Fatima's Folly

Sometimes I forget I have this archive!

2008-12-08T05:47:56Z

I need to update it with a few things I've done lately...mostly D. Gray Man fics. All the novel stuff is being updated over at elkheartwoods, and that won't be ready for a few weeks yet.

Just wanted to let you know that I hadn't given up writing altogether!

Sadly, I've lost the momentum on "A Voice Upon The Waves". Something about the Potter series coming to an end made me lose interest in writing fanfic for it anymore. Ah well. If you want to know how it was supposed to end, comment or PM me. I'll tell you.

:)

Intermezzo di Cavallone

2007-08-17T14:20:38Z

This is a continuation of the events begun in Chiaroscuro. Think of it as a kind of interlude between the events in that story and the events to come in the next one.

Title: Intermezzo di Cavallone
Author: Me!
Rating: PG-13 (for language and violence)
Characters: Dino & Hibari, plus a few of my own for zest and flavour!
Warnings: None, that I know of.
Summary: Deals are struck. Old friends appear. People die.

I. Allegro capriccio

Dino wends his way through a warren of buildings, offices, lecture halls and classrooms, periodically checking and re-checking the small slip of white paper in his hand. It is of the finest quality and bears the sign and seal of Hibari Kyouya in red Chinese characters at the top. Below this are a series of instructions printed in Kyouya's own perfect and precise hand. The closer he gets to his destination, the nicer the offices get and the fewer people he encounters. At last, he finds the door he's looking for and steps inside.

A tall, slender bespectacled young man sits at a large reception desk--one of the few pieces of furniture in the sparse but elegant room. He looks up, takes in Dino's travel wrinkled jacket and casual slacks, and adopts an attitude of unmasked disdain.

"May I help you?" he asks in a soft, bored voice.

Dino smirks. A new one. He decides to have a little fun. "I was told I could find Hibari Kyouya-san here. Is he in?"

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No," Dino answers. It's partially true, but he folds the small paper with the directions on it and conceals it in his pocket. "I wasn't aware I needed one."

"Hibari-sama doesn't see anyone without an appointment," glasses-boy says with a self-satisfied grin. Least of all gaijin Euro trash like you, Dino thinks. He has to mask his short burst of laughter with a slight fake cough. Where does he find these guys?

"Well, I'm a good friend. I think he'll want to see me."

Spectacles raises an eyebrow and looks at Dino as if to say, Are you high? Hibari Kyouya doesn't have friends--only enemies and subordinates.

"Not without an appointment," the young man says, opening a large leather-bound ledger and flipping to a blank page. He flashes a wicked, sarcastic smile. "I could try fit you in a month from today...."

Dino winces and sucks in his breath in that way the Japanese have that politely indicates there is about to be a major problem. He scrubs a hand through his already untidy hair. "I'm afraid that's unacceptable. Tight schedule, you understand. Maybe you could...let him know I'm here?"

The thin young man sighs, loudly, and fixes him with an irritated glare. "And who are you?"

"Just tell him Dino is here," he says. His stomach muscles hurt with the effort of keeping a straight face.

Rolling his eyes, glasses-boy presses a button on the sleek silver telephone. "Shitsurei shimasu, Hibari-sama."

In a moment, Hibari's voice rings through the little speaker. Yes?

"Some idiot named Dino is here to see you," he says, and for extra measure, he adds: "He doesn't have an appointment."

There is a pause. Dino hears Kyouya give a small, exasperated sigh. That's because he's the only person I will ever see without one. Please show Mr. Cavallone in. And make some tea. When the connection breaks, there is an audible click.

Spectacles goes white in the face, and within seconds his contemptuous attitude has been replaced with an awestruck and horrified respect. He bows low, the tops of his ears, bright red.

"Go--gomen nasai, Cavallone-sama! Shitsurei shimashita!"

"Not your fault," Dino chuckles. "I should have said from the start, but I was being an ass."

He follows the now chastised young man through a set of large double doors and into Hibari's newly aquired office. Up until a month or so ago, it belonged to the President of the Board of Trustees. Now it serves as a base of operations for the various "services to the school" that Hibari and his new groups of associates provide. Kyouya is marking something in a ledger, and does not look up. Dino takes a seat and waits.

"Tea?" Hibari murmurs and finally looks up at Spectacles, who is still hovering just behind Dino's chair. The young man gives a little squeak and practically flees the room. Dino catches just the slightest hint of a smile on Hibari's lips.

"Sorry about him," Dino chuckles. "I couldn't help myself."

"You will taunt the help, won't you," the dark-haired man says, closing the ledger. "Mazukawa's young, but he's smart. I think he's here for the long term, and as they say, he knows who puts the butter on his bread."

"Him and at least fifty others I passed on the way here. I always said you'd be running this place in no time at all," Dino says and smiles.

"No," Kyouya corrects. "What you said was that I'd be running this place within a year."

"And I was right."

"No," Hibari says again. "It took two years: one to gain control and one to eliminate anyone who could take it away from me. What good is having something if you can't keep it?"

Dino laughs outright at this. Hibari can be so serious, so methodical sometimes, but then again, that's what defines him. After all, they call him The Iron Sparrow now--hard and unrelenting. Dino knows Kyouya's other side--the one that laughs at jokes and sometimes even tells them, whines when he's losing at video games, giggles when you tickle his feet, smiles sometimes for no reason at all other than that he's happy--but he's pretty sure that Hibari doesn't show that face to anyone else, and certainly not in public.

"So, how was New York?" Hibari asks, leaning back in his enormous desk chair.

"The same as always," Dino sighs. "Dirty, loud, and full of coglioni. I swear it gets harder and harder to do business there. Too many thugs and bangers to kill."

"And your meeting?"

"Cosi fan tutte. The old men just grumble and blow hot air up everyone's ass. They're so busy looking for knives behind each other's backs that they can't make a decision about the things that matter. I try. Marcantoni tries. So does Tsuna, but..." Dino shrugs, sucks in his breath through his teeth.

"So they didn't believe you?" Hibari asks, one eyebrow raised.

Dino shakes his head. "They're convinced that that Russian group the Varia took out last year were the ones behind that massive wave of hits."

"Those guys?" Hibari snorts. "They couldn't locate their own dicks to take a piss, let alone come up with something that well organized!"

"Squalo said as much," Dino comments.

"He was there?" Hibari asks, leaning forward in his seat. "What for?"

It's been five years since the battle for the Vongola Rings, and for all his contrary nonchalance, Kyouya never forgets and he does not easily forgive. In his mind, the members of the Varia will always be suspect because they once were his enemies. Dino also knows that Kyouya's dislike of Squalo Superbi runs along a deeper, more personal vein. He's tried to explain some of the history between Squalo and himself, but Hibari doesn't seem all that interested in listening. His exact words: He comes near you with that sword again, and I'll kill him.

"The Vongola have put the Varia out on loan, so to speak," Dino explains. "Together with Reborn, they're trying to track down the real culprits. They're the only ones who can, really."

"And Squalo?" Hibari asks, his eyes hard and narrow.

"We didn't even exchange five words together."

Kyouya relaxes back into his chair and dons his mask of calm serenity once again. Mazukawa arrives with the tea tray and sets it down on a small cabinet beside Hibari's desk.
"Thank you," Hibari says, gracing his subordinate with eye-contact this time. "Now get out. And lock the front door behind you. I'll see you on Monday."

"Understood, Hibari-sama," the young man says, smartly.

He bows low, first to his boss and then to Dino, before making his exit. Kyouya rises from his chair, pours a cup of tea and tastes it. A soft sigh and the gentle clink of the cup on the tray are the only outward signs of his disappointment. Dino grins. For Hibari Kyouya, tea is a very serious matter. Mazukawa has some rather intense training ahead of him.

The sound of a key turning in its lock echoes in through the double doors before Hibari shuts them and comes to stand in front of his desk, inches from Dino's chair.

"So. I have to say, this is a surprise," he murmurs, the miracle of a smile softening first his eyes and then his face. "I thought you were going straight from New York to Italy."

"That was the plan, yes," Dino says, reaching out to grasp Kyouya's hips and pull him closer. "But I missed you. Three weeks is a long time to be away."

"And you hate that fifteen hour flight," Hibari says and buries his hands in Dino's hair. "So I doubt that even you would need it bad enough to endure that. Plus, I know you've got women in New York."

"Yeah," he admits, "but I'm not in love with them."

They share a deep kiss that Dino feels all the way from his head to the bottom of his feet. More than the sex, which he has to admit is still pleasurable in ways he'd never imagined possible, it is this--Kyouya's taste, his touch, his warm breath--that he misses most when he's away.
He still finds it hard to believe that he's been in a healthy--well, as healthy as things get with Kyouya--and fulfilling relationship for the past two years. Occasionally, it still bothers him that said relationship is with another man, but that's only because he can't openly declare his feelings and still maintain his reputation amongst his business clients. Thank God that Mafiosi are a hugging and kissing bunch, otherwise, he'd never get away with the few public displays of affection that he does manage.

Hibari has ceased to threaten him with death or bodily harm, but he still enjoys sparring and is particularly fond of finding new and interesting ways to tie him up and tease him until he begs for release. If Miu-Miu Prada knew exactly how Kyouya made use of those custom silk ties she'd designed for him last fall, she'd probably die of shock. Or ask for pointers, which Kyouya would happily give her, in semi-fluent Italian, English, Chinese, or Spanish whatever her preference might be. Dino is infinitely proud of his lover's intelligence and his facility for languages.

"So," Hibari says when they finally break apart. "What's the real reason for this surprise visit?"

"I told you," Dino answers. "I missed you."

"Fifteen. Hour. Flight," Hibari says again, punctuating each word with another kiss. "Try again."

"Honest reason?" Dino sighs. "You're not gonna like it."

"I'll like it even less if you keep stalling."

"Okay," Dino mutters. "I need you to come to Italy with me."

Kyouya backs off, and leans back against the desk again. He's gone from zero to pissed in a matter of seconds, Dino can tell, and he braces for impact.

"What did I say?" Hibari growls. "What did I say three weeks ago, Dino? I told you, I can't afford to leave right now. I've got these upstart Yakuza thugs trying to elbow in on my territory, the usual Chinese and Korean triad shit, not to mention the jobs this ring shackles me to!" He clutches at the offending object suspended on a chain around his neck and shakes it in Dino's direction. "As much as I really want to, now is not a good time for me to go strolling hand in hand with you along the shores of the Adriatic Sea!"

"How about helping me and a friend of mine put down a pack of rabid dogs that need killing?" Dino counters. "You have time for that?"

This is not the response that Hibari was expecting, and his eyes flash with surprise before he schools his features once again into the expressionless face he puts on when he's thinking.

"Okay. Explain."

"I won't bore you with the politics," Dino begins, "but I've got a problem. A family that was formerly allied with us has undergone a...hostile restructuring. The ones in charge now are nothing more than bullies, thugs, and rapists. They're destroying everything my family's spent the past fifty years building. My friend Paolo has offered the services of his family, but there's a snag in the plan."

"The enemy knows your faces," Hibari says, his quick mind keeping pace.

"Exactly."

"What's in it for me?" Hibari asks, moving around to sit behind the massive desk. He opens the ledger, picks a freshly sharpened pencil out of the stand, and waits.

"First Paolo and I help you get rid of your vermin," Dino offers. Hibari holds up a hand to stop him.

"Marcantoni?" he asks. "Why is the Marcantoni Tenth so eager to help my small-time operation?"

Dino flashes his most charismatic grin. "Because he's my friend, and you're my protégé, and I like to brag about you."

The ghosts of a smile and a blush fly over Kyouya's face. "Okay. You two help me out here. What else?"

"Five-hundred large for taking the job and another five when we finish it."

Hibari quirks an eyebrow, the edge of his mouth twitches against a smile. "That's a lot of money. Are we hunting dogs or bears?"

"They aren't an easy kill, if that's what you're wondering," Dino remarks.

Hibari writes something down in his ledger. Dino can't see, but he thinks it's a quick series of sums.

"So, I help you beat down some animals in Italy, and in return I get a cool million and a bit of home pest-control." The younger man shrugs and closes his ledger. "I guess it's a fair trade."

II. Battaglia: Molto furioso--Presto con fuoco

Paolo Marcantoni is not a hands-on man. That's something Hibari notices from the start. He's good looking with his classic Roman nose and dark wavy hair, and he's in relatively good shape. But he's not like Dino. Not like Gokudera or Yamamoto or any of the others he works with on a regular basis. He doesn't have that lean, predatory look.

The three of them, plus Romario and Paolo's capo, Luciano, have been holed up in this blind alley for at least twenty minutes, waiting for the first bunch of so-called Yakuza to wend their way through the Namimori pleasure district. Dino is ready, whip stretched in his hands. Romario and Luciano, who could be his shorter, stockier twin, are both packing serious firepower, though at present, they've chosen to go with knives as a start. His own tonfa are out and primed.

Paolo, however, is unarmed. At least he doesn't have any sort of weapon that Hibari can see. Silently, he nudges Dino's foot. The golden-haired Italian looks back at him, and he inclines his head towards their empty handed comrade.

"Eh, Paolo," he murmurs--not that its necessary with the noise coming off the street. "I think you're making Hibari-san nervous. You could at least draw your gun."

"What? Where's the fun in that?" Paolo calls back. "Don't worry Signore Hibari. I'll be just fine."

With that, he straightens his tie, smoothes his suit and steps out into the busy street whistling something from an opera--Rigoletto, perhaps. Hibari uses a mirror to follow Marcantoni's casual stroll down the street towards their quarry. As people pass him by, he nods his head. At first, there seems nothing unusual about the people who signal for taxis to take them away to some other destination. However, when every taxi in Marcantoni's wake vacates the street--some with hostess girls and their handlers inside--Hibari's mouth falls open.

"How's he...doing that?" he whispers.

Luciano laughs under his breath, while Dino shrugs and looks slightly uncomfortable. "I find it's better to accept and not ask. But I think he just tells them to...be somewhere else."

"He tells them?"

"Paolo can be quite persuasive, no?" Luciano murmurs. "It's his special gift."

Hibari checks the mirror again. Save for a few stragglers, the street belongs to Paolo and the oncoming pack of thugs. The Italian appears unaware of the eerily silent void left in his wake. He simply whistles his cheerful little tune and walks, unhurriedly down the center line as if he were a prince surveying a newly conquered city. The Yak know something is up, and they swell like blowfish, knives and chains and other implements of pain and death appearing from beneath coats and shirt-tails.

"Who the fuck are you?" one shouts in very rude Japanese. Hibari recognizes him as Kirihara, the leader of this particular tribe of hood-rats. The sudden mass-desertion of the street has obviously caught him off guard, and like most bullies, he's a coward. Fear will make him do something very stupid in a short space of time.

"Zenchou da yo." An omen, Paolo says, still calm, still smiling. He stops about five paces from Kirihara's crew. Some of the yakuza find his words funny and they laugh. Others snarl and brandish their weapons. Kirihara quivers, but doesn't move.

"Don't fuck with me, gaijin," the young man spits. "Who are you? Who sent you?"

Hibari steps out from the alleyway into the light. Dino and the others are right behind him.

"You!" Kirihara snarls and makes eye contact.

"Me," Hibari answers. He feels the adrenaline start to flow, feels the monster rise up inside of him, itching to leap forward and sink teeth and claws into flesh. As they bridge the short gap between Paolo and themselves, the soft-spoken Italian man keeps talking.

"I've come to give you one last chance to be good little boys and play nice with Hibari-sama."

Paolo's Japanese is as condescending as it can possibly be--which coming from a foreigner, makes it doubly offensive to Kirihara and his crew. The young tough is red in the face, and he waves his gun at the Italian.

"Or what? What are you gonna do? Talk me to death? Get the fuck out of my way!"

Kirihara aims his gun at Paolo's face. The Italian doesn't flinch. Hibari hears the shot and surges forward. In the same instant he sees...something...someone...a shadow...fly into the space between bullet and man. There is the sound of a blade being drawn, an arc of silver light, and suddenly Kirihara's gun clatters to the ground, his right hand along with it.

At that point, the monster takes control, and Hibari crashes into the crowd of thugs like a tidal wave of destruction. He senses Dino at his back, hears the swish and pop of his whip and the snapping of bones when the lash of leather coils around his victims' necks. His own tonfa connect with delicious thumps, crunches and cracks against heads, elbows and kneecaps. Drops of blood sprinkle across his face, his clothes, his hands like life-giving rain. He throws back his head and laughs.

In the brief pauses and transitions in the struggle, just on the edge of his vision, Hibari catches that flash of steel, the slip of shadow, but as soon as it appears, it is gone. When the last of the yakuza rats falls dead at his feet, he looks around, but there is nothing. Romario and Luciano are slightly injured, but still standing. Dino wipes the sweat from his brow, leaving smears of red across his face, and smiles--a blood-spattered angel with a halo of gold. Hibari is tempted to drag him into the nearest alley and have him up against the wall right then and there, but they are not alone, and discretion dictates restraint. Besides, there are questions needling his brain.

Paolo Marcantoni leans against a parked car, unharmed, unsoiled, and unruffled. He notices Hibari looking at him, gives a wide, white-toothed grin, and holds up something small and shiny. Kirihara's bullet.

"Silly boy," the Italian croons. "He should have listened to his elders when they told him, 'Never gamble with Fortune's own son.' Right, Luciano?"

The two men laugh, but Hibari fails to understand the joke. He starts to say something, but Dino's hand on his shoulder stops him. "You can ask him about it later," Dino whispers. "For now, just think of it as something like Tsuna's Dying Will power - or your Killing Stroke. It works. That's what counts."

Hibari studies Dino's strange friend. The man is talking into his cell phone, mobilizing professional "cleaners" to get rid of the bodies and the evidence. He decides to make adjustments to his prior assessment of the man. Paolo Marcantoni lacks a certain hardness, not because he's incapable or inexperienced or prone to letting others handle his dirty work. No. Paolo lacks hardness because for him, it's unnecessary. He is a man who knows that he is untouchable, that his survival is guaranteed.

A hot, wet towel is pressed into his hands, and he looks down to see a plump, elderly woman smiling up at him. She and her husband run the ramen shop on the corner. He takes it and notices others filtering out into the street. They meet his eyes and bow deeply, words of deep thanks on their lips. He feels such an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment, of belonging. This is why he strives and fights and kills. He wonders if perhaps the samurai felt this way after ridding their lands of thieves and brigands.

One of Dino's men pulls up in a shiny black limousine, and the others begin to pile into the back. There's no time to stay and witness the cleanup. They're on a schedule, and time is short--at least for the next bunch of cockroaches who need to die tonight. Hibari wipes his bloody hands and face, folds the towel, and hands it back to the little woman. She bows and backs away from him as if he were the shogun.

"Fortune's own son," he says, once they're all in the car and moving again. "Care to explain?"

Paolo studies him for a moment, and then asks, "What's Dino told you about my family?"

"Only that you're one of the Primeri," he answers. "One of the original families that created the Mafia all those years ago."

"Well," Paolo says, "when la cosa nostra was created, each family was blessed with certain...spiritual gifts. The Cavallone have always found god-like strength in the bonds of Family and Blood. The Vongola have the power of the Dying Will. And the Marcantoni possess the power of Fata e Fortuna--Fate and Luck."

"I saw something," Hibari muses, "just before everything went down. A shadow..."

"La Fortuna," Paolo answers. "She watches over me, guides my path and keeps me from harm. She tells me when it's good to fight, and when it's better to step aside."

"So it was luck that stopped that bullet and cut off Kirihara's hand?"

"Essentially, yeah."

"And that's what cleared the street, too?"

The man laughs. "No. That was me. And that, I really can't explain. It's just something that happens sometimes--not all the time--but sometimes. When it's very important or when I need something very badly, I can...talk it into happening."

"In school," Dino speaks up, "Paolo was a master of manipulation. We used to get into so much trouble--he and Squallo and I--and no matter how terrible, no matter what it was, every time, he'd manage to weasel us all out of it."

Hibari feels a sharp and hot jab at the mention of Squallo's name. There's something in the history that exists between the long-haired swordsman and Dino, even if his lover swears that there is not. He knows it's irrational, but whatever it is makes him seethe with jealousy.

"Not every time!" Paolo laughs. "He's exaggerating. You wanna meet a manipulator, then go talk to my sister! Five minutes, and Alessa will have you wrapped around her little finger! All those pretty boys! Geez, we used to have to beat 'em off with a stick! Right, Dino?"

Romario snorts. "As I recall, she was pretty good at beating them off all by herself."

Catching the double meaning, Dino playfully elbows his second hard in the ribs while Paolo shouts, "Hey! That's my baby sister you're talkin' about!" The Italians laugh, which makes Hibari relax. Aside from Squallo--whom he hates-- and Romario, he's never met anyone with so close a connection to Dino's past. Oh, he's been introduced to the occasional friend passing through Tokyo on business, but never one from childhood.

He is not one to let down his guard in front of strangers, but something about Paolo puts him at ease. The man has an honest and open charisma that is irresistible, and paired with Dino the two of them generate a magnetic field of electrostatic joy. He thinks he'd be jealous of Paolo, too, were it not for the lack of any attraction between that man and Dino.

"Don't let him fool you, Hibari," Dino says. "It's not just luck that keeps this idiot alive. He can fight when he has to."

"And I might have to sooner than we think," Paolo murmurs, his face suddenly growing serious. He looks out of the window. "Is this the place?"

"Yeah," Hibari answers, recognizing the warehouse that serves as the headquarters for the Korean triad he's come to eliminate.

