Title: Homecoming
Characters/Pairings: Hibari/Yamamoto
Summary: Yamamoto and Hibari have peculiar homecoming rituals.
Notes: Adult. For Round III of KHRfest, prompt III-69. TYL!Yamamoto/TYL!Hibari – separation; "something always brings me back to you". Smut! 1636 words.

Homecoming

"Oh," Kyouya said, his tone utterly flat. "You're back."

As far as greetings went, it left a certain something to be desired. Like enthusiasm, maybe. Takeshi grinned at him anyway and dropped his duffel bag just inside the door. "Yep," he said, toeing his shoes off and stepping into the slippers that were waiting for him.

That worked about the way he'd expected it to; Kyouya's eyes narrowed at his casual presumption. "I don't recall inviting you in," he said, each word measured and precise.

Takeshi looked at him, eyes as wide as he could manage to get them. "I thought I was welcome any time?" he asked, projecting all the innocence he could scrape together into the question.

Kyouya's eye twitched, which was all the warning he gave before he went for his tonfa. Just his tonfa, and not his box weapons, Takeshi noticed as he dodged the first blow and went for his sword. So Kyouya wasn't really all that irritated, after all, it seemed. That was good.

Kyouya hissed at him when he caught the next blow on the hand guard and used the sheath to turn the other tonfa aside, harmless, and Takeshi reversed his opinion: Kyouya was irritated by his late return after all, enough to want more than just a simple sparring match. That was okay, too. When Kyouya stepped back and they circled each other, he reversed his grip on the sword and brought the edge around. Kyouya's eyes fastened on the minute adjustment and his eyes gleamed when he attacked again.

Takeshi was tired, but ignored that in favor of meeting Kyouya and giving all his attention to the fight. Kyouya clearly wasn't tired at all; Takeshi could feel it in the crispness of his strikes and the brisk way he moved, in no mood to let Takeshi land even a light hit on him.

Well, a few more bruises weren't going to make much difference.

It was also clear that Kyouya had been anticipating him. The room had been cleaned of everything but the low table that stood by the door that opened onto Kyouya's garden, so they were free to circle and dodge each other through the room, feet moving softly against the tatami. It wasn't a bad fight, even if it wasn't Takeshi's best, and he could feel the way Kyouya's mood lightened as it progressed. That had been pretty much the whole point, so Takeshi didn't really mind it when Kyouya decided it was over and kicked his feet out from under him. Kyouya twisted the sword out of Takeshi's hand and fetched him a blow across the ribs that was enough to make the breath hiss out of Takeshi and his eyes smart as he did. Takeshi went down hard; Kyouya leaned over him, looking satisfied with himself as he held a tonfa to Takeshi's throat.

Takeshi grinned up at him. "It's nice to see you, too."

Kyouya snorted at him, but his eyes were lighter. "You're late," he said and took the tonfa away.

"Yeah, I know," Takeshi said. He picked himself up as Kyouya turned on his heel and went into the adjacent room, where he began rattling through things--preparing tea, Takeshi guessed, and retrieved a pair of cushions from the cupboard while Kyouya did that. He slid the door to the garden open and eased himself down to one of the cushions.

Chrome did good work, he thought, looking out at the neatly-ordered garden, silver in the moonlight. The evening breeze was cool on his face, refreshing after the fight. It was rich with the smell of water and earth and growing things, and had he not known better, he would never have guessed that they were actually underground, or that the garden was nothing but Mist.

"It's a nice night," he said when Kyouya joined him again, a tray in his hands--not tea after all, Takeshi saw, but sake.

"Mm." Kyouya set the tray down and folded himself up into seiza, effortlessly perfect. He gave Takeshi's own sprawl a look. Takeshi just looked back, quirking an eyebrow. Kyouya said nothing and poured the sake instead.

So they weren't using their words tonight, okay. Takeshi accepted his sake, actually rather relieved by that. There had been enough talking in his day already, what with one thing and another. It was good to be able to be silent now, with the sake smooth on his tongue and nothing but the soft sounds of the insects in the Mist garden between him and Kyouya.

Their fingers touched when he passed his cup back to Kyouya. Kyouya paused in the act of accepting it and raised his eyebrows at Takeshi as he ran his fingertips over the backs of Takeshi's fingers. Takeshi felt the corners of his mouth lift in response. Kyouya nodded in reply as he took the cup and set it down.

