Cooking class
Pairings. TYL! 6918-mainly + TYL! 8059-implied
OOC.
Genres. Humor, crack, epic.
I don't own KHR. Mukuro-sama and Hibari-san belong to Amano and belong to each other. Same goes for Yamamoto-kun and Gokudera-kun.
-King Ro-
Note. My second fanfic in Eng, thank you for reading. Reviews, comments and criticisms are always welcome. Hope you enjoy it.
Dedicated to Citrus Sunscreen, thank you for listening to me, it was fun talking with you. Also I appreciate that you are 6918 fan and wrote so many 'mazing fanfics.
.Prologue.
Thoroughly compare, we can see how the Cloud and Storm have too many in common. Both are mean, quick-tempered, headstrong, violent. Both love destroying things and beating the crap outta people. Both loathe the stupid and troublesome kind—
—which, unfortunately, turn out to be exactly what their partners are.
.
Now drift back to the main topic.
Hibari Kyouya – an awfully Japanese man - furiously stomps out the destroyed kitchen, inwardly curses the damn complexity of Italian cuisine.
And Gokudera Hayato – an awfully Italian man - angrily stormed out the bombed kitchen, outwardly screws the fucking confusion of Japanese cuisine.
So, what are we going to do?
-x-x-
.flashback.
One day, Hibari decided to cook Italian food. Not that Mukuro ever asked him for, the ex-prefect was simply curious, like-to what extent could his perfection go, and took it as a challenge. Well, just how would a plate of pasta or a bowl of zuppa be more difficult than some massacre missions anyway?
That same day, Gokudera decided to make Japanese meal. Not that Yamamoto ever asked him for, the right-hand man simply wanted to prove that Bianchi's cursed genes can't affect his ability to cook. As he had nicely done some Italian dishes, he supposed he can beat it. Japanese meal? Nah just a piece of cake.
And so, with cooking flame blazed up, the domestic men started their first trials - still denied the fact that they did cook for a certain someone.
Afterward, Hibari threatened to shove a tonfa down Mukuro's throat if he can't stop asking Is it the legendary Mangiare-e-uccidere [Eat-and-kill] pasta. Gokudera ordered Yamamoto to just eat the freaking sushi or he will blow him up without leave any shred.
The illusionist and the swordman trusted everything in their luck.
"Buon appetito."
"Itadakimasu."
Next morning, both Mist and Rain Guardian took a day off for the same reason: stomach ache. To be precise, Mukuro's stomach was almost being perforated, while Yamamoto's has poisoned vinegar.
The Cloud and the Storm seemed even grumpier than usual.
That was a pain in ass.
.end flashback.
Vongola headquarter, several days after the incident, Mukuro and Yamamoto coincidentally walk into each other, still look pale and could barely stand straight. The men then share some kind of a husbands' chat in the hall, probably unaware that their deadly wives might be somewhere around.
"Good morning, Mukuro. How are you? I heard we were off the same day, same reason?" Yamamoto waves his hand as greetings, laughing happily like usual.
"'Morning. Well, my digestive system was nearly ruined, but I'm still alive. What about you? I see that you do look better than the day you had surgery." Mukuro greets back with a grin.
"Haha, I didn't think it could be that bad. Gokudera's sushi rolls were … edible, you know." Yamamoto dryly gulps, somehow unsure about what he's talking.
"I shall praise your bravery. " The illusionist provides a sarcastic tone in his phrase. "As one sushi bar owner's son you must know enough about sushi than anyone else. Yet you still swallowed that—I hesitate to call 'sushi', more like 'overvinegar-ed uncooked rice'—down your throat, while maintaining your hearty smile."
"How did you—" The swordman thoughtfully scratches his head as he recalls. "Ah right, you're an illusionist."
"Since we were in the same situation, I suppose I should feel sympathetic for you."
"Guess so, haha." Yamamoto obviously doesn't realize the mocking tone, still smiling ever so friendly. "And you? I heard from Chrome that they found something bubbling on your stomach. Took them a while to detect whether it was your stomach though."
He slightly shrugs. "Don't really know. Could be pasta, or spaghetti, maybe a new weapon Kyouya just created. It looks somewhat like, a combination of wasn't-al-dente* spaghetti, overcooked bacons, burned cheese and—what was it again, can't even identify that thing. I got the feeling I had just eaten his handcuff."
The Mist amusingly describes the meal's outlook with his popping illusions, apparently way too amused for someone who had to replace his damaged, real stomach with illusionary organ.
"You still ate it?" Yamamoto questions impressively, eyes widen in shock. At least Gokudera, nonetheless, had the sushi in shape, just unEarthy-taste.
"Why, his content face is invaluable, compare to my replaceable stomach. I'd please him no matter how much it costs." Mukuro exclaims proudly. Though even he must've known, not any man has replaceable stomach. "Mmhm. I bet you ate that octopus head's cooking for the same reason, correct?"
The swordman nods, replies with all honesty. "Because, normally you would want to make your lover happy, wouldn't you?"
