Mercutio released the clutch and opened up the throttle. There was a reassuring solid yet muffled clunk as the Vincent obediently shifted gear, a powerful rumbling giving way to a throaty roar that was equal parts threat and promise like distant thunder on a cloudless day. The gleaming black and chrome bike sped over the black asphalt as Mercutio frowned, his thoughts only partially on the road.
The Prince would not be put off any longer; the audience with his prodigal nephew had taken over an hour, Mercutio forced to pay for his tardy return with a full report of the events at the Capulet ball. Mercutio's temper, already set on edge from the altercation with Tybalt, had smouldered barely in check under the interrogation from his uncle. He had been the target of the assassination attempt and yet it seemed he was the one expected to give account of himself.
It would have served Tybalt right if Mercutio had given his uncle the full report he had threatened Lord Capulet with - yet when it came to it, he could suddenly hear again the sharp crack as Tybalt's head was snapped backwards by the force of his uncle's blow. He saw again in his mind's eye a limp body sprawled beneath a willow tree and he had held his tongue.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Mercutio lifted his head and stared at the red-haired youth reflected in the mirror, one eyebrow raised as blue eyes regarded him curiously.
"A very good question," answered Mercutio. "One to which I haven't yet figured out the answer.
"You're playing a dangerous game. He's not one of your little two-bit whores. He's the nephew of Lady Capulet."
"And there was I thinking he was just the same; there's certainly the odour of the cunt about him," retorted Mercutio.
"That's low, even for you."
Mercutio dropped his gaze. "He's an ungrateful bastard."
"Who saved your life."
"Damn you, Valentine, don't you think I-" He turned, angry, but he was alone again.
Just like always.
Now he roared through the centre of Verona, the Vincent Black Shadow an immense monochrome beast that purred of freedom and a few hours to forget this wretched city. He weaved through the traffic, opening up the throttle as the road up ahead cleared.
Benvolio had been surly on the phone; he'd had to bear the brunt of the Prince's displeasure during Mercutio's absence and he was disinclined to forgive him so easily just yet. He'd come around in time but right now, Mercutio was too full of spit and fire to be conciliatory. Romeo was moping over the departed Violetta and worse than useless company right now. That left the bike and the open road.
He slowed as he approached another intersection; the lights were shifting to red. With a curse he throttled back and the bike purred to a halt as he lowered a foot to the blacktop. Flipping the visor of his helmet up he tapped his fingers on the clutch handle impatiently as he waited for the green.
Something drew his attention from the corner of his eye; glancing at his right wing mirror he swore under his breath. He'd have known that tall figure stalking slowly along the dusty pavement anywhere, the long black coat flapping in the desultory breeze which tousled the long black hair.
Mercutio tapped his fingers on the clutch handle thoughtfully, then glanced at the light. It was still red. Abruptly he made up his mind.
He waited until Tybalt was almost level with the bike, then turned to face him.
"Get on."
Tybalt halted, momentarily startled before his eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"We need to talk. Get on."
Tybalt regarded him warily; Mercutio glanced briefly up at the lights. "The light's about to change. Come on, we don't have time to hang around."
Tybalt stared at him, then seemed to come to a decision. Flipping the long tails of his coat out of the way he swung a leg over the bike's rear seat then settled himself, tucking the tails in. Mercutio flipped his visor closed again and opened the throttle as the lights changed, the large powerful bike leaping forward.
He expected to feel Tybalt's hands clutch at his waist and was surprised when he felt nothing as he changed gear and the bike responded with power. Glancing in the left mirror he noticed Tybalt seemed to be holding on with his knees, his hands resting easily on his long thighs.
So it was to be like that, eh? Mercutio grinned. He'd see how long it took Tybalt to make a frantic grab for his waist.
He deliberately headed for the main highway out of Verona; at this time of day he figured it should be fairly heavy with traffic, and he wasn't disappointed. He began to weave in and out of the traffic, leaning into the turns first one way and then the other.
Damn him if the tall black-clad Capulet didn't lean into the turns with him, gripping with his knees! His hands moved only once - to reach back to grasp the metal sissy bar behind the passenger seat. Tybalt leaned back into the bar and threw his head back, closing his eyes as the wind whipped his long hair away from his face.
Mercutio was not going to concede defeat just yet however. As the road ahead cleared, he opened up the throttle again and began to pour on the power, the needle on the dial slowly crawling towards a ton. He felt a thrill of exhilaration as the miles flew past, his anger steadily being dispelled by the simple joy of a fast bike and an open road on a bright summer's day. His temper, ever mercurial at the best of times, could burn hot but never for long and he laughed for the simple joy of living. He distantly noted the needle of the speedometer hovering just over the line and then spared a glance at the mirror.
Tybalt rode pillion easily, his knees gripping the flanks of the bike as though astride some great black stallion. His hair streamed behind him and his eyes were closed against the wind, a rare smile upon his face.
Mercutio kept half an eye on Tybalt even as he drew the rest of his attention back to the road. He hadn't had any particular destination in mind when he'd set out earlier, driven only by the desire to get out of the city; but now he eased back on the throttle as he began to ride with purpose, taking the hill road up towards the forest to the north of Verona. There was a particular place he liked to go sometimes when life in the city became too stifling and he yearned to breathe free air away from watchful eyes, and he headed there now. He slowed the bike to a steady cruise as they entered the edge of the forest, the road starting to climb more steeply. He followed the road up through the woods, through a series of switchbacks, until finally they came out on the breast of the hill, the valley on the other side falling away below them.
