hard, jackets either thrown away (Hibari's) or ripped to pieces (Ryohei's), leaning against the wall or the floor or each other. Hibari would comment idly about the waste of good clothing, and Ryohei would retort back that good clothing kept his arms (and his legs and his chest and his skin in general) from being torn up by Hibari's extremely cheating spikes (and chains and bullets and whatever extreme new-fangled crap Hibari put into those extremely cheating tonfas of his).
They never rest for long. Training, after all, was also not just about fighting to win, but also being fast enough to get on your feet after fighting ends because the facilities always seemed to either have more asses to kick or it would be coming down around their ears. It's not so much a matter of strength but a matter of endurance, of being able to bear through the pain and dizzness of broken bones and concussions and getting the fuck out as quickly as possible. Ryohei probably would have liked having those sorts of simulations, and Hibari probably would have more than enough firepower to re-enact those sorts of situations, but somehow they never crossed that line.
For now, though, they were resting side by side, sweating and bruising a lot and bleeding just a little, and Ryohei's laughter was a dry rattle. He had lined his head up next to Hibari's, lip bleeding a little sluggishly, and talked, a string of familiar phrases spilling from his mouth, more for the sake of an after-fight ritual than anything else. Hibari had eyed the boxer's lips discontentedly, and being too lazy to move any further, had simply muttered, "Shut up," before pressing his lips to Ryohei's.
The tick of the clock sounded particularly loud in the ensuing silence. Ryohei's eyes were opened wide (or as wide as one swelling eye could go), and Hibari couldn't help but smirk at the stunned expression, even if it seemed that Ryohei wasn't responding too well. He ended the brief kiss, and while the taste of blood was bitter to his tongue, all in all it seemed a fair trade for silence.
It took a few seconds before Ryohei blinked, and Hibari watched as his tongue flicked out, unconsciously, to touch his lips. Suddenly Ryohei was moving, a flash of clumsy limbs, and although Hibari's tonfas were already halfway up to block the expected punch, there was only a barely coherent "Goodnight" before the Sun Guardian effectively bolted from the scene.
The next day, Hibari knew that Ryohei had gone to visit his family. Gokudera had grumbled something about "idiot Lawnhead is going to freak his sister out with that eye", and Hibari had thought, well, he could wait a day. He was patient.
Except on Sunday, Ryohei didn't look at him at all when Gokudera announced in conference that the Sun Guardian was to go to Italy to join the Tenth. Immediately.
For 31_days. January 7th. motionless at 9:10, freezing time when it happened
Their sessions almost always left them breathing hard, jackets either thrown away (Hibari's) or ripped to pieces (Ryohei's), leaning against the wall or the floor or each other. Hibari would comment idly about the waste of good clothing, and Ryohei would retort back that good clothing kept his arms (and his legs and his chest and his skin in general) from being torn up by Hibari's extremely cheating spikes (and chains and bullets and whatever extreme new-fangled crap Hibari put into those extremely cheating tonfas of his).
They never rest for long. Training, after all, was also not just about fighting to win, but also being fast enough to get on your feet after fighting ends because the facilities always seemed to either have more asses to kick or it would be coming down around their ears. It's not so much a matter of strength but a matter of endurance, of being able to bear through the pain and dizzness of broken bones and concussions and getting the fuck out as quickly as possible. Ryohei probably would have liked having those sorts of simulations, and Hibari probably would have more than enough firepower to re-enact those sorts of situations, but somehow they never crossed that line.
For now, though, they were resting side by side, sweating and bruising a lot and bleeding just a little, and Ryohei's laughter was a dry rattle. He had lined his head up next to Hibari's, lip bleeding a little sluggishly, and talked, a string of familiar phrases spilling from his mouth, more for the sake of an after-fight ritual than anything else. Hibari had eyed the boxer's lips discontentedly, and being too lazy to move any further, had simply muttered, "Shut up," before pressing his lips to Ryohei's.
The tick of the clock sounded particularly loud in the ensuing silence. Ryohei's eyes were opened wide (or as wide as one swelling eye could go), and Hibari couldn't help but smirk at the stunned expression, even if it seemed that Ryohei wasn't responding too well. He ended the brief kiss, and while the taste of blood was bitter to his tongue, all in all it seemed a fair trade for silence.
It took a few seconds before Ryohei blinked, and Hibari watched as his tongue flicked out, unconsciously, to touch his lips. Suddenly Ryohei was moving, a flash of clumsy limbs, and although Hibari's tonfas were already halfway up to block the expected punch, there was only a barely coherent "Goodnight" before the Sun Guardian effectively bolted from the scene.
The next day, Hibari knew that Ryohei had gone to visit his family. Gokudera had grumbled something about "idiot Lawnhead is going to freak his sister out with that eye", and Hibari had thought, well, he could wait a day. He was patient.
Except on Sunday, Ryohei didn't look at him at all when Gokudera announced in conference that the Sun Guardian was to go to Italy to join the Tenth. Immediately.