"I suppose." Mukuro lets out a rare smile. "Oya, Kyouya will scold me for being late again." He randomly notes at the time, chuckles lightly. How he loves pissing Hibari off. That pouting face is the most adorable.
"Then, I should be on my way too. I have a date with Gokudera-kun." Yamamoto waves his hand off. "Take care."
"Good luck."
"Haha, thank you."
The men then dismiss, unbeknownst that their little conversation has been overheard by a fuming (slightly blushed) Cloud Guardian, and a gritting (extremely embarrassing) Storm Guardian.
You are SO dead now, baka.
-x-x-
Hibari could never imagine how knocking Mukuro down could be that easy. Normally he will be more than pleased to bite that fraudulent illusionist to dead. But this, this is not a glorious victory, at all. He doesn't even intended to knock the bastard down, not with his food. The pineapple head should not fall off the chair and writhe in pain after eating his cook.
It's just … unexpected, and unpleasant.
As if Hibari Kyouya would lose to such a shitty challenge.
On Gokudera's side, same thing crosses his head. The sight of Yamamoto rolling on the floor and trying so hard to hold back his scream, as if he was about to puke the guts out anytime. When Gokudera replays this scene, he knows right away, that he failed the mission miserably.
Bianchi is going to haunt him for the rest of this life.
As if Gokudera Hayato would give in to such hellish genes.
Problem is: The awfully Japanese Hibari Kyouya has an Italian as his partner.
And the awfully Italian Gokudera Hayato has a Japanese as his lover.
-x-x-
It is a peaceful day so far until Hibari and Gokudera go 'BAM' at the corner of the corridors, probably too focusing on their books to recognize someone is coming. They exchange threat glares as carefullu sitting up, immediately pose in fighting stance.
"Watch where you're going, bastard." Gokudera hisses, readies to light his bombs.
"Shut it or I'll bite you to death, herbivore." Hibari is clearly in mad mood. The pair of tonfas flaring in dangerous purple flame. No more provoking talk, they take steps forward and start attacking each other. The fight quickly comes to end when they both trip comically on something hard, barely manage to keep the balance.
That is also when they realize their dropped possessions from before—the books—are lying unattentively on the floor.
Gokudera bursts out laughing the moment he sees Hibari's book cover.
"What do we have here? The Cloud Guardian carries a cookbook around! Italian cuisine on top of it!"
Mahogany eyes twitch in annoyance.
"Look at yourself. All about Japanese recipes?"
Hibari points at the title of Gokudera's book, somehow feels secured at the fact that he's not the only guardian carrying a cookbook around. Even Lambo doesn't, mind you. The Italian indeed pales a bit, but reverts to his composure pretty quickly.
"I'm just bringing it to the Tenth, per Ms. Kyoko's request." Gokudera finds his ability to lie under circumstances a huge advantage. It comes out quite handy in these case. "But you, oh my, can't imagine. I wonder who made you bought that?"
Unaware (probably uncare) of the increasing murderous aura around Hibari, the Storm goes on dwelling. Let's get thing straight, it had been ages since the very last time he could mock Hibari (to be exact, a whole decade, back then the news about He Who Owns Namimori and He Who Leads Kokuyou gone out was quite a scandal.)
"Right, I overheard Yamamoto and your bastard the other day. Poor pineapple, he surely had suffered by your existence and your cooking."
Hibari's endurance ran out this instant.
Then again, does he even have endurance?
"Wao, the 'overvinegar-ed uncooked rice' boy really tries to sound tough."
The Japanese retorts, for the first time ever does he agree with Mukuro's sarcasm. It does feel, somehow, guaranteed when being on his side, especially in an argument. 'Verbal fight' he prefers.
Gokudera's face heats up at the statement, nearly fumes.
Oh forget it, he fumes.
"Talking like a smartass! At least my sushi got shapes, unlike your 'unidentify things'."
"At least I know how to cook proper Japanese food."
"At least I can cook Italian food better than you fucker!"
Wait what?
They halt for a while, then both ask in unison.
.
"What did you just say?"
.
There is always some way to solve the problem.
-x-x-
The day after, the Cloud and Storm find themselves stuck together in Vongola main estate's kitchen. Gokudera still hasn't quite get it, since the flow proceeds in a too-E.T-to-catch-upway; approximately equals to level eighteen on Mukuro's weirdness scale [yes the man has his own weirdness scale!]. And it's a high HIGH level.
"So you're saying, I will teach you to cook Italian food, and you show me how to make Japanese dish?"
"Choose your word carefully, herbivore. Think you have the right to teach me?". The raven looks like he's going to chop Gokudera into thin slices.
"What? Wanna fight?" The hot-headed Storm switches in Bring-it-on mode almost instinctively. And wielding tonfa is Hibari's wordless response.
Regardless the seemingly peaceful start (those two in the same place without talk-fight for approximately four good minutes), everything winds up just the way it supposed to be.
So, for the first day of cooking class, no progress. If you'd call a blown-up kitchen, half-ruined building and numerous bystanders hospitalized some kind of progress (mafia-ness development for example), then maybe there is. Other than that, nope.