"It's a fuckin' bunker!" Luciano exclaims and reaches for the case containing the heavy firepower. "Kid, you like to play with the big dogs, don'tcha?"

Hibari grins. "They make a more satisfying thump when they hit the ground."

"Oh, you picked a winner with this one, Dino," the gruff, stocky man chuckles, sliding a clip of ammo into an assault rifle. "It's gonna be a pleasure doing business."

"It's too quiet out there," Paolo says in a soft voice. The man's dark eyes are unfocused, as if he's looking inside himself. "They're know you're coming. We should take the back door."

Hibari exchanges a look with Dino who seems just as surprised. Precognition, then? Is that how he does it?

"Hey, 'Torre," Dino calls to the driver. "Take us once around the block, and then let us out at that loading dock I saw around back." He turns to Romario and the others. "Change of plan. Romario, tell Brizio to take the front, and let Giancarlo take Paolo's people through the roof."

After that, there's not much chatter. Everyone is busy checking weapons and prepping ammunition. Hibari doesn't like guns. While he admits they are effective, he finds them inelegant and impersonal. Half the fun of killing is being able to feel the damage you are inflicting, to enjoy the rattling vibration of force when your tonfa makes contact and the energy transfers all the way up your arm and into your body. A gun is a crutch for cowards, too scared to stand toe to toe with their opponents and look death in the face. Sadly, there are more weaklings in the world than worthy men, and so he's had to learn how to meet them using their instrument of choice.

Dino helps him into a shoulder holster and hands him a loaded semi-automatic pistol. His face is grim, and Hibari thinks he sees just the tiniest bit of worry bleeding through the Italian's hard expression.

"You remember what I told you, right?" he murmurs, and those amber eyes lock on to his.

"Yeah," Hibari answers. "I remember."

Just to be sure, he repeats the litany of instructions that he and Dino have practiced so many times at the firing range. Stay low, and aim. Both eyes open. Squeeze the trigger, don't pull. Precise hits to the head and the chest. It's not his first time using a gun for a job, but it's the first time he's used one in what he knows will be an open firefight. Romario and Luciano will take the lead with the big guns and he, Dino and Paolo will follow behind. He knows that once the battle is engaged, instinct will take over, but it's the waiting that makes him doubt and question.

At last, Salvatore pulls the car to a stop and the five men rush out into the shadows of the loading dock. Romario listens in on his headset, and then silently counts down from five on one hand. The adrenaline spikes. Dino shoots the lock holding the rolling door shut. They explode into the warehouse in a whirlwind of shouts and gunfire.

He is instantly aware of three things. One, Paolo was right. The Koreans are waiting for them and with strong force of numbers. Two, by entering through the rear, they have straight sight lines to their targets, plenty of concealing cover, and the advantage of surprise. And three, were it not for the uncanny premonition that changed their original plan of attack, they'd all be dead.

Dino doesn't see his cousin Brizio go down, but Hibari does. It's like watching an ancient pine fall to the random destruction of a brushfire. Even in death, the man is majestic, and the waste of his loss drives an arrow of loathing through Hibari's heart. That one man was worth more than this entire pit of swine put together!

He wants to lash out, to rip them all apart with his bare hands. He would do it, too, except a moving shadow in the corner of his eye and an odd voice inside his head stops him. It sounds like his own voice would sound if he were a woman.

That one. That one there. The tall one with the bleached hair and the earring. He's the one you want.

Hibari takes aim at the man's head, braces himself and squeezes off four shots - four, because it's the number of death. The kickback of the gun sens the first round flying high, but the next three hit true. Brizio's killer falls to the floor and does not move. He looks again for the shadow, listens for the voice. It doesn't come. They advance upon the triad members, mowing them down like weeds until finally guns are of little use, and Kyouya can at last engage the fight in the way he knows best.

He looks to his right and there is Dino, his whip a deadly blur in the air before it cracks down like lightning. He looks to his left and he sees Paolo, fists flying and knuckles glinting with heavy bars of spiked steel--or are they blades. He cannot tell. Perhaps the hazy flood of endorphins is making him hallucinate. After all, he could swear that when Paolo moves, a shadow moves with him. And sometimes that shadow doesn't move in tandem.

It is over quickly.

III. Lento sostenuto e lamentando

From the moment he kicked down that door, he knew what might happen. At least he died the way he wanted to. On his own terms.

Dino replays Romario's words in his head and he finds a small amount of solace in them. The sun sets over the purple waves of the Adriatic Sea, and the cool air brushes his face and lifts his hair. He closes his eyes and leans into the breeze, acutely aware of the miracle that is smell, and taste and touch. Black coats and the skirts of dresses flutter in the wind like wings.

Ravens. That's what they all resemble--all the aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone gathered together at the palatial home of the Cavallone to deliver a fallen son into the embrace of those who eternally slumber. A great flock of ravens. Murderous birds that thrive on death. He wonders why he was ever born to this.

An endless string of relatives pass in front of his eyes. Hands clasp. Lips brush. They see the burden of guilt he has taken up, and these small benedictions of touch are his absolution. Kyouya is never far from his side. He brings Dino food and softly demands that he eat it. He refills Dino's glass, sometimes with water, more often with whiskey, and takes it away before he's had too much. He proffers his own handkerchief when Dino's has become soaked through with both his tears and those of Brizio's mother and sisters.

Kyouya rarely declares his love aloud, but in these simple gestures Dino finds solid proof of its continued existence. If only the world could understand such things. If only it could believe that such tenderness could exist between the heart of one man and another. He prays to the Virgin and all the Saints in God's Heaven that someday soon he might wake and find it so. Against that day, he is grateful for what he can have--Kyouya's dark, reassuring eyes, and the weight of his strong hand at his back.

Paolo has come. In his old friend's face Dino sees his own guilt and sorrow reflected. The young Marcantoni Tenth has no way to explain how he knew to give them warning, and it eats at him as much as the decision to send Brizio in ahead eats at Dino. These chains will crumble and break in time, but for the present, grief makes their weight nigh unbearable. The Marcantoni boss has brought his other sister, Christina, and he introduces her to Kyouya.

Christina truly is a lovely woman. The flaxen hair that normally cascades in soft curls down her back is swept up in a somber twist. Not even the veil of black net hiding her face can dim the sparkle of her sky blue eyes. There is nothing to fear at all in that kind smile, those soft hands that smooth his hair and caress his cheek. Dino knows at least ten men who would murder their own grandmothers to be her husband. He is not one of them. He understands what she is--or what she is destined to become: The Voice incarnate, the Oracle of the Nine Hills, as old as the Mafia itself, maybe older. Such a terrible power, such a destructive force encased in such a lovely vessel. Father always said that the deadliest things in this world were graced with sublime beauty.

Someday he will have to marry her. He has no choice.

She places a fat, leather-bound book into his hands, and he looks down at it. "I brought this for you," she says. "It's Alessa's, but I think she would want you have it now."

Night is settling down upon the patio, draping everything in soft grey shadows. He cannot really see, but there's no need. He knows what this is: a book of photographs, hundreds of moments shared with his cousin and his friends captured and contained within all those thin squares of shiny colored paper.

"There are so many of Brizio in there, especially from that time in Capri," Christina explains.

Dino needs no explanation. He has known since he saw the album, its leather decorated around the edges in flaking gold leaf. His fingers brush across the mottled surface, and he is twelve years old again, sitting on this very patio, on an early autumn day long past.

"Stop! You're going to ruin it!" Paolo cries, his eyes wide in shock.

"No, I'm not. Just watch," says his dark haired, dark eyed twin.

Alessa carefully paints the cover of the brand new leather book with the sticky white primer under Brizio's watchful eye. Since she started growing her hair long, she and her brother look less like a matched set of cherubs, but they still share those plump, round faces and mischievous expressions. Everyone says that her older sister is the prettier one by far, but Brizio--who is an expert on the subject of girls--tells him that Alessa will grow into a striking woman one day. His friends at school seem unconvinced, particularly the new boy, Squallo Superbi. Dino thinks that's because Alessa often beats him at footraces.

"Smooth and even brushstrokes, 'Lessa," Brizio counsels. "Not too heavy. Yes, that's it."

Brizio wants to go to University to become an artist. Now that he's eighteen, he can operate a powerboat, and he sometimes takes Dino out into Venice, into the old quarters. He shows his favorite cousin the buildings, the sculptures and other works of art that he wants to restore to their former splendor. Dino thinks his cousin is amazing. He can't even draw a straight line without breaking his pencil lead.

The older boy helps Alessa press the small squares of gold foil onto the surface of the book, and when enough time has passed for the primer to dry, he shows her how to remove them. Dino watches the two artists at work with open-mouthed wonder. Occasionally, Paolo puts a hand under his chin and pushes upwards. He pretends to be annoyed when he swats him away.

"It's not very good," Paolo comments when the last piece of foil comes off. "See, it's all patchy and blotchy."

"I think it's excellent for the first try," Brizio counters. "Besides...now it's completely hers. It's got character."

"That's just the nice way of saying that it's ugly," Paolo says, sidling up next to her and murmuring in her ear. She smacks him hard on the back of the head, which sets of an intense war of pokes and jabs and tickles, and Brizio roars with laughter.

"I think it's beautiful," Dino says, because he thinks no one can hear him. But in the midst of the dodges and shrieks, Alessa catches his eye, blushes and smiles.

"Let's go inside, Dino," Kyouya murmurs in his ear. "It's too dark to look at them here."

He nods and allows Christina to help him out of the chair and lead him up the low stairs to the house. His lover and his childhood friend follow behind, each placing a solid hand on one of his shoulders. And there you have him, signiorini e signiori, the great Dino Cavallone--lead about by forces he doesn't understand and propped up by the efforts of stronger men.
He knows it's absurd, but guilt and grief make him want to believe that there's a kernel of truth in there somewhere.

His sisters--with the help of an army of housekeepers--have arranged chairs, couches and tables inside the grand ballroom, its bright chandeliers dimmed and its mirrored walls draped with black crepe. The pendulum of the enormous Baroque starburst clock is still. The hands are fixed at the precise hour when the family had first learned that Brizio was dead. How his mother had loved that gaudy monstrosity!

A place is made for him amongst the cluster of Brizio's immediate family. Dino wishes that Kyouya could sit beside him as he prepares for this dive down into the deep oceans of time and memory. They make room for Christina instead, because they believe that she is his comfort and his rock. That is, after all, the way it is meant to be, and he cannot blame them for their ignorance. He's done nothing to disabuse them of it.

He unties the two pieces of ribbon that hold the album closed and remembers the small sphere of Murano glass that used to hang from it in the days when it encircled Alessa's neck. The little glass teardrop has long since been crushed under the heel of Squallo's boot, but the ribbon still remains, a cherished memento of a cherished gift. The leather book expands, and he opens it.

There's Brizio on a fishing boat, his skin tanned and his blonde hair streaked with white.

"What?" Brizio laughs and tosses his head in the salt breeze. "You've only caught one each?!"

He holds up his net, bristling with fish, and shakes it playfully. Christina squeals as fishy water splashes on her, which only encourages Paolo and Alessa to seek similar ways in which to torment their older sister.

He turns a page, and there are the four of them--Brizio, Paolo, Squallo, and himself--all on the cusp of manhood and trying desperately to pose for the girl behind the camera and look impressive.

She's laughing so hard, she can barely take the picture.

"Hurry up, already!" Squallo complains. His arm is locked around Dino's shoulder, weighing him down.

"Then tell Dino to stop making that face!" Alessa gasps, and erupts into a fresh bout of giggles.

"What face?" he whines, embarrassed that he's the object of her ridicule.

"Just smile, Dino," Brizio whispers from the other side. "Leave the tough-guy act to those two idiots. Besides, I think she really likes it when you smile."

His cousin's youthful face leaps out at him everywhere. It is an endless march of frozen summer scenes, of him and Brizio together, talking, eating, running across the beach, smiling out from under ridiculous hats.

"Oh," Paolo breathes from over Dino's shoulder. "These are the ones he took. She has them marked."

Brizio's mother recognizes the work of her son's hands even without Alessa's helpful swirling script. She pulls the album towards her and runs her fingers over the glossy images, the creations of her son's vision. Dino sees himself in nearly every one, and nowhere does he see the useless, clumsy waste of space he remembers. In Paolo's photographs, Dino Cavallone is a shining, handsome young man, strong, charismatic, and completely irresistible.

"He had a good eye," Kyouya whispers in Japanese, so he knows it's for his ears only. "He captured your true spirit."

The sudden ache in his heart overwhelms him. He wants to go back to that time before, when they were still children and there were no underground businesses to run, no enemies to kill, only a kind-hearted boy and the young man he looked up to like a brother. Dino hands the book over into the care of Brizio's family before he rises and heads for the door. Christina starts to follow, but he waves her back. Alone or with Kyouya--those are the only options on the table and ultimately he leaves the choice up to the Japanese man.

Hibari chooses to give him solitude--probably figures he needs it after a day filled with too many people showing too much emotion. Nobody laughs like an Italian. Nobody cries like one either. Dino wanders without purpose through his family's over-large house remembering games of hide-and-seek and football in the hallways. He remembers jokes and arguments and frustrated tussles. He remembers Christmas Eve dinner and staggering home drunk from Carnivale at three in the morning. His mother had refused to host the annual masked balls after his father died. In every memory, Brizio is there--and Paolo, and Squallo, and Alessa, and Christina, and all the other familiar faces that have made up so much of his early life. Everything and everyone is connected. That's what he told Kyouya, and it's true.

Dino finds himself once again nearing the main part of the house, and he hears the soft resonant ring of the front door chimes. There is a pause and then the click of the enormous latches as one of the tall double doors is pulled open.

"Signore Superbi," he hears Romario say. "This is a surprise."

"I only just arrived in town," Squallo's voice echoes back. "I came as soon as I heard the news. I don't intend to stay, but I would like to pay my respects."

Dino hugs the wall and remains silent.

"It's been a long day for everyone," Romario says, his voice subdued and understanding. "I don't think Dino's up to seeing you right now, and anyway he's with Signora D'Accosta and the family."

"Then please don't disturb them on my account," Squallo answers. "I can call again in the morning. Please relay my deepest sympathies. He and Brizio were close."

"You all were, once upon a time," Romario murmurs. "I will let him know you dropped by."

Dino hears the sound of boots turning on the doorstep. They suddenly stop.

"And Romario?"

"Yes?"

Squallo sighs, his voice worn and weary, "Will you ask him to do me a favour? If he hears from Alessa?"

Dino's heart skips a beat. Why would he think...?

"Would you ask him to tell her...that I miss her, and I'm sorry? Per favore?"

"I can't make any promises, but I'll try," Romario replies.

"Of course," Squallo says. "I understand, and again, pardon my intrusion. Buona sera."

Long after the door closes and Romario returns to his silent post, Dino remains just out of sight, heart thundering in his chest. Squallo has changed. Hard to conceive, but there it is nonetheless. The weight of leadership and the loss of his dearest friend has smoothed the harsher qualities of his personality and softened some of his sharper, more offensive edges. They all have changed. Why, then, is it still so hard to face him? Why does he still feel guilt over the transgressions of his youth? He would ask Brizio, but he is gone, and all the other faces from his past are threatening to ensnare him in a future from which there is no escape.

Dino retreats back into the darkness of the house. They've stopped all the clocks, and it's disrespectful to wear a watch on the day of a funeral, so he wanders alone for an untold length of time, lost in the haze of memory. When he thinks most of the mourners have gone home at last, he finds his way back to the ballroom. Kyouya is the only soul left, a strange sort of invader in a community of empty chairs and tables. He sits on a couch, absorbed in the perusal of Alessa's photo album. When Dino joins him, he pauses, looks up with that unreadable neutral expression that can be so infuriating, and then returns to his slow study of the images.

"Paolo took his sister home," Hibari murmurs. "He says he'll call in the morning before coming by." He hands Dino a glass of what smells like Scotch, the ice only slightly melted. "Drink that. You need to calm down before you go to bed, otherwise you'll have bad dreams."

"Thank you," Dino whispers, and takes a swallow. He means it. Not only for the drink, but for everything Kyouya has done for him since that horrible moment in the warehouse when he realized Brizio was lying dead in a pool of his own blood.

"I know things now that I didn't before," Kyouya says. He turns another page.

"Like what?"

"I know without a doubt exactly how much you love me."

Dino puts the drink down and stares at the dark-haired man beside him. He senses that Kyouya is in one of those rare moods that usually lead to profound insights into the workings of his heart or his mind. He throws all his energy into listening, because he doesn't want to lose a single word or meaning.

"For the past...what? Five years? You've introduced me as your student, your 'new project', your training partner, your protégé..." Kyouya takes a breath and his voice grows even softer. "Today, though, when you introduced me to your family, to Brizio's mother, you said, 'This is my friend.'"

"Well. That's what you are," Dino responds.

"Other people use that word," Hibari continues, his fingers brushing over a picture of Dino and Paolo surrounded by their sisters, "but they don't really think about what it means. Until recently, I'd only ever met acquaintances of yours--and you call them that." He lifts his eyes to meet Dino's. "You probably don't notice, but you do.

"Paolo is the first person I've met that you've called your friend, and when I look at the two of you in these pictures, I can see exactly what that means. For you, friends are the people you treasure. I think you love them as much as you love your family. I think they are your family, in a way."

"Kyouya."

"I don't have friends," Hibari says. "At least nobody you could really call one. You're the first person who truly wanted to be my friend and claimed me as one. I don't think you have any idea what that means to me."

Their eyes meet. Kyouya bites his trembling bottom lip and blushes. They kiss.

Chiaroscuro, Chapter 7

2007-08-10T16:12:34Z

Once again: this chapter is NSFW.

Chapter Seven: Chiaroscuro

Anticipation is a killer, Dino thinks. From the moment he received Hibari's final message he's been unable to stay still. The elevator doors open and he enters the apartment. He walks into his office, sits at his desk, stares at the neat row of messages in Romario's immaculate handwriting.

Sorry. Can't talk right now. My lover is going to do me good and proper tonight, so my brain is otherwise occupied.

He stands up suddenly, stalks out into the main room again, gazes through the window at the reddening skies. Is it possible, through sheer force of will, to make the sun set faster? Or stop it from setting at all? He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. A drink. He needs a drink.

Naoko, his housekeeper, has left a pitcher of Campari and orange juice in the refrigerator. Dino loves the taste--simultaneously sweet and bitter, and Naoko mixes it perfectly every time. He's so high-strung, he breaks two glasses and nearly drops the pitcher before he's able to fill a third and down the contents in a single gulp. Shaking, he pours again, drinks again. It will take stronger stuff than this to truly calm his nerves, but he doesn't want anything to cloud his senses tonight. He also doesn't want Hibari to taste the sour sting of hard liquor on his lips when they kiss.

"Everything alright, boss?"

Romario's quiet voice startles him so badly that the glass in his hand slips and shatters upon the solid tile floor.

"Che cazzo, Romario!" Dino cries as his heart thunders in his chest.

Chuckling, his right-hand man enters the kitchen and locates the small sweeper vac in the pantry. He moves Dino gently aside and proceeds to clean up the mess.

"Since you got back from that meeting, you've got more agita than a whore in church," the capo observes. "I don't think I've ever seen you jump that high--not even when I walked in on you and--"

"Hey! HEY!" Dino shouts.

"Yeah, that was a cheap shot," Romario laughs. "Sorry. But you are wound tighter than my grandfather's watch. Anything I should know about?"

Dino shakes his head, shrugs. "Kyouya's coming over at eight."

"Brizio mentioned that."

Romario busies himself with emptying the vacuum canister and giving the floor a once over with a broom just in case he missed any stray pieces of glass. In all the years they've been together, Romario has never pushed, never pried into Dino's private affairs. This silent domestic industry is how he communicates that he's listening--provided his boss is inclined to talk.

Dino has confided a great many things to Romario over the course of his life, and there is no one else to whom he can comfortably confess his deepest secrets and darkest regrets. It's like having a plain-clothes priest constantly at his side, someone who will listen, understand, and never break the bonds of trust and confidentiality.

"We're gonna...well...I told him I wanted to...."

The other man nods, sagely. "You're having second thoughts?"

"Nnn. Not exactly," Dino replies.

Romario waits. In the intervening silence, he takes another pair of glasses out of the pantry, pours for both of them, and hands one to Dino.

"It's not normal--what I'm doing here. Is it, Romario?"

The other man doesn't answer immediately but sips his drink. His manner is easy, as if they were discussing football scores or possible vacation spots.

"What do I know from normal?" Romario asks. "That's not for me to say any more than it is for anybody else. What do you think?"

"I think that the idea of doing what Kyouya and I do together with any other guy is repulsive. But when I'm with him, it feels right and nothing else matters," Dino whispers into his glass.

"Well, there's your answer," Romario replies. "Unless, that's not what's really bothering you."

Dino contemplates his lieutenant's words. There is something else. It's not Kyouya or the unexplored frontiers of carnal knowledge. Nervousness is natural, and first-time jitters are easily overcome. The fear, however, is deeper. There has only been one other person in his life, only one other who set his body on fire, who made him abandon all reason, made him feel euphoric, untouchable and invincible. That person is forbidden to him. Kyouya is not. Not anymore.

"What if I love him, Romario?" he murmurs.

"Then you love him."

"But what if he doesn't love me back?"

Romario shrugs. "Then you accept it and move on."

"And...and if he does?"

A strong hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gentle and reassuring. "You worry too much."

