Just a little ficlet inspired by chapter 140 and a little diddy I heard on my way home from work. You may have heard of it… haha.
So the lovely setting is in the future and it's Yamamoto's perspective. Of course, it's YamaGoku.
………
Live.
It was weird being assigned together like this, for an assignment like this. I watched Gokudera move gracefully around the remaining enemy while I caught my breath. Their men lay trashed and defeated at our feat.
I grunted as I pulled my sword from the man that was lying prostrate below me in the middle of the dark alleyway. The man I just killed. This is what I do best now.
I cleaned my sword casually before sheathing it and holding it at my side. Turning my attention back to my partner, I watched him check for a pulse. Two fingers pressed into the bloody, broken neck of the man who was painting the cobblestone road an almost black hue of red.
The tiniest mist of rain swept over from the west. I looked up when it finally picked up and we were attacked by nature; a torrent of rain accompanied by thunder in the distance.
Scanning the area, I mechanically looked for movement out of the men we so nonchalantly just destroyed. It was indeed a simpler assignment than I had originally anticipated. Gokudera was probably thinking the same.
Die.
I watched him right himself. His long legs extending until he was towering over his prey. The skull around his wrist having disappeared into the air when his task was completed. He checked his pockets indifferently for his cigarettes, knowing full-well that they would be there.
I let my weight fall back onto the wall behind me with a sigh. I ran a finger over my chin, the rough and hardened edges of my scarred flesh feeling incredibly natural.
Without a doubt, I wasn't surprised when he turned on me, his hair whipping around his face as he moved. He's gotten faster, his strides longer. In just a few moments he was on me.
He gripped my hair and pulled my face to his with a feral growl. I couldn't help but smile around his rough yet surprisingly acute kisses. They weren't sloppy anymore like they were when we were younger.
He bit at my upper lip. His other hand fisted the front of my suit jacket. Time to do the other thing I do best.
Quickly I moved my hands up around the sides of his face, loving the soft feel of his cheeks below my calloused fingers. I moved us fast, twisting us around and shoving him back against the wall; and oddly loving the choking sound of the wind being knocked from his lungs. His hands slid to grip the thin neck of my loosened tie, obviously not dissuaded by my abrupt actions.
I slowed the kiss down, deepening it with a languid tongue. I moved my hands up through his long shaggy hair. God, do I love his hair.
The rain fell around us, noticed but insignificant and ignored. We stood entwined within each other amongst the blood and the rain. Neither of us would have had it any other way. Nothing needs to be said. He is my reality check. This is what it's come to. Life, death, living and dying, it's all the same.
Live and let die.