A/N: I had the Hungarian musical version in mind for this (specifically, SzPSz's Tybalt and SzD's Mercutio). In this fic they're not in a relationship – just plain old enemies who have weird chemistry together :-)

Mercutio said good night to his friends and started home.

He hadn't gotten half a block before someone grabbed him by the neck and shoved him into a dark alley.

The hands at his throat choked off any demands to be let go. He was thrown against a wall, hard enough to hurt and daze. He clutched instinctively at the person's arms, but before he could really organize himself to fight back, the choking eased off as his attacker switched from two hands to one. "Evening, Mercutio."

Mercutio sucked in what air he could, feeling much better. Tybalt. It was Tybalt, not some bandit planning to slit his throat to take his wallet. He and Tybalt were peers and gentlemen; they knew each other. He could handle this. Crushed up against a wall he would have no success fighting, though, so he resorted to whining instead. "You're hurting me," he wheezed.

"That's the idea." Tybalt's free hand was busy at his hip a moment, and the next thing Mercutio knew there was something cold against his cheek. Cold and sharp.

"Tybalt-." He stopped squirming at once. Suddenly, for reasons unrelated to the Capulet's bony fingers, he was lightheaded and he couldn't breathe.

Tybalt shook him a little, by the neck. "I said you'd be sorry," he growled. "I said I'd have your blood."

"No-."

The knife dug into Mercutio's face, turning his head til his cheek was flat to the wall. He didn't resist; how could he? "The only questions are: how much, and from where?"

The hand around his neck tightened up again until his breaths started to rasp. "Tybalt, stop it." With the knife just below his eye socket he couldn't make himself move. All he could manage was to insist: "You can't – I'm the prince's nephew."

"Then you'll be laid to rest in the royal vault." Tybalt set the knife below his chin instead, and turned him again so that they were face to face. "You shouldn't have harassed me."

"All right, all right, enough." His voice wouldn't steady. "Fine. I didn't realize you were this upset, all right? I'll leave you alone if that's what you- ah!"

Tybalt had dealt him a short, painful scratch. As the knife traveled up his jaw again and came to rest on his cheekbone he swallowed and tried to catch his breath. "For God's sake put it down. Stop it – Tybalt this is madness, that's a knife."

"I know what it is." The anger had vanished from his voice; he was no longer seething, only coldly amused, and somehow that was even worse. "I always threaten to cut out your tongue, but as I started planning tonight I realized I don't know the mechanics of how one does that, and I doubt I have the stomach to experiment." Cold and matter-of-fact. "So I decided to cut your face."

Mercutio's body twitched, but the stranglehold and the cold metal held him mostly in place.

"But now I'm not sure about that either," Tybalt continued. "I agree that the prince wouldn't be happy… and I'm finding that your fear is awfully satisfying on its own."

He won't do it. He found his confidence again, or pretended to, and he couldn't let that comment stand. He summoned up a derisive laugh from somewhere. "You think I'm afraid of you?"

Rage swept caution away, and that quickly, there went any chance Mercutio had had of escaping unscathed. Tybalt slammed him hard against the wall. "How many times have I warned you not to play with me!" As Mercutio pawed uselessly at his grip he moved to place his knife edgeways at the corner of Mercutio's mouth. "Go on – laugh now. I dare you."

Mercutio froze. "Ty'alt," he breathed, without moving his lips.

"I dare you." He bore down steadily. "No? Wise. If I were you I would not move, or laugh, or try to talk."

"Tlease – no," he said, hands fluttering around his face.

Tybalt slapped them down. "Interfere again and I'll give you a nice wide smile, I swear it."

"Ty'alt, don't." Mercutio lowered his arms, hugging himself. "Stot – I'll stot. Tlease don't."

"Don't what? I'm not doing anything; you're the one who'd better keep silent." He had meant to be relentlessly terrifying, but the clown's fear had put him in such a good mood that now he was smiling. "Do you think you can do that? Yes? Good. Then I guess you have nothing to worry about." He patted Mercutio's cheek.

"Tlease," Mercutio said again.

"Hm. Not laughing now."

"Noh." Voice cracking, as if he might cry.

"Interesting. And you always say you can't help yourself." Tybalt at last took the knife away.

He released all pressure on the neck, too, since it looked like Mercutio was starting to sway. "Deep breaths," he ordered. "Don't you dare faint on me."

For a while Mercutio's breaths were deep but rapid; it took him time to calm down and Tybalt allowed it. He was feeling magnanimous, now that his enemy had broken down so completely. At last Mercutio found his voice (though still not his courage; the voice was a squeak). "Enough. Don't cut me," he said.

"Please," Tybalt prompted. "Don't cut me, please."

"Don't cut me please." Trembling visibly.

"I'll think about it." Tybalt skimmed the knife down his jaw, dug the point in under his chin again to tilt his head back, and scraped the edge over his throat. Perhaps he would shave a spot at least – leave his mark. But as he stood considering that, Mercutio gave another shiver and this time arched towards the blade.

Tybalt pulled him straight to stare into his face. His eyes were dark and his cheeks flushed, and suddenly his loud airy breathing took on a whole new meaning. "My God, are you-? It's like that?"

Mercutio seemed just as shocked. "I- I don't know."

He brought the knife up slowly into Mercutio's line of vision, free hand now loose on his collar. "Watch." He brought the tip closer, and rifled through Mercutio's wildly-fluttering eyelashes with it. Dragged it down his cheek.

"What are you doing?" Mercutio whispered. The knife teased over his lips.

"I don't know."

"Well… don't stop."

That did stop him. He looked away, found his composure, and cleared his throat loudly to break the spell. "It's a shame you've allied yourself with the Montague boys," he said. "I would have enjoyed pursuing this. Whatever it is."

Mercutio nodded, but before he could speak, Tybalt pressed the knife against his mouth to silence him. "Every time," he said slowly, "every time one of those boys gives you a blank, foolish smile… you will think of this." He closed his hand around Mercutio's throat again and pushed, choking off some of his air. "And you'll be sorry. Just as I said you would."

He let go. Mercutio reached for him, shaking and uncoordinated. "Tybalt…"

But Tybalt turned his back and left. He'd had the last word this time, at least.

The End.

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