Let's say you found a gun;
how would your bad side burn?

Hibari knew it was going to be a boring day.

The morning was spent angrily stalking Namimori's hallways, jacket flapping behind him like a warning. Those with any sense at all stayed clean out of his way, and those who didn't soon learned the lesson. He'd gone out of his way to beat up some of the rabble loitering just outside the school gates, but even that had failed to cure his boredom. And then, to top it all off, he was woken from his afternoon nap by one Yamamoto Takeshi who had snuck into the reception room and was leaning over him as he slept. Stealthily, to be sure, but not stealthily enough by half.

"Oops," was all Yamamoto had time to say, before the tonfa smashed into his face. He lifted off the floor a moment like a puppet whose strings'd been yanked, then dropped to the floor just as suddenly, clutching his nose. Hibari took a step back, tonfas in hand, to examine his handiwork. He could see that the blow had taken Yamamoto by surprise. Yamamoto was fast, but speed wouldn't save the unaware.

Having recovered his senses for the moment, Yamamoto was feeling gingerly around his mouth with a finger, as though expecting a tooth or two to come loose. Hibari watched him indifferently. It was nothing to him if the weak were injured; it was no more than they deserved.

Once satisfied that a trip to the dentist would not be necessary, Yamamoto rolled himself onto his back to stare impudently up at Hibari. He had to know how irritating the sight of him lolling about on the carpet of the reception room like a dog was to Hibari, had to; why else did he do it?

"Hey, Hibari." That insolent grin was back on Yamamoto's face. It seemed to Hibari to be the only expression he knew how to wear. "Do you know what a sociopath is?"

Hibari's lip curled. "Better than being a herbivore."

Yamamoto barked out a laugh, which sounded a little wet, on account of all the blood. "You would say that."

Hibari glanced at Yamamoto as he painstakingly raised himself up on all fours, and gave him a swift kick to the ribs. Wheezing, Yamamoto collapsed again.

"Shit, Hibari, don't kick a man when he's down," he choked out.

"Don't come near me when I'm sleeping."

Yamamoto raised his head, just enough to grin up at Hibari again, with his face all bloody.

"So I can come near you when you're awake?"

Another kick silenced him. Through his coughing, he barely registered that Hibari was leaving until the door swung shut behind him, leaving Yamamoto alone in the reception room.

It was only later that it occurred to Hibari to wonder what Yamamoto had been doing in there with him in the first place.

He might've figured it was some intrigue or other that the baseball idiot had gotten into his head, but Yamamoto wasn't cunning enough for that, not by a long shot. (It was always good to have an honest assessment of the people around you - it might come in handy in the future.) Most likely it was just some fool notion that Hibari should be integrated into the family which had led Yamamoto to approach him. He should have known better; Hibari would never lower himself to being part of a herd.

All this he pondered one afternoon while seated at his desk, alone in the darkened reception room. The whistles and shouts of the track team in training reached his ears from a distance. On a whim, he got to his feet, and turned towards the window, the room's only source of light. A gust of air stirred the curtains gently.

As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, he gazed upon the grounds of his beloved school. The baseball team seemed to be warming up, stretching, pitching balls to one another down on the field. And Yamamoto too, he supposed. Not that he gave a flying fuck.

Hibari sat back down. It was no matter. He had secured his solitude again, and Yamamoto wouldn't be back in a hurry, not after that last beating.

A yawn seized him, then, making his eyes water. He slumped forward over the desk, morosely laying his cheek upon the flat of his arm, with his fingertips curling over the far edge. It was probably too much to hope that tomorrow would be any different.

That afternoon, he passed the wonder trio in the hallway. A few stray snippets of conversation reached his ears over the general hubbub

"... look like shit. Did you get into a fight?"

"Took a baseball to the face." Apparently Yamamoto could lie, if he chose to.

"Yamamoto works hard, doesn't he?" Tsuna, making some sympathetic noises. You could depend on him for that much, at least.

"Baseball my ass. You could at least feed us a good lie -"

"Oh, Hibari." Yamamoto had caught sight of him; the way he perked up was pathetic to see. "How're things?" His voice faltered momentarily, as Hibari strode right past him. Brushing off Gokudera's jeers, he fell into step beside Hibari. (As if he had a right to be there.) But if he was aware of the fact that he was pushing his luck, he showed no sign of it.

"Hibari, slow down, we can't talk if you're walking so fast~"

"Stop following me or I'll break your legs."

"Are you sure? That'll make it harder for me to visit you."

"Good."

"Don't say that. I'll come and find you later, okay?"

"Do it and die."

Yamamoto just laughed, and the next time Hibari rounded a corner, he found that he was no longer being followed.

True to his word, upon Hibari's return to the reception room at the end of the day, he found Yamamoto seated on the edge of his desk, bold as brass. He caught Hibari's eye and grinned... but he probably wouldn't have been grinning if he could've heard Hibari's thoughts at that moment.

"Hey, Hibari. Have you ever kissed a girl?"