Dino smiles, claps his second on the back, and takes a few deep breaths. He feels the restless creature inside him slow its steady pacing back and forth. It doesn't quite stop, but at least he can focus and think.

He goes back to his office, returns the calls. It is short work, as he will be in Italy by the end of the week. He cooks dinner, forces himself to eat. Passing out due to low blood sugar would be a bad thing. Music, TV, video games, books--he tries everything he can to make the time go faster. And then it comes--the chime that tells him someone has entered in an authorized pass code for the elevator downstairs. Dino looks at the clock--7:58. Hibari has planned his entrance down to the precise minute.

He rises and goes to the security panel. He waits for the flashing green words that prompt him to authorize or deny the secondary code allowing his visitor egress from the elevator. He touches the screen, "yes", opens the apartment door. At the end of the long, empty hallway, the elevator slides open, and there he is--Hibari Kyouya, immaculately dressed in suit and tie, a soft, wry smile on his face.

***

Dino leans against the doorframe, barefoot, dressed down in jeans and a tight tee-shirt, his hair touseled. It's all Hibari can do not to run down the hallway, tackle the man, and take him right then and there in the doorway. Instead, he proceeds calmly and makes sure they are both inside with the security system and umpteen locks fully engaged before he sets down his bag and kisses Dino's ready lips.

"So," he whispers when they part.

"So," Dino answers, still catching his breath.

"You can still change your mind," Hibari says, and prays to every god in heaven that Dino won't.

Those soft amber eyes peruse his face, and Dino smiles. "Now why would I want to do that?"

"Go get in the shower," Hibari orders. "I'll join you in a minute." He kisses the Italian again, a bit rougher this time, before releasing him. As always, there is no protest, no hesitation. Dino simply moves in the direction of the bathroom, as he has been told, pulling the t-shirt up over his head as he walks.

When he hears the sound of water, Hibari heads into Dino's bedroom. He puts what he'll need ready to hand beside the massive king-sized bed, and then he undresses himself, carefully folds his pants and his shirt, hangs his jacket in the closet. He supposes he could have held off for a bit, suggested a movie or a game first. But, if Dino is anywhere near as nervous as he is, then prolonging things will only make matters worse. He laughs. The blind leading the blind. He never imagined that his first partner would be as inexperienced as himself.

That little voice inside of him whispers out from the corners of his brain. Just do what feels good. Let it happen naturally, and everything will be fine. He takes a deep breath and steps into the bathroom.

The warm, black slate tile and the deep, steaming bathtub remind Kyouya of an onsen. This thing is as big as the tatami room in my apartment, he thinks. At least four people could bathe comfortably at the same time. He's never asked, but he's certain that it's continuously heated. The shower itself is nothing more than floor to ceiling panes of glass separating one corner of the room off from the rest. It's not quite as big as the one they had in Kobe, but it's pretty damn close. A key feature of the shower is the fog-proof glass. Through it, he can see Dino standing beneath the nozzle, clear liquid streaming and glistening along the muscles and angles of his body. With every step closer, Hibari feels his erection building, until at last there is nothing between them but steam and water.

He presses Dino up against the glass and begins to devour him with his teeth and his tongue. The Italian cries out, makes those wonderful little sounds of pleasure as Kyouya moves from his earlobe down to his arms, his nipples, and his abdomen. It never ceases to amaze him how sensitive Dino is to touch. Find the right spots, and the man's penis stands at attention within a matter of moments. Kneeling on the tile, Hibari takes Dino's cock into his mouth, and with a strong memory of the Gokudera Technique, proceeds to help his lover relax a little.

Dino comes quickly--a sure sign that he was on edge--and sags against the wall. Hibari is pleased to note that the other man's shoulders are no longer corded and tight.

"Feel better?" he asks, standing and reaching for the shampoo bottle.

"Yeah. Thanks," Dino says, catching his breath.

They scrub one another--Kyouya loves washing Dino's hair, so smooth and silky beneath his fingers--pausing only long enough for their lips to occasionally meet. After they've rinsed, Dino returns Hibari's previous favor before they adjourn to the bathtub. Once Dino is settled in the hot, chin-high water, Hibari leans back against the Italian's chest. This is the first time they've bathed together. He didn't think he'd enjoy sharing something so private and meditative, even with Dino, but he finds that there is something comforting about being embraced, both by the water and by Dino's strong arms. They relax against one another and drift in the warmth and the calm.

"So," Hibari says, after some time has passed. "How was the meeting today?"

Dino shrugs. "I suppose we made some progress, but mostly it was business as usual. They want me to go to Italy at the end of the week."

"Since when are you the Vongola errand boy?"

"I'm not," Dino murmurs. He's not upset by the comment as his body remains relaxed and his hands still move in lazy arcs up and down Hibari's chest. "They've never been introduced to the party they need to meet. I'm an old family friend, so I'm going as a favor."

"How long will you be gone?" Hibari asks. He's come to treasure his afternoons and evenings with Dino. Anyone who takes the man away from him for too long is just asking for a beating--even if it's his own sainted Vongola Tenth.

"Only for a day or two," Dino answers. "Just long enough to pay my respects to a few people, and do this favor for Tsuna. Although, I might have to make a stop off in New York to check up on a few operations. Nothing major, though."

"Good," he says and closes his eyes. He drifts. Dino drifts. He's not sure how long they lie there in the water. The steam smells like rosemary and mint, both soothing and refreshing at once. Hibari thinks he could stay in the bath all night, except that the promise of so much more awaits him in the comfortable darkness of Dino's bedroom. The time for relaxation is over. It is time to do what he came for.

They quit the water, towel each other off and head for the bedroom. The last vestiges of daylight have fled the sky, and now all that can be seen through the tall windows are the edges of nearby buildings and the twinkling lights of the city outside. Hibari likes that he can stand naked in front of those windows, night or day, and look down upon the rest of the neighborhood. Further away, there are taller buildings, but in this corner of Tokyo, he can believe that he is king. No wonder Dino chose this place over other, newer prospects.

"You do that alot," Dino whispers in his ear. He presses his body against Hibari's back, and the Japanese man is pleased to find that, for all the relaxation of the bath, his lover is still very much aroused.

"I thought I told you to get on the bed," he says, putting a bit of firmness in his voice.

"You did," Dino says, "but you looked so...standing there...I couldn't help myself."

Eager hands run over his body, while a blaze of kisses begins at his ear and winds down to his shoulder. He hadn't expected Dino to play this game tonight of all nights, but the idea excites him. Dino, bound, blindfolded, and completely at his mercy, his cock buried in the deep embrace of that man's body--it's enough to make him collapse on the floor in a quivering lump of goo.

Maybe later...once he's used to it. Once I'm used to it!

"I'm inclined," he begins, allowing Dino's hands to continue their exploratory march across his torso, "to tie you up with that whip of yours and teach you a lesson about self-discipline, but as you can see, I'm feeling indulgent tonight. However, I still want you on the bed. Now."

Dino makes a small groan of protest, leaves one last, lingering kiss on the edge of Hibari's jaw, and moves across the bedroom. When the Japanese youth turns away from the lights and the window, the other man is settling himself into the pile of downy pillows propped up against the quilted headboard. Even without the tattoos, Dino's body would be a work of art. It's as if he weren't made of flesh and bone, but of fine golden marble molded and shaped by one of the Masters--Donatello or Michelangelo perhaps. Hibari has always liked to touch beautiful things--his mother's silk kimonos, the hand-blown glass vase from Aya-cho that is his father's greatest treasure. His fingers tingle with longing.

He stretches himself out along the length of that perfect body, entwines the fingers of one hand in that luxurious hair and begins with Dino's eyes, warm and electric with connection and longing. Golden lashes flutter as eyelids close and his lips make their first prayer to the god of his idolatry. If there were nothing in the universe but his eyes, it would be enough. He kisses Dino's lips, nuzzles that tender little spot behind the hinge of his jaw that is sure to send a wildfire of sensation through every nerve. His own name comes tickling against his ear, borne on the wings of a delighted sigh.

"You make the most delicious noises when I kiss you," Hibari murmurs. He nibbles the sweet spot again before moving on to lick and suck on Dino's neck. "Makes me think you like this. Do you? Like it?"

It's fun to talk to Dino when he's excited past the point of speech. A ragged "hnnnngh" and a nod is all the man can manage.

"And this," he purrs, taking one of Dino's small, hard nipples in his teeth. "How about this?"

Were it not for the weight of Hibari's body holding the Italian down, Dino would arch his back clean off the bed. His soft moans of gratification are like music.

"Mmm, yes," Hibari murmurs against Dino's chest. "I think you do like that. And I know you like this..."

Hibari runs a finger lightly from Dino's breastbone, along the little line of definition that divides his abdominal muscles, down to the root of his erection, up along the shaft of his penis and back again. He does this several times enjoying the way the other man writhes and strains against him, enjoying the sound of Dino's heart hammering in his chest.

"Let's try something new," he whispers, and he finds Dino's eyes. "See if you like that, too."

He retrieves the bottle of lubricant and the pack of condoms from the bedside table and prays that Dino is too intoxicated with passion to notice how badly his hands are shaking. Pausing a moment to breathe and calm down, he positions himself alongside the Italian once again and kisses him firmly on the mouth.

"If you don't like it, we'll stop," Hibari says, his lips grazing Dino's. "If it doesn't feel good or if..."

"I trust you," Dino whispers back. His voice is barely audible, but the raw honesty of those words sends a strong, unknown sensation shooting through Hibari's chest. For a few moments, he cannot breathe, then the feeling is gone, evaporated into the darkness.

He warms a bit of the lube on his fingers and then touches just the pads of the first two to Dino's opening. "Let's start with this," he says and covers Dino's lips with his own while moving his fingers around in a slow circle. He feels Dino's body respond to his touch, tense at first, then relaxing as the sensation becomes more familiar. When he thinks he's given the man enough time to adapt, he goes a bit farther, and the cycle repeats itself. The tip of one finger: Tense. Kiss. Relax. Probing further, deeper: Tense. Kiss. Relax.

Hibari is not sure how long this goes on. There seems to be nothing else in the world other than the ragged, heavy sound of their breathing, Dino's tantalizing heat and the way that his every part and particle is alive and singing for release. He works three fingers slowly, easily in and out of his lover's body, and he thinks that at last, maybe it's time to feel what it's like to be completely within his embrace.

***

Dino has had good sex, bad sex, and just about everything in between. He has had--and what a fond memory that is--truly legendary and epic sex--the kind that every human on the planet should experience at least once in a lifetime. There are similarities between that and this, but to be honest there is no comparison. This is unlike anything in the world. He can't quantify the sensations and emotions involved in this...phenomenon that Kyouya is creating with nothing more than his voice, his hands and his mouth. His body, his mind, all of the secret and special things that make him who he is--they no longer belong to him. He has rendered them unto Kyouya's keeping and what is left behind is gossamer and insubstantial. This is a liberty unparalleled.

A whimper escapes his lips when Hibari withdraws his fingers, quickly silenced by Kyouya's mouth on his. Black eyes of such wrenching depth hold his own.

"Do you still want to do this?" Kyouya asks. The power of speech has long since abandoned him, so Dino nods his assent. Pillows are arranged. Positions are shifted. He finds himself on his stomach, hips raised, knees spread. It is, without doubt, the one position that no red-blooded Italian male ever wants to find himself in. But then, he doubts that any of those men have ever felt as wild and carefree as he feels at this particular moment.

"I'd rather see your face," Hibari explains, his voice shaking--with nerves or lust, Dino can't tell, "but it'll be more comfortable for you this way, and there's less of a chance that I might hurt you."

Dino nods again, though what he wants to say is, "I told you before. I trust you."

He feels the cool slickness of more lube and Kyouya's fingers, once more testing, preparing him, making sure. He's so careful, so patient. Dino wonders how Hibari has managed to go this long without climaxing. He's come at least twice since this slow foreplay began, and he knows that it's only a matter of time before euphoric release finds him again.

"Ready?" Hibari whispers. "I'll go slow, and...just...tell me if you need me to stop." Dino nods, and when Kyouya tells him to breathe in, he does. The first few moments are somewhat uncomfortable. He's grateful that Kyouya started with just his fingers, but fingers are not quite the same as a fully erect penis. Dino cries out, feels his body tense.

"Ah! Too fast?" Kyouya rasps and stops pushing. "Then just breathe. We'll...stay like this...for a little while."

Dino pants and gasps for air. It's not painful, just alien and new. As promised, Kyouya proceeds slowly, pressing his length into Dino's body a little at a time until they fit together as tightly as puzzle pieces. The feeling of Kyouya inside of him is tantalizing. And then he begins to move, slow, then ever faster. Kyouya's first deep thrust touches something within him and the lightning strike of pure pleasure makes him scream. It takes him a moment to recover before he realizes that Hibari has stopped.

"Are you OK? Did I hurt you?"

Dino shakes his head, calls up words through sheer force of will. "Nnnnn...S'ok...s'good...do it again...."

After that, there's nothing but blinding pleasure and the growing crescendo of moans, screams and cries that burst forth from both of them like blackbirds from a tree. His eyes are blurred and streaming, his throat raw, his body shaking with the strain of holding all that light and heat inside him. When Kyouya comes, he lets go, dies, falls through a heaven of perfection and bliss.

He hears Hibari's voice from a distance, and he wants to answer, but he hasn't eyes to see nor a mouth to speak. At least he doesn't until those tender lips kiss them into existance. He's finally done it, Dino thinks. So many years he's promised, and now at last he's made good on all the threats snarled across the barren wasteland of various rooftops and alleyways.

I just never imagined that this was the kind of death he meant.

Dino tries to move and fails. There is nothing left of him but the ecstasy. Nothing left. Not even fear, doubt or insecurity. It's an opportune moment, if ever there was one.

"Ti amo. Ti amo. Molto cosi..."

Dino feels himself gathered into Hibari's arms, cradled against that firm body as if strength alone could merge the two of them into one.

"Ore mo...aishiteru...."

***

Hibari watches Dino sleep in the yellow glow of first light. He wishes he could stay, but he has an exam review in his first class that he cannot afford to miss--even though he's as worn out as the man lying prone on the bed. Hibari reckons that through the course of the evening, he and Dino managed to make love in almost every room of the apartment. All except the office, which, for security reasons, is wired for surveillance.

Making love. The term sounds so girly and trite, but he can't come up with another more appropriate term. What he and Dino did all night certainly goes far beyond just having sex. Perhaps its the word love that seems so odd. He's never spoken it to anyone before--other than his parents or grandparents. And filial love is very different from this heavy, squirrelly ache that has lodged itself beneath his ribcage with no sign of letting go.

It's different from the feeling he gets when he hears the Namimori High School song or walks along the corridors of the old Junior High. That feeling, he knows now, is pride and belonging, and while it also soars and leaps, it doesn't make him feel like the top of his head is going to come off.

He kisses Dino on the corner of the mouth, which evokes a soft, sleepy noise, gathers his things and quietly makes his exit. He's left a note on the bedside along with a pitcher of what he thinks is grapefruit juice. Damned professors. Damned exams. He makes a note to have a "discussion" with his TA about effective scheduling.

On the way out, he passes the Caravaggio painting and stops. It's a reproduction. The original hangs in a church somewhere in Rome. Knowing this does nothing to detract from his fascination. The two figures in the center command his attention--young men, one golden, one dark, one bathed in light, the other shrouded in shadow. Both appear to be struck by something terrible and miraculous, unable to avoid the shaft of light that cuts between them like a knife.

Perhaps they, too, have been undone by love.

As always, comments and criticism are welcome. I'll be posting the next segment some time this weekend.

Chiaroscuro, Chapter 6

2007-08-10T16:09:10Z

A friendly warning: This chapter is NSFW.

Chapter Six: In which Dino gets an eyeful and Kyouya gets a little advice with his service.

In the weeks since his first night with Kyouya, Dino has become aware of a great many things. For instance, he notices, now, the way some of his men look at him when they think he isn't watching. He wonders if they've always had that hungry look, or if he's just been as oblivious as Kyouya says he is. He also notices how much easier it is to spend five minutes alone without falling, tripping, bleeding or hitting himself in the head. Then again, in order to achieve this, he has to be alone. Some things in his life might have changed, however it's still widely held that sporting an erection in public whilst thinking of your lover is not the best display of etiquette.

Lover. Not friend. Certainly not boyfriend. A word doesn't really exist to define what goes on between the two of them when sunset passes into twilight and Kyouya says, "We're on my time, now." Things like this don't happen in the understandings that form between men and women. Just as there was in the beginning, when he was the teacher and Kyouya was the student, they have established a routine. Shower, dinner, then entertainment of one kind or another--sometimes it's bowling, or a movie, or a sumo match, or video games down at SegaWorld. And afterwards, he gives himself over, body and soul, to the young man with the jet black eyes.

It's easy to understand why he enjoys it, the submission. He's discussed it with Romario many times, and his lieutenant agrees. Some days it feels as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Lives depend on his word and command. His decisions create the universe that is La Famiglia Cavallone. When the sun goes down and Kyouya utters that magical phrase, it's as if he becomes a new person. He is free, weightless, and as happy as he once was in that shining time before Reborn and his training and the gravity of obligation.

At first, he was nervous. Kyouya's reputation as a sadist is not exaggerated--at least not where it can be tested in the waking world. Now he knows that, whatever else Kyouya might be, he is neither violent nor spiteful when it comes to his amorous pursuits. Demanding, yes. Forceful, most certainly. But never malicious. He smiles to think of how careful the young man is not to push him too far too fast into uncharted territory.

"Something funny, Dino?"

Reborn's strange little voice pulls him back to the reality at hand. He sits in the main room of the Sawada household with Tsuna, his father, Iemitsu, and the small assassin. Joining them are most of the usual suspects: Shamal, Bianchi, and two of the Vongola Tenth's most trusted guardians--Hayato Gokudera and Takeshi Yamamoto. According to the tiny hitman, Colonello and Ryohei are off in the woods somewhere on a training expedition. Basil, Iemitsu has informed them, is on an errand in Italy, but he should return soon. Lambo and I-Pin, both now eight years old, have yet to return from school, and Hibari has, as usual, deigned not to attend.

"Just considering some possibilities," Dino covers. He forces himself to focus on the meeting rather than the anticipation of what Kyouya will do to him later in the evening.

"Care to share?" Hayato drawls, a cigarette dangling from his lips as always. "Our current supply of ideas is running a bit low at the moment."

"I think we're looking at it all wrong," he begins. "We've been overly concerned with the random nature of these hits. I was just thinking, what if they aren't random at all?"

"Explain," says Reborn.

"Well," Dino begins, "what happened immediately after the Lughesi hit? Nothing, right? But, after little Stella?"

"Everyone thought the Lughesi were responsible," Shamal answers. "And the Lughesi blamed the Rinaldis for the loss of their men."

"But how does that connect to the next killing?" Tsuna asks. "The Giustere? They're part of Vongola, right?" Dino smiles. Tsuna's trying, and he's proud of the young man he calls his little brother. Soon, he won't need Reborn anymore, though he'll probably be loath to see his tutor go.

"Ah, yes, I see." Iemitsu nods. "They want us to connect them to Vongola, but the less obvious connection..."

"Exactly," Dino exclaims. "That branch of the family has never asked your people for protection, Tsuna. They've always gone to the Rinaldi because of their old family ties. With Rinaldi and Lughesi in all out war, the Giustere are vulnerable, so of course they were attacked."

"And when Garibaldi fell, everyone assumed that they were the ones who hit Marco and Giulia," Bianchi finishes for him. "These connections are simple once you know what to look for."

"Yes," Dino says. "But after Garibaldi, the body-count goes up exponentially. I'm still trying to puzzle out all the twists and turns."

"But are we any closer to catching the people responsible?" Takeshi Yamamoto has been silent for the duration of this gathering, so when he speaks everyone listens. "If--and we are talking possibility, right?--if this theory of yours is correct, Dino, then who is doing this and why? There has to be a reason."

"It could be anything," says Reborn. "Power, money, greed. Those are the usual motivators, but thus far none of the killings seem to have generated any sort of significant gains for anyone involved. The targets were negligible in terms of wealth or status. The only thing achieved seems to be discord and chaos amongst families that were once strongly allied. Perhaps that was the goal?"

"Well, how can we tell, really?" Shamal comments. "One hundred and sixty different people are dead in the space of three weeks, all from countless branches of different Mafia families--none of which, I might add, are directly connected to the ten Primeri or any other major house. Whoever is calling the hits might have a goal, but how will we see it until it's on top of us?"

"We could consult The Voice," Iemitsu suggests, a thoughtful look on his face. The title drives a spike of dread right through Dino's stomach.

"The Voice?" Yamamoto asks. "What's that?"

"A Mafia myth," Shamal laughs. "Hardly worth talking about anymore."

"You're wrong," Reborn intones. "She exists."

Dino continues to study the floor. This is not where he wanted the conversation to go, but now that it's here, he has no intention of helping it along. Reborn is right. The Voice is a reality, and very soon his life will become inextricably linked with it. That thought pours icewater on any lingering embers of remembered passion with Hibari.

Reborn tells them the story that Dino first heard when he was just a boy sitting across that dark mahogany desk the Cavallone Ninth liked so much. At the time, he had no way to comprehend all of the intricate twists and turns of love, power, superstition, and Mafia politics involved in the contracts he was signing, although he doubts whether he could have refused the arrangement even if he had. He doesn't listen. Instead, he tries to think of Kyouya again.

