Because a Kyoya who surrenders so easily-who surrenders at all-terrifies him. But not enough to stop him from shoving his hands deep into Hibari's hair and keeping his face close. This usually came later and this premature arrival-this demonstration of stress and bravado-throws Dino off his guard. After their hearts were beating hard enough for them to press their chests together to muffle the noise. This is what came after the fight, after neither of them had any breath of their own left in their lungs, so they tried to steal it from each other. He's not sure why he started it.Ī thousand years earlier in this thing, this is what came second. He presses lips to lips, fingers tight in the hair at the nape of Hibari's neck. He just stares, eyes dark and pregnant as bullet chambers (Pull the trigger, baby.) then he drops his weapon, one flicker of eye contact like he's asking- asking-so Dino does the only thing that makes any sense. "Fuck," he says, rubbing his jaw, taking in the sight of Hibari in traditional dress, not the tailored suits he usually wears.Īnd Hibari doesn't say anything. It's all so new and uncertain, and then Hibari's elbow jerks up and catches Dino's jaw.ĭino curses in his native tongue, words that Hibari's heard before, but in a different context, in strange and hitching breath, usually in what follows their battles which serve as welcoming. It is so new it's like the first time he split Hibari's lip, the first time the stubborn kid swabbed up the blood with his tongue and charged after him, a fierce instrument of destruction on the rooftop of Namimori Junior High. His Japanese is as clumsy and stilted as ever, a breath of impediment to the concern he wants so desperately to offer. So, "Hey," he repeats, reaching up one hand to Hibari's cheek, "hey, I heard. He'd finished up Cavallone business as quickly as possible to get here. They have things to talk about-Hibari fucking should have things to talk about, even if, to them, the concept of talking is something as strange and alien as the way Hibari wraps his tongue around Dino's foreign name, as the way Dino does it to Hibari's. He doesn't want to spar, to carry out this ritual like courtship. And he doesn't want this, even if the familiarity of it is a hideous, comforting thing. The cool steel finish is a shock against the throat when he swallows.Ī greeting and a warning, and he can see the fight burning in Hibari's eyes, even now, even in mourning. He still has one foot in the hallway, and Hibari already has a weapon jammed up tight under his chin. But he always does, always senses the fight from across the ocean, so Dino does not bother to knock, just pushes in. He doesn't know how Hibari even anticipates the visits. Dino doesn't bother to knock Hibari always leaves the door open for him.
This time, the war zone is Hibari's half of the Vongola complex, this painfully neat place smelling of harsh chemical cleaners and, beneath that, green tea and chrysanthemums.
Dino shouldn't be excited for the coming onslaught. Matching footsteps, countering swings, and Hibari's hungry eyes locked on him like two dogs trained for such a confrontation by a cruel and greedy owner, by swift kicks to the ribs with heavy boots, by days and nights of scarcity, guts screaming out for blood to fill the void. Hibari's got him like ESP, this sizzling thing which lives inside that vicious brain, and the fight can go on for hours, for as long as Dino wants to keep him going. Just Hibari's sense that Dino is near, closer, right behind him like a sharp noontime shadow. No greeting, even after months of separation, after an ocean, a continent. The fight first, before anything else-the sweat and swift feet, the sharp eyes and shared panting breaths. ♥ This icon is so very inappropriate for this fic. Notes: For theburningempty, a prompt from loooong ago, but she makes me adore this pairing, so here it is.
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