He pulled over in a layby near the edge of the forest and switched off the engine then kicked down the stand. Pulling off his helmet, he rested it on the tank and ran a hand through his hair as he stared out over the trees. The silence after the steady roar of the bike was almost physically tangible. Tybalt was silent behind him.
After a few minutes, he dismounted the bike and moved a few steps away before glancing back at Tybalt. Tybalt drew his eyes away from the vista spread out below to glance back enquiringly at Mercutio, then followed suit.
"The view is beautiful," he remarked quietly.
"Isn't it?" Mercutio agreed.
Then he hit him.
The punch took Tybalt by surprise; his head snapped back and he took a step backwards. He lifted a hand to his face, touching his nose gingerly, then pulled his hand away to stare at the blood on his fingers before staring back at Mercutio.
Then he flung himself at Mercutio.
Tybalt's fist connected squarely with Mercutio's ribs, followed up by an elbow to the jaw; Mercutio fell back, landing a kick to Tybalt's midriff that drove the breath from his body in an explosive huff. Mercutio tried to follow it up with a haymaker but Tybalt blocked the blow before riposting with an uppercut. Mercutio dropped his shoulder and drove it into Tybalt's stomach and then they were both down, rolling on the ground in the dust, grappling at each other and trading blows.
Mercutio managed to grab Tybalt's wrists and rolled over so he was atop the slender man, legs astride Tybalt's hips as he pinned his hands to the ground either side of his head. Tybalt glared up at him in fury.
Mercutio kissed him, and this time it was Tybalt who bit.
To his surprise, Mercutio merely groaned, releasing his wrists to thread his hands instead into Tybalt's hair. He finally lifted his head to stare down at Tybalt, who licked the blood smearing his lips without thinking, then froze as he tasted the blood he'd spilled. He made no effot to push Mercutio away, instead regarding him with a stunned expression. Slowly, more tentatively, Mercutio bent down to kiss Tybalt again.
He could taste his own blood on Tybalt's lips; warm, wet, the coppery tang filling his mouth as he probed past Tybalt's lips with his tongue. Tybalt closed his eyes and submitted to the kiss with a faint whimper. When Mercutio pulled away again, he made a small noise of protest.
The sun was hot, the air silent save for the panting of the two men as they undressed each other then kissed once more, hands exploring bodies, occasional small cries or yes, please and more punctuating the quiet.
"Tybalt..."
"Yes."
When it was done, Tybalt lay in Mercutio's arms, his head pillowed upon Mercutio's shoulder, his eyes closed.
"Tybalt?"
"No words," whispered Tybalt, not opening his eyes. "I don't want to talk. Not yet. Let me have just this time here with you in silence. I don't want to think about what comes next."
Mercutio relented, one hand gently rubbing circles over Tybalt's bare shoulder before he leaned forward and lightly kissed the smooth skin. They lay like that for some time, until a slight breeze sprang up, whispering cool across their bare skin and Tybalt shivered.
"Come on, let's get you dressed," Mercutio said reluctantly. Tybalt sighed, but after a moment he nodded and rose.
Once they were dressed, Mercutio moved up behind Tybalt as he stared out over the forest and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on Tybalt's shoulder.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, curious.
"That if it weren't for Julia I should never want to go back," Tybalt replied slowly. Mercutio nuzzled Tybalt's hair.
"Stop," said Tybalt softly.
"Why?" asked Mercutio as he pulled away slightly. Tybalt stepped out of his embrace and turned to face him, his expression wistful.
"Because it will only make it all the harder to return."
"I don't follow?" said Mercutio as he made his way over to the bike then turned to lean on it, folding his arms.
"Out here... this is our time. But that ends when we go back."
Mercutio shrugged. "It doesn't have to."
Tybalt shook his head and sighed. "Mercutio -"
Mercutio raised his hand to forestall him. "Just - think about it."
Tybalt shook his head. "It won't work. It'll be a disaster."
"Won't know unless we try," shrugged Mercutio. "Look - don't worry about it. Just take things as they come and see what happens."
Tybalt looked unconvinced. Mercutio sighed. "Come on, the sun will be going down soon. We'd best be heading back."
Tybalt nodded, and as Mercutio mounted the bike Tybalt climbed up behind him. As Mercutio kicked the bike into life, he felt Tybalt's hands slip hesitantly around his waist. Mercutio dropped a hand to squeeze Tybalt's hand lightly then he squeezed the clutch and opened up the throttle slowly.
Tybalt curled into his back, resting his head against Mercutio's shoulder, and stayed like that during the quiet ride back. He was still silent when he dismounted outside the gates of the Capulet estate.
"Tybalt?"
Tybalt glanced back.
"Just... think it over."
Tybalt regarded him silently, then nodded once. He turned and headed towards the house, not looking back.
Mercutio watched him until he was gone from view then kicked the bike back into life and headed home.
Notes: A ton = 100mph Vincent Black Shadow: .