His relationship with this murderous, strange and often frustrating young man is no less complicated than his entanglement with the Marcantoni family and the cryptic power of the Voice that they foster. But there is nothing Byzantine about his relationship with Hibari. The rules and the feelings involved are instinctual, basic things. Which of course makes them more impenetrable than the Gordian knot.

He loves, and yet he cannot speak the words, lest they break the magic and release the demon that will devour his heart and soul. He feels, and yet there is no language to describe the fierce flood that rages through every fibre of his being. His body, ready traitor that it is, responds, and yet he is still ashamed that he derives as much pleasure from Kyouya's hard, unyielding flesh as he does from the warm, curvy softness that is Alessa.

Dino has tried not to think of her, not since he's become involved with Hibari. But any mention of the Voice brings her face, her laugh, her scent back into sharp focus. Danger lies down that road. Unconsciously, he reaches inside his jacket to touch his left side. He'd damn near fainted from the agony of that tattoo--ten straight hours in the chair with nothing but the pain, the incessant buzzing and her hand clasping his. He questioned his sanity many times that night, and questioned hers even moreso. But in the end Alessa was right. It has been a good reminder--the best, particularly when Hibari traces those ropes and whorls of color with cool fingers or hot kisses. Yes. A good reminder. So is the faint scar just below his ribs where Squallo Superbi's sword very nearly ran him through.

She's dangerous. No doubt about it. And Squallo is a very jealous and posessive man.

He looks up. Everyone is staring back at him, waiting.

"I'm sorry. What was the question?"

Reborn chuckles in that "son of a bitch" way. Shamal rolls his eyes. Iemitsu gazes at him with a look of understanding. He's the only one who knows the whole truth about his indescretion with Alessa and about Squallo's attempt at murder.

Tsuna speaks up. "Will you go? To consult the Voice? I mean, you're the only one of us besides Reborn who knows anything about it."

Yes, he is aware of many things now. In Tsuna's eyes, there is a sort of desperate hope. Kyouya would say that he cares too much as well, but then again, that's what Dino likes about Tsuna. In the young Vongola Tenth, he sees what he used to be before the refining fires of maturity and the Mafia underworld tempered his steel.

"I'll go," he says, "for all the good it will do. The last time I spoke to Paolo, he said that the Voice had grown quiet. It no longer speaks through his mother, and there are no signs that Christina has been accepted as the next vessel."

Both Iemitsu and Reborn seem shocked by his news. "The Marcantoni said nothing of this at the Council last month," the older Sawada mutters.

"In light of recent events, do you really think it's something they want to make public?" Dino sighs. "But I'll go. The situation might have changed..."

It's the last thing in the world he wants to do, but his decision visibly relieves everyone's tension and uncertainty. Iemitsu mouths a silent "Onegai-na?", and Reborn nods approvingly as if he never doubted that Dino would choose duty, honor and family over any trifling personal reservations.

The meeting adjourns when Nana Sawada pokes her head into the doorway to inform them that if they want her to cook dinner for all of them, she will need more groceries. Bianchi volunteers to go, and Shamal is quick to offer his services as an escort. She doesn't accept him, but neither does she refuse. Dino smiles. He thinks Bianchi might be warming to the old man, though whether that has more to do with his kindness to her younger brother than with actual affection, he is unsure.

"Come on, Tsuna," Iemitsu says, clapping his son hard on the back. "Let's go walk Pin-chan and Lambo-kun home from school."

Tsuna accepts without complaint. Ever since Stella, they all know that children are no longer safe, and these two particular children are of vital importance to the Vongola. They aren't taking any chances. Also, Tsuna has begun to see Lambo as less of an annoying crybaby and more of a loving little brother. The absence of the cow suit and candy-sticky hands helps a lot.

"If nobody needs us, we're gonna go upstairs and play some video games," Yamamoto says, rising to his feet. "I owe Gokudera here a pounding."

Takeshi Yamamoto has always impressed Dino. The near god-like way in which he handed Squallo his own ass on a platter in the fight for the Vongola rings was a major factor in the building of this esteem. Unlike Hibari, who can be frostier than the Arctic in deep winter, Yamamoto exudes a warm and easy cool that reminds Dino of some of the guys he's met in Okinawa and Hawaii. The baseball player has grown more serious since the conflict with the Varia--all of Tsuna's guardians have--and yet he's not quite lost that casual smile and comfortable serenity.

In the space separating Takeshi's words, and Gokudera's protesting "As if!", a look flashes between the swordsman and the explosives expert that is unmistakable. Dino knows. He's shared that same look with Kyouya several times in recent weeks. This new knowledge is equal parts disturbing and thrilling at once. It's no secret that boys in Japan sometimes experiment with each other sexually, but these two young men are now well past the age where such clandestine acts are the only available outlet for overactive hormones. Based on Hibari's reports and his own observations, Yamamoto and Gokudera suffer from no lack of young women willing and eager to lift their skirts and spread their legs.

Of course, the same could be said of himself. He can have any woman he desires--well, all but the one he truly wants--and the fact that he still finds most of them far more attractive than the various and sundry men he encounters is a balm to his Italian machismo. However, when he's on his knees with Kyouya's cock in his mouth, he gets an unparalleled rush knowing that what he's doing is forbidden and possibly life-threatening if any of his peers or business associates were to find out. It's like the ultimate extreme sport.

"Where are you today, Dino?" Reborn asks. "You've been lost in your own world from the moment you arrived."

He blinks. The two younger men have vanished, and he is alone with his former tutor. After all these years, Reborn still creeps him out just a little. In that tiny body is the mind of an adult, a shrewd and keen professional. There are other things in there too, things that have to do with whatever curse befell him and the others like him. Dino has become accustomed to the grit and the violence, the underhanded dirty deals, the bribes and the hits--all those things that are a regrettable but necessary part of life in the Mafia. However, it's the mystic shit that still gets him and makes him want to run screaming.

"Having second thoughts?" the boy-man asks.

"No," Dino answers. "I made a promise. I intend to keep it."

"Good," Reborn murmurs. "Just remember: The Voice has been with us since the beginning. It is too important to lose."

"I know."

Round black eyes look up into his, and the man-child smiles. "Don't think I don't know what you're sacrificing. Love is a luxury rarely afforded our kind."

Dino smiles back. "I can't even imagine how frustrated you must be some days."

"You have no idea."

They share a laugh before Reborn hops off of his little chair and heads for the door. "By the way, Dino," he says. "When you see her, tell Alessa I said hello."

"But, I'm not going..."

The little hitman grins. "Just tell her, OK?"

Watching the small figure toddle out of the room, Dino considers that maybe Reborn knows more than he's given him credit for. Alone at last, he flips open his cellphone and starts to dial Hibari's number, but thinks better of it. He has nothing useful or important to say, and he knows how much the younger man hates idle conversation. Going to the kitchen is just begging for disaster, so he opts for the safer destination of Tsuna's room and video games with Hayato and Takeshi.

As he climbs the stairs, Dino can hear the distinctive sounds of video game theme music, but when he reaches the door, other noises of a more intimate nature assail his ears. For a moment, he is immobilized with shock. His better nature tells him it's probably best to turn around and go back downstairs, but a devilish little voice urges him to stay and listen--maybe even watch. After all, he knows that there are more things that two men can do together than just suck or jerk each other off. There is one thing in particular--the big taboo--the prospect of which thrills and terrifies him. He wants to see it with his own eyes before he decides if he's up to the challenge. There's just enough of a crack in the sliding door for him to wiggle his big toe into, and very carefully, he pushes. The door opens just a touch, allowing him to see but remain unseen.

Gokudera is in nothing but his shirt, which is hiked up around his armpits, his jeans and underwear discarded on the floor beside him. His knees kiss his shoulders and his ankles are locked around Yamamoto's neck. The shirtless, dark-haired boy has his pants down around his knees, the shaft of his penis working like a piston in and out of his lover's body. Dino shuts his eyes, looks away, blushes furiously. Then he looks back. The two boys muffle their cries of ecstasy by locking their mouths together, nearly devouring one another. He wonders if this is what he and Kyouya look like when they kiss. The scene is fascinating, like an auto wreck on a Roman roundabout. He cannot tear his eyes away, even when the muscles in Yamamoto's back tense and his hips buck forward with his climax. Gokudera throws his head back, his mouth open in the silent cry of his own surrender to passion.

Dino closes his eyes again and tries to take deep breaths to calm his thundering heart. Slowly, silently he moves back from the door. For once his partial erection is a help and not a hindrance. It keeps him from moving too fast and giving himself away. He reaches the bathroom, retreats inside, and leans over the sink. His face is burning, but the glass of the mirror is cool against his forehead.

Moments pass and his bloodflow returns to normal, though his pulse is still a little more rapid than it should be. Dino reaches for his cellphone again, presses the speed-text button and highlights Kyouya's name. A blank screen pops up on his display and his thumbs fly over the keys. The message is short, simple, and direct.

***

Hibari loves the library. It is quiet, air-conditioned, and nobody seems to care if you lie down and sleep in one of the comfortable chairs that face the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the campus. His classes are over for the day, and he supposes he could have joined Dino at Sawada's stupid meeting, but what would be the point? He is a man of action. Sitting around a table wasting precious time with speculative chatter is the most sure-fire way to send him into a violent rage. Far better to lie here in the cool and quiet, thinking about the sundry individuals he's met who need to taste the bite of his tonfa and of the various ways he plans to "educate" his lover once the sun goes down. Dino takes exceptionally well to bondage. He considers that a blindfold might be a good thing to acquire, though the Italian does have an extensive collection of silk ties...

He jumps slightly at the sudden vibration at his hip that indicates an incoming text on his ketai. There are a few people here at the University who have his number, but all of them are also taking advantage of a few hours rest in air-conditioning they don't have to pay for. Hibari looks at the display screen. Dino. Most likely texting to tell him that the meeting is over. Perhaps a little corrective discipline is in order as well? The man should know better than to mail him with useless information. A smile curls around Hibari's mouth. Maybe he'll let Bronco Dino taste the sting of his own whip.

Kyouya drifts in the drowzy haze of his afternoon nap and floats through alternating dreams of the flying, spiked steel of his weapons smashing into the ruby-stained faces of his enemies and of tracing Dino's naked, whip-bound body with the tip of said bloody tonfa. The jolt of the vibrating phone against the beginnings of a hard-on nearly causes him to topple out of his chair. Good thing the library is such a private place.

It's his alarm rather than an annoying caller that has interrupted him. How time flies, he thinks, as the clock tells him two hours have passed since Dino's call. He hits the e-mail key just to inform himself of the reason why he'll be leaving lashes on his lover's ass this evening, and the message is like a baseball bat to the head.

Tonight. You. Inside me. I'm ready.

Hibari reads the message again, reminds himself to breathe, and then reads it a third time, just to be sure he isn't hallucinating. It's something he's hoped for, but not expected--at least not so early in the game. The unexpected request makes things even more complicated. Kyouya has done many things with other guys, but he's never done this nor had it done to him. However, a precedent has been set. He is the one in control, and so he has to at least appear confident, even if he has no clue what he's doing. He texts back:

Are you sure?

Dino's reply is immediate. Hibari's thumb taps out a quick sequence of characters:

I'll arrive at 8. The bath better be hot when I get there.

Yes. He thinks a bath will help, but after that, he's unsure. There is one person does know the answers to these particular questions. However, it is a conversation that cannot be held over the phone, so Hibari dials Hayato Gokudera directly. The ash-haired young man picks up on the third ring.

"Hibari-sempai," Gokudera says, his voice flat. "This is a surprise."

"You owe me a favor. I'm collecting," Hibari replies. "Be here in fifteen minutes."

"And here would be...?"

"The University Library."

Hayato's strangled curses make Kyouya laugh. "That's halfway across town, you bastard!"

"Then I suggest you move your ass," he purrs. "Fifteen minutes. Don't be late. You know what you'll owe me then."

Gokudera spews forth a column of expletives, and Hibari hangs up. Even when the trains are running half-empty, it takes half an hour to get from Namimori to the University. Hibari smiles and looks forward to the experience of Hayato's excellent oral technique. He feels a small twinge of guilt, but it moves on quickly. There has never been any talk of exclusivity between himself and Dino, though he has to admit that since that night in Kobe, he hasn't given anyone else more than a passing glance.

Shaking off these thoughts, he goes in search of a computer terminal. Thank the gods for the Internet--a veritable treasure chest of information. There are some questions he's better off not asking, things that would expose him for a coward. And he is a bit frightened. The rumours of intense pain and serious physical damage are things that have daunted him in the past. And...well...Dino is considerably well endowed.

He finds a private study room--one with a door he can lock, he is glad to see, and soon thereafter, Hayato arrives, glaring, snarling and looking as desirable as ever.

"You're late," Hibari observes then glances down to the space directly in front of his chair.

"And you're an asshole," Gokudera grumbles, but he kneels nonetheless and begins to unbuckle Hibari's belt. "Don't expect this to be good."

Kyouya smirks. "Just shut up and get to work."

He doesn't enjoy it as much as he thought he would, though it is still a highly pleasurable experience. For the duration, Hibari commits to memory all those little things he likes about the way Gokudera services him--the hand motions, the strength of suction. He even thinks he's figured out the tongue technique--enough to teach Dino how to do it anyway. Hibari imagines that it's Dino's mouth, hot and wet around his cock, imagines golden blonde hair instead of ash, and he comes with a shout.

"Fuck!" Gokudera exclaims afterwards, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You've never come that much before. Now, what the hell do you want?"

Satisfied, Hibari tucks himself back into his pants and leans back in his chair. "You and Yamamoto--are you doing it yet?"

"Why do you want to know?" Hayato asks, already settled into the other chair, his jeans undone and his stiffened cock in his hand.

Hibari chuckles and watches the other young man work to finish himself off. "The guy I'm seeing tonight--it's his first time. And I've only ever been on top."

"Figures," Gokudera whispers, his voice straining. He scowls at Kyouya. "You gonna just sit there?"

The other man's body tenses, and Hibari moves quickly. He closes his mouth over the head of Gokudera's penis and sucks three or four times before Gokudera comes.

"Thanks," the blonde man pants, trying to catch his breath.

Hibari shrugs, and returns to his seat. "I can't abide a mess. Though, I do expect complete honesty in return for the favor."

Gokudera sighs and buttons his fly. He tells Hibari what he needs to know, which is mostly what he's already read online. It is reassuring, however, to hear the information first hand.

"So. Can you get lube at the conbini?" Hibari asks. Gokudera starts to laugh, quietly at first and then in a loud cackle. Hibari can feel the slow burn of embarrassment creeping up his neck, and he fights to keep it down.

"No, you fucktard!" he wheezes. "You can get condoms there, but lube? You gotta go to the drugstore for that." More laughter. "Geez! You really haven't done this before, have you?"

Hibari glares at him, but Gokudera only smiles and shrugs. "Just remember-- 'cause I know you're a complete control freak--the first time you do it, his word is law. So if he says stop, then fuckin' stop, you sadistic bastard!"

"I'll take your advice under consideration," Hibari says and brushes an invisible speck of dirt off of his jacket. "Now get out."

"With pleasure," the Gokudera says, laughing and firing off a double-F salute on the way out. "Have fun."

Hibari checks the time. He has a few hours before he's expected at Dino's apartment. Time enough to eat, buy what he needs and think about all the things that have conspired to wreak havoc and chaos upon his well-structured universe today. Gokudera's final words worry and gnaw at him. He knows Dino expects a little pain mixed in with his pleasure--in fact, he seems to enjoy it, but this is more than scratching or biting or nipple twisting.

He knows the bomb freak is right. He has control issues. Dino has told him as much. His monster self roars out its brutal need to prove, painfully and once and for all, his absolute dominance over the man who has denied him the joy of victory so many times. There is, however, a smaller, more sensitive voice that lives in the deepest corners of his heart, and that voice sings out in giddy elation. That voice tells him that it's OK to enjoy the excited twittery fluttering in his stomach. That voice says that it's all right to be tender and patient and gentle. He has spent nearly twelve years pushing that voice down, mocking it, crushing it, and beating it senseless. With the advent of Dino Cavallone, it has resurfaced. In spite of the abuse, it seems stronger than ever, and he's unsure whether or not he should trust it, whether or not it will betray him or make him less of a man.

One thing he cannot deny is that he's in awe of Dino's courage. The Italian, after all, is not like him--an effeminate, soft, bookish, and cowardly boy who would rather hide behind the mask of the Devil himself than face the truth of who he is and how he feels. Dino is a man who embraces his passions and glares down his fears. He is unafraid to question and challenge himself, to laugh at his mistakes, to mock the folly of others. Even bound, naked and at his most vulnerable, Dino has all the power. He yearns for that confidence. He aches at that unconditional trust.

On the library steps, Hibari Kyouya is brought to his knees. For the first time in his life, he is in love.

Chiaroscuro, Chapter 5

2007-08-10T16:05:27Z

Just a friendly word of caution: this chapter is NSFW.

Chapter Five: Delicate Like Tea

Hibari emerges from the largest bathroom he's ever been in and rubs a towel over his still-wet hair. The cool air in the suite feels good against his steam-warmed skin and the bathrobe provided by the hotel is light and comfortable. Dino sits at the large desk near the window, a towel still wrapped around his waist and his blonde hair nearly dry. He speaks Italian into his cellphone in a low, somber voice, and in spite of the lingering glow of a hot shower, he looks cold and grim. Something has happened, and it's big, whatever it is. It makes Hibari uncomfortable. Dino isn't supposed to live in shadows.

He wanders to the mini-bar--which is anything but miniature--and finds the implements for making tea. At least some things are standard in Japanese hotels, even ones that cater to Western tastes. As he busies himself with cups and tea-leaves and strainers, Hibari listens to Dino's one-sided conversation. He knows one or two words and a few choice phrases in Italian--rough things he's heard from Dino or his men--, but nothing useful, nothing he can piece into any sense. Every fourth or fifth syllable attempts to form itself into a word with a meaning, but the majority of the sounds are lost on him. The few that get through are close enough to English to be understandable. Assassinio. Assassin. Omicidio. Homicide. Funerale. Funeral.

Those words in combination never bode well.

Hibari decides to focus on the tea. He likes the little ritual that goes along with making it, though he seldom does this for himself anymore--subordinates are useful, after all. Most people think that there is nothing to the preparation of tea. They are wrong. Like any kind of sustenance, tea has energy. It is delicate, and timing is important. The water must be pure. The temperature must be exactly right. Too hot, and the leaves burn, leaving behind a bitter taste. Not hot enough, and you get warm leaf juice. If you leave it too long to steep, it ruins the taste. Strain the leaves to quickly, and you lose the best flavor of the tea.

This new development in his relationship with Dino is like tea. It is delicate, and timing is important.

When the steaming liquid in the small teapot meets with his approval, he carefully pours out two cups, places them on the small tray provided and carries them over to the cozy couch that occupies part of the main room. Dino's phone call is coming to an end based on the repetitions of si and grazie and capisco that Hibari can hear. He waits, watching the muscles tighten in Dino's shoulders and neck.

Finally, the phone call ends. Dino pushes a button and the screen goes dark. He tosses the offending object onto the desk where it skitters across and clatters to the floor. Hibari says nothing. He does not move. The teacups continue to steam. Dino rests his forehead against the palm of his hand and closes his eyes, breathes deeply. When he opens them again, he catches sight of Hibari and manages a fraction of a smile.

Hibari waits.

With far more effort that it should take, Dino levers himself out of the uncomfortable looking chair and half-shuffles, half-stumbles over to the couch where he sinks down beside Hibari with a sigh. He runs his hands through his hair, lets his arms fall by his sides as if their weight were too much for him to maintain. After a moment, he notices the tea, carefully leans forward and takes a cup. A few sips later, seems to relax, if only slightly. Satisfied, Hibari picks up his own cup.

"That makes twelve, now," Dino murmurs, half as much to himself as to his companion.

"I assume you mean deaths," Hibari says. Dino's laugh is bitter and rueful. "Something happened. Tell me."

"It's nothing you need to be concerned about," Dino says, rolling his head from side to side to loosen the tightness in his neck. He comes dangerously close to upending the contents of his cup, and Hibari gently rights it before it can spill. Dino gives him a sad, embarrassed grin. "Whoever they are, they aren't targeting the major families. They haven't even made a move on anyone in the second tier yet, so I highly doubt they'd be fool enough to touch Tsuna."

"Or you?"

"Or me," Dino sighs. It's almost as if he wishes the reverse were true.

Hibari studies him over the rim of his teacup. He is obligated to defend the Vongola Tenth--a duty that rankles, though he has enjoyed the violent opportunities it provides. He has no such obligation to the Cavallone family, has never wanted any. But tonight's events have changed things. After tonight, he knows he will fight for this man's life with his last drop of blood--not out of some wild sense of loyalty, but because if anyone is going to kill Dino Cavallone in this lifetime, it's going to be him, and him alone.

"So why do you care?" he asks casually.

Dino shoots him a sharp glare. "Because everything is connected, Kyouya. Everyone is connected."

"Explain."

The blonde man sips his tea, sighs, and carefully sets his cup down. "I'm Cavallone," he explains, "but I'm also Rinaldi and Strongere and Fianciullo and Neri. They're all minor Mafia families, but I'm related to them by marriage through various cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts and uncles. Tsuna's family is the same way. His family name in Japan is Sawada, but he and his father are Vongola. They're also Crimini and Giustere, and Fiorentino, and Vaspardi. Do you see?"

"I guess," Hibari answers. "So these dead people are all family?"

"Not all," Dino replies. "Some are friends. Others are rivals and enemies."

