"Matters of the Heart"

Setting: KHR, adult life
Pairing: 1859, 5918
Rating: M
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort
Point of View: Second-person
Warnings: Homosexual relationships, swearing, baby smut, and possible OOC. Italics are flashbacks, thoughts, or stressed words.
Further Notes: This came out of nowhere, but I do love this pairing, albeit not as much as 5927, but I digress. Note that the point of view will switch between the two a little more than halfway through, but it should be easy to tell. It'll be a different line break than the rest.
Edit: Fixed all the grammar mistakes I noticed.

He's much weaker than you originally think.

Those steel gray eyes do nothing and everything to portray who he is and you don't buy any of it. That unforgiving glare and guarded stance just tells you that there's something hidden underneath that stoic exterior. It's a pain in the ass for you, because being the right hand man means having to get along with all the guardians, even that pineapple illusionist, and it unfortunately involves him as well. Its hard enough as it is, because he hides himself in his own private wing for ninety-five percent of the time when he's actually around, and spending the other four percent beating the shit out of someone in the training room (that last percentage is the private moments between you and him, but whatever. Its mostly fighting each other or sex and that's not too productive when it comes to missions). You want to handcuff him to a chair or something and you would if you knew he wouldn't be able to snap the handcuffs and kill you.

And right now, its like any other time you see him.

"Hibari," you call. He ignores you, like always, leaving you to stand there awkwardly in the silence. It drives you insane when he does this, because its only every fucking time you have something to give him - whether it be a mission or otherwise. "Hibari," you grind out again from your position at the doorway and briefly wonder how Ryohei of all people can get a word out of this man.

"Hibari. Hibari," Hibird sings; you have no clue why the bird enjoys mimicking you. Eventually, you sigh in the irritable silence. Was he really trying to get you to say it?

"Kyouya," you say this time.

"Herbivore," he finally grunts, but his back still faces you. If he were anyone else, you'd attack him for being such a dick, but its him so you know its pointless. The only ones he'll even think about listening to are Reborn and the Tenth. You already know that unless he's in a good mood or that bored, he'll consider something you say.

"Mission for you," you tell him, placing a file on the ground and sliding it to him. "Siberia. Take the time to reassure our ally that getting near drugs goes against the alliance."

"No," he states coldly. Annoyed, you run a hand through your silver hair.

"What's wrong with it this time?" you ask. With him, there always has to be something wrong with it. "Discipline them as you wish. No killing like always."

"It's cold in Siberia."

"Then buy a blanket or a winter coat, suck it up, and do the damn job." Honestly, if you were someone else, you'd be dead from the statement. Instead, you get a tonfa thrown at your face. How lucky, you think, and deflect the metal object. You take your leave before anything else is used as a lethal weapon. Hibari could be a bitch when he wanted.

In the end, four days later, you find the report sitting on your desk with a note on the top which reads 'do that again and I'll kill you.' You snort because you know he never will.

...

The next time you visit his wing is a month later, because you hear from the loudmouthed grapevine called Ryohei that he is back in town. You find Kusakabe standing outside the room you know the other is in.

"I advise against it," Kusakabe, ever the considerate man, says.

"I'll deal with it," You assure him and enter the room. Almost immediately, a tonfa is going for your face, and you duck to the side to get out of the way. You kick out his legs and sit on him for good measure after throwing his tonfas off to the side; you manage to pin both his wrists above his head with one hand.

"Get off," He orders.

"Pass," you state, almost cheerily and send him a grin for good measure. Riling him up has become one of your favorite pastimes, even more so when he is pissed, and you've come to silently realize why the baseball moron riles everyone up because its just so much fun (no matter how suicidal it is). He struggles underneath you, and attempts to bite at your hands when they are in range. You know better; its like he sharpens his teeth and its not a very nice feeling when being pierced by his canines, no matter how much you love it when he dominates in bed (and you briefly reassure yourself that no, you are not masochistic, because you enjoy inflicting pain on him in return so thanks for asking). Your lapse in concentration almost gives him the perfect opportunity to escape, but thank god you're sitting right on his pelvis because it alerts you to his quickly rising leg for a kick. You catch the limb with your free hand and send him an inquisitive look, "so what's got your panties in a knot?"

"Herbivore," He growls threateningly, and you can sense his rising anger. Yet you know the one word sends more of an answer than most people come to think. Looking into those steel gray irises, you note the subtle changes in emotion. Anger takes the top, courtesy of the current predicament, but you see something akin to worry, and below that, a miniscule amount of amusement.

