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byahoooo2010-02-13 09:38 am
hahahashittles.livejournal.com) wrote in byahoooo2010-02-13 09:38 am
& you're the finest thing that i've done.
[ It's raining today.
Usually, Yamamoto doesn't mind. Rain doesn't bother him; it's not supposed to, right, it's his element, something that defines him, something that's etched into who he is, into what makes up his DNA. But today is different. A lot of things about today are different, and he shouldn't --
( Shouldn't be so fucking selfish or so goddamn angry, but he is. )
Yamamoto sits with his blade out, the sharp gleaming end of the katana stuck against the wood floor as he props both of his hands on top of the hilt, dropping his chin toward his chest. And he laughs; it's quiet, breathy, but his shoulders shake with it, anyway, and he brings one hand up, rubs his thumb against the scar on his chin.
He can hear the rain from inside, hitting against the glass pane of the windows, streaking down to puddle into the corners of the sill, and the aging wood soaks up the water. And he's surprised by how much it irritates him -- what the hell, Yamamoto, get a grip, shouldn't you be glad. Byakuran is gone ( but that name still wrenches a hole in his gut, even now ) -- and Tsuna --
But.
His fingers curl around the hilt of his blade, and he peers up without lifting his chin, focused on the polished nickel of the door handle across from him. Hibari would be here soon. ]
Usually, Yamamoto doesn't mind. Rain doesn't bother him; it's not supposed to, right, it's his element, something that defines him, something that's etched into who he is, into what makes up his DNA. But today is different. A lot of things about today are different, and he shouldn't --
( Shouldn't be so fucking selfish or so goddamn angry, but he is. )
Yamamoto sits with his blade out, the sharp gleaming end of the katana stuck against the wood floor as he props both of his hands on top of the hilt, dropping his chin toward his chest. And he laughs; it's quiet, breathy, but his shoulders shake with it, anyway, and he brings one hand up, rubs his thumb against the scar on his chin.
He can hear the rain from inside, hitting against the glass pane of the windows, streaking down to puddle into the corners of the sill, and the aging wood soaks up the water. And he's surprised by how much it irritates him -- what the hell, Yamamoto, get a grip, shouldn't you be glad. Byakuran is gone ( but that name still wrenches a hole in his gut, even now ) -- and Tsuna --
But.
His fingers curl around the hilt of his blade, and he peers up without lifting his chin, focused on the polished nickel of the door handle across from him. Hibari would be here soon. ]
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He snaps the buttons, then - because Hibari is not a patient man either, and smiles against Yamamoto's mouth when he hears it clatter all over the floor, finding a perverse pleasure in ruining the other guardian's shirt. He lets him explore his mouth, savors those fingers in his hair, as he slips his own hands inside that shirt, stroking over smooth, scarred abs, and upward. ]