"I should think that dead enemies would be a cause for celebration," Hibari comments.
The Italian nods. "And at any other time, I'd agree with you. But in this case, the killings make no sense. They're...random. There's no honor in them."

Hibari raises an eyebrow. He has discussed this idea of honorable killing with Dino before. Since they've agreed to disagree, there's no point in arguing.

"That's fine and all," he says, "but, again, why do you care so much? This is a bloody business we do. People kill. People die. That's the end of it."

"In the beginning, I felt the same way," Dino says. "The first hit was on a couple of heavies: Lughesi family--knee breakers and knuckle crackers. Nobody misses those kinds of guys. Well, nobody but their own mothers, and even that's debatable.

"Then they hit Vinnie Taormina, and he's a capo--kinda like what you are to Tsuna or Brizio is to me. Vinnie was well liked. It's said the man didn't really have enemies, so the hit was a shock."

"Everyone has enemies," Hibari says. "Your cup is empty."

He goes to collect the teapot, which is still hot--a sign of impeccable quality. Dino continues to talk.

"The third hit was a six-year-old girl," he growls. "Stella Rinaldi. She was my cousin. An innocent, but if you'd seen what they did to her body, you would have thought she was the most ruthless Mafia killer of all time. Her face was the only thing they left intact."

On the outside, Hibari is calm and unruffled by this news. Inside, he feels the monster awakening. Something that would rip a little girl to pieces and perfectly preserve her final moments of horror is just the sort of thing he would most love to meet toe to toe in a dark alley somewhere. It entices him and he feels a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

"This morning," Dino mutters, "Marco Giustere, his wife and their infant son were found slaughtered in their beds. That branch of their family isn't even involved in La Cosa Nostra--hasn't been for three generations!" In reaching for his freshly filled cup of tea, he nearly knocks it over, but Hibari's quick hand saves him from disaster again. He drinks.

"And just now?" Hibari prompts.

Dino's laugh is bitter. "Just now, the boss of the Garibaldi family, his wife, his daughter and his two sons were gunned down at a party in Paris--along with two-hundred or so guests."

"Garibaldi," Hibari says, searching back through his mind for the connection to the name. "Your family has a vendetta against them. Now I see why you're upset. I would be too, if someone killed my prey before I got there."

"It's not only that," Dino whispers, and Hibari watches his knuckles go white and his hand tighten around the small china teacup. "Their family is ended. There's no one else. No direct descendents left. Umberto was the last of a long line of only children. He was so proud of the fact that he'd managed to produce multiple offspring--something that neither his father nor his grandfather had been able to do."

"Pride goes before a fall," Kyouya notes.

Dino sniffs. "I hated him," he admits. "He murdered my grandfather and sent more hitmen after my father and me than I can count anymore. He was responsible for the deaths of four of my cousins and one of my uncles. But my fight was only ever with him. I met his oldest son at the opera once. He was a good guy, a real paisan."

He grows distant, his mind somewhere else, turning this bloody enigma over in his weary blonde head. At least he's gotten it out, Hibari thinks. He's spoken the unspeakable, and now it is real for him. It exists in a way that he cannot hide under a pile of papers on his desk, or avoid by escaping up to the roof to spar.

"You're going to crush that cup," he says. Dino snaps back to himself, notices the intensity of his grip and sets the cup down too quickly as if it were a live thing that might bite him. Tea splashes onto the glass tabletop, and the delicate bowl of porcelain tips off the edge. Hibari deftly catches it before it can fall to the floor and break. He sets it down, to the tune of Dino's profuse apologies for his clumsiness, and fetches a towel from the bar to mop up the spill. Time for waiting is over, Hibari thinks as he folds the wet cloth.

Straddling Dino's lap, he proceeds to knead the man's shoulders with his hands. "You care too much," he says.

"You don't care enough." The reply is followed by a wince and the kind of moan that signifies pain of the good variety.

"Shut up," Hibari commands.

He works his hands in slow, tight circles. The knotted muscles resist, but they are no match for Hibari's strong fingers. Dino's moans are softer, satisfied. They sound deliciously close to the noises he made in the restaurant, and just as they did then, they send an erotic tingle up Hibari's spine.

"You care too much, and it makes you weak," he says, without interruption this time. If he'd known that a simple massage was all it took to make Dino stop talking, he would have employed this tactic years ago. "It scatters your focus. That's why you fall over your own feet when your family's not around. You're distracted, trying to think of too many things, worry about too many people at once."

Dino opens his mouth to protest, but Hibari stops, grabs him by the throat.

"Did I say you could speak?"

Sudden surprise blooms in those wide golden-brown eyes--excitement and desire as well. He shakes his head. Hibari smiles and releases him, returns to his massage.

"I have no time for weakness," he says, "so, if we're going to do this, then I expect nothing less than your undivided attention. Otherwise, we're done."

He isn't quite sure he'll be able to follow through on the threat if Dino chooses to test him, but if he look on the Italian's face is any indication, he won't have to worry. Still, he has to be sure that the upper hand is truly his.

"You have two options," Hibari whispers, dark eyes boring into light ones. "You can spend the night being weak and alone. Or you can pay attention to me."

The rapid fury of Dino's kiss is all the answer he needs.

***

Over the course of their training, he's always been amazed by Kyouya's speed, dexterity and strength. He is, however, a bit startled that the younger man approaches both battle and intimacy with equal levels of ferocity. Before he can register what is happening, Dino finds the belt of Hibari's bathrobe binding his wrists behind his head. He is imobilized, at the complete mercy of this trained killer who is currently biting and sucking on that electric space just beneath his earlobe. It is so intensely scary and exciting that he thinks he might pass out before he has a chance to truly enjoy himself.

Kyouya's hands are not idle, either. They flow through Dino's hair and sometimes grab hold and pull him close for deep, breath-stealing kisses. Nails rake his chest and abdomen. Searching fingers loosen the towel about his waist and reveal his erection. That he's aroused so fully by another man troubles him only for a second. After that, he closes his eyes and abandons himself to Hibari's will, to Hibari's touch, to Hibari's mouth, to the tongue that licks and traces the twists and scrolls of flame tattooed down the length of his left side.

Dino feels those hands, firm yet gentle, part his knees, run up his thighs and take hold of his cock. For a kid of eighteen with little sexual experience, Hibari's technique is flawless, and he has to look down in wonder. He doesn't expect to see Hibari's dark, tilted eyes smouldering back up at him. A wild thrill courses through him. God how he loves those eyes--that shadowy look that says, "All the better to eat you with, my dear."

When Kyouya's mouth engulfs him, Dino's own eyes roll back into his head. He had not thought it possible to find this place where exquisite pleasure and agonizing pain balance like angels on a razor's edge. He squirms against his bonds because he needs to touch the jet hair that tickles him just below his navel, needs to guide and encourage the firm fingers that grasp his balls and knead his ass.

Toe-curling sex. Dino understands that this is what Squallo meant when he coined the phrase. His every muscle is alive and on fire, straining towards release, towards sublime satisfaction. He moans and barks out his pleasure, heedless of who will hear them, and when Hibari begins to moan along with him the delightful vibration it causes pushes him off a high cliff. It is impossible to think after that. His skin tightens and he comes with a throaty cry, as an entire shining city of euphoria crashes down upon him.

For a space of time, Dino floats and drifts within the bliss of the little death that Kyouya has given him. Then he feels another body against his, another mouth on his own, tastes the bitterness of tea and something tangy and salty. The constricting bonds loosen, and he wraps his arms around Hibari's firm and solid torso, thrilled that he can finally touch the smooth skin that molds so flawlessly to the contours of bone and sinew.

***

Hibari thinks that he might just have to add an amendment to his rule about surprises. Dino, and everything about him, is one big surprise. Not that he expected Dino to be horrible or mediocre at anything. Still, he remembers the awkward sloppiness of his own first attempt at fellatio, remembers so many of those willing and unwilling young men he'd commanded to kneel and serve. Dino is nothing like them. He is careful, slow and gentle (things Hibari is unused to when dealing with him), but because he is a man, he comprehends a man's desire, a man's pleasure.

Another source of fascination is Dino's total willingness to follow Hibari's every order and command. He'd expected more resistance. This is far more thrilling in its own way. His hands guide Dino's or point to where he wants to be kissed, licked or bitten, and it happens--no hesitation. And then when he looks up for approval--God, those eyes, so alive with passion! It's the burnished light of heaven that sets him aflame, such a welcome immolation!

"Use your tongue more," he rasps, amazed that he can even talk at all, what with the things Dino is already doing to him. He feels the immediate fulfillment of his request, and he shudders with new and more intense sensations of delight. Right on cue, Dino makes eye contact, and it's all Hibari can do to hold his gaze.

"Coming," he gasps, expecting Dino to pull away. He doesn't. For a split second, he feels stretched as taut as Dino's whip, and then there is sweet release when the world clouds over and only rapture remains. When he comes back to himself, Dino is lying beside him.

"Was that alright?" he asks. "Did you like it?"

Hibari nods. "Not bad at all for your first time...well...with a guy, I mean." Dino laughs weakly. He sounds exhausted, and Hibari decides that, as much as he'd love to stay up all night indulging in the wonders of Dino's body, it's probably best to end things here for now.

"You still have a long way to go before you come close to the best I've ever had," he lies, though it's not a complete untruth. He's pretty certain that Hayato Gokudera gives the best head in all Japan. But Dino comes close to matching him in skill. If I can only figure out how the bomb freak does that thing with his tongue...

"Then I guess I'll have to practice, won't I?" Dino whispers, his eyes closed, his mouth in a soft smile. He is already half asleep. Hibari fits himself into the space along Dino's side, rests his head on Dino's chest, and joins his golden-haired lover in the land of dreams.

Chiaroscuro, Chapter 4

2007-08-10T15:55:06Z

Chapter Four: That Which Does Not Kill You...

In a very short space of time, Dino Cavallone's world has completely re-ordered itself. Fantasies--years and years worth--and the agonizing frustration they bring are all well and good, but the reality--how it makes him feel--frightens him to death. He doesn't know what to do. He feels as clumsy and useless as he did the first time he kissed Alessa Marcantoni in her bedroom closet. Kissing Kyouya is as new now as that was then.

And if you kiss him like you kissed her the last time you met, who's to say what might happen?

He forces thoughts of Alessa out of his mind and concentrates on the man beside him. Hibari's hand is still clasped in his own, though they will have to break contact once they leave the sheltering confines of the mall. It's easy to keep people away from one building. Keeping them away from the most romantic spot in town is a little along the lines of impossible. And while Romario will accept anything with his unending patience and devotion, Dino is not quite so sure that hot-blooded Sicilians like Giustino and Giancarlo will understand why their boss is kissing another man, let alone holding his hand.

He is grateful, then, for Hibari's reluctance to leave the vision of Diana behind. Every few steps they stop, and Kyouya turns back to marvel at the statue once more.

"We don't have to go right away," he offers. "We can stay here for as long as you want."

Kyouya's voice is distant and thoughtful--such a change from his usual hard and cutting tone. "No," he says. "I want to see the Pier."

Dino is disappointed, but he understands. This trip is for Kyouya's benefit, after all, and his word dictates where they go and how long they linger. Reluctantly he releases Hibari's hand, takes a moment to straighten his slightly rumpled collar and heads toward the exit. His companion is no fool, but Dino can feel the longing rippling off of the younger man like heat from summer pavement.

Ah, Kyouya. I want to touch you, but there are rules out here.

They take the tall flight of stone steps up to the plaza overlooking the water. The arcades and cafes are quiet, though the buildings and walkways themselves are open and passable. These are the hours of silent strolls along the waterfront and whispered conversations. The lights from the Kobe Port Tower and the harbor-cruise ships--at rest for the evening--reflect and ripple in the black water. Kyouya stands beside him at the rail, as close as he can reasonably be without raising suspicion, and he sighs.

It is startling, that sound, so full of happiness and contentment. He turns to look at the dark haired young man and sees a face he doesn't recognize. It's not the murderous face that thrills him whenever they spar. It's not the cold and stony face of indifference he wears as his shield against the world and everyone in it. This face is soft, relaxed, pleasant. Hibari Kyouya has never shown this face to him--to anybody--before. Something sharp and hot lodges itself in that hollow space between Dino's ribs and his stomach, the place he calls his heart.

"I really thought you'd beat the shit out of me," Kyouya says in a voice meant only for the two of them.

"If it was anyone else, I think maybe I would have," Dino replies.

"So what happens now?"

Dino is silent. In truth, he can't speak. He knows what he wants to happen--those scenes and sensations have played over and over in his head for nearly four years. He's close to quivering with desire when he thinks about it, but acting on those thoughts will set his foot firmly on a path to God-knows-where. He isn't sure he's ready to go there yet.

Questions tumble around in his head. None of them have easy answers. He thinks again of that delicate web of trust that exists between the two of them. All this time he feared it would collapse if he touched it. He thought it was Kyouya he was trying to protect. But that is a lie. He is protecting himself.

"I don't know," he finally manages, his heartbeat quickening. "I'm.... I mean. This is... It's all a little new."

Kyouya nods and continues to gaze out at the lights and the water. Dino wonders what the young man is thinking, what he's feeling.

"I know what I want," he says quickly, lest Hibari think that he regrets the kiss, the press of his hand, any of it.

"But?" Kyouya continues for him.

He wants to answer, as honestly as he did before, but he balks at the truth. I can't say that to him, of all people. It would change everything. More than this, at least seven of his associates surround him, all at a discreet enough distance but close enough to listen if they were so inclined.

"We can't talk here. Let's go down there," Dino whispers. He points in the direction of the tower and the ships. It's less exposed; there are more shadows. He can't have this conversation out in the open like this. There are things he feels he needs to say, but they're so personal, so intimate that they have to be said under cover of darkness.

Kyouya shrugs, shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants and strolls towards the sloping bridge. His eyes seem to drink in every detail of the scenery, as if he's trying to sear the memory permanently into his brain. In spite of the lights from the tower and the ships, the hulking mass of the port terminal looms up like a giant black ghost. Dino observes that it's darker down here than he thought, but it's just as well. He feels exposed in the light, what little of it there is. A few couples pass them by as they continue along the dock, but it is late and the place is well nigh deserted. He hasn't fallen on his face--or worse, into the water--so Dino knows that Romario is close behind him, and that's fine. He's the only one.

"So," Kyouya says when they've walked some considerable distance into the dark. "You were saying? You know what you want, but..."

Dino sighs, stalls, runs a hand through his hair. "I know what I want," he says, "but...I...it's..."

It shouldn't be this difficult to say something so simple, but it is. He thought the dark would help ease the hurt of the truth, but now that he's here, the words still stick in his throat. In saying them, he will lose face. He will lose the upper hand, and with Kyouya that's the kiss of death.

"Just say it, Dino," the young man commands.

"I don't know what to do," Dino answers at last. He feels something changing in that crackling space between them. Wheels are turning in Kyouya's head, and he thinks he knows what will happen when they stop. His heart is racing, faster than it was when he first felt the warm press of Hibari's lips against his own. But a kiss is one thing, what his mind tells him might be coming is something else. Everything is moving just a bit too fast for him to handle.

Hibari stops, turns to face him, and all the calm thoughtfulness is gone, replaced by something wilder, more basic and primal. It happens fast. The wall comes up against his back and Hibari's weight slams into him, but it's not an attack--at least not one Dino is familiar with. The tense edge of passion quickens Hibari's breath to a steady panting. Their noses nearly touch. Dino moves to kiss him, but then Kyouya's hand moves swiftly, deliberately. He grips Dino firmly by the crotch and the Italian is stunned by a fiery explosion that's somewhere in the median of pleasure and pain.

Hibari whispers against his lips. "You know exactly what to do, or you have a pretty good idea. Try again."

Dino feels the tickle of breath against his neck, feels Kyouya's teeth graze his earlobe, feels the stirrings of his own erection beneath those firm, massaging fingers. It's too much, too soon. He starts to panic.

What if someone sees us? I don't think I can do this yet! I want him, but...oh, God...

"Kyouya, wait..." he gasps. "I'm not..."

"Ready?" Hibari murmurs and traces a line with his tongue from Dino's throat to his jaw and back again. He tightens his grip on Dino's balls, and grinds against his hip. "You seem pretty ready to me, so what's the real reason? Hmm?"

Dino struggles to break free, but Kyouya is relentless. He has always been relentless, and in the snarling fury of combat, Dino can endure and resist this particular quality in his studen. It is something he understands. This, however, is not. This has his blood roaring in his ears. His heart pounds so hard he thinks it will burst. Every inch of him is on fire and where Kyouya's teeth nip at his collarbone, it's like lightning strikes. His breath comes hard and fast, and he knows he is trembling, but he cannot stop. Hibari means to have him here and now, and he won't take no for an answer.

***

He can feel Dino shaking beneath him like a rabit in a trap. He knows this terror from experience, which is why he's conflicted. The last vestiges of the alcohol aren't helping, either. This kind of anxiety in others disgusts him, but coming from this man.... Dino is the one person who can stare him down in a fight. Dino is unflinching and indomitable. To have him against the wall, quaking and quivering like a frightened bird--it's narcotic. He feels triumphant, victorious, invincible.

At last! I've beaten you at last!

The way the man's body responds to his touch makes him bite harder, grip tighter. And yet, he's aware of the fine line he's walking, and it's not his intent to make Dino suffer. He doesn't wish to ruin what has been, up to this point, the most wonderful night of his life. He simply wants to hear the words. He has to know that the reason why Dino has never touched him is the same as the reason why he's worked so hard to cultivate a facade of ruthlessness and cruelty.

"Kyouya, please...don't..." Dino begs.

"Not until you say it," he whispers and bites Dino's neck. The Italian bucks beneath him and strangles out a cry of ecstasy and dread.

"Stop! I can't...I'm not..."

Dino's erection throbs beneath his hand, and he feels his own starting to strain against the fabric of his pants. He is losing control. The situation is turning, and if it doesn't end soon, events will devolve into something ugly and obscene. Hibari can't let that happen, because he will lose him. He has waited too long to lose him like this.

"Just say it, damnit," he rasps. "Say it, and I'll stop."

A growl begins, deep in Dino's throat and builds until he can contain it no longer.

"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" he howls. "I'M FUCKING SCARED, GODDAMNIT! I'm fucking terrified!"

The words echo out into the darkness and the water swallows them up. They are sweeter than any "I love you" in Hibari's ears, and he devours Dino's mouth with a kiss that originates in his toes. The feeling is so strong, he almost comes. The sudden taste of tears stops him, however, and he looks up. Dino's eyes are squeezed shut, and it's too dark to really see his face, but the trails of moisture on his cheeks pick up what light there is.

He releases his hold and starts to move away, but Dino's knees buckle, and he has to struggle to keep them both upright. Hibari embraces his golden-haired companion, leans rather than pushes Dino against the wall, and rests his head tenderly against his chest.

"I know," he soothes. "I know. Gomen, ne?"

He is surprised when he feels the warm kiss of moisture on his own cheeks. However, if there was ever a time to release his own fear and loneliness, then this is it. Both of them are breathing as if they've just run a marathon, willing their blood to cool. Eventually, Dino's arms wrap around him and hold him close.

"It scares me too, you know. Feeling like this..." Hibari says. "I'm afraid of it every day, of my life."

Silence descends, and he listens to the sound of Dino's heart beating and the sound of the water lapping against the stone pilings of the dock. Minutes pass. The lights go out making their little corner of shadow even darker. After a while, Dino regains some of his strength and shifts a little to better support their weight, but he doesn't speak. A cold and empty feeling starts to creep in and dissolve the edges of warmth he's felt ever since the restaurant. Perhaps he crossed the line after all.

"Hey, Dino. Are you OK?" he asks. "I didn't mean for it to go that far."

Silence.

"I shouldn't have pushed you, but...I had to know."

More silence. Then:

"I'll be fine," Dino murmurs, his lips brushing the top of Hibari's head. He takes a deep breath that catches just a bit on the trailing edge of his tears. "It was just...a bit much to start with, that's all."

"Sorry," Kyouya says again, unsure of what else to add. He's not used to apologizing. "Did you...did I make you...?"

"Almost," Dino laughs, embarrassed. "You?"

"Just about." Hibari laughs as well, sharing in that gentle mirth. For the second time this evening, he's astonished by the way such a small thing can cut through so much strain and uncertainty. He holds tight to Dino for a moment, then begins to disentangle himself. It is late and past time for them to head back towards where Romario is undoubtedly waiting. Before he can let go entirely, though, Dino pulls him close for a tender kiss.

"You're not angry, are you?" Hibari asks after they part. Dino's face lights up when he laughs.

"Why would I be angry?" he says in reply. "It is what I wanted, though admittedly not quite so soon or so publicly. I wasn't lying when I said I was clueless. This is...like nothing I've ever done before. I haven't quite got my head around it yet."

Satisfied with the answer, Hibari grins. "I understand."

"What about you?" Dino asks, adjusting himself and tucking his shirttail back into his pants. "Do you have much...experience...with this kind of thing?"

It's Kyouya's turn to laugh now. "If you call making one or two guys suck me off in the Reception Room experience, then yeah. I guess I do. But otherwise, I'm just as new at this as you are."

He decides to keep the identities of the guys in question a secret. Besides, he's almost pushed his luck over the edge already, and he doesn't think Dino is quite ready to hear about the things Hyato Gokudera can do with his tongue.

Dino smiles and passes a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that Hibari has decided he likes. They walk back along the dock, past the darkened ships to where Romario waits like a patient uncle.

"We've missed the last train," he informs Dino. "So, I took the liberty of getting us a hotel for the night, but..."