"Now now, if I were an herbivore, and you seem to be a carnivore, and I just so happened to pin you to the floor, doesn't that make the positions reversed?" You tease with a larger grin than before. "Right, herb-i-vore?"

"You...!" He growls and thrashes about, but you manage to keep your place. He stares up at you silently when he stops moving, no doubt plotting your death right this very moment. You'd love to keep this going, because it will undoubtedly lead to either a spar (read: all out war) or sex, and either is perfectly fine considering a spar just leads to sex later anyway, but you need to get to the root of the worry you spotted in his eyes earlier.

"So, what's wrong?" You ask him with the same amount of nonchalance a sane person would ask someone who's hurt; except this is Hibari you're talking about, and you know it has dastardly consequences. Not that you care though, considering you have the upper hand for the moment anyway. 'The moment' being a key part of the sentence, because you're sure he's already prepared for another the inevitable lapse in concentration that happens when you're deep in thought.

"Release me and I'll kill you quickly," he tells you, avoiding the question completely. Typical, you think.

"As opposed to slow and painful, I assume," you muse and then reiterate, "what's wrong?"

"You're suicidal," he frowns, annoyed.

"And you're stubborn and a pain in the ass," you shoot back instantly, "so tell me what's wrong already so we can move on."

"Feelings are for herbivores."

"And if you recall what I stated earlier, we've already established that you are currently an herbivore. So hurry up and spill it already." Twenty seconds into silence, and you already wish to bash your forehead into his out of sheer impatience. You tilt your head back in preparation when you notice something odd about the other's posture. It was oddly stiff and unnatural, even considering the position you've essentially trapped him in. You notice his center of gravity isn't centered like usual, but shifted to his right side, as if he is favoring it. You frown and his eyes narrow because he knows you know. You decide to voice your suspicions aloud anyway, "you're injured."

"..." He tilts his head away, and you know its confirmed. You blink in utter surprise. Its absolutely rare that he ever gets injured (not even paper cuts make an appearance on his skin), and even more so that anyone can figure it out. Then again, you're not anyone (genius in everything but survival instincts because you're still stupid and suicidal enough to annoy him) and its not like you've been paying close attention to him until two years ago. Careful observing can only been done when you manage to track him down and get him stick around long enough to make a complete analysis.

"Where?" you glare at him with all the anger you can muster because damn it why can't he just suck up his stupid pride for once. His returned gaze is guarded and near blank, and it would seem like that, but you know how to read between the lines (the very small, blurry lines) by now. You frown, "I'll start prodding until I find it." He refuses to answer and you roll your eyes. However, he isn't thrashing either, so you take it as a sign to continue (and secretly hope he won't attack you the second you begin). Untying the sash that held together the loose, gray yukata, you pull it apart to get a good look at his torso. You end up holding back a snarl, settling for the narrowing of the eyes, as you look down at the stitched up wound (knife, wide, but not very long, you note in your head) where the skin was still red around it. Your gaze makes its way back to him. "I was expecting a bruise. Since when do you let yourself get stabbed, herbivore?" You ask in a condescending tone, just to mask the underlying worry that he'll probably sense anyway - if he looks passed the herbivore comment anyway.

"Shut. Up," He snarls, but still hasn't protested or thrashed around. Either it hurts too much, or he's just letting this happen, figuring you'll give up eventually. You hope its the latter, or maybe just both, because you're sticking with this until all questions are answered and you are slightly relieved when he's in pain because it means he's human.

"Perhaps if you answer my question, I'll be obliged to leave you be." A lie, but whatever works right?

"There was a kid." He states, resentfully, after five minutes of silence (during which you proudly kept your temper on the down low). "He was in the way."

"I see," you tilt your head in thought. A kid must have gotten taken hostage, and then once the kid was freed, blocked his view for a split second. You don't normally attribute a split second loss of sight to being his downfall typically, considering the animal instincts and all, but you know that's all the details you'll probably get.

"I told you. Now get off." He growls. You hum in thought, like you're actually going to consider leaving him alone, and then shrug,

"No. I bet this hurts right?" A prod to the wound and a stiffen and soft growl answer the question. "Yea, definitely not leaving."

"Herbivore." His voice is quieted fury, waiting to kill once the opportunity presented itself. You're sorely tempted to remind him of the reversed situation, but instead you just think about the other emotions underneath all the walls and layers behind those eyes.

