Troublemakers

A/N: Ourliazo and I bonded over dirty jokes, so a collab fic full of them was kinda meant to happen.

The Sacco Di Lusso's Trionfo penthouse has garishly disproportionate windows overlooking the bright Milanese metropolis. Kyouya curtains them all. He would enjoy the hotel more if the opulence was less blatant. Not everything has to be in gold and bedazzled with diamonds, but perhaps he's just projecting his irritation onto the nearest surface.

He'd patrolled along corridors for an hour, waiting on the Vongola to finally do their job. The target had committed a streak of famiglia genocides, flying to number one on their hit list. The building is already under lockdown, but pinpointing the target's location was complicated by the fact that he'd come in disguise.

"Found him!" Giannini suddenly crows into his earpiece. "Opulenza suite, 69th floor!"

Kyouya's phone screen lights up. He takes in the still shot of a man with short black hair, the kind of dull brown eyes that come from contact lenses, and an insignificant navy suit. He catalouges height, weight and possible hidden weapons other than the usual trident, then strides for the private elevator.

He steps out into a blindingly lit corridor, his eyes flickering to a passerby with long indigo hair. The man, who'd had the unfortunate idea of styling a trench coat with thigh-high hooker boots, gives him a coquettish smirk.

Kyouya dismisses him as a prostitute.

He pulls the cuffs of his sleeves to straighten out his suit as the Opulenza comes into sight. The door detaches from the frame with a loud and shuddering 'crack', flying across the room and slamming into the opposite wall from his kick. Kyouya sweeps in, brandishing his tonfas.

The windows are wide open, a strong current chilling the room and overpowering the faint humidity. Kyouya regards the empty suite with a cool stare. He leans over the windowsill, almost hoping that the target is hanging from the ledge by just his fingertips, but there's no sign of him.

He slips back into the elevator just as the hotel's security sprint down the corridor. He's reaching out to scan his keycard when he comes to a sudden halt. A series of Japanese characters have been scrawled across the mirror walls, the blood red lipstick crooked with the motor skills of a two year old:

'Fuck me, Hibari-senpai.'

"Wao," Kyouya deadpans, irritation rising to the surface. He might even forgo the clinical distance tonfa provide and shatter the bones with his bare hands.

The glittering Milanese skyline he clearly remembers curtaining greets him as he reaches the Trionfo. Kyouya steps silently from the elevator, his gaze sweeping across the layout.

The indigo-haired man he'd encountered earlier is spread across the bed and hundreds of vanilla candles are now scattered across the huge penthouse suite. He stares at Kyouya with half-lidded eyes as he lazily sips his martini and sucks on its olive with deliberation.

The freak is going to eat the glass, Kyouya decides, Cloud flames engulfing his tonfas. He most certainly did not order a prostitute into his suite.

The man abandons the drink and throws himself away from the first strike, a wicked smirk quirking his lips. Kyouya's tonfa skims the man's trailing hair and shatters the headboard. The target laughs as he rolls to his feet, his heterochromatic eyes gleaming as he conjures a trident from thin air.

The target.

"Your name, herbivore," Kyouya demands, vaulting over the king-sized bed with a rush of excitement. His foot misses the herbivore's skull by less than a centimetre but opens a cavity into the adjacent bathroom.

"Oh?" the man purrs, swinging wide with his trident, candlelights flickering behind him. "Such interest in me. Is it love at first sight?"

Kyouya ducks the swing and the Mist covered dagger aimed for his torso. "I'll bite you to death," he intones.

He charges forward, deliberately lashing out just a little short with his tonfa, expecting the man to lean back. The smug delight in his opponent's eyes vanishes when Kyouya releases his chain mid-swing. The other is forced to twist and drop, already off-balance from the sudden move backwards.

The spike at the end of the chain clips the Mist's cheek and Kyouya stomps down before the man has time to recover, catching his ankle. While he's off balance, Kyouya lands another hit straight to the sternum and he goes down.

The Cloud then hurls a tonfa across the room and the real Mist user reveals himself when he dodges. Kyouya kicks the illusion in the face before advancing towards the real one.