Second day. Same thing.
Third day. Same thing.
Fourth day. Same thing.
Now they don't even care to count.
-x-x-
"Kyouya, what happened to you recently?"
Hibari just comes back home and changes into his favourite black yukata, mildly snorts when a certain illusionist wraps arms around his waist from behind.
"It's good deed that counts, don't worry. What if you can't cook Italian food? You're doing just fine as a wonderful Japanese chef."
Mukuro cups Hibari's cheeks, brushes his lips on the pale white neck, purposely leaving noticeable hickeys. The black-haired man doesn't even bother to ask why the illusionist knows about his damned challenge. It's Rokudou Mukuro we're talking about anyway.
"Get off, herbivore. Don't kiss me with your filthy mouth."
Hibari struggles to get away from the hug, but Mukuro's grip just tightens. He maliciously nips the Japanese's earlobe, purrs in his dangerously deep voice.
"Are you angry because of the little conversation I had with that Rain Guardian couple days ago? Now now, my bad, but I was just so proud."
"Proud of what? Quit spouting nonsense."
"Having the prideful Cloud Guardian cooking for me, who else has this privilege?"
Mukuro chuckles as he holds Hibari closer. Warm breath tickling the black-haired man's side-ear, causes heat to color his cheeks.
"You're busy and still manage to make daily meals, and also be the meal. As a domestic wife, you have completed your task quite properly. "
Little flattered by the statement, Hibari doesn't let one particular word flee away from his sharp ears.
"The heck did you just say?"
"Oops, did I slip my tongue?"
Mukuro puts on an innocent face and sheepish tone. To his bad luck, his lover was never a take-it-easy type.
"Try to repeat and see my tonfa slip?"
"Ow, I will skip that."
The illusionist laughes, but for once does he agree to stop teasing Hibari, since it is rare for said skylark to initiately sit on his lap; head resting comfortably on broad chest, looking sleepy even.
How adorable.
"Say, Mukuro," After a while, Hibari starts, breaking through the peaceful silence. "Do you prefer Italian food or Japanese food? The latter, right? "
Any form of No would kill him right now, and the skylark's voice when he purrs 'right?' is just so—damn Yes.
"Why, but of course. Of course, dear."
Mukuro cooing, though a glimpse of unwillingness still gets caught by Hibari nonetheless.
Obviously, the illusionist is Italian. Even if he has a Japanese name, speaks Japanese too fluently, goes so far as having a Japanese as his lover and residents in Japan, his root is still Italian. As matter of fact, Mukuro would like Italian food more. His stomach grows by feeding on it since childhood, [although the real one was demolished in one blow, the fake shoud be no different], it's only natural, as matter of fact.
The thought disturbes Hibari a bit, but soon he pays it no more heed, again resting his head on Mukuro's chest, yawning tiredly.
Maybe again, tomorrow.
"I'm going to sleep. If you dare to do something indecent, bid goodbye with your precious manhood."
Hibari shifts position to make himself all comfortable before closing his eyelids. Mukuro dryly gulps, can't risk to make a move. The warning shows some good effect.
Not to the illusionist though.
-x-x-
Next morning, in Vongola headquarter's rebuilt-for-the-umptenth-time kitchen.
It is simply a miracle that both the Cloud and Storm are patient enough to even come to the same place every day, just staring viciously before one of them (usually Gokudera) loses his temper and starts provoking the other. The rest is predictable. But today, there is a big, big difference.
"Fuck! We are NOT going ANYWHERE with this! "
On that umptenth day, Gokudera got fed up. Everyday is the same loop over again, starting with a fight, ending with bunch of bills stacking on Decimo's desk. And he being scolded.
And again, most importantly, they're nowhere near their original goals. At all. Suppose one can learn from books, but things just don't work out right. Gokudera just screws up and doesn't know where to fix, even if he glues his eyes on the recipes and follows every damn step.
Then Hibari, mainly because he can't read Italian so well.
"This is WHAT we're gonna do. No pissing off, no fighting, just freaking cook. I won't talk and you won't talk. Silently do our jobs. Deal?"
Gokudera probably has enough of it. But the Cloud isn't a man of deal. He doesn't deal, for he has to always be the superior.
"As long as you zip your mouth and stay away from my eyesight, I don't care. "
"That's ridiculous, we're in the same kitchen."
"If 'silently do the job' is what you're planning to do, go back to your house."
The Storm grits his teeth so harsh, hands curling into fists.
"Hibari, for once I want to make an agreement with you."
The Japanese quirks a brow, beckons that he's listening. The silver-haired man let out a heavy, almost exasperasted sigh as if he is tortured by coming up with this idea.
"I cook my sushi, you see where I mess up. You cook your pasta, I see if you do anything wrong. Short notice, no sarcasm nor comment. How about that?"
The air thickens all uncomfortably.
Much to Gokudera's surprise, after a long, pregnant silence, Hibari lightly hums 'mm-hm' in agreement.
That doesn't sound too bad.
There is always some way to solve the problem.
.
.
.tbc.