"Its rude not to call people by their names," you scold and then glance at the door (knowing the person you're looking far isn't very far), "Kusakabe, bring in pain killers for the stupid animal here."

"..." Silence means bad things, but you're more focused on the fading sound of footsteps.

"Oh, sorry. That's an insult to stupid animals. Even they know to tend to their wounds."

"That's funny coming from the man who throws himself into danger for the omnivorous boss and then proceeds to act like it never happened as he bleeds out." Wow. A long sentence means he must be seething with rage.

"Yes, but I get the boxing idiot to look at my wounds when we're done. I bet you did this yourself, or with Kusakabe's help, and then just left it there." Well, that sounded a little dumb after you say it, because he did tend to his wound; just not properly. Well, its not like he notices - he's probably about to blow by now. His twitching fingers itching for his tonfas and that scowl prove it.

"You fucking herbivore," He swears (another sign of extreme anger - Ryohei would be proud at how extreme is was), but you just blink.

"I can't fuck you now, Kyouya dear; you'll aggravate your injuries." Your sickeningly sweet smile just sets him off more. Well, whoever said you have to be a nice lover? No one, that's who. Because anyone who does will end up face down in a ditch, bleeding out slowly as a time bomb ticks down to their demise.

Well, that one sentence sends it all down from there. Before you realize it, he's flipped you over so he's hovering above you. Those steely eyes form a glare, and you suppress a snort. He growls something along the lines of 'I'll bite you to death' and bites you harshly when he kisses you. You refuse to give, however, and return the kiss full force, teeth clashing and tongues battling furiously. He straddles your waist, grinding your hips together (and you can't help the involuntary moan), and pins you down by your shoulders. You grab his biceps, digging your nails into his arms when he pulls back from the kiss and bites down on your collarbone. You grit your teeth together, and manage to flip positions when you knee his ass. He squirms underneath you, and you smash your lips against his, rolling your hips into his (effectively eliciting the same moan you made earlier).

"Shall we see who bites who to death here?" You tease with a smirk, and from there its a full blown battle once you slide a hand into his pants. You don't mind the roughness of the sex, teeth mashing and all, just because you love seeing him writhe when you manage to get the upper hand and fighting him back when he reverses the situation.

(in the end, he manages not to reopen his injuries, Kusakabe finally returns with the pain killers, and the skylark finally tells you the whole story. And knowing comforting will piss him off, you just smirk and stand, whacking the back of his head. You share a glance for the briefest of seconds - one which tells more than the outsider can see - and then walk off because everything's just fine.)

He's stronger than you originally think.

Even in middle school, as he followed around the brunette omnivore (once herbivore) like a puppy, you could see the power beneath those jade eyes. You picked fights with him for smoking, even so much as tailing him for a short while, just to see the true strength within. Yet the herbivore always interfered, blocking your desire to pummel the silverette before you, and so you had to take it out on other students. He's strong enough to occasionally lend you a helping hand - no matter how much you don't need or want it - such as helping you escape from your prison in Kokuyo Land; so you graciously returned the favor. You've come to realize he's a bundle of strength, combined with intelligence, no matter how temperamental and puppy-like he was perceived to be. Finding him is easy enough when he's in his office seventy percent of the time, in the omnivore's twenty percent of the time, in his room five percent of the time, and in the training hall the last four percent (plus that one percent when he's with you already). Once you locate him, you often fight him in a "spar" that could eventually (read: always) lead to sex. Rough sex, you might add. One of the reasons you tolerate him is because he's not afraid to fight back, and that's the best part. The sadistic side of you loves trying to break him and the (small) masochistic side likes it when he is able to conquer you, even if its for a brief amount of time. His entire being keeps you satiated and willing to keep him around (though you refuse to call him a lover, even if its inevitably what you are and you know it).

Stepping through the front door to the small apartment, you shut it with a kick of your legs (and swiftly lock it with all three locks in place). For the time being, this is your home as you go undercover with him for some reconnaissance mission that may (and will) eventually lead to a raid. You glance around, noticing the silence, and walk in further a little higher on alert than before. Typically he would be up and about, reading or researching something. Apparently, he's sleeping, you note when you enter the open living room. On the black couch in the middle of the room is him, laying on his side (facing the television situated ten feet from said couch), with one hand under the pillow he has underneath his head. You snort, and most would recognize him as relaxed completely, but you can see the subtle guarded position. His legs are free from obstructions, and one is bent slightly so its perfect for kicking out the knees of an enemy. You are sure that he has some weapon underneath the pillow, most likely his gun or maybe even the small knife he carries just in case and you know he has probably felt your presence, but has decided to leave you be since you're not attacking him. You stand in front of him, raising a curious eyebrow at the tensed expression (nightmares are for herbivores, you snort inwardly), and briefly wonder if bringing a tonfa down on his face will lead to the right situation.