He had a piece of sticking plaster over the bridge of his nose, Hibari noticed, with some small satisfaction. But apparently that last beating still hadn't been enough to keep the bloody fool away.

"Ask me another stupid question and I'll bite you to death," said Hibari, with a cruel smile that added, And I'll enjoy every last second of it.

"Scary!" Yamamoto laughed. It was obvious he wasn't scared in the least. Hibari wondered, in passing, if he was a masochist. "I'll make sure to only ask intelligent questions, then." As he leaned back, Hibari saw with distaste that his shirt was untucked.

"Go away."

"So cold, Hibari. You should be careful; one day I might take you seriously and really leave."

"Why don't you do it already?"

"Haha." Yamamoto smiled at that, and pushed off the desk to stand upright. Hibari stood his ground. Anything else would have been a sign of weakness. "Well, I have. Kissed a girl, I mean."

"Good for you."

"Is it? I mean, it was okay, I guess. And she was pretty and everything -"

"So go and find one. I'm sure there are plenty like that around here."

"Hold on, let me finish. Y'see, while I was doing it, you kept popping into my head. Like, well, I wonder what Hibari tastes like, or well, I wonder what kind of face Hibari would make in this situation." Yamamoto raised his eyes with a sheepish grin. "I know - weird, right? And now it's like I can't stop thinking about it. So maybe if I kissed you for real..."

The confession, if it could be called as much, caught him off-guard - as much as anything could, anyway. He did nothing more than blink, though, once, and carefully. He hadn't pegged Yamamoto to be one of those kinds of guys; maybe his assessment of the herbivores was more flawed than he'd first supposed. He'd have to take a second close look at all of them, now.

In the meantime, Yamamoto was still watching him, waiting for a response. Hibari smirked, and narrowed his eyes.

"... I've always wanted to kill you. One doesn't always get what one wants."

"Always?" That laugh again, so careless, so unafraid. It made his fingers twitch, as though they longed to tighten around Yamamoto's throat. "It's good to know that you hold me so close to your heart."

"Are you almost done? I'm bored of this."

"I wonder," said Yamamoto, stroking his chin. "Why don't you let me help you pass the time, then?"

"And how do you propose to do that," Hibari started to say, but he regretted it soon enough. Yamamoto started towards him; Hibari responded by seizing his collar and slamming him back-first into the desk, one fist raised threateningly. Even now, he noticed the top button of Yamamoto's shirt was undone. Sloppy uniforms irritated him, intensely.

"No need to be so rough, Hibari - what if someone gets hurt?"

Hibari ignored him; he gripped Yamamoto's collar so tightly that his knuckles were white. Attempting to find a better position from which to beat Yamamoto into a bloody pulp, he slid one leg up onto the desk, but stiffened when he felt something hard pressing against his thigh.

"... Are you actually getting turned on by this?"

"No... just from your cute face." This time, Yamamoto was ready, and Hibari's fist dented the wood of the desk where his head had been a moment before. "Okay, okay, calm down. We don't have to do anything you don't want to. Just kissing -"

Hibari struck him directly in his solar plexus with the butt of his hand, doubling him up.

"Persistent little herbivore, aren't you."

Yamamoto still found the breath to chuckle, somehow. "What... have you... got... to lose," he wheezed.

That gave Hibari pause. What did he have to lose? But no, he was only letting himself be swayed by the idiot's pathetic attempts to escape another beating. And suddenly, though it wasn't even relevant in the slightest, Hibari realized that he hadn't felt bored since he'd walked into the reception room and found Yamamoto there waiting for him.

Sensing weakness, Yamamoto took the end of his tie in one hand, and gave it an encouraging little tug.

"C'mon, Hibari - I promise I'll make it worth your while..."

"Shut up."

Another tug on his tie upset Hibari's balance slightly - he leaned downwards, Yamamoto arched upwards, and somewhere in the middle their mouths met. Yamamoto's eyes were closed, his mouth hot and hungry and sweet; he bit Hibari's lower lip, and settled hands in the small of Hibari's back. That wouldn't do, so Hibari seized them, pinning Yamamoto to the desk by his wrists.

"Don't touch me."

"Stingy," said Yamamoto, but relented, laying his hands stiffly by his sides. Hibari, for his part, placed one hand on either side of Yamamoto's head, by his ears, and pressed him back down into the desk. Unlike Yamamoto, he had little experience he could claim, but he picked it up quickly enough. The movement of lips and tongue and even teeth, the heat of Yamamoto's body under his, the insistent press of Yamamoto's erection against his thigh, the stirring of his own against the hard angle of Yamamoto's hip.

At last, he came up for breath, though only pulling back so far that their noses still brushed. This close, he could see every detail of Yamamoto's eyes, the chocolate-brown irises, pupils dark and dilated. Strange, but not entirely unpleasant. He'd even forgotten - at least, for that brief period of time when Yamamoto's mouth was open under his - that he'd wanted to kill him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. And then -

"Let's do that again," said Yamamoto, softly, against his mouth. For once, Hibari did not disagree.