"I know," Dino says, forestalling any further lecturing. "We'll have to hoof it in the morning if we're going to make that first meeting."

"You can always reschedule," Romario suggests, and Dino considers for a moment. With a stab of dismay, Hibari sees the sad, gray fog start to cloud those golden eyes.

"No, Romario," he replies. "This can't wait, no matter how much I want to ignore it."

The Cavallone second nods, makes a quick phone call and then leads the way to a nearby taxi, Dino one step behind him. Hibari takes a final, lingering look at the glowing lights of the Kobe Port and follows.

________________

A note regarding Hibari and being IC: Some might argue that he's being a bit too "soft" here, but I wanted to have at least one moment in the very beginning of this new relationship with Dino where he lets his mask drop for a bit and reveals his vulnerable and fluttery little sparrow's heart.

Chiaroscuro, Chapter 3

2007-08-10T15:49:00Z

Chapter 3: The Dangers of Too Much Beer With Dinner

He's never known anyone who could sleep so much, or in so many strange places. Dino watches Kyouya as he rests comfortably, his head propped against the window of the high-speed train, face as serene as the Buddha's. Their reflections in the night-dark glass make him laugh. Complete opposites, he with his blonde hair, white suit, and black collared shirt, and his companion, dark hair just skimming the collar of his white shirt, the rest of him clad in black. They both look good, though, if the appreciative glances from various and sundry women are to be believed. Some of the glances he returns, but tonight his heart isn't in it. They're women, after all. He can have his pick of them whenever he likes. Kyouya's availability is rare, and thus treasured.

For a miracle, things are going well. Hibari has been almost civil since leaving Tokyo. He doesn't understand what possessed him to be so physical with the young man earlier. It seems as if their entire fight involved him touching Hibari in some way, and then he'd utterly lost himself at the end. He blames the look in Kyouya's eyes, the one that made him think, just for a second, that his student might want to devour him with his tongue. That look was what had done it. Trying to strangle him was only a pretense, only a means to an end. What surprises him even more is that even after the fighting was done, he couldn't stop himself. He rationalizes that it was necessary, and that, at the least, it has satisfied him enough to keep his distance now.

The train begins to slow, and as the conductor's voice comes over the squawky intercom announcing Sannomia Station, Hibari wakes.

"That's amazing," Dino breathes. He knows he's grinning like a fool, but he can't help it. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Kyouya asks, running a hand through his hair to order any stray locks.

"Wake up just at the right moment. I could have sworn you were fast asleep."

Hibari shrugs, pushes past him into the aisle. Dino follows with his entourage close behind. He rarely walks in Japan. He's been told that, here, it doesn't look good for Mafia bosses to go anywhere on foot. There's always a limo, a car or even a taxi in a pinch. Tonight, though, he wants to walk. He wants to be nothing but a young, attractive, international man of means, out for the night with his friends. Romario indulges him--he loves to walk as well--sending the others on ahead to scout out a decent restaurant.

It's a warm night, but there is a breeze that carries the scents of salt and sea and cooking meat along with it. Dino's stomach grumbles in anticipation. They pass throngs of tourists and young people out for a night of fun. Occasionally one of the over-painted, under-dressed Snack-bar girls approaches them, her shady handlers standing only a short distance away. Hibari is an expert at showing his utter contempt and disdain, and the look in his eyes makes the handlers think twice about making a move against him.

Dino also feels contempt, all of it aimed at the handlers--two-bit Yakuza wanna-bes with no concept of honor or integrity, but for the women he can feel nothing but pity. They're either poor, country girls or struggling actresses from Korea, the Phillipines or Singapore, though occasionally there are a few from Russia. On the books, what they sell is companionship, a chance to have a pretty--well, if your tastes run that way--a pretty woman by your side at a bar to fetch your drinks and laugh at your jokes. In reality, though, the places thrive on soft prostitution. Dino knows from unpleasant experience that for ichi-man-yen*, the girls will happily suck your cock. For ni-man-yen, they'll swallow, and for san-man-yen or more, they'll let you touch them while they're doing it and make you believe they love it.

He shudders at the memory, shamed and appalled that he'd ever engaged in such behavior. But, as Romario was quick to remind him at the time, it never pays to refuse a Yakuza boss when he's making what he thinks is a magnanimous gesture--particularly when you have to give him bad news at the end of the evening. A part of him wants these mooks to do something, anything, to light Hibari's fuse so that he can watch the youth beat them into a bloody mess. But these particular bastards are of the more intelligent variety, and they simply glare. Then his ketai rings, and the promise of food wins out over the thrill of violence.

I wonder if he's ever tasted Kobe beef before? Not that he'd ever admit to it if he hadn't. I can't wait to see his face when he tries it.

Buoyed by the thought, he quickens his pace, careful to keep close enough to Romario for safety. No need to become an embarrassment to himself or especially to Kyouya, not when things are going so well.

The restaurant is small but high-quality, and Battista has already made the necessary arrangements to hire the entire place for the evening. Other bosses aren't so congenial with their men, but Dino believes that his friendliness breeds loyalty rather than contempt. They remove their shoes and the plump proprietor shows them to a small, private room towards the back. Romario chooses to eat with some of the others in the room next door, which leaves him alone with Hibari for the first time since their session on the roof.

"Order whatever you want," he says, when they've settled themselves around the hibachi table.

"I plan to," Hibari answers, lifting his eyes only momentarily from the menu to stare at him. He doesn't say anything else, but Dino is used to this reticence. The young man will speak when he has something to say, and not before. A waitress appears and Dino orders two beers. As soon as she departs, Kyouya fixes him with a withering glare.

"I'm underage," he says.

"You're 18."

"Legal drinking age is 20 in Japan. You should know that by now."

Dino grins at him, patient, amused. Kyouya can be such a stickler for rules at the strangest times. "Yeah," he admits, "but if you're old enough to kill people, you're old enough to drink. And, if you keep making that face, nobody is going to stop you. Besides, steak tastes best with wine or beer, and Japanese wine is shit, sad to say."

Hibari returns to his perusal of the menu, and after a few moments, he calls for the waitress again. They order, and there is silence. The drinks come, and there is more silence, but Kyouya does take a healthy swallow of his beer.

"It's...interesting," he says. "Sour and bitter and...something else. Like bread."

And if it were my juices you were swallowing? What would you say I taste like?

The idea sends a jolt of electricity from his heart down to his groin, and he has to take a gulp of his own drink to recover. Dino is happy when the food arrives.

***

The beer--he's had several--makes his head spin, and while he likes the feeling, Hibari knows that if he's not careful, he'll lose control entirely. As it is, he's completely lost any hold he ever had on his tongue. He finds himself talking to Dino about things he'd never discuss with anyone. At any time. Ever. He talks about his parents--his mother is the only woman he's ever respected, and he misses his father, though he knows the work he does in China is important. He talks about the music he likes--classical, mostly, though some of the modern stuff is hard to listen to. He talks about politics and art and how stupid he finds Japanese television--hundreds of variety shows with silly people shouting Oishiii!** anytime they put food in their mouths. It is an alien sensation, this talking.

Dino, also, has a happy buzz about him. The grey shadow of grief has vanished, and he smiles almost constantly now, except for when he takes another morsel of beef into his mouth. That's when he makes what Hibari has determined is his "sex face". And then there are the little noises of pleasure and ecstasy that make the hairs on the back of his arms (and other places) stand on end. He is aware that he's probably made his own "sex face" at several points during the evening. It's his first ever trip to Kobe, and the beef really is as good as everyone claims. He's also aware that if he keeps drinking, he might just throw caution to the wind and find a way to test the verity of Dino's "sex face".

Ordinarily, Dino is the one who talks, but tonight, he listens, radiating that omnipresent golden light as if his head were encircled by a halo like those saints in the paintings on his apartment walls. His eyes seem to drink in every word that spills from Hibari's lips, as if that was the source of his intoxication and not the beer. It gives Kyouya ideas, that look does. Bad ideas, to be sure. Dangerous ideas--the kind that could get him beaten or killed, but pleasurable ones nonetheless.

Time goes by in increments of food, drink, and Dino's joyful laughter. It is, officially, drunk o'clock in the little restaurant. Even the proprietor and his wife have joined the carousing, learning fun and useful phrases in Italian like, Ma vaffanculo!, and Che cazzo vuoi?***. Women have appeared from somewhere, and they don't have the look of snack-girls or whores. On the whole, they look like city girls out for a bit of fun, and anyway, Dino's men are gentlemen--for the most part.

Maybe it's because everyone else is distracted. Maybe it's the beer. He doesn't know why he does it, exactly. He simply crawls around to kneel next to Dino, their faces inches apart. The moment passes in slow motion. He's both in his body and outside of it, watching in horror and fascinated amazement as he runs a hand through Dino's hair, grabs hold and locks his mouth firmly upon the Italian's. He tastes beer and steak and something that is distinctly Dino before his need to breathe makes him break contact. And realization crashes down upon him like ice water.

"Gomen!" he whispers, his face burning. Dino's eyes are round with shock, and he sits stunned, unable to move. "Gomen nasai!"

Hibari hides his face and cringes (like the quailing seven-year-old he used to be), waiting for the inevitable shock of pain that will come when Dino's fist connects with the side of his head. He is unprepared, therefore, for the sensation of hesitant fingers that brush his face and lift his chin. He can't bring himself to look at the other man, but when strong lips meet his own, when Dino's tongue forces its way into his mouth, his own eyes widen in shock before they close again in bliss.

I'm still on the train, or on the couch in his apartment. Any moment I'll wake up and find the world has gone back to the way it's always been. In the real world, Dino Cavallone does not kiss men. Not like this. In the real world, Dino Cavallone does not kiss me back...

Once again they part, and Hibari must wrap his head around the idea that he is not, in fact, dreaming. Dino sits there, face flushed and lips slightly swolen, wondering at him with a sort of bemused, bewildered expression that makes Hibari laugh out loud in spite of himself. He covers his mouth to contain the rogue sound, but it will not be suppressed. Hibari Kyouya giggles. Like a little girl.

At least it breaks the tension.

"Hey, Kyouya," Dino says, a bit breathless. "Have you ever been to the Harbor Pier?"

"Dumbass," he snickers and throws a punch at Dino's shoulder that doesn't land nearly as hard as he intends. "I told you this is my first trip to Kobe."

"Really?" Dino exclaims with such an innocent and naive look on his face that it sets Hibari to laughing all over again. "You should have said! Hey, Romario!"

The Cavallone second pokes his head around the corner, sober as a judge, but smiling nonetheless. He and Dino exchange a few rounds of lively, if not semi-slurred, Italian, and then the tall man with glasses is gone, rounding up a few more associates for whatever his boss has instructed him to do.

"Speak fuckin' Japanese, damnit," he grouses. "You know I can't speak Italian!"

"Sorry, Kyouya," Dino grins and drains the remainder of his beer in one long sip. "But I want it to be a surprise."

"I don't like surprises," he says with the gravity of absolute truth.

"No," Dino responds. "You don't like not being in control, but, indulge me, just this once."

Hibari marvels that this spoiled rich boy can bring himself to ask someone to indulge him. His whole life is indulgence! And yet, he doesn't want to kill the moment, even though Dino's comment about control stings like cold lemon juice on a cut. He mumbles his assent to be surprised, and Dino crows his excitement, which is a little shocking.

Japanese people are, as a rule, not a noisy bunch in public, and Kyouya is far quieter than most Japanese. The Italians, however, seem to have no problem talking in loud, enthusiastic voices, punctuating their points with strong gestures and raucous cries. At any other time, he'd be mortified and disgusted, but this is some strange not-time, and he figures that he can let things slide just this once.

Romario returns and helps Dino to his feet before proffering a hand to Hibari. He wants to refuse, but his legs don't seem to respond the way he wants them to, and if he's going to keep this dream in motion, he will have to move. He floats rather than walks out of the restaurant and into a waiting car, vaguely aware that his shoes have managed to find their way onto his feet again. Dino tumbles in after him and Romario takes the front seat next to the driver. They start immediately, the direction having been discussed ahead of time.

Hibari is wound tighter than a steel spring, and he can feel his pulse throbbing in his neck. Dino sits so close to him, he can smell the musky spice of his cologne, and the scent makes him want to drool. His blonde head is tilted back on the seat cushion, his mouth slightly open, and through the undone collar of his shirt, Hibari can see the telltale flash of one of his tattoos. It's all he can do to contain himself, not to rip the offending shirt off and devour the man. Dino seems calm enough, but his right knee jitters up and down of its own accord, as if all his nerves and tension have decided to settle in one place.

It takes a while to get out of the entertainment district, but once free of the congested streets, their car moves at a faster pace. He's afraid to speak or even move for fear of saying and doing something potentially embarrassing to both himself and Dino, so he looks out of the window instead. Kobe is a glorious city by night, and he imagines how green and inviting it must look by day--nothing like the endless grey expanse of Tokyo, where the high-rise buildings block out the beauty of parks and trees. It's a new city, comparatively. He is too young to remember much about the earthquake that nearly leveled the place twelve years prior, but he does know that the death-toll was been staggering and the damage extensive.

A tragic catastrophe, to be sure, but the new Kobe that has emerged from the rubble is an exciting feast of modern architectural design. As he gazes out into the dark, the structures of glass, steel and light seem to float upon the water like lotus blossoms. They are nearing the Port; he can see the distinctively shaped tower, and he begins to feel a familiar rush of adrenaline and pleasure that he usually associates with inflicting pain upon others. But the car takes a turn and lets them out in front of what looks to be a shopping mall.

"We're here," Romario remarks, and Dino waits for his second to pay the driver before he attempts to exit the car.

"Where's here?" Hibari asks.

Dino leads him from the sidewalk into the air-conditioned mall where he is immediately confronted with a giant mosaic reproduction of the Mona Lisa. Her eyes glow red then yellow and then an evil shade of green. It's absurd and tacky and one of the most amazing things ever.

"Look up," Dino says. Hibari does, and suspended high above in a vaulted ceiling full of twinkling blue lights is a marriage of indigo fabric, silver paint and white pinpoints that suggest stars. It is a classical line drawing of Orion as Michelangelo or daVinci might have painted him. It is stunning.

Hibari doesn't care that he's gawping like a fish. Who could have imagined that something so breathtaking might exist somewhere as banal as a shopping mall? Romario has wandered on a short distance ahead, and it's just the two of them now. Alone again. Dino takes his hand and leads him slowly down the long walkway. There are more giant figures suspended above, all from Greek or Roman mythology--Heracles and Casseopaea, even the Great Bear. In the center of the walk more mosaics in myriad shapes and sizes glitter and shine, glowing works of magic every one.

"This is..."

He can't finish the sentence. It's more beauty than he's equipped to handle at one time, and the lingering lightheadedness from the beer only makes it more overwhelming.

"Just wait until you see what's at the end," Dino whispers.

Some would pull him along, rush him through, but Dino holds his hand, guides him, and lets Hibari set the pace. Before long, he sees it--rather, her. A woman, a goddess, at least twelve feet tall made entirely of tiny mirrors turning in slow rotation. She wields a bow and has an arrow nocked and drawn, ready to fire. A full moon hovers over her shoulder. Hibari is speechless.

"Her name is Diana, goddess of the hunt." Dino's lips brush like feathers against his earlobe, and his breath catches in his throat at the sensation.

He becomes aware of music playing, soft and unobtrusive. For all that, it is still majestic and provides a fitting background to the slowly turning sculpture. In the daylight, she would be impossible to see, all those mirrors reflecting the sun's rays a thousandfold. But here at night, with only a few soft lamps glowing around her, she is as marvelous as the moon. He feels bewitched, undone. He reaches once more for Dino's lips and finds them with his own. The scene is surreal. He's alone in a shopping mall at night, surrounded by tacky, glittering splendor, and kissing the one person in the universe that he never, in his wildest dreams, thought it was possible to kiss. Kyouya doesn't like surprises, but this one, he loves.

_________________

*Translation 1: 10,000 yen - equivalent to aprox. $100 U.S.
** Translation 2: "Delicious!"
*** Translation 3: "Go f*ck yourself!" and "What the f*ck do you want?"

Author's Notes:

On the subject of Snack Bars: No, these are not quaint little places where you can pop in for some chips or some cookies. Rather, they are very small bar/restaurant joints that cater almost exclusively to men. Every city here in Japan has at least 50 of them in the entertainment district. The bigger cities have classier ones that often feature themes such as "Bunny Girl" and "French Maid". Not all of them are disgusting, but 95% of them are, and you can always see two or three guys standing just outside the doorway wearing black suits and smoking expensive cigarillos. These are the handlers who keep an eye on the girls who linger outside to lure drunken men up to the bars where they might be tempted to "tip" a girl to perform or pleasure them. Japanese and other Asian men seem to think nothing of these places, but most of the Western men I know find them utterly disgusting.

On the subject of Kobe: The so-called Kobe Steak you get in the States has NOTHING on what you can get in Kobe itself in one of the little street restaurants. It's still expensive as hell (I paid nearly $200 for my meal, which included beer and vegetables and appetizers), but it is worth every single penny!

The little mall that Dino takes Hibari to ACTUALLY EXISTS! Here are some pictures I took with my suck-ass cellphone camera, plus a few of the Kobe Harbor at night.

Chiaroscuro, Chapter 2

2007-08-10T15:44:44Z

Chapter 2: Distractions

Dino is exhausted. He rubs his eyes, his face, runs a hand through his hair. It feels like ages since his morning shower, and the bad business that has kept him from far more enjoyable engagements leaves its own unpleasant residue. Romario says nothing. He waits--respectfully? hesitantly?--for his boss to break the silence. Dino knows, at least everyone has always told him, that an early grave waits beyond every passing moment for mafiosi. Death's dance card is always full. And yet, it never gets easier, the news that the Black Mistress has visited yet another one of his friends, his allies, even his enemies.

"That's six, now, isn't it, Romario?" he asks, staring down at his hands. They're trembling. Out of fear or anger, he can't quite decide.

"Seven, if you count little Nunzio."

"Cazzo figlio di putana!" Dino swears and slams his fist down on to the desk. "Gli faremo un culo cosi'!" *

He is shaking now, and there is nothing of fear in it. Unless they are the Arcobaleno, children are off-limits in a professional hit. Leave them orphaned and wailing in the middle of a bloody room? Perfectly acceptable. But murder an innocent? This is not the work of an honorable family. Dino squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep, shuddering breath. There's only one way to take his mind off of this mess, though he's certain the cure is worse than the disease.

"Is he still here?" he asks.

"On the couch, sleeping," Romario answers. "I can send Fiorello and Armando up with you if you need me to make some calls."

He nods. "Do that. But hold off on telling Tsuna and Reborn. I think they'll want to hear this from me, personally."

Romario sets to work with his cellphone, and Dino takes one more deep breath before he pushes back from the desk and leaves the stifling environment of the office. As expected, Kyouya is sprawled on the couch, his chest rising and falling in a soft rhythm. He's been tossing and turning, another sign that things are out of order in the world today. The bottom edge of his shirt has worked itself out from under the waistband of his pants revealing just a flash of skin, a hint of tight muscle.

Wonder if his skin is rough or smooth right there?

Dino blinks. These traitorous ideas always spring so quickly to mind. He swallows, looks away and feels the slight sting of a blush ticking his cheeks. He's not supposed to think about men this way. Ordinarily he doesn't, but there's something about Kyouya that challenges everything he thinks he knows about himself.

His hand stretches forward of its own accord. He wants...what exactly? To touch? To explore the hard, lean, and angular planes of that body, so different from the soft curves of women? To be touched--not caressed, but...manipulated with hands as strong as his own? This young man could kill him, has tried several times with varying degrees of success. In all the years of their strange relationship, Hibari has never met his eyes with anything other than a cold, raw determination to bleed every ounce of him dry. Dino finds this disturbingly exciting.

Yes. Disturbing, like so many of those horrible words that people use to describe grown men who like to "play" with boys.

Except that isn't exactly true. Kyouya is hardly a boy--well, not now, at any rate. And in spite of the longing that eats at him whenever he's in the same room, Dino has never touched him. He has been so very careful. The bond between teacher and student is like a spiderweb, he thinks. It is strong and beautiful in its complexity, the individual gossamer strands weaving to form a near-perfect structure. It is flexible enough to withstand the necessary shocks, buffets and abuse that come with any process of tearing down and building up again. But one false move, one careless brush or stumble, and that silvery perfection will collapse.

He knows himself. He is notoriously clumsy. False moves and careless stumbles make up the majority of his life experience. So he forces his fingers to curl back into his palm, forces his arm back down to his side.

"Hey. Kyouya," he says and hopes that the strain doesn't show too much in his voice.

The dark-haired youth frowns then opens his eyes just a little. He glares. "Figures. I finally get to sleep and then you decide to show up."

"Oooh. you've got the face on today!" Dino says and grins. "This should be fun."

"I suppose," Hibari mutters. "If dying is your idea of fun."

"See you on the roof then?" he asks, turning his back on his opponent--a move calculated to push all those tiny buttons of pride and ego that Kyouya keeps so openly exposed. "Don't keep me waiting."

"Don't keep you...? Fuckin' asshole."

Dino chuckles and exits out onto the terrace. The afternoon heat makes him feel like he's been suddenly wrapped in a wet wool blanket on the surface of the sun, but excitement and anticipation help relieve his physical discomfort. He unhooks his whip from where it always hangs, coiled and ready at his hip. He stretches it taut. Kyouya won't wait; he'll attack from behind on the stairs, hoping to gain an advantage. The thrill is in not knowing how the younger man will attack.