"Tch," you mutter and walk away, preoccupied by eating something first. You have no idea what has gotten him so tired to actually take a nap nearly defenseless, but you figure making him grumpy can go both right or wrong, and its hard to decipher which way he'll go. You make a simple Japanese dish in the small, crowded kitchen, and eat in preferable silence. Once you finish, you head over to the couch again, recognizing the fact that he is still sleeping. You snort because how long has this idiot been sleeping for, and promptly smash down your tonfa into his face.

Or at least, that's what should've happened if he didn't spring up, kick your knees in and pin you down with a gun to your forehead. You stare up at him as he blinks twice with tired eyes, and then rolls those eyes when he recognizes you fully.

"Wao," you smirk, because it isn't often when he pins you out of the blue (and you ignore the sting of him getting the best of you when you were injuried).

"What the hell was that for?" He asks, yet does not remove the gun. Being suspicious of you only causes you to raise an eyebrow delicately and you briefly wonder if his herbivorous nightmare has something to do with you.

"Don't sleep on the job, herbivore," You tell him, lying still. You stare into the guarded jade eyes, hiding something you can't put a finger on at the moment, and he eventually sighs and stands. He places the gun in between the back of his pants and shirt and he offers you a hand despite the fact you won't take it. You stand on your own, and so he just walks to the window, opening it, and lights up a cigarette.

"How did it go?" He finally asks you, his head turned slightly towards your direction as you settle on the couch, draping your arms over the back.

"Useless," you scowl. That stupid informant was no help at all, so now you are set back in the schedule.

"Figures. I'll try the one at the bar two blocks over later," He frowns, tapping cigarette ashes out the window. He watches the sullen scenery of this godforsaken city with half lidded eyes that still guard secrets within his person. You turn your attention to the television and switch it on, putting on the local news. Even as you hear the sound, you focus more of your concentration towards him as he slowly burns the cigarette down to nothing and deposits back into the nearly empty carton.

"Herbivore," you say to get him to look towards you. He does.

"What?" He scowls, probably because you just interrupted whatever thoughts he had.

"Stop looking so herbivorous," You state with a blank look on your face. He stares at you like you're an idiot for at least ten seconds before rolling his eyes. He gets up, shutting the window and clicking the lock into place; he makes his way over and sits beside you. "Who exactly is the herbivore here?" He prompts.

"You, obviously," You say as if the fact is obvious. Yet you know he is more than just an herbivore, but not yet a carnivore, and more than just an omnivore. So the basic categorizing, herbivore, is the easiest thing to call him. No need to get complex about it.

"Fuck you," he snorts indignantly, and looks towards you with a calculated gaze. Now doubt he's trying to read your motives, and whatever else you hide beneath your steel gray irises. Your lips twitch upwards briefly, allowing a small bloodthirsty intent to seep out.

"When and where, herbivore?" You aren't surprised when he manages to pin you (twice now, in the last half hour), and he smirks.

"How about here and now?" Your lips practically smash into his, and you both begin fighting for the dominance of the situation. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, tossing your tonfas away with the other. His now free hand sneaks underneath your shirt, pinching one of your nipples harshly. You growl, biting his lips. You swiftly counter, pushing him and trapping him underneath you, so you kiss him hard, biting down on his lips with enough force to draw blood. He snarls, meeting you with equal force as you scratch his torso and nipples with your nails. He grunts and shoves a knee to your crotch, causing you to break away. He catches the advantage again, and knocks you off the couch, holding you in place on the carpeted floor. He nearly tears your shirt off you, but manages to get it away in one piece; he throws it away to join the tonfas. One hand is holding you down on your chest, while the other snakes its way into your pants and grabs hold of your hard on. You growl and he kisses you to cut off the sound.

(he does not end up going to the informant that night, as you two get caught up sleeping in the bed. He snarls stupid words and you retort indifferently to each one. You never ask him about the nightmare he probably had, because feelings are matters of the heart - and you both certainly hate talking about yourselves - and they're herbivorous anyway, so you both just fuck it when it comes to them, but its fine either way. You both know that actions are better than words anyway.)

Fin.

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