The other man's red eye twitches a bit. "Kufufufu, Kyouya, kufufufuck you."

"I'd rather not," Kyouya deadpans, his pace even and unhurried as he circles around the couches in the middle of the room. "I'm afraid I might get an infection." He flicks up the thrown tonfa with his foot once the weapon is within reach, snatching it out of the air.

The other smirks widely, twirling his trident as if Kyouya would fall for that staged vulnerability. "The more the merrier, Kyouya."

"Is that motto how you got pinkeye?" Kyouya murmurs before breaking into a sudden sprint, his tonfa clashing with the trident in a shower of sparks.

"That's because you're being an eyesore," the man explains as if he's revealing the mysteries of the universe. He leans into the force, abusing his height advantage.

"I'll give you more than a sore eye, herbivore."

Kyouya spins away, the sudden lack of opposing force making the Mist stumble right into the second tonfa and it clips his shoulder. The Mist recovers fast enough to punish Kyouya with a long cut across his thigh.

The insufferable laugh returns. "How about I make you sore in places you've never imagined?" the Mist mocks, eyeing the torn fabric of Kyouya's pants and the pale white skin it exposes.

Kyouya barely reacts, only flicking his wrists to summon spikes along his weapons. "How about I make you sore in places you have imagined?" he echoes. "Mostly kidneys and your face."

They blur into a series of silver and purple streaks, in a cacophony of metal against metal.

The target is smiling, a tinge of madness glinting in his mismatched eyes. "Let's make this a little more interesting," he drawls.

He lunges forward and Kyouya shifts the grip on his tonfas, ready to meet the trade. But Instead of aiming for the Cloud, he goes for the many candles scattered across the hotel suite.

They fall like dominoes and the small flickers of flames catch, instantly turning into a raging fire once it sinks teeth into the carpet. It's too fast for a normal fire. The smoke detector squeaks, dangling uselessly from the ceiling as a casualty of their fight. The sprinklers don't respond.

Kyouya snarls, lashing out with a chain. They shove each other back with every hit, trying to push the other into the fire that now holds domain over more than half the room. It greedily licks up the walls and strains for the ceiling, eager to spread.

Within seconds there's a mild haze over the ceiling of the room, quickly building to a far more opaque grey streaked with faint purple. Kyouya leaps back from the exchange of blows and crouches low to get away from the worst of the smoke. A harsh coughing fit takes him.

The target rams his trident spokes into the elevator panel before weaving around patches of flames to stand in the doorway of the emergency stairs. He pauses for a moment to scoop up the bottle of gin from a nearby table.

Kyouya tucks the lower half of his face into the crook of his elbow and assesses the situation. There's fire everywhere and its fuel is chemical based. All Kyouya can smell is rotten vanilla, and that motherfucker is blocking the only exit.

Kyouya sways and catches himself with one hand on the ground. He can't wait any longer. He tightens his grip on the tonfas and sprints forward.

The Mist smirks as he ducks through the emergency exit. Right before he slams the heavy door shut, he smashes the bottle against the door. Kyouya slams into it with his shoulder, all of his weight behind the hit, but it doesn't even budge.

The fire rears up and Kyouya throws himself into a clear patch of carpet as the flames charge up the door and grow exponentially with alcohol.

Kyouya pushes himself up on trembling arms, his vision swimming. He shakily reaches into his suit jacket's inner pocket and pulls out a small purple box adorned with the Vongola's family crest. He lights his ring, but with the smoke clouding his head, he pushes too much into the box weapon.

The room explodes in a wave of vicious spikes.

Kyouya's back hits the window and a thousand cracks strike across the glass like lightning in the split second before it shatters. He tumbles through, glass shards scattered around like rain. The wind lashes out at him as he picks up speed in the fall, gripping his clothes and pulling on his hair.

A streak of orange flashes between skyscrapers and plummets with Kyouya, gently cradling him and slowing his uncontrolled descent to a soft landing.

"Kyouya," Tsuna gasps in panic. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"