Heart pounding, he keeps his pace steady until he thinks he hears the distinctive whistle of air that announces Kyouya's tonfa. Then his feet and hands fly in a practiced dance, setting his stance, grappling low. The boy's gotten better, quieter, but he always seems to attack from above, even when the terrain gives him a natural advantage to the contrary. With a strong shove, Dino grabs hold and flips the younger man over his shoulder.

Kyouya lies slumped over the top three stairs trying to regain the breath that has just been knocked out of him. Armando, a brick wall of a man, bends down to check on him, but Dino stops him.

"He'll be fine," Dino drawls. "I only threw him up the stairs."

Armando shrugs. "Whatever you say, boss." He points down to the terrace. "We'll be down here. Shout if you need us."

His two associates pass down the stairs as if there weren't a man gasping there, his eyes two burning slits of pure hatred. Dino nods to both of them and continues up to the roof. He doesn't look down at Kyouya, doesn't acknowledge him at all, which produces the desired affect. The boy is enraged now. He can't handle being humiliated in front of others, even if they are men he knows and respects. So many buttons--he must be taught to hide them better. Dino smiles, all his earlier troubles nearly forgotten.

***

Breathing hard, blood from a whip lash above his eye clouding his vision, Hibari is in a state of ecstasy. The soupy air makes it near impossible to move or breathe, but he knows it could be worse--he could be having this fight in southern Japan! And he's winning--well, as close to winning as he's ever come with Dino. More than that, the blonde Italian idiot is laughing!

He's barely standing, and yet he's laughing. I could kill him now, and he's laughing. I don't know whether to bludgeon him to death or say fuck everything, throw him to the ground and do what I've been wanting to do to him.

Hibari knows that no matter how much he threatens, he can't really bring himself to kill Dino, even with opportunity staring him in the face. What would he do with his afternoons, for a start? And who else would he talk to? Certainly not Sawada and his rag-tag crew of Vongola losers, though he has to admit that they don't irritate him half as much as they used to.

The whip slices through the air and Hibari has to dodge quickly to avoid becoming tangled up in it again. Maybe not so beaten as I thought. He launches himself forward, leaving all extraneous thoughts behind, or so he thinks. The summer city heat has forced both of them to strip to the waist, and he can see Dino's tattoos glowing beneath the fine sheen of sweat that only increases the definition of his flawless torso. Golden. That's the word for his hair, his eyes, his smile, his body, his presence. Golden, like the light that slices through the reddish black shadows in his favorite painting.

He snarls as his blow misses its mark and yells in frustrated anger when the whip kisses him just beneath his shoulder blade. Can't lose focus! But it is too late. The wall seems to come from nowhere, and suddenly he can't breathe. The whip wraps around his neck and bites into his skin. Dino's body is pressed up against his, pushing him into the rough concrete.

"Do you give?" he whispers, the laugh still in his voice.

Hibari's head spins, partly from lack of oxygen, partly from the sensation of Dino's breath, hot against his ear. He splutters and attempts to choke out an answer, but can only manage a slight nodding of his head. It is enough. The whip uncoils and Dino moves away. Hibari is mortified at the sense of loss and disappointment that follows. He sinks to his knees, gasping.

Dino sits beside him, his own breath labored. "That was close," he says. "I thought you had me. What happened?"

"You got lucky," Hibari growls and rubs his neck where the burn still lingers.

What else can I say? "I got distracted by your amazing body?" No. Can't say that. He really would strangle me.

"Let me see that," Dino says, and reaches out to touch him. Hibari instinctively slaps his hand away, but Dino is not deterred. His fingers make contact, surprisingly gentle where they brush against the darkening bruise.

"It's nothing," Hibari mutters, and tries to move away, but Dino grabs his head in both hands and holds him fast. He takes his time, Hibari thinks, not content to simply examine the strangulation marks. Those careful fingers find the still-bleeding gash above his eye. Dino sucks in his breath.

"Almost got your eye," he says. "Sorry about that."

"Don't apologize," Hibari spits. "It's insulting."

Dino laughs and releases him. Once again, Hibari feels disappointment.
"You might be trying to kill me," the Italian says, his eyes glinting, "but as I've told you so many times before, it's not my intent to kill you."

"That's because you're soft," Hibari quips. "And stupid."

He wonders why he can't just let go of the anger, stuff his bastard-self down into some deep corner of his mind and say something nice for a change. But once again, what would he say? He has nothing that the other man would accept, nothing beyond contempt, loathing, or acidity.

"Whatever," Dino says and rises to his feet in one smooth motion. "I was careless. Anyway, thanks for today. I needed this."

Hibari feels rather than sees the tiny flicker of sadness pass like a shadow across Dino's face. It is then that he understands why their sparring felt different, why the Mafia boss had been laughing like a fool. He has seen it once before, this spectre of grief clouding the warmth of his mentor's eyes. In spite of the loud voices of protest in his head, he doesn't want to leave the man alone this evening to rattle about his fine apartment like a marble in a can.

"I want steak for dinner," he says, abruptly. "I've only got cup ramen at my place."

Dino's face brightens a bit. He fishes in a pocket for his ketai and checks the time. "Hmm. There's a place in Shinjuku that's pretty good. Or we could take the shinkansen to Kobe if you want."

"Idiot. I said I wanted steak. Where else would we go?"

Hibari rises gracefully to his feet, collects his tonfa, and attempts a smile, which on his face usually emerges as a murderous grin. It seems to satisfy the Italian, though.

"Come on," Dino says, and throws his arm over Hibari's shoulders. "Let's get you cleaned up. We'll have to hustle if we're going to make the train."

It's such a casual gesture, one practiced by men everywhere. And yet, the contact is so special, so electric, that Hibari never stops to wonder why Dino has never dared to do it before.

__________

* Trans: "F*cking son-of-a-whore! I'll rip him a new a**hole!"

Chiaroscuro, Chapter 1

2007-08-10T15:34:19Z

One glorious day in Osaka, as I was being initiated into the ways of the doujin shop, I came across a book featuring a super-sexy golden haired man and a younger looking, gorgeous Japanese guy. The cover art was SO smut-tastic that I had to buy it. Later, I discovered that these two smokin' hot men were named Dino and Hibari, and that they were characters from a current popular manga series, Katekyoushi(Home Tutor) Hitman Reborn! I have since become completely hooked on this manga, and have purchased a scandalous amount of Dino/Hibari doujinshi--which, for my HP fandom friends is fanfic/fanart that you can make and sell for profit.

The basic premise is that a young Japanese kid, Tsuna Sawada, discovers that he's next in line to become the boss of the Vongola Mafia Family. Because he's sort of a screw-up kid, the Vongola's most trusted and feared hitman, Reborn, comes to train him up. There's an interesting quirk here, though: Reborn is a tough-talkin', fedora-wearin' CHILD. Through the course of the story, Tsuna learns more about his bizarre heritage and meets various and sundry others who aid him in his efforts to become the 10th Vongola Boss.

For the purposes of this story, all you need to know is that Dino Cavallone is Tsuna's ally and acts like his big brother. Dino was once just like Tsuna - a clumsy, no-good loser. But thanks to Reborn's training, he has become the respected boss of the Cavallone family. In the manga, he's about 20 years old to Tsuna's 14. In this story, he's around 23. That's because...

Hibari Kyouya is a truly scary and dangerous kid who, when we first meet him in the manga, is a year ahead of Tsuna in school. He also runs the school and, it's believed, the entire Namimori neighborhood, through violence, coersion, bribery, and just pure evil. When it's discovered that he will have to become one of Tsuna's guardians, Dino takes it upon himself to train Hibari up a bit. Hibari is LESS than OK with this situation and frequently vows that he will kill Dino. In fact...Hibari frequently threatens to kill anyone who annoys him for any reason. In the manga, he's about 15. In this story, he's around 18 or 19 and has been training with Dino for a few years.

If you have any other questions, feel free to ask. I'm more than happy to pimp this fandom to new people--particularly since the smut is so fantastic!

For everyone else, please enjoy this first segment in what is intended to be a two or three part story. The inspiration for this came from one of my favorite Dino/Hibari doujins--a book called "Angela" by the LAS circle. This first story, Chiaroscuro is the set-up to the inspired story. I hope you like it.

Title: Chiaroscuro
Author: The Lovely One
Rating: PG in earlier chapters; R in the latter ones
Characters/ Pairings: Hibari/Dino with cameo appearances by YamaGoku and assorted supporting players.
Warnings: Spoilers for the Varia arc, language that would make a sailor blush, smut and smex in a wide variety of styles and flavors, and violence.
Chapters: 7
Summary: Hibari's entire existance has been built upon a carefully crafted facade. He is a dark force in his world. Except that Dino Cavallone has a smile like the sun, shining light onto secrets Hibari would rather remain hidden.

Chapter One: The Long Walk. The Long Wait.

Hibari strides through the blessedly air-conditioned lobby of the Royal Terrace Apartments with a confidence borne of familiarity. The usual Cavallone mooks are in their usual places, scattered about here and there--one pretending to doze, another seemingly engrossed in a newspaper. He ignores them, and they do likewise. As far as they're concerned, he's family. As far as he's concerned, they're not worth his time and energy. Not many people are anymore--not since he started sparring with Dino (though he can't quite remember when it became sparring instead of attempted murder).

At the elevator bank, he opens the frosted glass panel in the wall and pushes the deliciously smooth brass buttons in the sequence of his code. The heavy doors slide open without a sound, and he enters the small compartment. Another mook--he likes that word, though Dino probably wouldn't appreciate having the term applied to his own family members--waits inside. He doesn't speak, just turns a key that activates the express function.

Hibari smiles at his reflection in the mirrored interior. He gives his head a toss to re-order a stray lock of hair and brushes an invisible piece of lint off of the black jacket that hangs so casually from his shoulders. The red prefect's badge is gone, replaced by another of his own design. In the weeks between the end of san-nensei exams and graduation, he's been a bit bereft. Universities function differently from junior and senior high schools, and though Dino often speculates that in a year's time he'll be running Tokyo University, too, Hibari is not quite as certain. It might take two years.

The elevator slows to an easy stop and his silent companion takes a step back from the control bank. Hibari once again enters his code into the small keypad beside the keystop, and the doors slide open. Ten men line the short hallway to the broad oak double doors that mark the boundary between the outside world and the private sanctuary of Dino Cavallone. These men he knows by name because their presence is worth the effort of acknowledgement. In the years that he's been coming to this place, these men have challenged him, pushed him, educated him.

Battista, with the stony face and uncanny ability to pin even a mosquito with one of his knives, Santo--the only one aside from Dino who'd ever given him a lasting scar, Giustino and Giancarlo, the swarthy twins who had taught him how best to fight with his fists, his feet and anything else that might come to hand--each one earns a nod and meeting of the eyes as he passes. They, in turn, regard him in their own way. None smile. Dino is the only one with that idiotic habit.

But you like that, don't you? His smile?

His left eye twitches, the only outward sign of the wild thought that has the nerve to escape from the place where he hides all such thoughts. These escapees--they have been all too prevalent as of late, and they never come alone.

Makes you want to shove your tongue into his mouth, grab hold of that silky, golden hair, and...

He shakes his head, tries to make it look deliberate. Some secret desires should be left secret. Besides, any man with Dino Cavallone's machismo would probably kill him for attempting half of what he fantasizes about when he's alone in the dark. Hell, sometimes he wants to beat himself into a bloody pulp for feeling and imagining what he's always been told is forbidden, obscene, disgusting and unnatural.

Like what it would be like to trace his tattoos with your tongue, all the way down his body to his...

"Ciao," he says to Brizio, using the Italian greeting rather than his standard one in Japanese, just to distract his brain. The lanky, fair skinned man--one of Dino's first cousins, if he remembers correctly--seems equally surprised to hear his own language emanating from the lips of Hibari Kyouya. Brizio merely nods in reply and opens one of the heavy doors.

The simple elegance of Dino's apartment never fails to impress. The furniture, what there is of it, is Western, and while it is obscenely expensive, each piece is hand crafted in clean, classic lines, form married firmly to function with the gentle ease of comfort. The art on the walls is museum quality. Old Masters. Hibari's favorite is the one by Caravaggio with all that contrast between dark and light. He has been known to spend hours gazing into its depths.

There is no excess, none of the silly odds and ends that many wealthy people seem to cram on and into every available space. There are only those things that proclaim the man and his life: individual photographs of family members of all ages, rows of leather-bound photo albums lining shelves shared with a wealth of books and magazines, a staggering collection of CDs and DVDs, a large tome featuring the world's best tattoo art.

Romario meets him halfway. "It's going to be a while," the Cavallone right-hand says. "Some unexpected business. Make yourself at home. I'll be in the office if you need me."

Hibari nods, drapes his jacket neatly over the back of a chair. The office door opens and Dino's voice is audible for only a few seconds before silence is restored again. He only hears a jumble of syllables, nothing he can yet piece into words with his lamentable self-taught Italian skills, but it doesn't matter. It's Dino's voice, as warm, golden and glowing as the man himself.

What would it be like to hear that voice, his breath hot against your ear?

"Fuck! Stop it!" he hisses at himself, brows knitted together as if frowning alone can stop these particular thoughts once they break loose. "This is not you. This is not who Hibari Kyouya is!"

He flops down onto the couch, the leather soft and buttery. Perhaps it's a good thing that Dino is making him wait today. He needs the time to regain the control that is so essential to his continued sanity in this place. Eyes closed, Hibari breathes and forces his body to relax. He breathes and he calls forth old memories, ones that are used to being dragged naked and broken into the arena of his mind. It's how he reminds himself that the facade he has built is necessary.

Kyouya is seven years old. The ceremonial hakama are too stiff, and the zori on his feet are threatening to throw him onto the gravel path. His parents and grandparents steer him towards the entrance of the shrine through the throngs of other children dressed in kimono like so many strange butterflies in the depths of winter. They are proud of him. He only hopes that none of the older boys in the neighborhood see him dressed up like some Heian princess' doll. Not that they could touch him today, but tomorrow...

They kneel together inside the shrine and the ceremony begins. The priest chants, the priestesses ring bells and sound drums. This is a remnant of an older time, his parents tell him, when more children died than lived. Those lucky enough to survive were celebrated and blessed by the gods. Kyouya wonders if these blessings will be enough to see him to his next birthday.

He knows he is small. He knows that with his porcelain skin and fine bones, more often than not, strangers mistake him for a girl, particularly when his mother lets him go a bit too long between haircuts. He's also smart, brilliant, actually--the kiss of death in combination with all the rest. He has seen what happens to the other small, shy, sensitive boys whose only offense to the older, stronger boys is that they exist at all.

On that day, in the Namimori shrine, Hibari Kyouya thinks about all of the things that frighten him about the neighborhood delinquents. It's in their eyes, he thinks. They look as if they want to kill every living thing in the world that offends them. He's seen them torturing animals for fun, kicking dogs and capturing birds, plucking out their feathers. When he's alone, Kyouya weeps for these small creatures--but only when he's alone.

The bullies also have weapons--rocks and pipes and knives. It's the proof of the promise of pain they dangle before their victims. His father has weapons, too, though they don't seem as deadly as some others he's seen. He calls them tonfa, and they have an interesting history that Kyouya has only half listened to. The only thing that matters is that they're a weapon of self-defense. Though, the idea of standing his ground against boys twice his size seems more like suicide.

Still, he makes a promise to himself and the honored spirits enshrined in that place. The monsters can't get you if they think you're one of them...

There are other memories. He doesn't like looking at them, but it is necessary:

The day he drew first blood in a fight. He'd beaten the other boy near to death, and then he promptly threw up as soon as he was well out of sight.

The time he'd come as close to dying as he'd ever thought he would, though it had earned him unquestioned status as leader of Namimori Junior High School. He'd told his parents he'd been trying to break up the fight. They never considered that he'd started it.

Haruka Fukumoto climbing onto him in the dark of the karaoke booth, groping him, expecting him to do to her what all the middle-school girls wished he'd do to them. That day he'd come to understand exactly who and what he was. Oh, he'd bent her over and fucked her like she wanted, but nobody but him knew that, the whole time, he'd been thinking about Kenji Kurogi and his strong, broad shoulders.

It's this final memory that he clings to like a tree in a typhoon. It's the reason he's tried so hard to become a murderous, near-psychotic bastard. And yes, he's grown to enjoy the pleasure of blood, the rush that comes with the pain he inflicts on those who disturb the flow of his well-ordered universe. But there are other things he'd rather enjoy.

Like the feeling of his hands running down your chest, his lips wrapped around your...

He grabs hold of one of the pillows, punches it repeatedly, thrashes about with his fist jammed tight against his mouth until he's sure he's beaten the frustration and shame back down into its place. Hibari grows calm again and makes an effort to think of absolutely nothing other than the warm softness of the couch and the heady scent of leather. Eventually, he falls asleep.

A Voice Upon The Waves (I) Chapter 2

2007-03-29T09:33:35Z

Daybreak launched her first volleys of burnished gold in stretching streamers across the quiet purple of the grounds, catching fire upon the wavering glass of the lake below. Then a sudden racket of shushing leaves and wickering from the branches of the Forbidden Forrest announced a rapid-fire burst of birdflight, a cloud of black expanding, contracting into a gyre and wheeling off to the south.

Sirius Black loved start of term. He sat perched in the open, peak-arched window of his dorm room in Gryffindor Tower, shivering in the early morning damp. The grounds were silent now, but soon they would be teeming with Hogwarts students fluttering back and forth in black robes, dark grey pants and skirts, and bright ties and scarves in house colours. If there were gods in the heavens, some of the skirts would be shorter this year.

The breeze stirred, nudging his dark hair into his eyes. He tossed his head to move it, a frequent gesture and one he practiced in front of the mirror sometimes. Girls loved it when he tossed his head, especially when it looked effortless, perfect. Some accused him of being vain, but Sirius understood that his looks were a gift, an asset to be used to his best possible gain. Thus far they had gained him some rather nice make-out sessions with a variety of girls in a variety of places about the castle and grounds. He smiled at the memories of a few of those clandestine moments of passion. Nancy Rich in the Restricted Section at the library. Julia Montgomery behind the Quidditch Pitch. Skiving off classes with Allison Fredericks in a forgotten room near the top of West Tower. He'd almost gone all the way that time, but she'd gotten cold feet at the last second. Tease.

Sirius looked out toward the lake again. The sun had become two perfect balls of orange, one steadfast, one rippling. It was early, another hour or so before all of the hectic bustle of new schedules and new classes began. Even so, a figure stood at the edge of the water, looking off into the distant expanse of rose colored sky. He squinted and held his breath, straining to see who it might be, this early riser. He could make out long black hair floating in the breeze like a flag and the quick flutter of pleats, a skirt in the wind, peeking out beneath the hem of a black pea coat. Her presence was so unexpected, it fixed him. He watched as she strolled along the lapping edge. The crunching of feet on gravel was faint over the chirping of birds and susurrus of trees, but Sirius also heard another sound – a voice on the air, high, light, mystical. Whoever she was, she was singing. He held his breath, strained to catch the smallest scrap of that silver sound, but the girl faced away from him, sending her voice out onto the gently rolling surface of the lake.

“Communing with nature, are we?” Sirius tore himself away from the strange song to meet the sparkling bespectacled eyes of his best friend, James Potter.

“Very funny, Prongs.” Sirius retorted, sliding down off of the sill and closing the window. “You're looking well this morning.”

“So are you, considering that it was quite the welcome back party we threw last night.” James stretched, yawned and ran a hand through his dark hair, mussing it deliberately. “Where are Remus and Peter? Still asleep?”

“They never went to bed.” Sirius smirked. “Of course Peter put off doing his History of Magic essay on some weird...ancient...Sea Witches of Ireland...thing, so Lupin's been up all night helping him.” James chuckled, shaking his head.

“Figures. I didn't see them in the common room, so I guess they're already headed down to brekky. I suppose we should head that way too.” Sirius nodded, giving himself the once-over in the mirror.

“By the way,” James added, picking up his book bag, “what were you looking at out there?”

“Don't know,” Sirius shrugged. “Nothing really. Let's go down and eat before Peter devours all the bacon. You'd think he never ate during the summer the way he puts it away when he gets here.”

He pulled on his robes, taking care to loosen his tie just enough to appear casually rumpled, and gestured for James to lead the way. The two made their way through the common room, out through the portrait of the Fat Lady, and into the long hallway leading to the central staircase. Once or twice along the way to the Great Hall, Sirius paused at the massive windows looking out towards the lake and searched for his mystery girl, but she was gone and the water was once again peaceful and deserted.

**********

The Great Hall was warm, inviting, and teeming with the excited buzz and chatter of first day anticipation. Sirius found his two friends about midway down the Gryffindor table. As usual, Lupin had his nose deep in a book. Peter sat mouth open, eyes wide, pen dripping nasty ink blotches onto his half-finished parchment, completely absorbed in one of Matt Corrigan's summer stories.

“Morning, James. Morning, Sirius,” Remus murmured, blindly reaching for a piece of toast.

“Didn't you get enough reading in during the summer?”

“See, that's the thing about reading, Sirius. When you actually do some, you kinda want to keep at it.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “How's your head this morning?”

“I'll manage,” Sirius replied. “Yours?”

“I've felt worse.” Remus gestured towards the small knot of Gryffindors now clustered around Corrigan. “He's been here all of ten minutes and we've already heard about his narrow escape from Muggle law enforcement in Rome while in persuit of a lovely signorina.” He smirked. “As usual, Peter is enraptured.”