Takeshi couldn't entirely help grunting, just a little, when he rose from his seat. Kyouya glanced at him, eyes curious. He shrugged back and let Kyouya lead him into the room where Kyouya's futon was already spread against the floor. He watched Kyouya as they went--Kyouya undid his obi and let it fall to the floor before letting the kimono slide off his shoulders. It was never going to stop being funny that Kyouya could be so fussy about some things and have so very little regard for others, Takeshi thought as he tugged the tie loose from his throat and shrugged out of his jacket.

Kyouya was already bare when he turned back to Takeshi, in plenty of time to see Takeshi undo the last of his buttons and strip out of his shirt. Kyouya made a sound, something like a growl, and Takeshi looked down--yeah, it was about as bad as he'd thought it would be, bruises all up and down his torso, most of them fading green-yellow. He glanced up at Kyouya, mouth quirked. "You should see the other guy."

Kyouya didn't dignify that with a response, exactly, and came to him with his lips pressed together, very tightly. His fingers were cool against Takeshi's skin, running over the pattern of bruises that Takeshi had gotten from tangling with a detachment from the White Spell on the last leg of his trip. His fingers stopped on Takeshi's ribs, over a fresher bruise, and he looked at Takeshi, brows knit together.

"I was late," Takeshi reminded him.

Kyouya frowned. "Stupid," he said, though there was no telling what precisely he was referring to.

It didn't matter. "Mm." Takeshi reached for him, running his hands down the trim, bare lines of Kyouya's back. Kyouya stepped into him; his mouth was hot against Takeshi's, though his hands moved over Takeshi's chest and ribs carefully, almost apologetically. "It's all right," Takeshi said against his mouth. "They're just bruises."

Kyouya made a sound--acknowledgment, if not agreement--and drew him over to the futon. Takeshi let him and lifted his hips obligingly when Kyouya undid his belt to stroke his slacks and underwear down his legs. Kyouya's hands were careful as they handled him. That was okay; he wasn't going to object to it if Kyouya felt like he'd earned a measure of care. Kyouya seemed to think he had; his hands were gentler than usual as they moved over Takeshi's body, mindful of him in a way that Kyouya rarely bothered with.

Not that Takeshi minded, really. He slid his arms around Kyouya, letting the coolness of Kyouya's fingers ease away some of the ache of his bruises while Kyouya kissed him again, and again, slow and devouring, like he wanted to taste Takeshi's very heart. The sureness of Kyouya's mouth made it easy to forget about the rest of his aches. So did the silky texture of Kyouya's skin under his palms and the lean weight of him settling against Takeshi's hips, warm and familiar and welcome after so long away. "Yeah," Takeshi said, low, when Kyouya's hands slid down, moving over his hips and then his ass. He let the stroke of Kyouya's fingers drive away the last awareness of his injuries as they pressed into him, slick and intimate.

Kyouya didn't forget, though his groan was as low and wanting as Takeshi's as his cock sank into Takeshi. His hands were sure on Takeshi's hips, lifting them and holding them just so as he slid in and out of Takeshi, fucking him slowly, cock pressing deep. That was fine by Takeshi; he let himself relax against the futon, his hands on Kyouya's hips. He stroked them over the tight curve of Kyouya's ass, feeling the flex of Kyouya's muscles as they sent pleasure winding through him, bright and syrup-slow. When Kyouya's hand closed around him, sure and firm, Takeshi let the extra layer of sensation carry him away, arching and groaning under Kyouya as his pleasure swept him open.

Kyouya settled with him, after. He wasn't quite solicitous--unless measured against his own somewhat feral standards. He didn't say anything at all for a long time, though his fingers kept moving over Takeshi's ribs. When he did speak, all he said was, "How long?"

"A couple days," Takeshi said. "Till the bruising finishes going down." Tsuna had looked sorry about it, sorry that he couldn't give Takeshi more time before sending him out again. But it couldn't be helped.

The sound Kyouya made was disgruntled. It made Takeshi smile. "Yeah, I know," he said, and wrapped an arm around Kyouya, letting his fingers follow the line of Kyouya's spine. "But I'm here right now."

Kyouya let out a breath. "Hmph," he said, but he settled against Takeshi and relaxed a little more.

And, Takeshi supposed, that was good enough for the time being.

end

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