“Oh, come on, Moony,” the smaller boy whined, tearing his attention away from the Gryffindor seventh year and focusing on his friend. “Even you have to admit that it's pretty amazing. I mean, Rome? Venice? Geneva? All in the same vacation? Only place I went this summer was up to my Aunt's in Manchester.” He grimaced as he noticed his blotchy paper and went rummaging in his bag to find his Rub-Write-Out eraser.

“So, Gentlemen,” James began, clearing his throat and drawing forth his schedule. “What's on the agenda for this term?”

“Potions, of course,” Sirius answered, drawing his schedule from the pocket of his robes. “Advanced Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Metaphysics. How about you, Mr. Moony?”

“Well, mine's pretty much the same, except I'm taking Advanced Arithmancy instead of Metaphysics. I've got that next term.”

“Same for me,” Peter beamed, emerging from his booksack. “Well, except for the Advanced Arithmancy part.”

“So,” James announced, “once again, the Marauders advance united against the tyrannous onslaught of boring professors, far too much homework, and term papers given over Quidditch weekends!” The others laughed and punctuated his statement with hearty “here-heres” as they lifted glasses of orange juice. James took a bite of bacon and chewed thoughfully for a moment.

“I wonder if Evans is taking Metaphysics this year...”

At the mention of Lilly Evans' name, both Peter and Remus snickered, exchanging amused glances.

“I wonder if Evans will realize you're not the Devil this year,” Lupin sighed, mocking his friend. Both he and Peter burst into snickering laughter while James rolled his eyes. Normally Sirius would have joined in teasing his best friend about his crush, but something else had captured his attention.

A trio of girls had entered the Great Hall, chattering and excited, cheeks and knees rosy coloured from the cool morning wind. Two of them he recognized. Mary Dennis, a Hufflepuff sixth-year, was perky, short, blonde and slightly plump, although her body still curved in all the right places. She didn't wear her skirt as short as some girls, but that was mostly because the pleasant roundness of her bottom necessitated extra length for the sake of modesty. Gennie Wilcher, a Gryffindor fifth-year and Peter's current crush, was Sirius' definition of average. Brown hair, brown eyes, not too tall, not too short. She was slender, but not a stick figure, and she had enough of a chest to make a guy notice, but not enough to fuel secret nighttime fantasies. She was pretty, but not stunning. She was also a royal bitch in his opinion, so what Peter saw in her was anyone's guess.

The third girl was in Ravenclaw, judging by her robes, and while she had a familiar look to her, he couldn't place it. In a way, she reminded him of his cousin, Bellatrix, with her air of mystery and the way she towered over the other girls. Long black hair hung like a velvet curtain down her back over strong shoulders that suggested rowing or perhaps swimming. That athletic look was so extreme on some girls as to be unattractive, but there was something infinitely feminine about her that offset the leanness. Perhaps it was her eyes, almond shaped and hazel, shadowed with thick lashes. Maybe it was a certain china-doll fineness in her cheekbones and her fingers. Whatever it was, Sirius understood that he was bedazzled by it.

The three made their steady approach, and then something astonishing happened. The beautiful, dark eyed girl spoke, a sound like melted butter and honey on bread.

“Hello, Remus.”

Sirius was momentarily stunned. She had spoken to Lupin. Unassuming Lupin, with his nose always buried in a book. Lupin, who was practically afraid of girls, tripping over his own feet and his tongue when he came into contact with one he liked. Lupin, who most days had to be convinced of his own good looks and worthiness as a human being. Sirius felt he had missed a fundamental shift in the workings of the universe.

“Remus?” she repeated, an unsure smile appearing about her lips. Sirius could see the gears turning in his friend's head as he tried to fathom why this vision of loveliness was adressing him. Then the light of recognition broke over Lupin's face along with rays of surprise, amazement and, then delight.

“Zan!” he cried, and leapt out of his seat to catch her up in an embrace of laughter. Releasing her after a few moments, he held her out at arm's length as if he were studying a work of art. “You look amazing! How are you? How was your summer?”

“I got contacts.” She blushed, and Sirius got the strange feeling that she'd never been told she was pretty before, which had to be impossible.

“That's not all,” Lupin said, still perusing her face. “You're different, like on a soul level. It's definitely more than just contacts.”

“You ready to go, Remus?” Mary piped up. She waggled her fingers at Sirius. He winked back and performed his much-practiced head toss. It had the intended effect, for she fluttered her eyelashes at him, bit her lower lip, and giggled.

“Go? Go where?” Peter asked, directing his question to Gennie who had been pointedly ignoring him since she'd arrived. “Classes don't start for another half hour!” She fixed him with an irritated smirk.

“We're all on the committee for the Hogsmeade Halloween Festival. If you actually paid attention to your friends, you'd know that Remus is the Chair.” Her tone was cool and condescending.

“Everyone involved is meeting for a few minutes this morning to decide what we want to do this year,” Lupin explained.

“Shounsh like fuhn,” Peter said through a mouthful of bacon. Gennie threw him a disgusted look, at which he quickly swallowed and turned a violent shade of pink.

“So, are you ready,” Mary asked again.

“Yeah, let's go.” Lupin, grabbed his book and a few pieces of toast and started out with the girls. “I'll see you guys in Potions, okay?” he called over his shoulder.

“Right, see ya,” Sirius answered back as James and Peter waved. Once the group had exited, James turned to Peter and cleared his throat.

“So,” he began, “tell me again. Exactly why are we supposed to like Gennie?”

“Because, when she comes to her senses and realizes what a wonderful guy I am...”

“Like that's ever going to happen,” Sirius muttered, and James smiled.

“I'll expect my friends to treat her with kindness and respect,” Peter continued in spite of the interruption.

“So, until then we can treat her like the raging bitch she is?” James asked.

“Oh, come on! She's not that bad. Besides, I like her. She's strong and smart, beautiful, funny. So what if she's a challenge?”

“Your skewed aesthetic sense aside,” Sirius said, stretching his legs out and lacing his fingers behind his head, “I think there's a difference between being strong and smart and being a domineering know-it-all.”

“You're just mad because she somehow resisted your famous charm and turned you down flat.” Peter retorted. Sirius rolled his eyes and mouthed, “Yeah, right,” then grinned.

“Speaking of beautiful,” James chimed in. “Who was that Zan girl? She was rather fit, don'tcha think? I thought the world was ending when she latched on to Moony like that.”

“Mmm. Tell me about it,” Sirius agreed. “Girls like that usually don't give him the time of day, let alone talk. Though I've got to give him credit. He didn't fall over himself this time.”

Peter chuckled quietly to himself and shook his head. “And Gennie says I don't pay attention. I'd hate to hear what she says about you two.”

“What's that mean?” James challenged.

“Zan? Ales-SAN- dra?” he prompted. The others shrugged and shook their heads, still not getting it. “Alex Bellasera?” he sighed, exasperated. “Ginormous fat girl? Thick bottle glasses, double chin, hair always in those stupid buns on either side of her head? Always wears her sweaters about as long as her skirt to try and hide her massive arse?”

“Oh no,” Sirius breathed, the spark of recognition kindling into a terrible fire in his brain. “That was HER! It can't be!”

“Don't you remember?” Peter went on. “She was in our Herbology class last year? She'd lost some weight between first year and then, but she was still pretty huge. I seem to recall a certain person casting a rumble-foot jinx on her.”

“That was her!” Sirius winced and ran a hand through his hair. “I knew I recognized her, but I didn't know from where.” He was suddenly struck with a horrible thought.

“You don't suppose she remembers all the rotten things we used to do to her, do you?”

“Probably,” Peter replied in an off-hand tone. “Well, at least now she's someone Lupin can safely be seen with in public. I'd chalk it up in the all's-well-that-ends-well column and let it go.”

“Besides,” James weighed in, “even if she does remember, it's not like we've cast any hexes on her lately, so it's all right. Right?”

“I don't know,” Sirius muttered and stared off into space. He hoped it was all right. To be completely honest, he didn't know what spell she'd used to transform herself from nobody into knockout, but he hoped it had also erased any lingering bad memories. Unfortunately, as he tallied up the numerous pranks and tricks that lay before his door, he didn't think that was at all likely to happen.

A Voice Upon The Waves (I) Chapter 1

2007-03-18T21:26:00Z

I started writing this story in November of 2005, and it was my first attempt at novel-length fiction. As such, it was always a writing experiment for me. Here in 2007 and at the mid-point of the story, I decided that it was time for a major re-write. The reasons for this were many. I had made some unsatisfactory characterization choices, some woefully underdeveloped characters, issues with phrasing, and scenes/dialogue that needed to wear more flesh.

As these changes were extreme, I was told I needed to delete the old story from the MNFF archive and re-submit the new chapters as I would a new story. I'm posting the old version [marked (O)]here so that readers can still access it. I will also post the new version [marked (R)] in later days so you can see the differences between the two versions.

Happy reading!

I: The Terminal Ward

Harry Potter followed his friends Hermione, Ron and Neville down the pristine corridors of St. Mungo's and observed that he did not care for hospitals very much--not even Wizarding ones. Bright, clean and efficient were the words the building wanted to whisper to its patients and visitors. Harry, however, only heard cold, white and stark. He did think he would feel very comforted in any setting, for what ailed him was quite beyond the skill of any healer to improve.

Faces and objects passed by, but Harry only half-saw them. His mind was as weary and numb as his heart. Two months and five days since.... He couldn't complete the thought. The hurt was still fresh, and not even a shortened term with the Dursleys could erase the slow anger and the dull ache that came when he realized that Sirius simply wasn't. Nothing remained. No gravestone to visit and adorn with flowers. No urn upon the mantelpiece to cherish for generations. His godfather was gone, and he had taken with him Harry's last hope of a real family. Someone tugged on his hand, and he realized he must have slowed to a stop again. It was Tonks, one of their escorts for the day, who had arranged her features so that she looked like a kindly old nurse.

“Come on, Harry,” she said gently. “We don't have much time.”

“Yeah,” Ron chimed in. “Neville's gran might not believe it took us this long just to find a Grundarian Fireberry sapling.”

Neville, who had been lost in thought, contemplating his mother's latest gum wrapper gift, blinked and nodded his agreement.

“Besides, Professor Lupin's waiting for us,” Hermione noted. “He looked tired this morning--more tired than I've ever seen him. We should probably go so he can rest.”

Harry did remember how shocked he had been when he saw Lupin that morning. His face was paler, more gaunt and haggard than usual. The eyes that always held such fire and brilliance seemed muted, weakened and sad. And why wouldn't they? Sirius had been Lupin's best friend. Shaking his head to clear it, Harry gave a half smile to his friends.

“Sorry. Let's go then.”

The group of them made their way through two more sets of double doors to the place where they were to meet Remus Lupin. However, when they arrived, their escort was nowhere to be found.

“This isn't like him at all,” Hermione murmured, a line of concern creasing her eyebrows.

“Actually,” Tonks ventured, “he's been like this a lot lately. Most of us figure it's because of...well...you know.” She glanced quickly at Harry. “But McGonagall seems to think it's something else.”

She appeared about to explain, but instead paused to flag down a passing nurse who wore a name tag reading VISITOR RELATIONS.

“Dearie,” she sang in a high-pitched voice. “These young people are lookin' for their guardian. A tall man, greyin' brown hair, sort of tatty, rumpled robes. Might'ye have seen 'im?”

“Well now, let me see,” the other nurse replied. She took several minutes to think, and Harry had the sneaking suspicion that she was going through some sort of mental list of every person she had seen that morning.

“Oh, yes," she exclaimed at last. "I remember him! Quite distressed. Didn't look at all well if you ask me. He spoke to Flora at the welcome desk, and then talked to a shifty looking, dark-haired wizard he seemed to know. I don't know what that wizard said to him, but after he left, the rumple-robed bloke fainted dead away.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper, and with a look of true pity, pointed to a solitary black line on the floor that trailed off down a somber hallway.

“They took him down there. Room 973. I'm so sorry, my dears.”

Neville and Tonks both gasped, and Hermione looked even more distressed. Harry turned to Ron with a questioning look, but Ron simply shrugged. They followed the black line down the dim hallway, past portraits of kindly witches and wizards, young and old, each of whom had some sort of encouraging words to impart.

“It will be alright, believe me,” breathed a pretty young woman in a sweeping red velvet dress.

“Be strong, young ones. It is but a greater mystery your loved one seeks.” This came from a portrait featuring a tall, violet-eyed wizard in heavily embroidered robes. He appeared to be practicing alchemy.

“Take heart, for there are worse things in this world than death.”

Harry frowned at the grandfather wizard who had offered the last comment. At that present moment, there wasn't anything he could think of that could be worse than death. However, the comments, the black line and the gloomy lighting all contributed to the sinking suspicion that he knew where he was headed – a suspicion that was confirmed when they reached a pair of stained glass doors at the end of the hallway. The brass plate above them read: TERMINAL WARD.

No one spoke. No one dared say what they all were thinking.

It's too soon, Harry thought. He looked fine. The potion's been helping. What he refused to voice, even in his heart of hearts, was that he could not lose Remus Lupin too. Not so soon. It would be too much, like that nightmare he sometimes had of a Hogwarts semester where his whole schedule was nothing but double Potions with Slytherin. He wouldn't survive. It would drive him mad.

“Well, there's no use just standing here ignoring it,” Tonks said. “Let's go in and see what's happened. You never know...they may have put him in the wrong ward.”

The group pushed through the doors and entered an area that struggled in vain to look like someone's home. The hallway floor was dark wood parquet and a soft Persian carpet ran down its length. The wallpaper was done in a tasteful print, and paintings of pastoral scenes hung. Even the rooms that they could see into as they passed looked more like someone's bedroom than a hospital room. Occasionally they would pass someone, a witch or wizard, sometimes with children, sometimes without, all wearing expressions of deep pain and hopelessness.

Finally, they reached room 973. Harry took a deep breath and knocked. There was no answer. Timidly, he knocked again, and after waiting several seconds through the ensuing silenced, he quietly pushed the latch and opened the door.

Remus Lupin sat in a chair near the bedstand, his head in his hands. In the bed was a woman, or what remained of a woman. She seemed to be wasting away into nothingness, a small, fragile creature, floating in a sea of white pillows and blue blankets. Her skin was paper thin and pale like an old woman's, but she still retained the appearance of youth. The black hair that hung down to about where her waist would be was whisper thin and it made a spiderweb across her pillow and cheek. Her eyes were closed and her breath came in labored gasps that reminded him of the sound that the wind made when it whipped past his window at night. In her hand was a vial of a pearly white liquid.

“Professor?” Harry ventured, taking a few steps into the room. The others had stopped at the threshhold, too stunned to move forward. The older man lifted his head revealing red, tearstained, tired eyes with none of their usual light and mischief.

“Her lips were red, her looks were free,” Lupin recited in a cold, flat tone. “The Night-Mare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.”

“Professor?” Hermione whispered. Ron placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It's no use,” he choked. “She's fading.”

“Who is she?” Neville asked, compassion filling his eyes with tears.

“She's...” The older man hesitated to regain his voice. “She's an old friend. The last one left.”

Tonks took a few careful steps towards the bed, eyes wide taking in what she was seeing.

“This is Zan?” she squeaked. “What's happened to her? How long has she been here.”

“Two weeks,” Lupin answered, fresh tears coursing their slow way down his cheeks ending in dark brown splotches on his robe.

“Well, that explains.... Does Dumbledore know?” Tonks asked. Lupin nodded.

“He's already been here. Nothing he can do. She...she's made her choice.” He gestured to the vial of liquid. “She asked Severus to make it up for her, but he refused to give it to her himself. Said he'd already gone against his better judgement making it in the first place.”

“So you gave it to her instead?” Tonks cried. “Remus, what were you thinking?”

Lupin dropped his head into his hands once more, his shoulders shaking with the effort of containing the wave of sobs that threatened to overtake him.

“You...you know I can't refuse her anything,” he stammered. “She wants to die.” His strength gave out and he dissolved into an agonized heap of pain and tears. Tonks crossed the small, spare room with slow deliberate steps to place an arm around the grieving man.

Harry struggled to take it all in. The woman in the bed. Professor Lupin. The spinning in his head and the growing feeling of icy fingers gripping his insides. Too much death, he thought. It's too much.... He felt helpless. At least he could blame Sirius' death on Voldemort and the Death Eaters. That allowed him some comfort. This was different. This was slow, agonizing, and he couldn't pin any sort of blame on anyone for it. Without realizing, Harry began to shake and he felt a familiar wetness stealing down his cheeks. At that moment, however, he also felt a firm pressure on his arm and another hand grasping his.

“It's OK, Harry,” Hermione comforted, giving his hand a squeeze.

“C'mon mate,” Ron breathed, pulling slightly on Harry's arm. “Neville and I are going to go outside and wait.”

He allowed himself to be lead out into the hall and down to an open room with lots of cushiony couches and chairs scattered about. He deliberately made his mind a blank and halfway enjoyed the resulting calm. It felt good not to think, not to feel. After a few moments, Hermione placed a bottle of something cold and fizzy in his hand, and he drank automatically, feeling somewhat better even after the first sip.

“Cheering Charm,”she explained, appologetically. “I thought you could use one.” Neville was also occupied with his own bottle, Harry noticed.

“Thanks.”

"So, who do you suppose she is?” Ron asked.

“She seemed sort of familiar,” Hermione noted. “But as pale and drawn as she was, I couldn't place it.”

“She looked horrible,” Neville stated in a weak voice. “I've never seen anyone look so awful. It wasn't natural.”

“No. I didn't think so either.”

“And did you see Lupin?” Ron inquired. “He was in a right state. I don't think I've ever seen him lose his cool over anything, let alone go to pieces like that.”

“Death does that to a person,” Harry noted, staring down at his shoes. He couldn't expect his friends to understand. They hadn't lost anyone close to them. True, Neville's parents were suffering the effects of a powerfully nasty curse, but at the least they were alive. When someone you loved died, your whole world became unglued. He guessed it was even worse when you had to watch them fade away right before your eyes.

They waited for about an hour before Tonks appeared in the room and motioned for them to follow. She took them down a different corridor that led to a stairway, at the bottom of which was another small lobby.

“What about Professor Lupin?” Harry asked, but Tonks simply shook her head.

“We'll talk about it later. Let's go.”

*************

Even though the Order still made its headquarters at Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, for the time being all operations were being lead from The Burrow, the Weasely family home. Harry was both grateful and angry about this at the same time. While he understood it would have been incredibly difficult to live in Sirius' old house, Harry still wished he could spend some time there to be around his godfather's things, to absorb what little remained of him.

That evening, after seeing Neville safely home, Harry, and Hermione sat around the large table, drinking cocoa and nibbling on biscuits. At about half past eleven, the fire in the large hearth blazed and crackled with green light and out stepped Arthur Weasley, Ron's father. Remus Lupin followed a few moments later.

“Hullo, you lot!” Mr. Weasley called. “Still up?”

“Yeah,” Ron replied.

“How are you, Professor Lupin?” Hermione questioned, rising to pull out a chair for him. “Would you like some cocoa? A little tea?”

“Some tea would be lovely,” the weary man sighed. “Thank you, Hermione.”

“You going to be alright here, Remus?” Arthur asked. Lupin nodded.

“I'll be on patrol for the next day or so, but I've asked Kingsley to check in on you between now and then, and of course Molly will be here.” Lupin opened his mouth as if to speak, but Mr. Weasley seemed to anticipate what he was going to say and held a hand out to stay his words.

“She'll be fine, Remus,” he consoled. “You have the potion now, and Moody is watching over her. Get some rest, alright?” He waited for a sign of acknowledgement from his friend before saying his farewells and disappearing back into the fireplace in a flash of floo powder.

Harry and Ron waited in the uncomfortable silence that followed, not knowing what to say or if they should say anything at all. The only sound was the gentle hiss of the kettle and the soft clinks of china and silver as Hermione prepared the tea. Once the steaming cup was placed before his former teacher, Harry felt it was as good a time as any to ask his questions. He took a breath, but Professor Lupin spoke first.

“Her name is Alessandra Bellasera.”

The three exchanged looks and then nodded for him to continue. Lupin blew gently across the surface of the steaming liquid, took a small sip, then heaved a ragged sigh.

“She has been one of my closest friends since my first days at Hogwarts.”

“So, she knew my parents and Sirius?” Harry interrupted. Lupin gave him a gentle smile.

“Yes, she did, Harry. She was one of your mother's dearest friends
outside of Gryffindor, and was very nearly your godmother. She would have been...had things turned out differently.”

Harry's mind was suddenly full of questions. Godmother? If she was that close to Sirius, why haven't I heard about her before now?

“What's wrong with her, Professor Lupin?” Hermione asked.

“The simple answer,” he replied, “is that she's dying.”

“Do you think there's hope?” Ron asked. “Will she recover?”

“Doubtful,” Lupin replied. “Without him, she's given up. She said she no longer has the will or desire to live.”

“She must have loved him very much,” Hermione mused.

“I know this may be difficult for the three of you to understand,” Lupin began, “but sometimes there are things beyond love. Things far more complicated and terrible. Zan and Sirius weren't just friends and lovers. They were...bound to one another by something more powerful.”

“What's more powerful than love?” Harry wondered.

“I don't have a word for it, but I know it exists.”

“How did this bond, or whatever, get created?” Ron queried.

“Well,” Lupin straightened, took a sip of tea. “I suppose the whole bloody business started when Zan went into the lake and Sirius followed her under.”

Author's Note : Part One features an excerpt from "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.